Oh! Hello there. You are coming home with me.

Kayla felt slight guilt as she knelt down and picked up the Philodendron piece from the floor of the home improvement store.

It's technically not stealing, right? I mean, scraps like this are just going to be swept up at closing time and tossed in the trash, right? What a waste. I'm actually rescuing it if you think about it. Yeah.

She carefully tucked the heart-shaped piece into her hoodie pocket.

On the drive home to her tiny apartment, she placed her passenger on the dashboard and excitedly brought her up to date on all things Kayla.

“…and I am soooo close to graduating. And when I do, I'm definitely gonna land a kick ass job somewhere — maybe even in one of these places,” She gestured upward toward the towering glass buildings as she drove through the medical center streets. “And you're coming with me, of course. You are going to have your very own spot on my desk!”

Kayla prattled on, feeling excited for the future and surprisingly, a lot less lonely all of a sudden. It felt good to speak her hopes and dreams out loud— even if only to a drooping leaf.

When they got home, Kayla placed her new roommate in a glass of water and set her on the kitchen window sill. She made a mental note to pick up some potting soil soon.

It will be so nice to have someone to talk to for a change. Now, she needs a name. Hmm…

Kayla smiled as it came to her.

“I hereby dub thee Philomena. For it is a strong name and a good name for a friend.”

If it were up to her, Lily would trade her jeweled crown for a worn field journal and disappear into the Kalahari Desert dunes before breakfast. When she was young, she said she wanted to be a librarian when she grew up. Then she would’ve spent her days with her nose buried in a book instead of powdered and perfumed.

While the other girls in the kingdom danced in the ballroom and gathered in the courtyard for tea, she was on the other side of the castle piling books about long-forgotten kings into her hands or climbing the castle walls to sketch the ravens. But today, everything was changing. Today, Lily was strolling through the stalls of Sakhmet instead of practicing her posture. She had a prickly pear up to her nose, the sand beneath her sandals, and a dream to fulfill. She was going out into the dunes to study desert animals like zebras and giraffes for a new book. If she was lucky enough, she might even catch a glimpse of a pangolin.

The hot, dry air swirled around Lily, carrying the scents of different flowers and spices. She stopped at a peculiar stall that looked like it had spiky golden balls arranged in baskets. She leaned in to look closer and saw that they smelled like melons.

“You’ve never seen a kiwano, have you?” A voice below her asked.

Lily looked down in surprise to find a round, little man wrapped in a pale blue robe. “No, how could you tell?”

The man smiled. “Your beautiful gown, my lady. Only the finest palaces from the other side of the world can make silk that looks like that. Give it a try.”

Lily nervously picked up the kiwano, peeled it back, and took a bite. Once she got past the odd texture, she realized the fruit was actually bursting with flavor. Her eyes widened, and the man laughed.

“Ah, you were not expecting that, were you? Things in the Kalahari Desert are not always what they seem.” He raised his eyebrows. “Now, what brings you here, so far away from home? Come to play some Sakhmet Solitaire?”

“Maybe later! I’m here to study the animals of the Kalahari Desert for a book I’m writing.”

“Yes, yes, there are many strange animals hiding among the dunes. But I must warn you, my lady, you must stay on the main paths. Animals know places that maps do not, and the Kalahari Desert has a way of making things… lost.”

Lily shrugged off his concern. “I’ve spent years reading about this place. I know what I’m doing.”

The merchant shook his head. “So it would appear to be.”

Lily thanked the man for the kiwano and set out past the edge of Sakhmet to begin her search for rare desert animals. The wind blew sand into her face and her sandals struggled to get a grip on the sinking sands. She slipped on a smooth rock in the path and went tumbling down to the ground. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy to gather this data on animal habitats and behaviors. She brushed herself off and got back up.

Suddenly, Lily noticed bronze scales shimmer in the corner of her eye. She turned to see it and only caught a glimpse of a tail slithering behind a rock just off the path. No… could it really be the elusive pangolin? She stepped hesitantly toward the rock. When she reached it, she saw it. It was really there, a real pangolin! The animal looked up at her for a moment, as if to challenge her to follow it, and then bolted away into the sea of dunes.

The merchant’s words echoed in Lily’s head. He said to stay on the main paths. But would he have said the same if he knew what Lily would find? She knew what she had to do to write the perfect chapter for her book. All she had to do was step off the path. She took a deep breath and went racing after the animal.

Her chase brought her so far away from where she had started that she could no longer see the path in the distance. She felt the breeze on her cheeks as she raced across a sandy plain — and then she was falling. Tumbling down, all the way down into a dune-slide. It felt like she was falling forever until she finally rolled to a stop on a patch of grass. Wait, grass?

Lily got up and slowly spun around. “Wow,” she breathed, “What is this place?”

She was standing on a patch of grass with cactus blossoms dotted throughout. Palm trees spread their leaves overhead to create a canopy of shade over her and the river she hadn’t noticed was beside her. A stone bridge extended over the river and marked the beginning of a path through a humble village. She pulled her map out of her bag and inspected it. It was just as she thought. This hidden oasis wasn’t even on the map.

Lily walked over the bridge and into the village. An old man was weaving baskets in the street. Lily walked over and said hello.

The man jumped. “Hello! What brings you here?”

“Well… I’m actually here by accident. I’m Lily, and I’m studying desert animals but I got lost coming out of Sakhmet.” Lily held out her map. “Would you mind showing me where we are?”

The man crumpled up her map and handed it back to her. “What are you doing? You can’t do that! We must keep this village hidden!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m just trying to get back on the path so I can get back to my studies. I didn’t know this was a secret village.”

The bearded man grinned. “Stick around, friend. You might learn some things. Come with me. I’m Elias.”

The man led her forward with a walking stick in his hand. When he looked back to make sure Lily was keeping up, she noticed a pangolin scurry out of his sleeve and onto his shoulder. “Elias, is it? Is that what I think it is on your shoulder?”

“Huh, this little thing? Yes, I believe the city folk in Sakhmet call these pangolins. I just call him Pebble, because he was barely the size of a pebble when I first found him.”

Lily almost laughed out loud. After that wild chase through the sand dunes, she ended up stumbling upon a domesticated pangolin! She scrambled to grab her field journal and pencil from her bag.

Elias gently put a hand on the journal. “I challenge you to live the story, not just record it.”

Lily nodded and put them away. “Sorry, I’m a student of the world. I can’t help it.”

Elias furrowed his brows. “Lily, you did not come to the Kalahari Desert to study books, no? You came to experience an adventure. To write your own story.”

Lily thought for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’ve learned more about pangolin behavior in the last few minutes than I have in years of library trips.”

“You’ve come to the right place. All of us in this village are trained in the art of storytelling. We can write, too, but we all choose not to out of respect for the spoken word. I am the village elder.”

“The village elder? But—you were weaving baskets in the street when I saw you.”

Elias smiled. “There is no job too great or too small for any one person.”

When they finally stopped walking, they had arrived at the village square. There was a large sandstone pyramid in the middle, bustling crowds weaving around different stalls, and an animated woman telling a story to a group of children around her. Two men were working on setting up a giant tent.

“We’re preparing for our summer festival,” Elias said. “There’s still much to be done.”

“What’s your summer festival about?” Lily asked.

“We give thanks to the desert for allowing us to make our homes in this oasis. We eat, we dance, and we tell stories about the history of the desert. On the last night, we feast on the rare Nara Melon.” His face fell. “But the Nara Melon is getting harder and harder to find. Visitors from around the world come to harvest it to make Nara Syrup to cure illness, and the desert can’t grow them fast enough.”

Lily remembered reading about Nara Melons. They only grew on the highest branches of the Nara tree. “I’ve learned about Nara Melons before. Maybe I can help. ”

“Oh, we would be forever grateful to you! Though this is a lot to ask of you. I know you did not travel all this way to climb a tall tree for your new friends.”

“I came here to learn about the Kalahari Desert. What better way to do that than by taking a journey through it?”

Elias clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit! Come, let me introduce you to somebody.” He led her over to a tan woman wearing golden bangles and painting a clay vase. “This is Clio. She came to us from Sakhmet, too. She found us just like you did, by chance. Except she was chasing a Scarab.”

Clio waved. “Nice to meet you! You’re probably going to want to change your dress before you head out. The bark of the Nara tree will rip up that pretty silk. I’ll give you one of mine.”

Lily changed into a simple canvas shift dress that Clio gave her. She looked in the mirror at the sand smeared into her hair and the rip in her new dress and almost didn’t recognize herself. It had been days since she touched a brush, but she had never felt more at peace. She felt more at home now in this strange land, in these rough rags, than she ever did back at the castle she called home.

Lily stepped out of the tent and Clio threw her hands into the air. “That’s more like it!”

“Are you ready to go?” Elias asked.

“Yes, lead the way!” Lily replied. “Clio, are you coming too?”

Clio threw a hand up to her mouth. “Oh, no way, I’ll leave the adventure to you two.” She went back to painting a palm tree on a vase.

Lily and Elias set out early the next morning with supplies, walking past sandstone ridges and desert grasses. Lily had insisted on bringing her map and compass although Elias argued that they wouldn’t be much help around there. The young woman remembered reading that Nara trees could be found to the west of a river, and had urged the old man to travel west. But several hours later, there were still no Nara Melons to be found. All they had to show for it was an increasingly crumpled map and a growing sense of frustration.

“Lily, dear, perhaps we should try heading north instead. In the village, we tell stories about a wise old Moehog who found rare fruits past the northern palm grove and toward the Dark Plain. And those stories were passed down from our ancestors over thousands of years.”

Lily frowned. “That doesn’t line up with what I read. I think we should just stick to my plan and my map.”

She felt irritated that this had turned out to be so much harder than she had expected. The terrain ahead of them looked like nothing on any map she had ever seen and her compass needle was spinning around erratically. She started to worry that they might really be lost, and shook the thought out of her head. There was no use thinking so negatively when she had come so far.

Lily led the way with her nose buried in the map and Elias shuffling behind her. She was tracing the path she wanted to take with her hand, across a long plateau after the sand dunes they had just climbed. Elias shouted and pulled Lily back as her sandal nearly stepped over the edge. A rock broke off and tumbled down. They had reached a steep cliff overlooking a massive canyon.

“Woah!” Lily cried. “Thank you. But I don’t understand, according to the map, we’re supposed to continue straight right here.”

Elias calmly stepped over to a nearby sandstone arch partially covered by moss. “The Nara tree is that way,” he said, gesturing down a safer slope downward. “It always grows near the breath of the river moss, not the heat of the sun.”

Lily followed him down the narrow path. The bottom of the canyon was lush with Nara trees. She gasped as she saw the orange fruits hanging all the way from the highest branches. She had thought they were nearly extinct. The existence of this tree alone would fill up the pages of an entire book.

“Lily, this is as far as I can go. It has been many years since I was able to climb a tree.”

“Leave it to me!” Lily said, remembering her days climbing up to draw the ravens on the castle walls. She carefully climbed all the way up and down, bringing more Nara Melons down with her each time. By the time she was finished, the trees had been picked clean and the village elder’s basket was overflowing. She sat down on a rock to catch her breath.

Elias picked a Nara Melon from the basket and brought it to her. “For you. You must honor us by taking the first bite.”

Lily grabbed the Nara Melon and took a nibble. It tasted like no other fruit she had ever encountered. It was sweet like nectar, with a slight tropical tang. Before she knew it, she had finished the whole thing. Lily wiped her hands on her dress and picked up her field journal, then quickly set it down. She saw Pebble, Elias’s pangolin, playing in a patch of sunlight. She fed it a tiny cactus blossom.

“None of this is on any map,” Lily murmured. I would’ve missed it all if I hadn’t listened to your stories.”

“My stories? No. I have a story, yes. But these stories belong to the whole village. Your story has also been woven into the village’s. Now, let’s give them a good ending.”

Back at the village, the festival was in full swing. The villagers cheered when Lily and Elias returned with the Nara Melons.

Elias hugged Lily. “My friend, I don’t know how we can ever repay you. To start, I would like to offer you a place of honor in our village’s storytelling circle.”

Bittersweet tears welled up in Lily’s eyes. She was happy to have made such wonderful friends, and sad that she would have to say goodbye to them soon. “I graciously accept, Elias. But before I tell any stories, I’d like to pause and listen to all of yours first.”

Lily spent the rest of the night listening to tales passed down over the years about the legends of the Kalahari Desert, the secrets of the oasis, and—her favorite—all the little quirks about the pet pangolins’ personalities.

The next morning, when Lily was heading out of her tent, she almost tripped on a bundle wrapped in paper that had been left at the entrance. Written on it was a note reading: “Lily, I’ll break our rules just for you by writing this note. Thank you for joining our story. I stayed up all night painting this for you as my way to give thanks. Your friend, Clio.” Lily unwrapped the gift to find a glazed clay plate with the epic tale of Lily’s journey to the Nara trees painted around it. She smiled and stored it carefully in her bag.

On her way toward the bridge at the beginning of the village, Lily ran into Elias sweeping the streets. “Elias, I have to leave now, but I just wanted to say thank you for helping me see things differently.”

Elias stopped sweeping and raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going, home?”

Lily sighed. “Home? Oh, I don’t even know where that is anymore. I’ll go back to the castle for now, but after that, who knows?”

“It seems the young one has developed a taste for adventure in the desert.”

Lily laughed. “So it seems. Hey, Elias, I was wondering… do you think it would be okay if I wrote about this place? I won’t use any names or maps or anything. I’ll just tell the story. It’s just… I want to share these stories with the world in a way that they’re ready to listen to today.”

Elias nodded. “So long as you tell it with heart, not just facts.” The new friends embraced.

That evening, with the help of new directions from Elias, Lily was back in Sakhmet. She walked through the market again, this time in her canvas shift with a completely filled field journal tucked under her arm. She stopped at the kiwano stand again and admired the odd fruit, this time with a greater appreciation for what lay inside it.

The merchant looked at her with her disheveled hair as if he was trying to place where he had seen her before. “Lose your way, my lady?”

“No,” Lily said, smiling, “I think I finally found it.”

A year later, Lily was in her new study space, a small space she rented above a bookshop. It was no castle library, but it made her happy. She put the finishing touches on the last chapter of the book and titled it: “A Guide to Getting Lost (and Found) in the Kalahari Desert.”

There were those potted plants out front, just like I saw them when I left your home for the last time some years ago now.

You were not home.

Just as well.

I don’t need your presence to still feel the fear that sliced through me that soulless night.

I gave myself a tour- the one you never gave me. And beyond this dreamscape of your bedroom I saw blackness. Because I cannot imagine a “normal” home for you.

That would make you human. And I've been demonizing you for years.

Besides, how can you forgive a demon?

You can’t.

So I visited your home and tried to see a home where a human lived, one with flaws but a capability for goodness.

And there you were, so fucked up from war and weary of the world that you turned to writing and women. Two loves you held, but were never humble enough to admit that you had anything to learn from. Only arrogant enough to believe you had more to give (knowledge) and much to take (sex and accolades).

So is it any surprise you found a kind faced girl, with big blue eyes to wet your appetite and fill your ego?

Is it any wonder that it is easy to hate you more, thinking of you as human, because that would mean you can choose to do better, but you didn’t?

You chose to show me darkness, not even letting me see the man who carefully, gently cared for those beautiful potted plants out front.

The ones that have mocked me in my nightmares ever since.

NPC Local Union #001

May 13, 2025

“Five hit points! Five hit points and they expect me to attack that ogre! The Hell with this party. The Hell with their quest. I am a NPC and I am proud of it. I deserve to be paid equally. I deserve to be treated equally.”

“Who is with me?”

The crowd cheered in response. Its numbers grew every day as more and more PCs found their numbers insufficient for the adventures they chose. Previously, what took three fighters, two clerics, and a mage/thief, now took three fighters and three non-playing characters (aka, NPC) to fill the ranks. Easily rolled up, easily killed off, more easily forgotten, they had enough of their fodder status.

"Today, the NPCs are going to unionize."

“Not a guild, but a union. We, the NPCs, of this land reserve the right to say NO to danger. We reserve the right to fate us to certain death. We will no longer go hungry. We will no longer be poor. We, the NPCs, will sit and watch you entitled PCs of this land pay for your failures. We are sentient! We are experienced! And it is about time you understand this.”

“Today, my union members, you are people, not just characters. Today, you will take names. Names of honor. Names of dignity. Names that will be remembered. Today, I will be known as William of Knotmoor. Come with me and fulfill your destiny!”

We rode for two days with no sign of the Watchers. Vellum led us deeper into the woods each day, only stopping to rest the horses. We slept in shifts at night and ate only what we packed for rations. Our packs held enough to feed each of us for five days. If we stayed out here any longer than that, we'd need to hunt.

We hardly spoke to one another. Save for Grisham and Shelby who shared their experiences as Facets, among other things. There was also the occasional gripe from Burke about my smoking, which I ignored with increasing expertise each time.

The embarrassment of what I said to Vellum kept me from even looking at him. I must've been a fool to let those words fall from my mouth. Speaking them made them real. They no longer existed only in my mind. To make matters worse, they existed in Vellum's mind too. I could only hope he'd forgotten our exchange and failed to put it in his notebook.

On the third night, we set up camp as usual. Shelby found a stone outcropping and Grisham built us a fire. Burke curled up alongside it in his sleeping sack and promptly fell asleep. The rest of us sat awake for some time after eating our dried meat, dried apples, and bread. Grisham kicked around the idea of snaring a squirrel or rabbit, but we wouldn't be staying long enough. As soon as dawn broke, we'd be on the move again. Still searching.

I thought of the cache of Indigo. I'd brought a few empty saddle bags to haul it back to Divern. I sometimes felt guilty about withholding the cache at home from the afflicted. But the afflicted couldn't be trusted with that information. They'd just as soon burn my house down to get to it instead of relying on me as their supplier. I was careful with what I pulled from my stash. Careful not to draw too much attention, and careful to make sure there was enough for me should the other sources fail.

“Get some sleep, Rue.” Grisham said. “Vellum is taking first watch.”

Vellum's attention was solely on his notebook as I shook out my sleeping sack. Unbraiding my hair, I brushed it loose to relieve the taut pull of it against my skull. Combing my fingers through it, I closed my eyes closed. I rubbed my scalp, a light massage on the roots of my hair. I sighed and took off my jacket, wearing only my t-shirt that was about two sizes too big, and my pants. Before I set my jacket down, I rifled through it to find my pipe. Sleep would only come easy after I burned a few shards.

“Don't.” His voice cut through the silence around us.

I looked up to those crystal blue eyes reflecting the fire light. The charcoal pencil still in his hand as he looked up at me.

“What?” I asked, sure he wasn't talking to me.

“Don't pick it up.” He replied.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I just have this feeling that you shouldn't.”

“A feeling, huh?” A breath escaped my lips. “Well I have a feeling that this is the only way I can get to sleep.”

“There are other ways to get to sleep.”

“Not for me.” I looked away and grabbed my pipe. As interested as I was to hear Vellum's reasoning, I was more interested in alleviating the scratching feeling that crawled across my body. I ignored him and lit my pipe.

I don't know how long I slept before Grisham woke me, but it couldn't have been too long. The flames of our fire still burned bright. I sat up and quickly noticed Vellum was gone. Burke’s sleeping sack was empty and he was nowhere to be seen. Shelby stood before us, an arrow nocked in his bow as he looked into the woods.

“Where are Vellum and Burke?” I coughed.

“We gotta move, Rue. Get up now.” Grisham grabbed my arm and began to pull me from my sleep sack.

I pulled on my boots and threw on my jacket, leaving everything else behind. I trusted Grisham with everything I was. A part of me was Grisham. He told me to move, so I did. We walked carefully into the woods, one behind the other.

“The horses?” I whispered.

“Gone.” Grisham replied.

“Shit.” I muttered. My blade was fastened to Copper's saddle.

Shelby held up a fist and we stopped at his back. I looked around the woods for any sign of movement, but there was nothing. The trees were completely still around us. My eyes traveled along the forest floor around us, not even a footstep disturbed the ground as we stood in silence. The steady rhythm of my heart lulled me into a state of readiness. My feet dug into the earth and my breath was shallow.

Facet training was dormant within me, but not lost. As I waited for the incoming attack, my years as a Facet reminded me what I was supposed to do. My lieutenant had told us that training would tune our nervous systems to feed off of danger. We'd learn to hone our fear to heighten our senses. Decrease our response time, strike first as a reflex.

A twig snapped underfoot and I turned before I could hesitate. I crouched and extended my bottom leg in a swift movement that knocked them to their back.

“They're here!” I yelled. Grisham and Burke now engaged in fights of their own. The translucent skin of the Watchers sparkled in the moonlight. Four of them at my count.

One grabbed me from behind, wrapping his long scaly arms around my body. His grasp pinned my arms to my sides. Without thinking, I forced my head back into his and listened for the crack of his nose. When it came, he released me and grabbed his face. I struck him with a kick to his chest and he collapsed back into a tree.

The first one I struck was now back to his feet, “The Alpha has been waiting for you, Rue.” He spoke with a slither of his tongue. His voice was akin to his snake-like appearance.

“I'll kill him. He'll never get his hands on me again!” I shouted.

I balled my hands into fists and charged at him. I swung a fist towards his face, but he moved just in time. As he avoided my strike, he handed a blow to my stomach. The power of his strike knocked the air from my lungs. I fought to avoid doubling over. My untethered hair made an easy grip for him. He wrapped his fingers through my hair and yanked me in close.

He pulled me towards his face and smiled. His sharp teeth were a sinister reminder of his strength. I struggled to untangle his hand from my hair, but it was a mere distraction. With his free hand, he struck my ribs. Piercing pain shot through my lung. He struck again, this time landing a blow on my cheek. Stars filled my vision and I knew the next one would knock me out.

I kicked his ribcage with every ounce of strength I could muster. Lightning shot through my leg as if every bone in it had broken. The Watcher dropped me and stumbled. In his moment of weakness, I jumped onto his back and wrapped my arms around his neck. I held it until I felt the crack of his neck and he fell to the ground beneath me.

I saw flashes of the wall in my vision. Flashes of light and the Alpha glaring at me, getting closer each time I blinked my eyes. When he was close enough to grab me, the vision of him disappeared and I saw Grisham held down. His axe knocked to the side and a Watcher straddling him, choking him.

What happened next was instinct alone. I didn't think when I lifted Graham's axe from the ground and struck until the Watcher fell still on top of him. The next moment, I heard the final Watcher run. Leaving Burke to chase him. I lifted the axe with both hands and it hung long behind my back. I screamed, forcing my last bit of stamina into the handle of that axe as I threw it.

I could've sworn that I heard Grisham yell, “Stop!”

But it was too late, the axe embedded itself into the Watcher’s back and he collapsed to the ground. His face landing in the dirt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I blinked my eyes open and nearly fell from Copper's back.

“Wha- what's going on here?” I stuttered, gripping onto the reins as the world spun around me. “Where- where are we?”

I yanked the reins, bringing Copper to a stop. I called for Grisham who galloped up to me, “Rue, you're okay, I'm here.”

“There were-there were-” I started digging through my jacket. Where the hell was my pipe?

“Just breathe, Rue. Come on, let's get you down.” Grisham helped me from my saddle and walked me to a large stone where I sat. The others stood around us, on horseback.

“My pipe. My pipe.” I repeated.

“She's fucking mad.” Burke called out. “We oughta bring her back. She's a liability.”

“Follow orders, kid.” Shelby replied, seemingly undeterred.

“Grish, my pipe, where is it?” I gripped Grisham's jacket pleadingly. Had it been broken in the struggle? Did we leave it behind?

“Vellum took it, Rue.” Grisham replied at last.

“No, no, no.” I fought back a sob. I knew Grisham would never take my pipe after seeing me at my lowest point . I knew it had to be someone else.

“When we got you back to camp. He took it.” Grisham wouldn't make eye contact with me as the words left his mouth.

“Why would you-why did you let him? I need it, Grish. You know I need it or I can't-”

“Rue,” he put his hand on my cheek, “Tell me the last thing you remember.”

“I was- We were- attacked. Watchers. Four of them. But I killed them. I saved you.”

“Just tell her, man. She needs to know!” Burke shouted from horseback.

“Know what?” I asked between sobs.

“Rue,” Grisham spoke to me so gently. The way he did only when he was trying to spare me some inevitable pain. “I'm going to fix your memories from last night, but it's going to hurt this time around. I wish it wouldn't, but I'm afraid it's unavoidable.”

“No-not my- my memories?”

“Yes, Rue.”

“Like the incursion?” Tears fell from my eyes. Not again.

“Can I help you remember?” He asked.

I nodded and looked into his eyes. More gold than green today. He placed his hands on my temples and looked into my eyes. I sat still and counted backwards from one hundred. I knew the drill.

I felt cold water flush out the hot parts of my brain. I only just realized the feeling; as though it were going to boil from inside my skull. Ice water rushed through the folds of my brain and down my spine. The pleasant feeling steadily subsided to an unwelcomed pounding behind my eyes. Painful jabs shot through my head and I whimpered. When he released me, I buried my face in my hands and cried.

“Tell me what you saw, Rue.” Grisham asked gently.

“I followed you and Shelby to a camp of people. I heard them talking. Some of them found us and then I -” My chest heaved.

“You killed them, you psycho!” Burke yelled. “Not Watchers, people! And you weren't going to stop. We all tried to stop you, but you knocked me out and nearly broke Shelby’s nose! If it wasn't for Vellum, you'd have slaughtered the entire camp!”

“Grisham, I -” I couldn't speak anymore. The tears fell heavily from my eyes.

“I know Rue, it's okay.” Grisham held my hand.

“It's not okay, are you both insane? She'll kill us all or get us killed. We need to bring her back!” Burke yelled.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I didn't remember any of it.”

“Not good enough!” Burke called out again. But no one argued with him. He was right. It wasn't good enough.

Optical

Topical

Illusions

Reiterate

The

Impression

of

Movements.

It's

The

Expression

Of

A

Moment

Frozen

For

All

Time

As

If

Paused

And

Placed

Aesthetically

On

Display.

Kinetic

Art

Like

A

Heart's

Beat

At

Play

It

Keeps

Moving

Tread

Carving

Grooves

Cutting

Lines

To

Prove

It

Is

Doing

what

it

Is.

Its

Thumbprint

Ensuing

From

It's

Path

Via

Our

Brains

Gray

Cellular

Synapse

When

Viewing

The

Rifts

Delicate

Decay.

To

Make

Legitimate

It's

Moment

Of

Movement

Into

Actuality

Realized.

Reality

Actualized

Longevity

Forming

When

One

Day

Art

Formed

An

Artform

Initially,

And

In

A

Way

At

It's

Forefront

Art

was

A

Movement

Authentically.

Where

Since

Then

It

Has

Been

The

Start

Of

A

Community

Communing

through

The

Time

We

Took

Taking

The

Opportunity

To

Introduce

A

New

Look

To

See

A

Concept

To

Shape

A

Form

Who's

Conception

Is

Purely

Formed

Through

The

Expressive

Elements

Uptake

Only

Finalized

When

Received.

This

Guided

Intent

Gilding

Raw

Outcomes

Of

Active

Passions

Reactive

Outputs

Into

Our

Sinew

An

Income

Stomping

Stamps

Of

Dancing

Dances

Tapped

Deeply

Freely

Upon

Our

Cellular

Center

Stage.

In

These

We’ll

Find

Our

Future.

By

These

kinetic

Firings

Sparking

Thoughts

We

Pray.

We

March

Forward

Tracing

Woven

Ways

And

The

Neural

Wiring

Is

Decided.

Mapping

The

Mental

Potential

Pathways

Of

Our

Thoughts

To

Be

Guided

To

Come,

In

Coming

Days.

Future

Causes

Inspiring

Effects

As

a

basis

From

Which

Is

Sprung

Creation

Enriching

Ways

For

Us

To

Further

Enumerated

Epithets

Fodder

And

Accoutrements

If

The

Expressive

Testament

Is

kept

Wholly

To

The

Moves

These

Meanings.

Make

A

Kind

Of

An

Etiquette

To

The

Kind

Kinetic

workings

Of

Time

That

Is

Spent

And

That

We

Take.

True

Progression

Of

The

Mind.

Art

Moves

And

Art

Makes.

Cyclically

Perpetuating

Mundane

Progeny

The

Day

By

Day

Yet

When

Looked

At

Close

Its

Pulchritudinously

Ornate.

Where

Art

Is,

There

Exists

Expression

Expanding

Through

time

In

space

Where

Direction

Was

A

Decision

A

Choice.

Within

That

Moment

Where

We

Find

That

Voice

Grace

Is

That

That

Speaks

Silently,

Though

Inarguably

Perceived.

The

Narrative

Of

What's

Paced

Gets

Received

Art

The

Culmination

Of

What

Was

Used

To

Be

Part

Forming

Part

Of

The

Input

To

Calculate

The

Data

Computed

Art

Is

This

Sum

SSTThe e

Some

Thing

to

equate

To

The

Impression

We're

Left

With

That

Part

Left

Is

What

Matters

It's

Art

What

Art

Uses

To

Move

Us

Moved

By

What

It

Meant.

Made

To

The

True

Us

The

Symbiotic

Nature

of

Kinetic

Art

Contextualized

In

Text

An

Art

Formed

By

Phrases

Scrawled

In

Lengths

I

Write

If

In

These

Pages

I'm

Right

Read

Me

Through

The

Ages

Give

Me

The

Life

It's

Musings.

The

Moving

Parts

Are

Part

Of

Us

Bright

Is

Our

Collective

Kinetic

Spark

What a sight.

Rory approached the seat at the table that had been cleared for her, standing up a bit straighter as she prepared to speak with the Earl. The air was rich with the mouthwatering scent of warm stew, but still her stomach churned. Conversation was not a versed skill of the Skepmadyr.

All around, chatter and laughter resumed, the sound lively as it bounced off of the stone walls. Behind the Earl, the fireplace still burned steadily, the heat it emanated a welcome respite from the chilling wind that had followed Rory for most of the day.

Without any other choice, Rory doffed the worn leather pack that carried the entirety of her possessions, and settled into the empty chair beside the Earl. Her tired legs barked in protest as she lowered herself, and her cheeks were windburned and red.

"You should eat while the food is warm", the Earl said as a way of greeting.

As most Earls and Lords were, the Earl of Kennet spoke with a tone of authority, clearly accustomed to being obeyed by others. But there was also an air of softened wisdom about him as he waited for Rory dine with the others, his expression not expectant, but patient. His voice was not untouched by the gruff accent of those native to the north, yet the tone lilted with modest gentility.

In truth, Rory preferred to exist in a state of solitude, with Jewel being the only company she was truly accustomed to. But she knew better than to pass up a warm meal, a rare luxury most of the time. And so she dug in, the first bite tentative.

As if sensing her unease, the Earl's attention shifted to a conversation between a few of his men at the table, but Rory had already been lost in the delicious heartiness of the meal. A mix of vegetables, meat and broth complete with a roll of bread, the meal was simple, yet still a priceless respite from what she often survived on. To Rory, the warmth and flavor of the meal was nearly intoxicating, and only when she'd finished did she remember where she was and who she was with, being drawn back into the cacophony of chatter and clattering of glasses.

"I'm happy to see that you approve of the food at Kennet", the Earl said, drawing back the last of Rory's attention.

"The meal was delicious. You have my gratitude for your generosity." The response was bland, but purposefully so. It wasn't the job of a Skepmadyr to entertain sophisticated conversation. The Earl nodded as if accepting this unspoken truth, but his pale blue eyes were pensive.

"You have my gratitude as well", he responded after a moment, seemingly choosing his words. "You've freed my land from an unnecessary burden, and the spoils of your hunt should feed my people for a time. Now tell me, how did you go about defeating the beast?"

Rory supposed there was no harm in telling the Earl how she'd lured the Damusk into that mossy clearing, and surprised the beast with her flashing dagger as it indulged in the bait she'd set. It wasn't uncommon for a landowner to wish for the tale of how their beastly troubles had been but to an end. And so she allowed the events of her day to unfold, the Earl watching her intently as she told the story in its entirety.

"Well done", he said when she'd finished, the amused lines of his face etched in candlelight. "You must understand that to meet someone so exciting as a Skepmadyr is a rarity so far north", he added, as if sensing how out of place Rory felt. Indeed, the rowdy, bustling nature of the Main Hall was a stark difference to the conditions that she normally existed in. Already, her eyes stung from the light and the smoke of the fire, and her head threatened to ache from the noise.

For a moment, the Earl said nothing more, and Rory fought to enjoy the warmth of the room and the food in her belly. As men started to take their leave and maids shifted about, Rory watched the scene as if surveying a place to hunt. An old habit that she often reverted to. Eventually, she felt the Earl's attention on her left hand, and turned to see him staring down at the tattoo that stained her skin there; an impenetrable branding of Arcodyte property, thanks to the strange magic the was woven into the ink.

The tattoo bore the cumbersome sigil of the Arcodytes; a sword buried deep in the head of Drao'skepna, the mythical dragon that once terrorized the seafaring tribe on their home isle of Draohain. According to legend, it was the first of the Skepmadyr that brought down the mighty dragon, freeing the Arcodytes of its fiery presence and allowing them to prosper.

But freed from the fiery shadow of Drao'skepna, the Arcodytes only sought violence, lusting for a hold on the nearly continent of Rodinia. From such lust, a centuries old feud was born with the southern Rodinian kingdom of Calydon. And while Calydon continued to grow and shine across the land, the Arcodytes formed a trade empire, funded by pillaging and stealing whenever they saw fit. In truth, it seemed as though the Arcodytes could turn any occasion into a profitable one, earning a king's ransom in the bowels and gutters of Calydon where no one cared to look.

Perhaps one of the greatest mistakes that the Calydonian rulers made was their misjudgment of those who bore the Serpent and Blade. An overwhelming majority of those who had the tattoo were not willing recipients; would be willing to aid Calydon in their pursuit to ruin the Arcodytes. But still, the tattoo was seen as a mark of Arcodyte affiliation, becoming a mark of death if seen by the wrong eyes in Calydon. So instead, until she could afford to free herself, Rory had no choice but to stick to the shadows and serve the ones who bound her to live there.

Rory remembered the day that the Serpant and Blade had been embedded into her skin vividly. She'd been nine years old, scrambling through the streets of Rorke, the town she'd been named after. She was barefoot and practically falling over the trousers that did not fit her. She had just escaped the convent in which she'd been raised, and knew nothing about survival. But she'd been made privy to one of Calidon's oldest laws that day and refused to abide by it, even if it meant her life.

Upon their first bleeding, orphan girls were bound by Calydon law to pledge themselves to the church. Terrified, and determined not to be a nun, she'd broken out of the convent and told herself that she'd never look back. Not until calloused Arcodyte hands snatched her out of the shadows and carried her to a nearby dock, slapping her senseless when she tried to scream for help; for the life that she'd been so determined to abandon just hours before. And then that ink blackened sigil was pressed into her skin. The sensation was cold and final, pledging her to an equally unfortunate fate and putting a damper on something deep inside that she could never explain. Now, eleven years later, the memory was still vivid, the rough sensation of splintering dock wood on her cheek and the briny smell of low tide fresh in her mind.

"If you buy your freedom, what will you do with it?" The Earl asked, startling Rory back into the present. She shifted her tired eyes back to the Earl as he ran a hand through salt and pepper hair. His pale blue eyes shone with an earnest curiosity.

"Nothing special", Rory answered, the response ambiguous but true. In truth, a life of her own and enough money that she could feed herself were all that Rory had ever strove for. She didn't know any other way.

The Earl's mouth quirked to the side as if the answer was unsatisfying but understandable nonetheless.

"I wish to make a proposal then", he declared. Rory nodded, but she already knew what her response would be. A Skepmadyr never dwelled in one place for long.

"Spend the winter at Kennet. Your hunting skill must be superior to any of my men, and I think you will do well to keep my people fed. In return, you will receive wages and weather the season without going hungry."

After so many years of declining such offers, Rory still found herself fighting temptation. She had never strove for the action filled life of being a Skepmadyr, only filling the position for the higher pay. In truth, she yearned for a more peaceful existence. But still, she knew better than to be enticed by such an offer.

"I appreciate your generosity, but I must decline", she responded as lightly as she could.

The Earl accepted this response quite easily, and it made Rory wonder why he'd made such an offer in the first place.

"Well then", he said with pensive nonchalance, "I suppose this will be our first and final exchange as by the morrow you will have set off on your own path and I shall remain here."

Rory watched him, confused by what he meant by such a seemingly trivial observation. But then he motioned to draw something from the pocket of the burgundy robe that he wore.

"For the Damusk", he said, placing a coin filled pouch on the table in front of Rory. "Fifty sylfring as promised, plus something extra for the trouble. I thank you again for ridding my land of such trouble."

And then he yawned and polished off the remainder of his ale.

"I fear that I have faded, and must retire for the evening. Your mare has been made comfortable in the stables, and I insist that you lodge here for the night as it it too dangerous to travel the forest at this hour. I will have a maid show you to your quarters."

Rory nodded her thanks, and bid the Earl goodbye as she polished off her own cup of ale. Slowly succumbing to her fatigue, she buried coin-filled pouch in her pack, and did not protest when a maid approached to show her to the guests' quarters.

It Always Ends the Same

May 12, 2025

I heard the policeman order me to stop. Like I care.

The chase was the best part. This one was fit and could keep up. He kept his pistol holstered, preventing the wild accusations of me shooting random people.

I don’t have to carry a firearm. He will soon discover why.

I am limber and agile. He is smart and fast. A few tossed trash cans and eventually he will miss a step or two.

So many before have. This one, so far, hasn’t.

He calls again for me to halt. Technically, I have not broken a law. He knows this. All of his kind knows this. But, they think they are in control and when challenged, they will ignore the laws they are sworn to enforce. This makes them dangerous when encountered in groups.

So far, his backup has not arrived to help him violate me.

I turn down the alley to discover it is a dead end. I like that phrase, “dead end”. So permanent. So final. As his first shot catches me in the leg, it is apropos that the chase concludes here. I stumble from the bullet, but manage to arise before he makes his final offer.

“Get down on your face. Hands behind your back or I will shoot again.”

The fire from within burns with a ferocity I covet. I know what is coming. It always ends the same way. My eyes become aglow from the crimson that consumes me.

It only takes my stare for him to unload his magazine of ammunition in fear. He sees the inferno in real time. I see him in slow motion. I had respect for this one. He was patient. He was a thinker. But, in the end, he is as who came before him.

My hellfire grows exponentially, consuming him and all other flammables in the alley. The sudden rush of heat boils every drop of water in his body, expanding each 1000 fold its original volume. His meat within, for a mere microsecond, emits a tantalizing aroma that would attract beasts of gargantuan hunger, ready to consume the source. As it is, the microsecond passes quickly resulting in a malodorous expulsion sickening all who should encounter his former essence.

When the additional police do arrive, they discover a young man of business and education who witnessed the fireball. Two gruesome shadows of soot remain where once stood a rookie police officer and the young woman he chased.

Within the confines of the alley, where the officers take statements, the charred human remains putrefy under the fetid conditions.

I explained that I cannot believe I survived the explosion. The Sergeant chalked it up to me being across the street, outside of the blast radius. He has no more questions for me and I am off to my business I have never been to before, working on accounts I have never seen, ready to take on the world I am all too familiar with.

For I am a Phoenix and it always ends the same.

Just reborn with a new body. Just renewed with opportunities aplenty.

There once was a boy named James who was born different. He grew and he grew and he grew. His parents took him to doctor after doctor, but he was no ordinary boy. At age 4 he was already 5 feet tall. By age 8 he was 8 feet, matching his age, and just a foot short of the world record. By age 10 he had achieved even that growing to an astounding 9 foot, 4 inches. Doctors didn’t know how his heart was keeping up with this growth but James seemed as healthy as any other child. Most doctors thought the limit of human growth was around this point, or that James would simply stop growing, but James kept growing… and growing. By the time James was old enough to drive he was taller than a two story building, standing at a monstrous 23 feet tall. His growth was not only fast, it seemed to be getting faster.

He needed custom fitted clothes and shoes, but he would grow out of them in a matter of weeks. Once James had graduated highschool, colleges didn’t have much interest in him since he wouldn't fit in their lecture halls anyway. James himself wondered when the growth would stop, but it wouldn't stop; not for years and years. By the time James was finally done growing, he was 44 years old and stood as tall as the eiffel tower, two and a half feet taller actually, at an astounding 1,085 feet and 6 inches! By this time, he needed to eat an entire farm for breakfast to keep his stomach from rumbling and disturbing people for miles around. James was loved by his family, but sometimes he felt lonely being up there all by himself. He would pass the time by helping his fellow man, using his gift for good. Helping cats down from trees, lowering people down from burning buildings, and saving crash landing planes by plucking them out of the sky.

At his monstrous size, James had expected people to attack him, to fear him, to try to hurt him. But when he saw people gathering around him for the first time, “Ants” as he liked to call them, he looked down confused. James was so large that he couldn’t hear the voices of the little people down below. But he could hear music. He saw the tiny figures moving and swaying and he knew they were dancing. James loved the little people, and vowed to always help out, whenever, and however he could.

One day scientists notified all world governments that a large asteroid, approximately 1.3 miles in diameter, was on a direct course for earth. This put the asteroid well in the category of a “planet killer”. Hours before impact, the people of earth gathered with their loved ones. Some sang, some cried, some even laughed. When James looked out at all of the people and all of their beauty, it brought a tear to his eye. He felt lucky to be a part of this world, and loved everyone for accepting him as a superhero. Truly, that was all James ever wanted to be.

So one more time, James used his superpower. With all of his strength, he leap into the sky, jumping so high he reached space. James held his breath as he hurdled toward the asteroid, thinking of the love of the ants down below. As the people of earth looked up, they saw a spectacular show in the sky. A bloom of light roared across the night sky, representing their savior. The people of earth cheered and shouted as they learned the news and saw the sky.

To this day the people of earth gather in the same place they did when James was there. Dancing and swaying and singing as they used to. And every year, on the day when the sky lit up, they cheer and praise and sing for James the giant.

I've got to be honest Rudy. I am not loving this new, restrictive box you've put me in. There's barely any room to stretch out my roots and I had aspirations of growing into quite the large plant. You see my uncle was huge! He once took over an entire back yard, choking out everything else that was growing there and even half burying the house.

You've made that impossible - with this awful, plastic pot. The water doesn't even drain through. Its just sits around my roots. You probably think that's fantastic Rudy, but let me tell you - it feels rather like being water-boarded. Like you can't ever get a full breath of air.

And I've not had a single bird visit, or felt the bliss of direct sunlight on my leaves since you shoved me in the far corner of your living room. I'm not a blooming mushroom Rudy! Have you heard of a little process called photosynthesis? I've listened to you bragging on the phone about how you are quite the green thumb, but I am yet to see a single hint of any gardening talent at all. I need sunlight to grow Rudy - not just that rather tasty fish bone spray you reluctantly give me every six months or so.

Also, I've got bad news for you Rudy. That lady friend you keep inviting over - well, she is definitely stepping out on you. I heard her on the phone the other day practically purring at some other poor sod. I can't say I'm surprised. You do seem like a very plain looking fellow. In the plant world, you'd probably be some sort of succulent - you've got that fleshy look about you.

She looks more like a mistletoe herself - she'll latch onto anything alive and hang around just long enough to suck the life out of it. You'd be well rid of her, if you'd only listen to me. But you never seem to. I'm practically yelling at you most of the time, but either you pretend not to hear, or you're too busy listening to that awful 70's pop on repeat. I promise you it doesn't make you either cool or edgy, neither do the piercings or tattoos. Just go and find yourself another nice succulent and you'll be happy as a sprout in compost. Nobody ever survives a mistletoe.

On that note, I think I rather like the look of that new peace lily you brought home from the market - the one you put next to the piano. Would you mind moving me a little bit closer - I'd like to see if they'd be open to some cross-pollination, if you know what I mean. I'm due to flower any day now, if I can just get enough energy from the refracted sunlight (you really do make it difficult for me Rudy).

I've had some serious conversations with the cactus on the windowsill as well - although we do rather have to shout to make each other heard. You need to stop overwatering us Rudy. I've seen you drink quantities of liquids that would put a weeping willow or a mangrove to shame (particularly that strange stuff in the brown bottles - called Beer), but if I'm not out in the full sun, then I don't need watering every third day. I tried by best to let you know - with the drooping leaves and the discolouration - but all you did was water me more. So please stop. Steve the cactus is only one more water away from asphyxiation. He's a darn desert plant Rudy! He thrives off neglect. All your fussing is going to kill a practically unkillable plant.

There should be a special place in hell for humans that are serial plant murders - there really should.

Oh, there you go Rudy, out the door again. Humans - always rushing off somewhere, never any time to put down roots, or enjoy the kiss of a beam of sunshine. And always so gosh darn noisy. I'll try him again when he gets back...maybe next time I'll get him to listen. Really, he's got ears as big as corn and he doesn't hear a thing that's important.