Surpil terminated with a jarring abruptness.

  It was as if I had exited a clinical hospital ward only to emerge into an interminable, sun-scorched corridor.

  Father had barely traversed a dozen paces beyond the listing “Mistral Express” sign, which lay entombed beneath mounds of refuse.

  The hum of the generators vanished with startling celerity, liberating me from that primal, visceral urge to clamp my hands over my ears.

  The leaden sky had undergone an inexplicable metamorphosis, draping itself in a diaphanous azure.

  I couldn't shake the nagging sensation that I had been deported; such a radical shift in scenery felt fundamentally impossible.

  Regrettably, Franko didn't turn around, so I couldn't discern precisely how Surpil had “ended.”

  The only unequivocal reality was that we were standing in the midst of absolute NOTHINGNESS!

  An immense, pristine void stared back at me from every conceivable direction... Brrr, a terrifying spectacle.

  Like a sterile geological chamber.

  The impression was that we had stepped onto a meticulously swept theatrical stage, where the performance was imminent and the empty spaces would soon be populated with props.

  But you know what?

  The solitary props occupying this boundless “nothing” were us.

  My parents abruptly struck up a conversation:

  — Lira, do you have the identification... or do I? — my father inquired with a hint of trepidation.

  — I have it. Don’t fret, — in this hollow expanse, my mother’s voice resonated with surprising volume, — Let’s go sit down at the waypoint instead.

  — Do your legs ache? — Franko asked, beginning his stride toward “somewhere,” — Are you utterly exhausted?

  — Something like that... — I already recognized that particular inflection in Lira’s voice; she was spent. Thoroughly so! — I just want to sit down now; I’m not accustomed to trekking this much.

  — Ha... I told you that you needed to take walks. Even just around the courtyard, — Franko lectured her, continuing his pace, — Oh, I believe it’s somewhere... here?

  Father’s massive foot thudded against the parched, sandy floor... as if probing for some occult mechanism.

  I was beginning to suspect they had lost their wits during the journey... but no!

  Exulting loudly, Father shouted: — Ha, the terminal, damn it all!

  I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me, but following Father’s successful “Appare!”, which logically signified “Appear!”, it was as if he were entreating some specter to finally establish contact...

  And damn it, it worked!

  From beneath the almost gilded sand, a substantial pedestal of semi-translucent material ascended toward us.

  It bore a resemblance to the translucent plastic we utilized for laboratory terminals back on Twilas.

  — Well now, got it almost on the first try, — Father’s brief chuckle was interrupted by a gentle feminine voice.

  — Confirmate vos esse azarian..., — “Confirm that you are Azarian”...? Truly? The terminal speaks a modified version of Ro’Zeta?

  This was a profound cultural shock for me, both as a physician and as a Kolosian.

  ** You meant to say “former Kolosian,” didn’t you? **

  But the voice emanating from this "transparent pillar" didn't sound synthesized... You know, that stilted rhythm, those erratic stresses?

  Our "desert guide" possessed formidable oratory skills... And he continued to demonstrate them.

  — Lira... What am I supposed to say next? - Franko’s face practically contorted, — I forgot... Sorry.

  — Tsk, hold on... - I just barely managed to catch a glimpse of a slip of paper "crawling" out of Lira's dress pocket and, damn the bitch, "flying" into her palms, — Tell it “Confirmo” and place your palm against the terminal.

  This moment finally provided me with an answer to one of the most pivotal questions that had surfaced the first time I heard Ro’Zeta.

  It seemed to me that the Azarians understood her... Well, at least on a "protocol-key" level.

  But it looks like they use it "naturally" rather than constructively.

  It’s like... Feeling the language rather than knowing it.

  It seems Azarians are taught "functions" instead of the language itself... Hm, or perhaps no one knows it.

  Or there are reasons why it’s not permitted.

  Still, Lira!

  I’ll eventually have to ask you how you manage such professional subconscious control over small objects...

  Imagine the prospects for microsurgery...

  Though first, it wouldn't hurt if I actually grew up a bit.

  — Graci, ad locum quietis procedite et vehiculum exspectatе, - the polite terminal thanked my father for the verification and requested they proceed to... the "place of rest." Ah, right... and there was something about "waiting for transport."

  This machine continues to freak me out. It’s far too "alive."

  There was an actual "grateful" tone in that sentence... I could swear I felt it "smile."

  — Phew, thanks, Lira, - Franko finally exhaled with relief.

  — It’s a good thing Lyuba was with us then... I was able to ask her for the script for interacting with the “Mistral” terminal, - the small piece of paper vanished quickly, and Lira gripped the edge of her dress with two fingers, — Now comes the hardest part…

  Mother’s visage was far from pleasant, looking like a child about to be vaccinated… a visceral concoction of loathing and dread.

  — Yeah… Let’s just hope we land a decent "Sentinel," right? - though to be perfectly candid, Franko didn’t look much better himself.

  Why the hell are they being so grave?

  — Don't say a damn word, you know what they say: "Don't invoke the Sentinel without cause"…

  — Sorry… I'm just anxious, is that forbidden too?

  — Of course it’s allowed, darling… Just try not to draw any unwanted attention, - Lira glanced around suspiciously, a full 360-degree sweep, — You never know where "they" might be lurking.

  — Oh! - my father’s words were momentarily drowned out by the harsh "screeching of metal" emanating from beneath our feet… well, beneath their feet.

  It sounded like a surgical saw hacking through bone.

  That "granular shift" was palpably audible…

  Imagine grabbing a handful of steel shavings in both hands, tossing in shards of stone and glass, and just grinding them together—those were roughly the sounds resonating from every direction now.

  — Do you reckon there’ll be a "charge" this time? - my mother inquired, — Or is that "wishful thinking"?

  — Once it fully materializes, we’ll see, won't we? - Franko retorted in his typical fashion.

  — I'm going to clock you one of these days for that "won't we," you understand? - that was the first time I’d ever heard anything "unrefined" from Lira. Wow, so she actually has that in her?!

  — I adore it when you’re exhausted… You get so feisty, - you’re walking on thin ice, old man… incredibly thin ice.

  Simultaneously, all the newfound racket ceased… and an entire monument emerged…

  Right before our eyes.

  Out of thin air!

  How does all this coexist in a single world?

  One moment I was witnessing utter devastation and squalor…

  And then, bam—there you have it, brutalist architecture just manifesting. As if it had been standing there since the dawn of time.

  Holy shit… I can't even begin to explain "what" or "from where."

  But it seemed to be smirking at me, asking: "What’s the big deal? Are you actually surprised?".

  Yes, you bitch!

  I’m surprised… Any sentient being would have to be stunned in the face of… THIS!

  Who the hell even designed this?

  An oval dome perched on two spindly, rounded pillars.

  A narrow glass "visor" spanning the diameter… and a colossal, tower-like annex protruding from the top.

  How many damn floors is that… thirteen?

  For what?!

  I stared at this "behemoth" of concrete art, utterly incredulous that such a thing could even exist.

  Why are some windows larger than others?

  Why do these stairs follow such a bizarre, arc-like amplitude?

  And why are they like that on one side, yet perfectly straight on the other?!

  Gah!

  I refuse to believe this was actually engineered rather than "hallucinated" under the influence of some heavy-duty psychoactive substances…

  Wait… right.

  I recalled seeing something remarkably similar once in a pediatric inpatient ward.

  The little kids there were playing with building blocks.

  They weren't constructing houses from tiny individual pieces—but from chunks that were already "pre-made."

  I had the chance to behold some truly peculiar visions back then, whew…

  But those were goddamn children!

  ** Siana would never admit to you that she actually loved it… just don't tell her **

  — That's it, Lira. The stop has materialized… — my father said, beginning to step away from the terminal.

  — Gratias agimus, quod “Mistral” elegistis. In Utopia conveniemus, — our "guide" uttered one last time before vanishing into the sand… like some sort of ostrich.

  ** how did Siana know what an ostrich was? there were plenty of imperial zoos on Twaylas… a bit of "cultural exchange," so to speak **

  And "she" thanked us once again for choosing this "Mistral"… and so sincerely, for God's sake.

  It. Freaks. Me. Out.

  And there was something about "meeting in Utopia"… is that the name of the city?

  Weren't we supposed to be heading to Tilf’Talor?

  And while I was busy overthinking my "infantile" affairs, father had already led me under the oval canopy of this—Lord forgive me—bus stop.

  It was then I realized that none of them were actually going inside.

  Lira simply pressed her palm against a small glass rectangle on one of the grey walls and whispered something.

  Unfortunately, I couldn't quite catch the specific words she used.

  However, I definitely heard that low rumble echoing from somewhere above…

  As if a massive freight elevator were hurtling toward us at lightning speed.

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  It felt like a "Whoosh"—silence—and then another "Whoosh," only significantly faster… and, fuck, way louder.

  — Oh, Fran... It's here, - Lira’s broad smile, through some protocol unbeknownst to me, was both soothing and fortifying... Hormones again.

  — That’s fantastic! You’ll get to “recharge” right before the trip, won’t you?

  — Yeah, thankfully it’s free, - those words cast a sort of existential gloom over my mother’s beautiful face.

  [A few minutes later]

  About ten minutes passed... Or maybe twenty.

  Without a watch on hand, this little puzzle was definitely a challenge.

  Still, I managed to learn a thing or two about the “stop.”

  In reality, it’s this massive platform packed with a myriad of “interfaces” and “functional suites.”

  Dad managed to grab some water and duck into the restroom... He even brought back some vacuum-sealed sandwiches for them to eat.

  Mom, for her part, found time to shower, get a manicure, and restore her “energy” to utilize the “keys.”

  The most bizarre thing was the fee for these services...

  Or rather, the total lack of one.

  The “Mistral” cost a hell of a lot, from what I gathered... Yet using the platform was completely free of charge.

  A very, very peculiar monetization system indeed.

  But they still wouldn’t let me inside.

  Every time one of them stepped in, they just handed me off to the other.

  What am I to you people, a relay baton?!

  Well, I’m not exactly high-maintenance.

  I just explored what was around me...

  The platform turned out to be perfectly level, and the material was brighter than anything back in Surpil.

  Over time, I realized that the “extra details” I’d noticed earlier were exactly where they needed to be... In fact, everything was ergonomic as hell.

  The benches under the canopy were always warm—I think I even know why... It’s gotta be a heating “key,” I’m certain of it.

  Plus, there was light shining everywhere, yet I didn’t spot a single lamp or anything of the sort.

  And there was none of that familiar generator hum... I still haven't figured out where this platform pulls its power from.

  Then I started hunting for signs of “construction”... Bolts, nails, scuffs, patches... Anything at all!

  And I found absolutely squat.

  This "stop," damn it all to hell, felt as though it had plummeted here straight from outer space.

  Pristine and ready for use.

  Well, and then the "party" kicked off... Ha.

  Initially, I merely sensed a faint vibration emanating from my father.

  Yet Franko remained motionless.

  Intuitively, I grasped that this "vibration" was being transmitted from the earth to my father, and from him—to me.

  Well, perhaps an earthquake or something of the sort... It happens, nothing out of the ordinary.

  Then this "vibration" began to intensify... and it didn't let up.

  It felt as if it were "closing in."

  I realized that this was indeed our "Mistral" from Lira’s remark.

  Something about "get ready."

  I didn't hear the classic "roar" of an engine or the friction of tires against the pavement.

  Only my poor bones seemed to beat against the very fabric of my body from some inscrutable vibrational radiation.

  A few seconds later, this massive metallic "cocoon" emerges from beneath a spatial mirage.

  I swear, it felt like we were standing in the middle of a desert!

  Its matte-black hull, devoid of any glass, was hard to mistake for anything but some feral beast.

  I'd only seen something similar belonging to Mr. Xerxes... and even then, that was military hardware, not some goddamn public transport!

  This "wonder-steed" certainly had wheels, yet they barely grazed the sand. Furthermore, they were almost entirely concealed by armor plating.

  I’ll ask this world once more... Are we seriously at a bus stop?

  Because this thing, for fuck's sake, is more terrifying than an Imperial APAV!

  ** thanks to Siana, who knows how to explain things... an APAV is essentially an "armored personnel carrier" for Imperial assault infantry; it’s packed with anti-tank launchers, radar systems, active protection, and a host of other "joys" of war **

  I swear, this "vehicle" practically screamed at me: — "I remember what war is."

  Brr... A truly unsettling sight.

  — Fran, when he comes out, immediately disown— —, — mother's words never reached my ears, nor father's.

  My pupils momentarily lost absolutely any connection with my brain and produced a monochromatic picture...

  This bright world became a black-and-white mess in some fraction of a nanosecond.

  Like a wild fox found by enraged villagers with rifles — I felt such tremendous fear that I pissed myself...

  My position in space suddenly "dropped" closer to the ground... Father's figure, which never bent, only continued to frighten me.

  I saw... No, I felt with my entire being how difficult it was for him.

  Literally difficult... His forehead was sweaty, as if he had just climbed out of a sauna.

  The capillaries in his eyes filled with blood, it was definitely a sharp spike in blood pressure.

  He could barely breathe, and every exhale I heard seemed saturated with a feeling of pain...

  Fuck, what am I even telling!

  The air transformed from gentle, almost breezy into some incomprehensible "dry nothingness"...

  My ears were filled with a low-frequency hum, it seemed to me that I became even smaller than I was!

  And I'm fucking tiny as it is!

  Shit, what's happening?!

  — Relis... — with incredible effort mother overcame this invisible threat and addressed me, — Everything's fine, my little boy, — she took these deep breaths, as if her lungs couldn't "drink" oxygen, — Everything's fine... — she repeated, again and again.

  And at some point father tried to lift himself up a bit and turned me so that I could easily look ahead.

  The metallic "monster" was standing right in front of us.

  Its doors, resembling "a beast's maw," slid apart with the hissing of ozone around.

  From the blackness of the "interior" emerged a slender pair of hands.

  Wrapped in blood-black fabric, they seemed to push their "master" outward.

  Then these gleaming, black "paws" appeared... And behind them the entire body of our "guest."

  I saw how father sharply grabbed his heart, and mother dropped to both knees at once...

  Then several small drops of blood fell on my forehead... Franko apparently suffered a sudden attack of severe arrhythmia.

  I looked at him, so exhausted, but proud... Even in this situation he held me tenderly.

  I don't know what effort it cost him, but his "mug" was smiling... Imagine that, hah...

  I had no idea what this could possibly stem from... But I was thinking quickly.

  In such moments you always have to think quickly.

  My parents used to say about "they're always lurking somewhere around here"... Then Lira reminded Franko that "we shouldn't attract attention."

  Whose attention? About what?

  This platform... That eerie artificial voice, the "keys."

  Ro'Zeta... Energy that needs restoration.

  Perhaps...

  Just perhaps I might be able to heal my father, same as the teapot?

  Or at least glimpse something... Something these damned, worthless, childish eyes can't perceive!

  I simply cannot do jack shit... I can't and I won't!

  I'd never forgive myself for that.

  To so pointlessly "piss away" a second chance... In some godforsaken wasteland?!

  I began recollecting what I'd done back then.

  I simply touched it... Wanted to utilize the "key," but witnessed that "world" of "threads"... Like an MRI scan.

  Think, Siana, damn your living mother!

  With every ounce of strength I raised my tiny hand and attempted to reach my father's pallid countenance...

  — Oh my, what's transpiring here... — a nearly cadaverous voice resonated near my ears, — Are you truly this feeble... Eh-h-h, very well... — someone's glacial, practically icy hand seized mine, which had been merely millimeters from my father's face, — Here, take this, little one... You can purchase something for yourself in "Utopia."

  Huh?

  What?!

  HUH-H-H?!

  Why is there some translucent card in my hand?

  What is this? Currency?

  A pass? For what purpose?

  A ticket to "Utopia"? What exactly is "Utopia"?

  He said "you can buy something for yourself"... So it's money?

  When did this bastard manage to materialize beside us?

  The door had just opened... What the hell?!

  — Sooo... Liberatio ad nullum per centum... What else do we have here, aha... — the scoundrel vanished somewhere again, as his voice suddenly grew distant, — Oh, poor girl... Did you truly expend all your "Spark" to nullify the pressure for the child... Wow, well done, — I'm prepared to swear I heard the sound of "shoulder patting" near my mother, you son of a bitch! — Restitutio scintillae... Phew, seems like everything's settled, — it clapped its palms and I immediately found breathing easier, and then...

  Everything abruptly ceased.

  ** the enigmatic gentleman employed the anathema "Liberation" of soul energy; to put it simply, he merely reduced his power to 0%, and subsequently restored Siana's mother's soul energy using the anathema "Spark Restoration"... Siana would've articulated this herself, had she not been so agitated **

  Father barely managed to "inhale" air before rising to his feet once more.

  Lira rushed toward me immediately after this bastard ceased "that"... "That," whatever it actually was.

  She began showering me with kisses... Initially, she collided with my forehead about thirty times, then covered all my arms and legs.

  And another five times on each cheek... God, this woman is anxious.

  I was perfectly fine... Wait.

  I was "fine"?!

  Of course... That prick said something about "this girl exhausting all her Spark to relieve the pressure on the child"...

  So Lira saved me?

  Why?

  Though... right, I am her child, after all.

  — Forgive us for making you expend your Spark on us, Master Sentinel, — Franko interrupted my thoughts with his pathetic apology... Why the hell are you even apologizing, you moron?! He's the one who should be sorry!

  — Ah... forget it, okay? — Damn, this dog's voice sounds like he just finished high school, — I'm the one who screwed up first, so you'd better accept my apologies.

  Father still hasn't stood up... even after "everything" that happened.

  Is this some kind of "nobility" or what?

  A pathetic, piss-soaked dog, that's who he is!

  — Come now, my dear Azarians, — the voice hissed, like a serpent before a strike, — Rise... We're all "among friends" here, aren't we?

  — Forgive our unsightly appearance... Your signature is far too majestic for us, — I don't even want to comment on the absolute crap spewing from my mother's mouth.

  — I've just come off a mission... so, sorry for not "resetting" my energy levels and... — his voice suddenly grew sharp, like a blade pressed against your throat, — Drop this farce of familiarity... Deal?

  I hate to admit it, but even the shift in his tone was enough to make me nearly shit myself.

  Franko finally straightened up, and I could finally see my mother standing there, clutching his arm, along with...

  The culprit behind this whole mess.

  To be perfectly honest? I was simultaneously stunned and let down.

  Standing before us was just some ordinary guy, maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight... tops.

  Not a wrinkle, blemish, or yellow tooth in sight.

  The guy was lean as hell and tall as a poplar tree.

  Naturally, he was decked out in high-end gear...

  A matte red-and-black cloak, with segmented armor layered underneath.

  There was a scorpion "Stinger" emblem emblazoned on it, looking as if it had been cast right into the metal.

  Sharp facial features, a prominent chin.

  Narrow eyes with incredibly long lashes and thick, straw-colored brows.

  If it wasn't for his voice, I could've easily mistaken him for some pretty girl coming in for an appointment at my clinic.

  His blonde hair reached all the way down to his knees... and it was so sleek, it looked laminated.

  His hands, however, betrayed his military "pedigree."

  Scarred with marks of every shape and hue, I could easily tell just how often our "client" had been sliced up... maybe even shot.

  Because on his neck, right under his right ear, there was an oval-shaped, jagged scar... a gunshot wound.

  I felt him approaching us again from the shift in the air pressure.

  - Well then... Let's have a proper introduction, - the long-haired hound actually bowed, imagine that, - Senior Inquisitor of the "Scorpion" squad, Katar Nai’Selia… And who might you be?

  It would have been nice if he’d at least cracked his eyes open.

  However, he wasn't trying to stir up trouble; it seemed he really was just introducing himself.

  Something told me he was just like that in general... Despicable.

  - For starters, couldn't you take back the "Utopia" voucher? - my father began, - We have nothing to repay you with for such a thing, and being indebted to a "Sentinel" isn't the best move.

  - It’s not for you, - the reply was instantaneous and brusque, as if he were presenting my parents with a fait accompli rather than just explaining the situation, - It’s for the child with a very… - that blonde-haired slut vanished from my radar again, - Interesting soul, - he was already speaking from behind my father's back.

  Dammit... What does he mean by his "very interesting soul"?

  Does he… Does he see something in me?

  Did he realize I’m reincarnated?!

  Or something else?

  WHAT DOES HE SEE?!

  - Aurelius is just an ordinary child! - Lira protested loudly, - Please take this voucher and just let us inside "Mistral," Mr. "Inquisitor."

  - Lira, - Franko said quietly, - Enough, please.

  - But- -

  - Lira! - I should note that I’d never heard my father raise his voice before… And he sounded like an infuriated lion.

  - Right... The girl's name is Lira, as I understand it… And the gentleman's? - Katar asked, tilting his head onto the same shoulder where my father was holding me.

  - I am Franko.

  - Franko… ?

  - Just Franko, Mr. "Inquisitor"… We, - my father looked at me, then shot a brief, pity-filled glance at my mother, - We are simple Azarians from Surpil.

  - So, what’s the little guy’s name?

  - Aurelius, Mr. "Inquisitor," - my father replied, trying to keep his cool, - Just Aurelius.

  - Just Aurelius, huh, hmm... - Katar whipped his head off my father’s shoulder and somehow, inexplicably, ended up right in front of my face, - It won't do for you, little one, to be just an Aurelius...

  - Wait, Mr.- -, - Katar cut my mother off mid-sentence.

  - Silence when a "Sentinel" speaks! - that long-haired guy sure knows how to scream, - Here's another one for you, - he pulled another "transparent" voucher from somewhere and was about to hand it to me when he saw one of my hands was already full, - Oh, oops... I'll just put it in your other little hand...

  // - I see the local curs have completely forgotten my scent //

  - Khem... Alright, I overdid it a bit, - he retreated incredibly fast and walked away from us toward the "Mistral," - What are you standing around for? - he added before vanishing into the bowels of the iron "monster."

  That voice again... somewhere in the back of my mind.

  But it sounded rougher, more annoyed...

  And it definitely wasn't aimed at me.

  But I didn't pay much attention to it; I was more intrigued by the look on Katar's face.

  You know the one... a look of deep-seated terror.

  Thank god... or as my parents say—Glory to Azaria, that this "Inquisitor" somehow decided to leave us alone and head back to the "Mistral."

  I’m still in the dark about a lot of things, obviously... but these sudden, precarious events are better than any teacher.

  The most important thing is just surviving them.

  Still, I should probably crack a smile... we’re finally leaving!

  I can’t wait to see the views from the "Mistral’s" windows.

  Maybe I’ll even spot some local fauna!

  Just imagine... wild beasts I never saw in my past life.

  Maybe some architectural landmarks or monuments from the eras that have passed on this planet?

  And I totally forgot!

  The mysterious "Midwife"!

  Though, honestly, the most mysterious creature right now is Katar... and his energetic "pressure."

  Is he the only one like that?

  Or are there other Azarians who are just as "influential"?

  I have so much left to figure out, it’s terrifying!

  Katar said "interesting soul."

  He... he definitely saw something.

  And that wolfish voice showed up again...

  Called Katar a "local cur"...

  Are they acquainted?

  Who or what is this "voice"?

  Why was Katar terrified of something he didn't even see or hear?

  Too many questions.

  Too few answers.

  But for now... hit the road!

  To Tilf’Talor!

  …

  To the Midwife.

  To the truth.