Author: Lurina

Special Update: 162-163 Insert Chapter - The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere | Royal Road

Inner Sanctum Underground | 9:33 AM | ∞ Day

It wasn't quite the same as it had been with Ptolema. His face was recognizable, yes, but there was a... different quality to it, somehow. It wasn't the sort of thing you could easily put into words. The shape of the face was the same, but something in the way his brow met his nose was different. Back in the academy, I remembered him always coming across as older than he was, but now that trait seemed somehow diminished, his eyes seeming gentler and a touch more anxious.

Maybe it was just my imagination. Unlike Ptolema, we'd never interacted again after the Exemplary Acolyte's Class was broken up. And even still, it was unarguably him, if not in the face then in his posture and mannerisms. His simplistic white clothing, his poorly kept hair. The way he half-slouched through the door.

Bardiya of Tuon. I could tell he wasn't shocked to see me, but he still stared strangely for several moments after we made eye contact.

"...Utsushikome," he said, with a certain wariness in his deep voice. "I've been expecting you."

"Ptolema called ahead?" I guessed.

He gave a short nod. "That's right-- About two hours ago now."

I hesitated, glancing to the side. "She might've told me if she knew where you lived. I've been on the runaround for half the afternoon."

"She has the signal for my resonator, but I'm not sure she's ever been here," he spoke with muted intonation. "We only usually make small talk when we run into one another."

I nodded awkwardly. That made sense, I suppose. The way Ptolema had described it, they only really saw one another occasionally when his book club was having a dinner before or after one of their meetings. And she'd obviously considered sending me his way a bit of an uneasy proposition.

I blinked. What am I doing? This is the first time we've spoken in... well, since we were kids for me, and gods know how long for him. Have some manners.

I cleared my throat, holding my hands in front of my waist. "It's, uh. It's good to see you."

"...yes," he said. "It's been a very long time." He glanced over his shoulder. "Would you like to come in?"

"I-If you don't mind," I said.

He nodded, then turned and withdrew, leaving the door ajar for me to follow.

Already I could tell that this was going to be awkward. Excepting the universal outliers of Ezekiel, Fang and Lilith, Bardiya had to be the member of the class I'd been least familiar with; even Seth and Ophelia, whom I'd never really hung out with on an individual basis, I'd had something of a rapport with. Seth had loved to pummel everyone - especially every girl - in the class with stupid jokes, and Ophelia had always been the type to notice when I was feeling miserable about something and offer comfort, even if I'd never confided anything in her beyond the superficial.

But Bardiya... well, just about the only thing I could remember us discussing intensely was politics, and even those conversations had generally left me feeling out of my depth and doing little other than nodding along in vague agreement. He was kind of an enigma who I'd barely known how to talk to, and that was when we'd been kids going to school together.

It would be bad enough were we just meeting for the first time in 200 years, but in these metaphysically bizarre circumstances, I hadn't the faintest clue how to talk to him.

Bardiya's apartment was... well, in the interests of avoiding hypocrisy, I try to follow the philosophy of remaining silent in the absence of anything nice to say when it comes to people's living spaces, but...

I suppose I'd expected from what I remembered about his personality for it to be rather spartan, but this was downright barren, especially when compared to the standard of bespoke beauty I was coming to expect from Dilmun. The walls were bare stone, and most of the floor was too, with only a few rugs in the entrance hall and the front room that looked as if they'd been chosen largely randomly. What furniture present looked to be of good quality - some comfy-looking leather armchairs, a glass tea table, a dining table that could perhaps host two or three - but there was no intent to the decor, and significant segments of the floorspace were wholly unoccupied. Charitably, it looked like a home belonging to someone in the process of moving, but that was before you noticed the layer of dust on half of everything and the discarded remnants of meals on every other surface.

It was sort of funny, actually. It was almost the polar opposite of Ptolema's home; mountains of clean junk versus a vaguely gross wasteland. I guess even unlimited use of the Power didn't necessarily make it any easier to muster the will to keep one's home clean.

"I must apologize for the state of this place," he said, leading me into the aforementioned front room. "I haven't been living in the Crossroads most of the time of late, so this is little more than a temporary residence. It's fortunate you caught me today, in fact."

"It's fine," I said. "I don't want to trouble you for very long, anyway."

"Mm," he said, and gestured towards one of the chairs. "Have a seat."

We lowered ourselves into two of the armchairs. They were a little less comfortable than I expected, the cushion having too much give. Bardiya leaned forward, regarding me with a deep frown on his face.

"Ptolema tells me you're just recently returned to us," he began.

"That's what everyone's been telling me, at least. From my point of view, I was just living an ordinary life in the ordinary world until the day before yesterday, but, uh, I guess not." I laughed stiltedly. "I suppose phrasing it that way is silly, isn't it, isn't it? Obviously this is all ordinary to you."

"No, it's understandable," he said, a hint of discomfort in his features. "If nothing else, it's a stark contrast from the world of our birth." He furrowed his brow slightly. "I'm to understand you lost your memory whilst observing the events of your lifetime in the outside world, then?"

"Apparently," I spoke with a shrug. "The term everyone seems to use here is 'autospective dreaming'. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the whole idea."

"Mm," he hummed. "After such a disruption to your perceived reality, I imagine it's difficult to believe anything you're seeing."

"That's... putting it lightly, yeah." I blinked a few times, looking downward. "I keep expecting to suddenly wake up in my apartment. Or for a bunch of people to jump out from behind the curtain and laugh at me like it's all been some giant prank."

He nodded with a grim, unreadable expression.

"The thing that feels impossible to accept," I continued anyway, "is the idea that everything that feels like it's gone through my mind over... well, the majority of my life, I guess... haven't even been my thoughts. That I never even made a single one of those choices, just piggybacked off this other version of me. It's so weird I can't even put it into words." I shook my head. "Sorry, I didn't come here to whine about the existential crisis I'm having."

Well, at least not that part.

"It's nothing to trouble yourself over," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "There's something I ought to say beforehand, though."

I frowned. "What's that?"

"I hope you won't take this as rejection, because I am willing to help," he prefixed, "but I have to confess, I'm a little frustrated that Ptolema sent you to me." His eyes evaded mine. "It's nothing personal, but I try to keep an emotional distance from my life in the Reflection, and seeing someone from those days can bring back some unsavory feelings. So I apologize if I seem... reticent."

"O-Oh, I see." I glanced downward. "That's fine. I mean, we weren't exactly close even back at the academy, so it's not like I have any good reason to take it personally." My face flushed a little. "I'm sure I can find somebody else, so I can get out of your hair if you--"

"No, it's alright," he interjected. "You're already here, and I'd feel foul treating you like a burdensome responsibility and passing you off." He smiled slightly. "Besides, I'm sure you'd prefer even a marginally familiar face, given the circumstances."

I couldn't deny that, but still, I felt half inclined in that moment to insist it was fine and show myself out. His discomfort and the dark mood reflected in his eyes felt, as someone who'd spent the last couple decades and intermittently before that effectively living as a hermit, all too familiar to me.

Bardiya had always been a somber person, but this felt far beyond that to the point it was taking me a little by surprise. Though of course considering the vast gulf of time that had passed, it would be silly to imagine everyone from back then would be as consistent in their expressed persona as Ptolema. But I wondered what could leave someone in such a state in a world where your every desire effectively laid at your fingertips.

Well, I suppose it's none of my business...

"That being said, can I offer you something to drink?" he offered, cutting off my indecision. "I don't have much, but I think I could manage some tea or coffee." A beat. "Or wine."

"Ah, that's kind of you to offer," I said automatically. "Just some water would be nice, I think?"

He nodded and stood up, heading through a door on the far wall, slipping through it carefully in such a way that I couldn't get a good look beyond. He returned a few moments later with the glass, having brought nothing for himself.

"Thanks," I said.

I took it, and sipped. It was softer water than I was used to, almost tasting of literally nothing. When I looked back up, I noticed he was staring at me expectantly, but I struggled to know how to begin in the stiff atmosphere.

"Ptolema told me that you have some questions about the Manse," he prompted.

Y-Yeah, that's right," I replied. "She said that it's a politically sensitive topic, and she didn't want to talk about it herself because it could get her in trouble. And that you were, well, sort of an expert."

His lip twitched downwards slightly. "I'm not sure 'expert' is the word I'd use in regard to such a thing, since that implies a degree of meaningful knowledge, which I'm not sure anyone truly possesses on the subject. It would be more apt to say I had a period of obsession." He sighed. "Though I expect most people here with any sense of personal curiosity could say the same. Other than how it came to exist in the first place, the Manse is the only well-known extant mystery in this realm. It's become the closest cultural equivalent to something like the philosopher's stone or fountain of youth."

Peculiar comparisons, I thought. Since people here already live forever.

"What makes people so fixated on it?" I asked, then hesitated. "Sorry, that's probably putting the cart before the horse when I only have a vague idea that's even inside. Let alone what it's supposed to do."

"It's a fair question," he said. "Though one I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer to someone who is effectively an outsider to this culture." He rubbed his eye, a flick of blonde hair falling over his aquiline nose. "To give the most basic accounting, the Manse is a building that appears by default at the base position of every new Domain, and cannot in any way be moved or destroyed. Tales of old - ambiguously sourced, but consistent enough that they must have been all but universally believed at some stage - state that whoever solves the enigma within it will have any desire they wish fulfilled."

Well, that seemed like a pretty promising, if ambiguous, lead to start with. Getting rid of this apparently self-imposed curse definitely fell within the scope of 'any desire', at least on paper.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder.

"This feels a... little stupid to say," I started, "but, uh, can't people here already have any desire they wish fulfilled?" I scratched the side of my head. "I mean, not to put too fine a point on it, but isn't this basically paradise? Unless you're a Tertiary, you have enough matter to make anything you could conceivably want. And you can bring anything or anyone you want from the outside world, except for the people who are already here, and they can't die anyway."

I was still thinking a lot about whether I'd want to bring anyone I'd known from the outside world here, but I'd need to learn more about how it all worked. And that was if I even survived long enough for the question to matter, which at this point felt like a long shot.

Bardiya seemed put off by this response somehow, his countenance stiffening. "The flippant response to that might be that it is the nature of man's desire to shift with the circumstance that assails him, as it has been since the pursuit of luxury first eclipsed that of survival," he replied. "But regardless of the reasons, there are many aspects of the nature of the world people might desire to change. The allocation of matter, the nature of Domains and how order in them is imposed... even the amount of Primaries and Secondaries and their nature." His lips tightened, like there was something he wasn't saying. "If there's one quality to this world that is inescapable, it's stasis. And familiarity perhaps breeds contempt, no matter how pleasant things may be."

I frowned slightly. That sentiment especially felt cynical in a way he'd never been when we were young.

"Even if the specifics are lost to time, the nature of the Manse itself feels like an admission of this world's imperfection," he went on. "Why would it be here, and so prominent, were there not something that needed to be changed? Perhaps it's human nature to perceive the potential for transformation as room for improvement."

"You sound pretty negative about the whole thing, for somebody that was obsessed," I commented.

"'Was' is perhaps the opportune word," he said, then quickly changed the subject. "You said you had a 'vague idea' about what's inside. How much do you know?"

"Uh, well, I guess that's probably why Ptolema sent me to you specifically," I said. "She told me that it was filled with books about the weekend of the Conclave." I hesitated, realizing there was a lot about the whole situation that I'd assumed we were on the same page about unspokenly. "S-She told me a lot about that. How this whole world came into being due to what happened... back then."

"I see," he said, and was silent for a moment, looking like he was thinking hard.

"...uh, sorry," I eventually spoke up. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's just..." He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slightly. "I'm aware that's the conclusion that some of our class has come to, but I'm not entirely sure it's the whole truth. I'm not sure you can attribute this world to the conclave, either, at least not per-se."

"You... don't think so?" I asked, surprised.

"No," he said. "Certainly there is a connection. The Landmarks are proof enough of that. But having spent a great deal of time dwelling on the question, I think it would be more accurate to say that our arrival here merely filled a space that already existed, and would have been one way or the other."

"I don't understand."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I wouldn't even know where to begin." He looked at me. "Why are you interested in the Manse, Utsushikome? If it's simple curiosity, I assure you, there are better ways you could be spending your time. Not to mention more convenient ones." His eyes wandered. "For whatever problems one might see in it, this world has no shortage of novelty, nor sources of comfort. If you truly have no recollection of your time in it, I am sure you could find great happiness for many years."

I hesitated in answering for a moment. I hadn't planned on it - both because it didn't feel directly relevant, and for the more obvious reason that it was ridiculous and, like what was probably already the case with Ptolema, would more than likely leave him thinking I was insane or a liar - but now that it'd come down to him outright asking, there wasn't really another option. I didn't know enough about Dilmun to spin a convincing lie, and refusing felt downright rude when he'd already made it clear I was imposing.

"I don't... know how to explain this without it seeming stupid," I said, reluctant.

He raised an eyebrow slightly. "You might as well try, surely. Frankly, in your circumstances, there's little you could say I'd be unwilling to attribute to sheer disorientation."

And so I did.

Ten or so minutes later, we were taking a walk. Bardiya led me back outside his apartment and down the steps, then into a side-tunnel adjacent to the passageway containing the building. The walls were stark marble, and the ceiling was so impossibly tall that I wasn't sure if the distant light overhead was artificial or from an opening to the sky. The area was deathly quiet; we passed maybe one other person over the entire walk, and that was when we were still close to the entrance.

"We should be there soon," Bardiya said. "It's just off the corner here."

"Is this really safe...?" I inquired, keeping my voice down. "I know I said this already, but Ptolema told me the Manse was, well..."

"I'm sure it will be fine," he said, more aloof than dismissive. "The assembly has been making more noise about stifling discussion of the Manse of late, but even that's amounted to little more than a handful of punishments for the more egregious offenders. Spotting you at the entrance might have been sufficient to get them worked up, but they're not like to indulge in a game of hearsay with whoever might overhear us. " He sighed softly. "Though no one will. I've never seen another person where we're headed."

"The 'assembly' is the government here, right?" I held a finger to my lips, looking about the cavernous hall as we strolled. "The watchmen I talked to mentioned them a couple of times."

"That's correct," he said with a nod. "A body of twenty-one, half appointed by popular vote and the other consisting of the Domain's founders and their successors."

"Who holds the odd vote?" I asked quizzically.

"The elected, numbering eleven, but I see what you're thinking, and you're correct all the same. The patricians can always find one to take their side." He shook his head. "It's not wholly useless, though, as the system is designed such that total consensus is required for most measures under the authority of the body."

"Total consensus?" I frowned. "I'm surprised anything gets done."

"I understand why you'd think so, but politics functions differently with the pace of life here," he explained. "Almost no matters are urgent, and elections for each seat are held individually on a ten year rotating basis, meaning a single term lasts a minimum of a hundred, so all members grow to know one another very well." He glanced towards me. "I don't intend to frame that as a virtue, mind you. Merely to explain why it functions."

"A hundred years... gods." I pushed my glasses up and rubbed my eyes. "I can see what you mean. Doing it one seat at a time practically seems engineered to basically make the group into a clique, especially when you consider the size."

"I would omit the word 'practically' from that, I think," he spoke glumly. "It matters little how things are governed in the end, though. There's very little at stake beyond fleeting fancies."

I nodded, thinking back to Ptolema's explanation of the upheaval which destroyed the last Hegemonic Domain.

I smiled slightly, looking up at him. "Well, even so, it's nice to know you're still politically minded."

He scoffed wearily, though I saw a hint of an upward turn on his lips. "I'm not sure about that. It's little more than a twinge of the pyramidalis. Vestigial."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, so there were a few moments of silence.

"...I was wondering," I began, perhaps feeling a little sentimental now that our conversation had wandered to more familiar territory, "I don't mind not bothering you again after we're done today, but... if it bothers you to be around people from when you-- Well, from the old days, is it the same way with Ptolema? Is that different, or does seeing her bother you, and she just, well..."

I heard something that might have been a chuckle. "Well?"

I bit my lip. "Well, you know how she is."

He shook his head. "No, it's not like that." He faced forward. "I enjoy her company, but... well, though I'd hardly call us close, we've known one another for a long time in this place, neither of us being the type to stray too far from wherever the majority congregates. Far longer than we ever did in the Exemplary Acolyte's Class." He squinted slightly. "This place has... an unusual quality. It's hard to discern whether it's something in its inherent nature, or just the product of lives stretched thin to the point of transparency, but you come to understand things, if your instance persists beyond a certain point."

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Instance?" I asked.

"The time you've existed as an unbroken version of yourself, without intentional or unintentional defaulting or loss of one's memory," he explained. "You would be a fresh instance, for example."

I frowned to myself. "I'm surprised it's common enough to warrant a term. People were acting like my situation was pretty unique."

"Your situation, perhaps, but hardly the circumstance itself." I caught sight of a side-passage ahead, a beam of light crossing the path. "Only a lucky few here have the fortitude to bear the weight of time here, beyond a certain point. For some that point is 1000 years, for others it may be closer to 100,000. But almost inevitably, one reaches a state of terminal impasse."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean where it becomes intolerable to live," he explained. "Obviously, the circumstances vary from person to person, but inevitably, we encounter something that becomes the fly in our ointment. A lost love one cannot let go of, a regret which proves insurmountable... or failing something so spectacular, simply a loss of passion." He shut his eyes wholly but didn't slow his stride at all, seeming completely unafraid of losing his footing. "This world can be perceived in countless different ways, and the more perspectives one sees, the more one begins to see a.. uniform quality, in all things. The beige that comes from mixing too many types of paint. We humans were not made to live forever."

"That can't be true," I responded without even really thinking about it. "Even if it seems impossible to see, there's always some way we can reinvent ourselves and find more meaning. Even if we lived for a trillion years, there's no way we could experience all possible things."

"One could call it conceited to insist on that judgement when you've only just arrived here," he chided me, though there was little reprimand in his tone. "But you're right, in a sense. As I'm sure you've already seen to a degree, there are infinite ways one can be, most of which under normal circumstances would never be conceived. The human soul is like a vein of ore, with facets in all of us most in the Reflection surely never even begin to discover... perhaps for the better." He opened his eyes again, then frowned. "Are you alright, Utsushikome?"

"Y-Yeah," I said, my voice cracking as I rubbed my eyes. "It's just... I don't know. I feel a little small all of a sudden."

He looked at me funnily for a moment, his lips unsealed slightly, and for a moment I thought he was going to say or ask something. But in the end, he was silent until we reached the source of the shaft of light. "Ah, we're here."

We turned the corner and were greeted by the open sky. A fairly large balcony protruded here, apparently on some obscure spot at the edge of the City's spire, with a modest garden around a small white bench. Tulips and begonias bloomed from lush planters, their vivid colors stark against the strange sky.

"Oh," I said, subtly wiping some moisture from my eyes. "This is nice."

"It's a pleasant spot, yes," he said. "There are thousands little ones like this all along the exterior, but they largely go ignored unless they're close to something of note. I've done my best to make this one comfortable."

"The flowers?"

He nodded. "Some time ago I had cause to learn the language of flowers. The tulips represent love, and the begonias connection. Two things that don't come easily to me of late." He moved to sit at the bench, not pausing to prompt me. "Though in truth I picked them for more personal reasons."

I wish I didn't think of my mother the second anyone mentioned the language of flowers. "Why, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Nostalgia," he said. "They were special to my wife and I, during our lives in the Remaining World."

I'd been moving to sit down myself, but this stopped me in my tracks for a moment. "Wait, you were married?"

"Mm," he hummed, looking out into the distance. "Irena was her name. We eloped in medical school, but sadly she lost her life during the gas attacks early in the revolution."

I stared, listless. "I... I don't know what to say."

He shrugged. "You needn't say much. It's another life now, like all the rest of it."

"Why did you never mention it, back when we were in school?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could process that it was a rude question.

"No reason in particular. I just didn't wish to seem overly morbid." He hesitated, frowning. "...no, that's not wholly true, I suppose. I think a part of me didn't wish to make all my ideological beliefs back then seem personal. I was worried I wouldn't be taken seriously - just seen as a broken man projecting his pain in all directions."

"I..." Words failed me for another few moments. "I-I guess that makes sense," I eventually managed. "I don't see it that way, though."

"No. I mean-- I think having a personal reason for believing in a cause makes it more sincere, not less."

He looked up at me, and once again I saw the vestige of a smile. "Why don't you sit down, Utsushikome?"

"Oh, right."

I sat down on the opposite side of the bench. Perhaps because there was no wind here, the sweet smell of the flowers felt rather thick-- For a moment I worried it would trigger my hayfever, before remembering that illness of any sort simply didn't exist here. I stared out at the vast expanse, so uniform I could see the cells dancing on the inside of my eyes.

"I kind of wish they had an artificial sky here, like down in the Valley," I said. "Like this, the silence and the weird orange color makes it feel less like I'm outdoors and more like I'm in some giant sensory deprivation tank."

"Orange?" he asked curiously. "Not gold?"

I blinked. "Is that how most people describe it?"

"Well, it seems apt, doesn't it?" He inclined his head. "Across all cultures, gold represents the imperishable and everlasting. It's only natural to look at this world's nature and make the connection."

"Platinum's more imperishable than gold, though," I stated pedantically.

He lowered his brow. "Would you rather have silvery-grey for eternity? Perpetual overcast?"

I wrinkled my nose.

We sat there, for a bit, just staring out at the sky. There were a few parts of the CIty that stuck out enough to intrude in on our field of view overhead - a tower on the left, a long stone platform on the right - and occasionally someone would zip through the air from one to the other, or from further afield in the direction of the Valley.

I removed my glasses to better appreciate the view. Well off in the distance, I noticed something I hadn't previously recognized on account of its coloring almost blending in with the background; some sort of sandy floating landmass, far enough that it was hard to discern its true size.

"What's that?" I asked Bardiya idly, pointing.

"Mm? Ah." He made a low hum, probably considering how to put a complicated answer into simple words for me. "That's the Island," he explained. "Its the third and final major community here in the Crossroads other than the City and the Valley. It's intended as a sort of freeform space, where you can build and destroy anything you wish with your prop at a whim, with far fewer regulations than elsewhere. Citizens have the option of claiming a plot there as opposed to in the Valley."

"Oh, I see," I said. "So it's like a giant playground."

"You could say that, though people mostly just use it to build extremely large homes that would otherwise not be permitted." He rolled a hand. "Floating mansions, castles... occasionally you'll see more unorthodox concepts."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just make your own Domain, if you wanted to do something like that?" I asked. "I only heard about all this tangentially, so maybe there's something I'm overlooking, but... if it's with your free prop and not with whatever you've given, then you might as well build what you want without having to follow any rules at all, right?"

"Some people do look at it that way," he explained. "But there can be a certain appeal to creating even something indulgent with a community as opposed to alone. And many don't ever like to leave the Crossroads, especially to a single-person Domain. The signal of a resonator cannot penetrate the Stage, and some find the solitude harrowing."

I made a little 'huh' sound, my expression remaining mostly blank in response to this trivia. "So," I went on. "Why did you want to come out here?"

"No strong reason," he confessed. "Your situation was just a little more complicated than I'd expected. I thought we might both find it easier to think in here than cooped up in that sorry place."

I laughed awkwardly. "It wasn't that bad."

"It's quite bad," he stated flatly. "I was playing it down a little back there, but I'm sure you can tell I'm not exactly in the best state of mind at the moment." He reached up to rub one of his eyes. "I'm not even sure I ought to be trying to talk to you about any of this."

"I mean... I'm not hoping for you to be my therapist or something," I told him.

"I also thought it might make it easier for me to find the words if we relaxed for a time and reminisced about the old days," he went on, seeming to ignore my last remark. "Though I'm sure that seems contradictory, with what I was saying about not wishing to dwell on them."

"Not really," I said, rolling my shoulders. "If you've made the decision to try to talk to me at all, there's a kinda utilitarian logic to getting your mind into the right place for it, even if it's uncomfortable."

He nodded, though it was difficult to tell if he was acknowledging my inference as correct or simply acknowledging the fact it had happened. "Now that we're here, though, I can't think of anything to say that doesn't feel trite."

"Maybe you could talk about the loop you remember?" I suggested. "I mean, I ended up going over mine a little."

He shook his head, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes. "I'd prefer to leave that to another time, if it's all the same to you." He averted his eyes. "I understand it was... more comprehensive, than what many of our other 'alumni' recall. I learned things about the others that I wish I could forget."

I nodded sympathetically. I'd told him about the stuff pertinent to my apparent deal with the Lady and had incidentally mentioned that Balthazar had shot me in the process, but hadn't gone into most of the gruesome details. Like catching Theo in the act of killing Ran and then cracking his head open like a boiled egg.

I tried to change the subject to something more whimsical instead. "Why did you sometimes show up to class without wearing any shoes?"

"My roommate was the same size as me, and he had a bad habit of losing his in inscrutable places," he explained without missing a beat. "So he'd simply wear mine before I had a chance to stop him, on account of being an early riser."

"Yes, it was a little vulgar," he said thoughtfully. "He never wore socks, either."

"I always assumed that it was some sort of statement, I suppose," I told him. "Something political. You know, like a Diogenean thing."

He looked at me uncertainly. "Did Diogenes not wear sandals?"

"I don't think he did...? I assume that was part of the whole live-like-a-dog thing." I bit my lip. "Though I've read people speculate that some of that was just a caricature invented after the fact by the other philosophers in Athens."

He hummed thoughtfully, then turned back to face the sky. "You said it's been 200 years, from your perspective?"

"Yeah," I replied, nodding. "Though I know that's nothing compared to you. But it's hard for me to know exactly what to say, either."

"I think at a certain point it ceases to truly matter," he observed, his tone aloof. "Let's not try to force things, then."

A moment passed. A figure zipped from the Island to the City for the first time. Based on the level of traffic, either the amount of people living there was extremely small, or they largely kept to themselves.

"I'm not expecting anything extensive," I tried to reassure him. "I just want to know enough basic information about the Manse to tell if that's what she was expecting me to find or not." I frowned to myself. "And I guess it wouldn't hurt to hear more about the myths surrounding the Lady either, since Ptolema glossed over that a little, but that part is optional."

Bardiya nodded in silence, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn't think things were that simple.

"Though it's not as though I could blame you for being put off, with how much I ended up rambling in circles," I said, my face flushing. "Again, if you don't want to deal with this, I'll understand."

"I think I understood the key points," he said. Now that we were out here, his voice seemed to be growing slowly quieter, like he was slipping into a reverie as he stared out into oblivion. "But it's less a question of what you're expecting, and more what the... ethical way to approach this, is. I find myself feeling like you're a patient with a disease I do not fully understand. That might be worse than the treatment." His lips tightened. "Or perhaps the better comparison would be a patient at the height of happiness, but with a prognosis of a certain death within the week. Do you tell them? Or let them live in ignorance?"

I looked at him nervously. "If this is your way of implying you think I have the wrong idea about the Manse that there's no way to save myself at all, you're kind of blowing the game even saying that much."

He shook his head. "That's not what I mean at all." He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a heavy breath. "Ultimately, the information you want is quite widely-available, so it would be absurd of me to deny you outright; at best delaying the inevitable, and at worst... well, to continue the medical metaphor, refusing a patient a needed prescription and driving them into deeper peril seeking it in the black market. So it comes down to a question of how I should quality the information."

I gave an uneasy frown, scoffing in a way that felt more confrontational than I'd meant it. "Hey, come on. I know I probably seem vulnerable with how clueless I am about everything, but I'm not some hapless waif who'll collapse if you don't tip-toe around anything difficult." I peered at him. "Just say what you're thinking."

He let out a long sigh.

"The truth is, I can't believe everything in your story."

I blinked.

Well, at least he's blunter about it than Ptolema.

"Don't get the wrong impression," he quickly added. "I don't mean to accuse you of being a liar."

"I mean, it's kind of hard not to interpret it that way," I spoke flatly.

"I believe you saw what you said you've seen, or at least believe as such," he clarified. "Your story is both too plausible and too hyperbolic to be a fabrication. I have no memory of meeting you in this realm prior to today, and you do not move, speak, or act like a native. While all of those are things that could plausibly be faked, I have seen enough frauds roleplaying out gimmicks of circumstance that I've developed an eye for it, and the chances of you not only being the most talented liar I've ever met and also by far the most committed - most people starved enough for attention to do such things cannot restrain themselves for even decades, much less the millennia you would require to scour yourself from all memory - seem slim." He leaned forward, clutching his hands together. "So your story of being an autospective dreamer is likely true. Moving from that assumption, you necessarily lack the understanding to even construct a story this obscene yourself."

I blinked. "So... in other words, you think I'm too ignorant to have told such a complicated lie."

"More or less," he said with a nod. "Setting aside how inscrutable your motives would be, it would require an advanced understanding of many things speculated solely by members of our class and their personal friends, not to mention of the mechanics of this world and the local mythology." He flicked his gaze to me for a moment. "It's not plausible for such a short span of time."

"Okay, so what don't you believe?"

"I don't believe that you met the goddess of this world," he told me. "And I don't believe that you are the sole person here to have a finite lifespan."

I raised a hand in protest. "But the hourglass--"

"I believe that you see it," he cut me off. "Or at least, that you understand yourself to have. But as I suggested earlier, there are many mysteries of this realm - small mysteries in comparison to the Manse, but mysteries all the same - that have built up over the course of the uncountable epochs that have passed. Little knots that people have made with its basic principles." He faced forward. "You are, in my humble opinion, likely the victim of a well-coordinated deception. A prank at best, or some attempt to manipulate you at worst."

"I-- But that's impossible," I retorted. "Messing with the hourglass warped time itself! And the Lady - she was bending the laws of reality around her little finger. She took away half my senses so I could only focus on her! And she knew everything about the loops!" I furrowed my brow, feeling almost angry at this attitude, like it was so ridiculous it threw any other information I might get from him into question. "You're the same way as me and Ptolema, right? You remember a version of that weekend."

"Yes," he admitted.

"And you remember hearing the voice with the 'enjoy your immortality' stuff when it was over-- When this world came into being." I narrowed my eyes. "Doesn't this explain that perfectly? Wouldn't it obviously have been her?"

"I remember the voice," he said skeptically, "but I could not say for certain whether it was before or after the creation of this world. It exists as an island in my mind, devoid of context."

I crossed my arms. "Come on, Bardiya."

He exhaled strangely sharply, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Utsushikome, but I simply can't accept it's that simple. I do not think it's at all unreasonable to believe that this world is connected to the Order's experiments with the anomaly they observed in physics, nor even per-se that such a being - if it can be called such - acted in some way to bring it about." His frown deepened, his eyes casting downward. "But the idea that there is some woman straightforwardly behind the curtain, reigning over this place like its queen? Who has singled you alone out as the one exception to its most absolute rule?"

"You can't just-- Just dismiss it all on the basis of blind skepticism," I objected. "I mean, I thought it was all outrageous too, but it makes sense with-- Well, with everything. With what I saw back in the loop, with what I remember my other self saying... with what Neferuaten told me, with all of it." I gestured forward in frustration. "And isn't our whole class special by definition? We were the ones at the sanctuary! Who died over and over on that weekend so this world could be brought about in the first place!"

In retrospect, it was a little ridiculous for me to be saying that like it was some great sacrifice, when the only reason I knew it had even happened at all was because the Lady had told me about it a few hours ago.

"Again, many of the others do see it that way, but I don't think the history of this world is as straightforward as they like to believe." He shook his head. "We - or rather, some distant version of ourselves - may have been part of an inflection point where it made contact with our own, but that would not in any way render us above it."

"I-- I..." I stuttered. I was so confounded by the fact that he could even dispute the idea that this world was the product of the Conclave. It was one thing for people who had nothing to do with it to believe that it had preceded the rest of the universe, but for someone who was literally there...

I just couldn't understand it. It was self-evident, even discounting my meeting with the Lady. We'd literally walked to the ruins of the security center!"

"Something had to have created it!" I insisted.

"Do you think so?" he asked, looking at me again. "Even in our original lives, we were both born into a universe utterly bereft of explanation. Without an apparent creator, and seemingly possessing no beginning nor end. What makes our presence here any different?" He leveled his gaze. "Because of his finite life, man is an animal that evolved to think in arcs of events. Of cause and effect. But in all the history of science we have only been confronted with the failure of this mode of thought, of the world's ultimate inscrutability and unending nature."

"That's-- That's a ridiculous comparison," I protested. "Our world... well, at least the world before the collapse was natural." I grabbed a clump of soil from the flowerbed to illustrate. "But this is all fake. It's literally just made from pieces of the sanctuary, just like the Remaining World was an echo made out of scrounged together stuff the Ironworkers could cram into a black hole. To act like it could just be like that for no reason-- It's absurd."

Once again, he just shook his head, though this time offered no further objection.

I stared at him for a few seconds, then felt bad, my face flushing. "...sorry. I didn't mean to get worked up. I'm not-- I'm still in shock that any of this is happening at all." I shook my head. "It's weird. My head feels clearer here than it has in the real world in years, but I just can't seem to think straight."

"It's quite alright," he spoke gently. "I can't blame you for finding my reaction frustrating. After all, it's not as though I can offer much of an alternative explanation for any of what you cited a moment ago."

"Then why are you so certain?" I couldn't help but ask.

He considered the question for a time, leaning his head back a little so his gaze was fixed at closer to a right angle. "Let me put it like this. Right now - and I hope you'll forgive me if this sounds condescending - you're in a position similar, in some regards, to that of a child."

"Because of my ignorance?"

"It's not about ignorance, per-se," he spoke, with a slight shake of the head. "To a child, the world is a magical place filled with wonder, where all things are possible. But as they live and grow, they test its boundaries until they slowly come to understand its mundane nature. As a boy I believed in faeries, but as I grew into an adult, there eventually came a point where it was impossible to hold on to that belief." He glanced in my direction. "Did you believe in anything supernatural when you were young, Utsushikome?"

I bit my lip. "Uh, only when I was very, very young," I said, struggling to visualize Bardiya as a child whatsoever. "Just local stuff, like the mountain spirits that are supposed to live upland from Oreskios, and steal your stuff if you leave it outside overnight."

That was as my current self, obviously. I've already talked about my mindset regarding the supernatural while living with the Isiyahlas.

"Well, imagine that, now as an adult, you encountered something that seemed, very convincingly, like one of those mountain spirits." He raised an eyebrow slightly. "Would you accept that as real? Or would you, now knowing the world and all its nuances well, search for a logical explanation as to how your perceptions were fooled?"

I nodded, though somewhat skeptically. "...I see the point you're making," I told him. "You're saying I'm only so convinced because I have no mental framework for how things work here."

"It's more than just that," he insisted. "Utsushikome, I know it must not seem that way now, but this world is a strict place. In many regards, it's even more banal than the one in which we were born. It has rules, and those rules do not bend under any circumstances." His tone dropped to almost a whisper for a moment. "And foremost among those rules, just as sure as the inverse surely feels to you now, is that that death is impossible for us."

"What about Tertiaries?" I asked.

"They do not share our nature," he said. "And even then, it is inevitable that a Tertiary manifested once will be manifested again. It is not true death any more than the fading of our past selves."

"So, what? You're saying that the hourglass is just wrong?"

"Yes," he replied bluntly. "I don't know what it is, or the true nature of its relationship to you. But it cannot be what you describe."

I fell silent at that, looking down uncomfortably.

"You're not convinced," he deduced.

I didn't know what to say. I mean... of course I wasn't convinced. He himself had admitted he didn't have an argument to call into question any of the stuff I'd seen at the Loge, none of which made any sense in the laws of this world as they'd been laid out. She controlled the Advisors. She'd controlled reality itself. Knew everything.

But at the same time, with how he'd framed the situation, it felt stupid to argue back. Like... he was absolutely right. If I were in his position, I would outright reject what I was saying, too.

Like, he'd been polite enough to let it mostly go unspoken, but obviously by 'or at least, you understand yourself to have', he was considering the idea that I was simply deluded. That I'd either been elaborately tricked and my mind, in a vulnerable state, had colored in the illusion - as minds are prone to do - or that I'd lost my marbles altogether and fabricated the entire thing.

I hadn't lost my marbles, of course-- At least not to that degree. It had happened; I could feel the hourglass in my fucking pocket. But in terms of Occam's Razor, well...

"It's fine," Bardiya said, letting out a small sigh. "Ultimately, it's not my business. And as I said, I'm happy to tell you all that you wish to know. Still, there's two questions I would suggest you consider regarding your situation."

I looked at him warily. "Alright."

"Firstly," he began, "If all is as you believe it to be, shouldn't you remember us gathered for that speech you brought up, as well? Where we heard that voice instruct us to 'enjoy our immortality?" He lowered his brow. "If you've merely forgotten all else with the passage of time, as a Primary, surely it should persist in you as it does the rest of our class. Should it not?"

I opened my mouth, about to rebuff this with the explanation that it had simply been erased as the rest of my memories in Dilmun had been... but then stopped.

Actually, that's true, isn't it? Him and Ptolema remember it, and she even singled it out as one of the two things related to the loops she recalls.

I frowned.

"Secondly," he went on. "Your theory as to how so much time has passed without the hourglass becoming exhausted is predicated on the idea that it does not expend itself while you are in a state of observing the outside world. But I feel this does not pay heed to the sheer quantity of time that has passed since this realm's inception, if indeed it even has one in the conventional sense. Can you truly believe you remained as you were for millions of years, without an event like this ever occurring in the past? Or indeed, occurring many times-- More than enough for any finite amount of time to have passed?"

I hesitated. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything in particular," he said cooly. "Only that the situation may not be precisely as it appears." His eyes turned back to the expanse. "I don't mean to dismiss your fears. Do what you need to do. I only suggest that you maintain an air of skepticism, going forward."

I looked at him for a few moments, then looked downwards, nodding solemnly. "Y-Yeah. I understand."

"For whatever it's worth," he added. "I do hope I'm mistaken, even if I think it deeply unlikely." He clasped his hands together. "For such a break in this world's stasis to exist, beyond the Manse, would be nothing less than a miracle."

I should probably have taken a moment to ponder the implications of this statement, especially in regard to his attitude and mood throughout the conversation.

Unfortunately, I had a nasty case of tunnel vision.

"I mean, the feeling is mutual," I said, with a stiff laugh. "That would mean I wasn't dying, after all."

Bardiya looked at me grimly, though it was a different flavor of grim than he'd worn thus far. I was pretty sure I detected a note of pity.

I'd like to think was about my fear of death, but that probably wasn't it.

In the end, Bardiya told me what I wanted to know, though I won't go over that part of the conversation here, since it would just end up rehashing information about the Manse which you're already aware of. But there's one more thing I ought to mention.

After we were done talking about the Manse, Bardiya took me back to his apartment again briefly to loan me a book on Dilmun's mythology, since we'd only had time to talk a little about the tales of the Lady, and unlike the Manse it wasn't taboo, so he said it would be better to get it from a scholarly source. It was a heavy red tome, bearing the title "Folklore of the Past Five Hegemonies and the Keep", by someone named Marius Cassius - Umbrican, from the sound of it - and looked rather ancient.

Though I suppose that meant very little here, all things considered.

We said our farewells, and Bardiya offered to meet with me again if I had any further questions, though the fact that he stopped short of giving me his resonator signature (or so he called it, I didn't if this meant a number or something transferred directly or what) made me unsure if this was just him being polite.

And that might have been the end of it. Except, on the way back to the Valley, though, I began skimming through the book idly, and noticed that Bardiya had left some sort of postcard inside, presumably as a bookmark, that at a cursory glance looked like it might have been a rather personal message-- I spotted the word 'love', among other things.. After fretting about what to do for several minutes, I decided it would be best to return it now, lest I be presumed a snoop.

I walked back up through the city and into the little gap containing the apartment, and climbed back up the steps. I was about to knock on the door when I realized it was already unlocked; he must have forgotten to close it, or perhaps had stepped out for just a moment.

Intending to call out to him, I pushed it open just a crack--