Xeno found herself looking back on the choices she’d made, trying to think where, if she were given the chance, it might have served her to do things differently.

How would things have gone if she’d realised how to use her full power from the second stage? Just days ago such a thing would have seemed impossibly fortunate to her, yet the memory of how it had felt to be in that state was still burning behind her thoughts.

Regardless, one thing she’d certainly have avoided if given the chance was needing to ask Unity Eden for help.

But of course, she didn’t have that chance.

“And what spurred this on?” The artificial asked, hiding neither his amusement or contempt as he sprawled across the thick rug at the centre of the room.

“I want help.” She answered. “Generally, that’s why people ask for it.”

He eyed her for a moment, clearly not impressed. Xeno felt a stab of embarrassment at how quickly she relented.

“Fine. I’m asking because I want to keep Crow safe, and before you say it- yes, I know the best way to do that would be to deny his request. The issue is that I also want to avoid ruining his dreams along the way, so kindly keep any requests which involve that as a vital step to yourself.”

“Gosh, you sure did see through me!” The artificial grinned. “It’s almost like everytime we talk, I’m reminded of how amazing your giant brain is.”

Xeno took a step back, face suddenly hot with anger.

“If you aren’t going to help, then I have no reason to talk to you.” She said, fighting to keep her voice cool rather than shaky.

“Okay.” The artificial answered, holding his hands up placatingly. “Fine. I’ll play nice. I assume you have an idea already?”

The sudden change of tone almost surprised Xeno back into silence, but she managed to force words from herself after only a slight pause.

“I do, as a matter of fact. Do you happen to know how to stitch?”

***

It took Gem a surprising amount of time to find Astra on her own.

No matter what the hour, her teammate seemed perpetually busy. Jogging, striking a punching bag, sticking her nose in a book or simply wandering around the few blocks nearest the Crux, it was as if she feared nothing more than inactivity.

She was finally able to get the blonde on her own, and unoccupied by anything else, during the early afternoon, when she took a seat on a windowsill near the stairs to the organiser’s floor.

Astra hardly seemed to notice Gem coming to sit down beside her.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” She asked. Astra glanced at her, a surprised look on her face. She nodded silently, and Gem continued.

“It’s about the next task. The one in… two days, was it?”

“Three.”

“Right. Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about my role in it.”

She saw the anticipation in her teammate’s face, the tensing of her jaw, rising of her shoulders. The undeniable signs of a person preparing for a fight.

“I want to take part in combat.” Gem finished, still watching Astra’s expression.

The speed at which it changed, and the extent it changed to, nearly made her laugh.

“Where’s this coming from?” The blonde asked, after a pause. Her eyes had been wide with surprise, but now creased with a confused frown. Gem couldn’t fault her for it.

“I did some thinking.” She answered. “I just told you, a few seconds ago in fact. Were you not paying attention?”

The irritation that flashed across the girl’s face almost made Gem regret her words, but it couldn’t be helped. Nothing would make someone drop a question more than being accused of stupidity.

“Are you sure, then? Beacuse you were fairly fucking reluctant to even go near a battlefield, and I don’t want to bank on your help if there’s a chance you’ll withdraw it at the last moment.”

Gem wasn’t sure, even speaking about fighting- even thinking of it- sent cold fingers digging into her spine, urging her to back down and cower behind her hands.

But strength was a choice, and she wasn’t about to choose weakness.

“I’m sure.” She said, allowing none of her doubt to bleed into the words.

Astra stared for a few seconds, then nodded slightly as if satisfied.

“Very well then. Why are you telling me this?”

“Mostly because I’d rather you know as soon as possible, since I’m guessing you’re already making a dozen plans and backup plans for how to get your way with whatever you suggest everyone’s roles end up being.”

The girl’s silence confirmed the assumption, and Gem felt a smile sprout. As overbearing as Astra could be, she reminded her of Karma. Sometimes, at least.

“Alright, is there anything else you’d like to share?” She asked.

Gem thought for a moment, as much for show as anything.

“I think that was everything.”

She waited for Astra to answer, only realising after nearly ten seconds of silence that the girl had nothing more to say. Awkwardly, she got to her feet, turned and left.

***

Crow couldn’t quite get the knot to leave his gut, no matter how much he tried to banish it by walking. He considered, after some twenty minutes of fruitless effort, that his issue was the simple lack of places in which walking was something he could bring himself to do.

In the two or three weeks since the great Immortal battle, the area surrounding the Crux had become flooded by those in need of aid. Newly homeless, starving, clothes reduced to rags by the hard weeks of poverty, simply looking at the masses of poor people made his heart lurch.

Going back to the impossibly comfortable sheets and steaming meals he’d spent his time in Bermuda enjoying was, in a way, even worse.

The comfort seemed to remind him of the sights outside at every turn. Every soft indentation of his seat brought forth images of the hard, packed-dirt ground on which men and women were forced to sleep. Warmth provided by their crackling fireplace seeping into his flesh and banishing the cold, yet replacing it with sickening pity.

Eventually it all became too much to bear. Crow could bring himself to bask in luxury no more than he could stroll beside abject misery, and he found his feet carrying him once more from the room.

His walk was aimless, at first. He had no intention of leaving the Crux again, the camps of recently arrived refugees weren’t a sight he could bear, but fortunately the sheer scale of the place gave him plenty of room to wander regardless.

Corridors became his trails, staircases his slopes. It was oddly relaxing, even with the constant need to weave between perpetually hurried staff members as they ran to and fro.

After a while, he started to lose track of exactly how long he’d been walking. It became easier to simply track based on his location, taking note of memorable parts of his surroundings rather than trying to count.

And before long, he’d seen far too many memorable things lining the stone walls of the Crux for even that to remain easily distinguished in his head.

Not for the first time, Crow wished his perfect memory extended beyond simply recalling how something looked.

He tried to recall his steps, but found that they’d never really been something he’d taken note of in the first place. And the perfect mental images of mounted trophies and framed artwork, all things distinguishable enough to be unmistakable, gave no indication of where those landmarks were in relation to one another.

Lost. Again.

Crow considered, as he wandered, just how often he took wrong turns or found himself not knowing where he was. Looking back, he realised his sense of direction had practically always been sub-par.

Unfortunately, Astra was nowhere to be seen. So he had no choice but to find his own way.

Minutes dragged by, each one bringing a new layer to Crow’s anxiety as he found his pace quickening.

Even when moving one hair slower than a jog, the sprawling interior of the Crux was enormous enough that it hardly felt like he was moving through it at all.

By the time Crow had thought of the obvious, to take a staircase to the ground floor and follow the outermost walls until he stumbled upon the main entrance, his feet had begun to ache with the sustained pressure of his aimless trudging.

“Are you lost, boy?”

Crow didn’t turn to the voice immediately. So used to hearing nought but the drumbeat of his own footsteps, it took him a few moments to even register that, in the absence of anyone else in the long and empty hall, it would surely be addressing him.

“Uh, me?” He asked, turning to the source of the voice.

Before him stood a man with bronze skin, coal-dark hair and the scraggly beginnings of a moustache curled atop his lip. He looked at Crow with brown eyes, impassive and seemingly disinterested.

“Yes. Are you lost?” He repeated.

“No.” Crow answered, tongue quickened by the strangely disconcerting impression the man gave off.

His words were met with a look of surprise and scepticism, setting his face alight with embarrassment as he realised how ridiculous it had been to deny something so obvious.

“Yes, I am.” He admitted, fighting to keep his eyes from the floor.

“I thought so.” The man grunted.

He had a peculiar voice, strong like granite, yet gentle and smooth as silk. Like a wall of water.

“Are you trying to get back to the contestant’s area?” He asked. “If so, I know the way from here.”

“I am, thank you.”

The man didn’t say anything more, merely turned and began to walk. Crow noticed, with no small amount of dissatisfaction, that he was headed in the opposite direction he’d been about to take himself.

Hurrying to catch up to the tanned stranger, he fell in step beside him.

“What’s your name?” He asked, then hastily added “sir.”

If his mother had known he’d accepted help without being so polite as to ask the offerer’s name, she’d flatten his ears. The man didn’t seem to care about his manners, however, and simply replied with a flat statement.

“Sorafin.”

“My name’s Crow. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I know.” The man said, reminding Crow with only two words that he was surely one of the more commonly known names in Bermuda. He felt another blush creep onto his face as he spoke.

“Right. Well, thank you.”

That garnered no reply at all, leaving him to continue walking in silence and embarrassment.

As the quietude thickened, it seemed to become almost solid. Its weight pressed down on Crow, leaving him claustrophobic and breathless. Its thickness worked through his lungs like sludge, leaving him suffocated and cramped.

He couldn’t bear it for long, and soon found himself speaking again.

“What brings you to the Crux?” He asked. Surprisingly, he found the question was something that actually interested him.

The man glanced at him, dark eyes seeming to dart from one part of Crow’s face to another.

“I’m one of the Sieve’s organisers.”

Crow couldn’t help but stare at the man, eyes pulled wide by shock, jaws held apart by awe. Sorafin, the organiser, smiled slightly at the sight.

“Glad to see my position doesn’t fail to impress.” He murmured, dryly. “Though I suppose you have more reason than most to care.”

“Sorry for gawping.” Crow said, hurriedly flattening his features. That earned another smile.

“There’s no need to apologise. Just so long as you don’t try and convince me to offer you any help, at least. Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak to you myself, Mister Tempora.”

“Speak to me? Why?”

For a second, it seemed the man was about to answer. However when he began to speak, his voice trailed off, eyes glazing with thought. Finally, he tilted his head slightly.

“Why don’t you try and guess?”

It was clear to Crow that he was being tested, and the very thought sent his heart racing. He racked his brain, trying to pluck some hint from what little he knew about the organisers. When the answer came to him, it came as a surprise.

Both due to where he got it from, and what it was.

“Is it my eyes?”

“Yes.” Sorafin replied, not hesitating nor delaying. “Or more specifically, your strain. Are you aware of the Eye of Chronos’... reputation?”

Crow had thought he was, before coming to Bermuda. Galad had always told him it was rare even for a strain, it had made even Astra jealous. But since then he’d begun to wonder whether he’d ever even known the half of it.

Gem of all people had been impressed upon seeing it, perhaps even slightly awed. Immortals, people who belonged in legends more than cities, had stared at him as though to appraise what he could do.

“Not as aware as I should be.” Crow said, finally.

“I thought not. But, I hope, you are aware of the basics. Namely that yours is a strain shared by Chrona Kasta, of the Jaxif Faction.”

He intoned the question as though it were a statement, and Crow found it hard to disagree by answering truthfully.

“I don’t know much about anything outside of Selsis- uh, my hometown. Back home, Chrona Kasta’s just another big, distant figure. Though…” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“Go on.” The organiser said.

“Well… some people say she’s a witch, capable of seeing the future.”

Surprisingly, that elicited a sudden bark of laughter from the organiser. It felt strange to see his features contorted with amusement, eyes bright, cheeks puffed. Strange, and oddly relieving.

“Is that so?” He said in-between the chortling. “Well, I’d be lying if I said there wasn't a nugget of truth in that.”

Apparently noticing Crow’s confusion, he elaborated.

“Lady Kasta can, in fact, see the future. To a certain extent, at least. It’s not unheard of for users of Neramis to manifest the ability, though rare even for them. Rare enough that there’s scarcely more than one alive at any given time who can.”

Crow was surprised to find that he was barely shocked by the revelation, simply taking the information in and forming more questions as though it were no less trivial than the weather. He supposed there had been enough shakes to what he thought he knew of the world that he barely felt them any more.

“Could I learn to do that?” He asked, realising only after the words were out of his mouth how foolish a question it was. Had he not just been told doing so was a once-in-a-generation talent?

“That’s… somewhat related to why I wanted to speak to you, actually. Your strain isn’t just rare, Tempora. It’s less common than the gift of the seer. And it’s powerful in ways that you’d struggle to grasp, even if you were raised in a major nation’s courtrooms rather than the middle of a Unixian countryside.”

His thoughts flashed to Unity’s talk of sponsors and connections, of talented young mystics being plucked from the Sieve and handed success on a silver platter whether they won or not.

It was too much to hope that he of all people would attract such attention from a servant of the Witch of Time herself. Surely such a big thing could never happen to such a small person.

And yet the stare he received from Sorafin left no room for doubting the seriousness of his words.

“I’ve been instructed to offer you tutelage, should you want it.”

There they were, the impossible words. Crow stared at the man, finding no words in his head, and feeling enough weight on his tongue that he doubted he could have spoken them even if they miraculously came to him.

After a few seconds of his silent staring, the organiser arched an eyebrow.

“I take it you need some time to consider my offer?”

Crow nodded dumbly, then, realising how long he’d gone without so much as speaking in response to an organiser, he forced his mouth to work.

“Yes, that would be good. Thank you. Uh, thank you for the request- and the time to consider it, I mean. Thank you for both.”

He was keenly aware of how incoherent his speech was, yet somehow he hardly heard it. As though his own voice were reaching him from the end of a distant tunnel.

Sorafin didn’t seem to mind, if he noticed at all.

“Excellent. Then in that case, I’ll leave you be for now.”

He turned and began to walk away, and as Crow went to follow him, movement caught his eye to the right of him. Glancing at the source, he instantly recognised the entrance hall, bustling with visitors and staff as it always seemed to be.

When he looked back at Sorafin, opening his mouth to thank the man, the organiser was already gone.