“May I have the knife?”

“All yours,” Cyrus replied. He moved the utensil over, leaving it beside Mina’s plate. “It’s on your left.”

Gently, Mina placed her hand onto the table, feeling for the hilt. She found and grasped it. Using her free hand, she slid a finger across the flat of the blade. A mental measurement. For safety, Cyrus assumed. Mina proceeded to cut several pieces of lamb. She added them to her plate, then pushed the meat platter away.

The table was covered with dishes. Between Mina and himself, an assortment had been prepared, brought here by another servant. Roasted meat. Fried eggs. Lotus bulbs. And bread, still steaming fresh, adding another aroma to overpower the room. A sharp contrast from his usual meals.

Neither spoke much. Daybreak slipped through the window’s bars, casting bright squares over the floor and table.

Yesterday ended in a blur. After Hamet’s departure, Cyrus returned to find Mina unconscious. Her basket was rolling on the ground. He panicked, searched for Katerina, rushed her here, and sighed with relief when she confirmed Mina was merely asleep.

Katerina then promptly kicked him out of the room. Privacy was necessary, as Katerina reevaluated Mina’s injuries and applied clean bandages where needed.

Eventually, Cyrus shared Mina’s name and story with Katerina. The priestess nodded before leaving to inform Azaz.

While waiting, however, Cyrus himself had briefly fallen asleep. Which was fortunate. He lacked rest, having slept little the previous night, and his strength was beginning to falter. Stamina was crucial. Tonight, after all, was the night.

Cyrus loaded his plate with another helping. He was making quick work of the eggs and meat. Across the table, Mina nibbled on her meal.

She cleared her throat. “Cyrus? May I ask you something?”

He blinked. “Go ahead?”

“Okay. Why is Sakrain celebrating? You mentioned something about a parade yesterday, but afterwards…”

“Oh, right. Forgot all about that. Let me think,” he said, wondering where to start. Customs from beyond Parzath eluded him. “Well, the summer solstice is arriving tomorrow. Longest stretch of daylight all year, you know? Opportune time for offering sacrifices to Sakrain’s Qlips. Neighboring cities do likewise…I think?” He frowned. “Does that sound familiar? I thought Zaborc might have similar rituals.”

“I understand the idea. So, Sakrain possess its own Qlips? That’s…odd.”

“Is it?”

Mina shook her head. “I guess not. When you mentioned that Sakrain was on Parzath’s southernmost edge, I…just assumed this place was impoverished. I’m surprised bandits and…others…haven’t stripped this city bare.”

“Fair assumption. Honestly, the Qlips themselves are the reason Sakrain thrives. Especially our walls. We practically worship them, even more than the Sheks.” He stopped. “Uh…actually, could you forget that last part? At least, don’t mention it around Katerina…”

“Why not?”

Right. Mina wouldn’t know. “Katerina isn’t just a healer. She’s a priestess,” he replied, knowing that would clarify the issue.

It didn’t. Mina’s blank expression waited for further explanation.

Likewise, Cyrus waited for Mina to speak. Their mutual silence grew, descending upon the room and freezing their conversation. Neither broke the stalemate. Cyrus grappled with the sudden halt. According to Katerina, the Arch Church’s doctrine was universal across the known world. And wasn’t Mina from Zaborc? Where the Church’s presence was strongest? How strange.

Eventually, Mina coughed. “Okay. What about the parade?”

“What about it?”

“Could you describe it for me? Please?”

“Sure,” he replied, aware of an inherent problem. He considered his words. “The parade…always lasts three days, ending on the solstice. People celebrate throughout the entire period, forgoing even sleep until the solstice ends. I suppose the music helps them power through. It’s overwhelming, you know? Dozens of instruments singing together, shaking the world around you…imagine the commotion from yesterday, but louder. And more intense. The melody shuffles through emotion after emotion, retelling the events that created the world. It always ends with the founding of Sakrain.”

Mina frowned but remained silent.

He continued. “So, there’s music. But there’s also food. Merchants cart around rarities that are otherwise never available. Rare stuff, imported from upper Parzath and even other countries. Meat from foreign livestock. Fruits with strange textures. Flavors I never knew existed…can’t exactly afford a full portion, but I’ve been given tidbits. The festival tends to coax people into generosity. Reminds them of greater things. Sakrain shares among itself, then shares itself with its Qlips. It—”

“Cyrus,” Mina interrupted. “May I ask another question?”

“As many as needed. I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Then, could you describe the parade again? Without trimming the details. I appreciate the gesture, really, but please…don’t. You’ve skipped the parts I wanted to hear about the most. Like the colors.”

“Oh. You noticed.” His focus flickered on the cloth covering her eyes.

“I did. Now start over,” she said, voice hard.

Their conversation halted. Again.

Mina shifted in place. “Um. Please?”

“Of course.”

***

Morning bled into the afternoon. Cyrus found himself rambling for hours about every quirk and nuance that surrounded the parade. How buildings were adorned with patterned fabric. How smaller Qlips and other treasures were carted around the city. How Sakrain was transfigured into something from myth or dream.

Currently, he was explaining traditions involving folded paper. His awareness gravitated towards the corner, where Hamet’s crane was residing.

Mina listened while eating lotus petals. A bowl soon filled with discarded cores.

Alone with her, Cyrus found his thoughts wandering. Mina was even-tempered and polite. Except when she wasn’t. He recalled the moments when her voice became iron. And how she weaseled around his interrogation. And how she pretended her helmet was a basket.

Her circumstances fascinated him. In recognizing that fascination, he smothered it. Rather than indulge his curiosity, he continued indulging that of Mina’s. Unravelling this mystery now would distract from his goal. And upon nightfall, his promises within Sakrain would become null and void. Reduced to fleeting memories.

Mina plucked the final petals from another lotus, then placed the core with the others. She leaned across the table. Extending her arm, she offered him a petal. The petal was facing empty air. Mina had misjudged his location.

Cyrus took it without comment.

Mina resumed her seat.

Close now, the petal reeked with sweetness. The scent stung sharp. Scrunching his nose, he sampled the flower. And almost spat. His mouth rebelled against the sugar. Regardless, he chewed, somehow managing to choke the petal down. He didn’t want to spurn Mina’s generosity. Still, he wondered how Mina—and Azaz—were able to devour dozens of them at once. He didn’t understand the appeal.

Having exhausted Mina’s questions, Cyrus withdrew into himself. Both he and her mediated over their thoughts. Time marched in silence. Cyrus kept glancing at the window, watching sunlight begin its retreat. Sunset neared. Across the room, Mina clasped her hands together, fingers laced, and made motions with her palms, as if grounding something to dust. She turned her head, then turned back. Was she mulling over something important? Maybe. Cyrus didn’t ask. Nothing prevented Mina from speaking up. And Cyrus was content playing guardsman until nightfall, when he would excuse himself from the room.

Mina sighed. She turned, having found her courage. Then flinched.

Someone knocked on the door.

The sound alone told Cyrus who waited there. It possessed a distinct tone. Answering the door, he found himself facing Katerina.

“Hey—”

Katerina grabbed his arm and dragged him into hall. At least, she attempted as much. Instead, she fell backwards and crashed into him, stumbled over, and all but collapsed onto the floor. Cyrus stifled his laughter before offering a hand.

Katerina stood. Then glared. “Hallway. Now.”

He shrugged and followed.

Katerina marched down the hallway until they reached the far end. Nothing waited there except walls of stone. Dust covered the floor. Mina’s room remained within sight, although many paces separated it from them. Enough space to escape earshot.

“Something up?”

Katerina turned. Still fuming, she took a slow, calming breath, then whispered, “have I ever told you that Azaz is impossible?”

“Once or twice,” he whispered back.

“He just won’t stop! The same request, over and over, even though he knows my answer. Frustrated he found something he can’t force. You know what he keeps asking? You really want to know?”

“Sure?”

Katerina sighed. “He wants me to contact the Arch Church and register Mina as his servant. Mina! She’s half-wrapped in bandages, and already he…he…wants to warm up the branding iron! That brute!”

Cyrus blinked. “Azaz wants Mina as his servant? That’s…”

“Awful?” Katerina tried. “Evil? Immoral?”

“Impossible. Mina’s native to Zaborc. If Church documents have her registered, then—”

“I know. But Azaz doesn’t care. He keeps telling me to tell them that Mina has amnesia and can’t care for herself. ‘Oh, tell them she’s blind, that she can’t remember, that she can’t travel!’ That absolute brute!”

“Would he really be able to just…keep her? Because she’s blind?”

“No. Never. Not unless Mina herself agrees to trade her freedom…or someone from the Church vouches for his claims and determines Mina incapable of sound judgement. Now, guess who’s getting dragged into his petty little scheme?”

“Oh.”

Right. Among the denizens of Tower Azaz, Katerina alone was in communion with the Church. It was vaguely understood that her presence was meant to threaten Azaz. Despite lording over her, Azaz’s power was marred with a caveat.

Cyrus frowned. “Couldn’t you report his actions?”

“I could. But this situation could take ages before resolving. And how would Mina fare while everything plays out? Azaz might even attempt something drastic. Like cutting out her tongue.”

Cyrus winced. “He wouldn’t—”

“He would.”

“He might. But that’s treading close to outright Shamanism. One accusation, and Azaz’s life would be forfeit. Your words alone would end him.”

“My—” Katerina stopped. She frowned. Emotion flickered in her eyes. “That’s…a good point, actually. I’m here because the Church already distrusts him. If I accused him of reverting to Shamanism, the Church would respond instantly. I…might get chastised for the false claim…and might need to flee from Azaz’s wrath…but Mina’s situation would become Church priority. So… Should I?” She looked at him.

He blinked. Is she really considering it?

But then she sighed. “No. No way. That won’t guarantee anything. It might even make Mina’s situation worse. And besides, I wouldn’t abandon you like that. Dealing with Azaz is dreadful. Dealing with him alone, however? I won’t allow it.”

Cyrus shifted in place.

“Well. I’ve borrowed you long enough.” She gestured towards Mina’s room. “I’ll figure something out. And I’ll explain everything to Mina later, after she recovers. So just keep guarding her until then, okay?”

Cyrus nodded. He turned to leave.

“Oh, and Cyrus?”

He looked back.

“Don’t leave her alone with Azaz. Promise?”

And he did.

An eternity passed as Cyrus crossed the hallway. A chill spread throughout his body. Left step. Right step. Every movement brought him lower, dragging him into the abyss. Sinking… Sinking… What else could describe it? Cyrus felt the feeling envelop him, drowning out all else. Even anticipation became a distant dream. Sakrain was taunting him. With his time all but spent, Sakrain decided to tempt him, offering him reason after reason to remain. It wasn’t fair. It was one step. Was abandoning the people here really necessary? Sacrificing their trust in him? All that, in exchange for the first step? For a chance to cross the world? It was too much.

But he wouldn’t stop now.

Cyrus entered the room and shut the door. His hand lingered on the handle. He understood. That his conversation with Katerina was their last. Never again would Cyrus speak with the priestess. Slowly, his grip loosened. He turned towards Mina.

Mina looked pale. Again. Her condition seemed similar to yesterday when the parade’s passing overwhelmed her. Something differed, however. Her previous expression was one of exhaustion. Her current expression was better described as terror. Frozen, she sat beside the table.

“Mina?”

She trembled. “Is what Katerina said true?”

“How—”

“Tell me! Is Azaz truly a Shaman? Answer me, Cyrus!”

“Once, but that was in the past. How did—”

“Then it’s true!” she all but screamed. She wrapped herself into a hug, fingers tight around her arms. She then leapt from her seat, bumping into the table and stumbling as her hands searched its surface, stopping only when she found her helmet. Silverware clattered and fell.

“Mina, calm—”

“I need to leave. We need to leave! Right now, while he’s gone! We’ll run away and—”

“Mina!” Marching there, Cyrus seized her shoulders, anchoring her in place. Mina flinched and struggled. She trembled beneath his grasp. His grip tightened. Her tremors continued but weakened, levelling off into an uneasy rhythm.

She lifted her head. “Cyrus. I need to leave this place. I’ll explain later, believe me, but there’s no time. You, before you leave—!” She bit her lip. “Please, just promise that you’ll help me escape. Tonight even. I won’t—!” She winced.

His hands tightened enough to bruise. His mind raced. His words failed him. Mina heard his conversation with Katerina. A conversation exchanged in hush whispers. And now she spoke of escape? No. Not spoke. Shouted. Had anyone overheard? If Cyrus was implicated…if suspicions were brought against him now, mere hours from his departure, then what would happen? Would his dream crash before ever spreading its wings?

That was unacceptable.

“Please,” she begged. “I’ll explain later. Just promise you’ll help me escape.”

That was impossible.

“I promise,” he lied.

And that was that. Tension within the room loosened, the worst having passed. Mina took several breaths. Her nerves recovered. Mostly. Meanwhile, Cyrus reeled from the implications of her outburst. His mind rejected the revelation. Mental gears locked into place. The initial shock vanished, leaving emptiness in its wake. One question vexed him above all others: what now?

Mina flinched. She turned towards the door.

“Ahem.”

His blood froze.

“Getting familiar with our guest, Cyrus? How disgraceful.”

He released her shoulders and stepped back. “No. I wasn’t—”

“Out,” Azaz barked.

What choice did he have? Cyrus crossed the room. Left step. Right step. He passed Azaz without comment. He crossed the threshold. Glancing back, he looked at Mina, whose demeanor was rapidly falling apart. He said nothing and closed the door.

It was time. It was early but it was time. Azaz was distracted. Mina knew too much. And Cyrus refused to wait, not now, not after his situation had become so confused. He turned and fled. He needed to gather his supplies. Then, he would depart.

***

Cyrus found himself unable to depart.

It was missing. No. Not missing, forgotten. He reviewed his supplies once more, making sure everything else was accounted for. A plain cloak draped over him. Hidden beneath the cloth were several pieces of light armor. His usual set. Attached to his belt were his sword, sack, and lantern. Utilities. The last items worth noting were his pairs of leather boots and gloves. Older, unwanted pairs. Worn but durable. And technically stolen. Their condition was better than he had hoped.

And that was everything. Which meant something was forgotten.

He snuck through an empty hallway. Residents of the tower were absent, as expected. Some slept. Others partook in the festival. The few who remained were clustered near the lower floors. Except Mina, who remained imprisoned. And Azaz. The man was likely alone with his prisoner.

Cyrus neared the room he had fled from.

Mere minutes accounted for his time spent away. He assumed Azaz remained inside. Which posed a problem. Although Cyrus planned on waiting, a confrontation might be unavoidable. He no longer trusted his own odds.

Mina’s room was within sight. Another room, unlit and unlocked, granted him a vantage point. Cyrus stood within its darkness. Straining his senses, he detected muffled fragments of conversation. Unintelligible, but also sure signs that Mina was not alone. He waited. And in waiting, he cursed his own foolishness.

The earlier confusion disoriented him. It distracted him. When Azaz arrived and barked his order, Cyrus had neglected his hidden guide. So, there was no choice. He needed to retrieve Hamet’s crane.

He continued to wait. And continued to listen. And heard the thud.

Thud? Silence. After that sound, all others ceased within the room. He considered his next move. What had happened? His patience struggled against curiosity. Pragmatism told him to wait, to avoid anything that wasn’t necessary in retrieving the crane. But the crane was within the room. And the room was silent. And nothing was happening. And time continued to burn.

He made his choice.

Breath held, he snuck forward. His cloak and armor weighed upon him. He reached out, grasping the handle. It was unlocked. He opened the door.

A moment passed before his sight adjusted. Light radiated from a lone lantern. His first point of recognition was Mina, standing upright, face turned towards him. Her basket graced her head. One hand grasped his crane, holding it close to her body. Her other hand extended forward. It gripped a gleaming knife.

And then there was Azaz. Resting on the floor, turban knocked aside. His expression was frozen over. And he was graced with a line, thin and red, running across his throat.