The first time Francis was in one of Valerie's visions had saved his life. A chorus of Not Fair seeped from nearby buildings, accompanied by the drums of stomping feet. Even if he was a fighter, his body was far too sore, wounded from a massacre he had barely escaped. He had to choose between surviving or abandoning cargo, and neither option would change the outcome in the end. He ran intending to drop his cargo where the baleful couldn't get it but never made it to such a spot. He found himself surrounded after only a few minutes, hoping that closing his eyes would somehow dull the pain. Then there came the sounds of trucks. Three of them rolled in, soldiers on their sides lopping heads off. The soldiers went into a frenzy as their rides stopped, tearing through the horde as a woman emerged from a wagon. The woman hadn't yet frozen her age, but still stood like she was favored by sculptors. Queen Priestess Valerie made the man stand tall. An immediate hierarchy took hold of him, even before she told him where he’d be.

“Hello Dr. Francis Beaufort.” She said as if he was called to her office. “God has deemed you worthy of salvation.” She cracked a small smile. He knew at that moment what it felt like to be blessed.

There was not a time in his life more joyous than that, but even though a vision let him live longer, he didn’t feel like it had that power now. As the solarium doors opened his feelings were all but confirmed. Strolling into the room came the oldest of the royal children, the twins, Celine and Christoph. Their blond hair shone as they came forward, blue eyes looking at each other as a conversation carried them forth. Celine's hair fell to her shoulder, giving her an early start of the goddess she hoped to invoke. A two-layered dress dropped to her ankles, its upper layer blue with a bottom of white. Christoph's hair was slicked back. It made him neither divine nor official like his parents, instead, delivering the package of a familiar movie star. He brought the look home in a similar irreverent way; a dark button-up hung open over a white t-shirt paired with blue jeans. Francis didn't approve of the look but bowed his head still.

“Hello Lady Celine, Lord Christoph.”

The two looked at him.

"Wow… The doctor's here. I guess we're not here for coffee." Christoph laughed.

“Good, actually.” Celine’s gaze fell like ice on the back of Francis’s neck. “I wanted to say something to you, Francis. I’m not sure I’m satisfied with Brigid’s performance.”

“Ignore her doctor! She’s just upset she’s not the prettiest princess anymore.”

“That’s preposterous. I just don’t think she was ready to be in front of the crowd.”

"Alas, my lady, I have no way to address a matter like that." Francis chanced a lookup.

Beside him, Valerie raised a hand. “Nor will you concern yourself with that, Francis. Celine, Christoph, take a seat. I called upon you two for a reason.” The twins obeyed, and Francis sat as well. “I had a vision, and I believe it is of utmost importance. I want you two to hear it, and decide preparations based on what the doctor says.”

Christoph got comfortable. “Sounds like this is going to be fun.”

Celine crossed her arms. “Don’t be a boor, Christoph. This is a serious matter.” She smiled sharply, and her mother turned ice upon her.

When the expression faded the older woman went on. “I was standing at the window in my husband’s office. He was no where to be seen. It was a peaceful day at first, but there was an omen in the wind. It drew my eyes to the sky where a dark red rot infested the blue. Soon Sector three was bathed in its light. Prayers of salvation from a monster reached my ears, but I could neither summon the guards nor my children. I thought I was alone in the room, but Francis, you came to stand at the window. You did not notice me, but you spoke a phrase. The Crimson Prophet.”

Francis was glad he hadn’t poured himself a cup. He might have dropped it otherwise, and he didn’t think he could handle the shock and pain. “With all due respect, my lady, that can’t be right.”

“And why is that, doctor?” Celine shot him a look.

“Well, because the Crimson Prophet is dead.”

Christoph leaned forward. “No, doctor, doesn’t sound like it is.” He grinned, but his sister and mother stared on.

“What is the Crimson Prophet?” Valerie asked.

“It is a demon. A venomous enemy of God.”

“How do you know of this demon?”

A little more than two hundred dead bodies dropped in the back of his mind. An apartment building tore open like a paper bag. In a room where he played cards with friends, Francis heard the screams. Francis, secure the vessel, men, arm yourselves. Fear and chaos moved up and along the walls, and Francis saw it by chance. The Crimson Prophet. He didn't need it to speak to know what it was. Guards charged, and it tore through them as it came for him. Maybe it was there for the vessel too? Francis didn't stick around to find out but ended up limping away. The Crimson Prophet was a monster, and it took another monster for Francis to escape. How do you know of this demon? The same way a person knows the sound of a gunshot or imminent dropping of a bomb. Francis knew of this demon because he survived it, and had no desire to face it again. His legs quivered, and he dug his fingers in, trying to keep them still.

“Francis.” Valerie called. He swallowed a heavy gulp.

"In the place where I was living before you found me, we had a lot of books in stock. The leader was like the royal family, you see; he had old tomes for religious worship. He shared those with me and they helped through these trying times. One of those tomes alarmed me though. The leader said he kept it because no one should be allowed to read it."

“This is getting good.” Christoph rubbed his hands. “What was so bad about this book?”

“I’m not a linguist or etymologist but I could easily confirm what my leader told me about it. That book was not written in any known language. Its words were only meant to be read by a Crimson Prophet.”

“A Crimson Prophet?” Celine said. “Not The Crimson Prophet?”

The grip on Francis’s legs tightened. “I still can’t explain why, but I did not like the idea of someone reading this book. Using it and the power of god, I purged the potential to become a crimson prophet. Anyone who had capability would be drawn to God’s light instead.”

Valerie nodded. “That was an admirable attempt, Francis, but from the sound of things, it didn’t work.”

He shook his head. “I still don’t know how I failed but I did so horrendously. There was one crimson prophet remaining, and he came to my home as if he knew the cause.”

“Cue death and destruction. I was still a kid but I remember how that place looked. That thing really did a number on you guys.” Christoph laughed.

“You absolute boor. This is a man’s trauma we’re talking about. Have some respect.” Celine barked.

“So what? He’s alive and he has a better god now. A real God. Boohoo it’s sad, but Francis is literally in a better place.”

“Maybe not for long.” Valerie said. “Francis, what was this book called?”

“The Crimson Forecast.”

Christoph guffawed. “What? Does it say it’ll be really rainy tomorrow?”

His sister rolled her eyes. “You idiot. Forecast has more than one meaning. It means the Crimson Prophet has an agenda, and whatever is written in that book, it’s going to fulfill it.”

“Which brings us to the most important question." Their mother tapped her cup with her fingernail, using the clink to silence them both. "Why would the Crimson Prophet be on its way here?"

Francis breathed in. “I believe he’s coming for me, ma’am. He might want me to undo the purge so that more prophets may be born. Not that it’s possible, but that’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

“You are one of us, Francis. Not just one of the three pillars, but a cherished member of our kingdom. Whether it comes for you or not, you shall not be abandoned.”

Christoph crossed his arms. "Besides, it’s been beat before, right? We’re way stronger than that garbage god you used to worship. This thing isn’t even in the Book of Visions. I've been training for the fight with the intruders, this is just a warm-up match."

“We should still take precautions.” Celine shook her head.

“I am precautions. Leave the Crimson Prophet to me. Why don’t you just take mom out for a stroll or something.”

“Take this matter seriously, Christoph.” Valerie glared. “I did not have this vision until there was a surge in God’s power. It is important that he immediately gave it to me.”

The man looked flatly at the people around him. Despite the flowers littering the solarium, he could smell the reek of fear in the air. Shrugging, he stood and smiled at them. "Don't worry mom. This is what I'm here for. I'll go prepare some of my best and we'll be ready for the Crimson Prophet."

“Where are your sister and brother?”

Celine answered, “Brigid is preparing to interrogate two soldiers she spotted during her speech. Elias is showing his new project around."

“I will send a prayer to them if things change, but for now I leave defense in your capable hands.”

“Great!” Christoph headed for the door. “You know how to reach me if you need me, mom.”

Celine stood to follow, but turned to Francis, eyebrow raised. “You have a plan for this too, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I must speak it privately with your mother. My apologies Lady Celine.”

She smiled sharply. "No apologies necessary. You are a pillar, you only need to apologize if you didn't have a plan." She strolled on. When he heard the door close, Francis met the queen's eyes…

⁘⁛⁘

For most under the Overcast, the difference between day and night only existed in the minutes of a clock. All hours were the murky shroud, looming over the city, darkening the streets with fog. For most under the Overcast, day and night were forgotten things, but among the people of Castle Cerulean, these things were different shades of blue.

As Peter followed Rashawn through the streets of Sector Four, the sky above him grew darker. There was far less living space here than Three, but that only seemed to make the miles stretch. As they went on, nearby buildings grew darker. There wasn't much life in Four, but the little to find gathered in communities. According to Rashawn, they'd be passing by those places. It didn't pay off to be seen on average, and being spotted now might mean certain death. Peter didn't like it. All the life of Three seemed to stop at the door of Four. This wasn't a place for people to live, it was a home for the forgotten. Didn't Rashawn say his family tossed him out? The first Blessing Day was so long ago. How had their lives been without him?

“What are you hoping to find in Sector Two?” He asked suddenly.

Rashawn shrugged. “Hard to say. What I’m figurin is, there’s gotta be something. Y’all don’t think about us upstairs, but top floor do. They bring food round here and everything. They do the same for Three right?” Peter nodded. “Made me wonder why. God Rejected us, so why we still around?”

Peter nodded. “I think I used to wonder that too. You said the Witch sneaked out, right? They won’t let you guys leave?”

“Ya ever wonder why you never see any of us in Three? A lotta kids try sneakin over there, but moms and pops tell them not to. They’ll get caught right away, and that’s real bad with top floor.”

“What happens?”

“Rumor is people disappear. If you get into Three your whole family’s goin down.”

“But why?”

“It’s what I’m sayin. Why is it so bad if we get in Three, but they ain't lettin us leave?"

Peter considered it. What would his sister suggest? She was the smart one in matters like these. There were some things about God that only she could get. If he brought this question to her, she’d probably say… “It has something to do with God’s power!”

Rashawn smirked. “Damn, guess you ain’t just muscle. You gotta lil brain in there too.”

“You know where you're going in Sector Two!" Peter thought about it. "The Cathedral!"

“He swing. He miss. You’d think it was the Cathedral, right? But where the soldiers get their power from?”

“The Military grounds?"

Rashawn laughed. “That’s just where they lay their heads. Probably train in there too, but think again.” He tapped his temple.

Peter stroked his chin. "The lab is probably the best place to see if you're soldier or angel material. You think you'll find your answers there."

“You guessed it! I 'on know what I'ma find in there though."

“Two questions then. Why’d you bring me along? And how are you getting in?”

“You got hands. I figure if you in there roughing the soldiers up, everybody’ll run to you and I can look around.”

“I’m fine with that.” Violence was best when it helped. “What about question two?”

Rashawn stopped at the edge of a street and pointed down. At the end there was a fork, Peter's eyes were drawn to a center house, standing out against its brethren with a light still on. His eyes snapped back to the Reject smiling again. This light wasn't like the ones they passed already. It was familiar though. It glowed with the power of Sector Three and above. Peter couldn’t even turn toward it. His mind was too busy, trying to comprehend.

“When I was little, I used to see a soldier a lot. I was with a community back then, or maybe it was an orphanage or something. Some of the ladies took care of us; one of them always gave us snacks. It wasn’t like the stuff we were usually getting either. I never saw treats like em. It always happened after a soldier came around.” Rashawn laughed. “I ain’t get it as a kid, but those two was sharin other treats. I thought mans was weird though. He stood out too much with his soldier get up, and the Witch never came around him. One day I followed him when he was headin back. He found a place like this and disappeared inside it. I stayed back at first, but I would always watch em. He’d go in and disappear, and come out the next day. If the lights in that house went out, there was another somewhere he could use. I still don’t know how that works though.”

“How long do they usually stay like that?”

“For about a week. I ain't got the time on me, but in less than two days, it'll be gone. Maybe it's about forty-two hours now."

“They move when the city shifts.”

“What?”

"New York doesn't stay still. Parts of it move around all the time. It happens every week."

“Shit. How come I never felt it?”

“I don’t know, but that’s one of the things they teach us in Three. It could be a lie though.”

"Naw. I believe it. Makes sense. Moving must change something about Cerulean."

Despite the alien feel of its exterior, the inside of the house had standard air. Old hardwood floors, ugly wallpaper peeling, dust-caked surfaces around them, and each step made the house creak. It whined in protest at the presence of new life, going silent only when they reached a closet door. Rashawn pulled it open. Shining through a curtain of coats, blue light swirled against the wall. Peter's eyes suddenly went wide, stopping Rashawn from stepping in.

“Can’t remember if the stove is on?”

“This feels familiar.”

Rashawn looked at the door and slammed it shut. “I’ma need an explanation. I ain’t finna step through if we somehow been here before.”

“No. It was a vision my sister had once. If I step through a swirling hole in a sleeping house I’ll lose the power to go back. On either side the world is the same, but once I pass through I’ll be different.”

“Wanna back out? I can still figure out how to do this alone. That was my first plan anyway.”

“No. If I change that’s fine. I’m going to find out what they did to my sister, one way or another.”

Rashawn smiled. “After you.”

The power felt like water rushing past him as Peter stepped into the hole. He only needed to step once, then something grabbed hold, dragging him to the other side. He came out as if it tossed him, jumping aside as Rashawn followed. They found themselves under a dark blue sky, with trees and a road ahead. Rashawn didn't know how to prove it, but he knew this was Sector Two. Peter didn't need any proof, however, for something still lay against his skin. He turned to check the door they came out, finding a hidden custodial closet, covered by the trees. He look at Rashawn as he nodded.

“Mans was smart. If this is how he always left, there ain’t no way people will notice.” He pointed to the road too. “If we follow it toward those buildings back there, I think we’ll get where we wanna go.”

“You to the lab. Me to the fort."

“Meet back here when we get the deets?”

“Yeah. If I don't come, assume I died because I didn't stop fighting."

The two followed the road before a sign told them where they had to go. They broke off there, though their minds stayed in the same place. Neither knew how their journey changed them so far, but they'd be different people on the other end…