"On Daedalus, one does not born, one becomes." These were the first words Méandre heard upon waking in the labyrinth.

  He remembered his first encounter with an Anima, appearing as an old mage with familiar yet constantly shifting features, both a wise guide and keen observer.

  "Here, there are no parents, masters, gods, or guardians to light your way through the twists and turns of life," he had declared. Although he was certain he had been born, Méandre now found only emptiness upon reflection.

  A deep worry arose within him - within the labyrinth, dreams seemed to unfold independently of the self, as if his presence was only required to give them shape. Distinguishing wakefulness from sleep, truth from fiction, beauty from ugliness, experience from anticipation became challenging.

  So Méandre wondered why he precisely remembered this encounter - Hexy said one should question the language of one's psyche. On Daedalus, before meeting his Anima, it seemed he had wandered for years in the labyrinth, a conscious without purpose, a fleeting slave to his past incarnations, unable to discern the time, places, and substances of his thoughts. But upon crossing paths with the mage, he knew the labyrinth was more than just a purgatory.

  Since then, Méandre had encountered many other Animas, but never again the old sage. Surely, this memory indicated something in his quest, he thought as he let the dream unfold.

  Suddenly, an unpleasant sensation gripped his throat, shattering the fantasy as he saw Heather above him.

  The surrounding chaos was terrifying. The screams added to the anxiety caused by the vibrations shaking the capsule, its shields glowing a vivid red. Méandre realized that nothing was going as planned. But he didn't know what to do. On reflex, he sought the answer in Hexy's eyes, who was shouting into the void, in vain.

  He understood he had to decide for himself. "This time, it's for real," he repeated to himself, trying to integrate this new reality. He felt the harness of the pod scraping against his skin, lifted by the repulsiveness of the vortex fighting to keep them in the descent of their shuttle.

  "My matter is trapped by its effects, but not my consciousness," thought Méandre. He imagined himself as the dense diamond core of an ice giant planet and transformed into an inert crystal, his consciousness resting near the stone.

  Through the flame-ringed window, Méandre watched the last shuttles approach the mesosphere, the first clouds spreading in the distance. Yet, even the appearance of things seemed to be disintegrating.

  The metals of the capsules seemed to doubt their solidity, turning into wood then paper, unfolding like origami. Or reverting to stone, gas, liquid, or simply disappearing.

  However, Méandre understood that these shuttles hadn’t survived by chance, for everywhere, the vortex was retracting, while they regained their shine, even more dazzling. Ethereals, he supposed in the moment. But their fate was in his hands, and suddenly reminded him.

  His consciousness heard Heather scream. Just in time, he saw that his stone body had been released as the pod turned into plasma. He returned to his initial form and collided with Heather head-on.

  Dazed, he felt her panting breath on his back. She was taking shallow breaths at an intense and steady pace; he understood and mimicked her, trying to focus. "The way out is here, Méandre," Heather said with assurance.

  Méandre opened his ink-black eyes, like a universe without stars, and let the images of shuttles flow through his mind like river ripples. He paddled to find the fastest current, letting the blur of ideas dissipate as he mastered the waves and was carried away by the rising tide.

  The shuttle became more solid than ever, new parts appearing, and although its technology no longer resembled the original, it maintained its course, following the swarm accompanying it. The cloud cover gently enveloped them.

  "The way out is here," Heather repeated in his ear. "Follow your path." Then, like in Daedalus, Méandre imagined a light world, free from all gravity, both physical and mental.

  He and Heather floated gently, like leaves in the wind. The cottony softness turned into a soothing breeze, clearing the horizon and slowing their descent. A world of freedom appeared, where three suns glowed in the immaculate sky, one at dawn, another at zenith, the last at dusk. The landscapes took on a fuchsia aura.

  The truth revealed itself as the moons eclipsed the suns, like eyelids over eyes, unveiling the shadows of the world to the brave visitors.

  Snow-capped peaks bordered sand valleys where the shadow of the dunes rivaled that of the forests. Among the pines, a silhouette stood out: a large corvid skimming the treetops.

  Méandre shivered at the sight, steam escaping from his chapped lips. Heather grabbed his chin, pulling him away from the vision. Relieved but unsettled, a smile curled her cheeks, reminding him of the day she had pulled him from the labyrinth... The day of their first kiss, Méandre thought.

  And Hexy kissed him again, their floating embrace extending into an eternity for Méandre's love-stricken heart. Until landing, where his eyes opened to Heather's surprised gaze staring at him.

  "Méandre... I... You..." Heather stammered, raising her arm as if to slap him. After swallowing hard, she took two steps to the side to move away. "We need to get them out of there," she said in a cold tone. Méandre didn't understand but complied.

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  One by one, the pods emptied, revealing pale, nauseous faces covered in fluids. Humans of all ages, alone, or as couples or families, emerged in their most basic intimacy.

  The roar of the retro thrusters surpassed that of confusion, punctuated by terrible creaks against the hull, the shocks vibrating both metal and hearts.

  The final impact reverberated through the tightly packed assembly like a wave in a cup. The crowd swirled in a staggering whirlwind, bodies colliding and walls preventing falls.

  Buffeted by the surging crowd, Méandre had had enough. He felt the matter around him, made indecisive by the vortex's energy. Just imagining it was enough to stop the dance immediately, obeying his will.

  Murmurs spread through the uncertain crowd, awaiting a new catastrophe. Heather then spoke up:

  "Fear not, as long as we are here, you have nothing to fear, for we are Ethereans, capable of mastering reality."

  New hesitations gripped the crowd. A few voices rose: "Who are you?", "Are you sent by Wright?", "We almost didn't make it!", "What is an Etherean?"

  Heather silenced them: "Look at us. Now is not the time to debate; we need to ensure your safety first."

  The murmurs resumed, this time approvingly. "What's your proposal?" finally asked a wrinkled face.

  "We spotted mountains during the descent; we should head there to explore the surroundings," Heather replied.

  A round-faced woman objected: "And what about the planet's atmosphere? Have you thought about that?"

  "As long as you are with us, no danger threatens you. And we can transmute your clothes as needed," Heather assured.

  "But what about reality alteration?" insisted the woman.

  "Wright has equipped us with shields," a teenager reminded them.

  "They didn't protect us up there," objected the round-faced woman behind him, a hand on his shoulder.

  "You're wrong, Wanda," chirped the chubby little man beside her. "They did protect us. It's just that the pods and the ship didn't have them."

  "Wright must have known too, Bischoff," argued a tall bald man with rugged features. "He betrayed us. We would have perished without them."

  Bischoff twirled his snoring mustache. "Fine, I admit it. But isn't it his doing that these two Ethereans are among us?" he asked, raising an eyebrow towards Heather and Méandre.

  Heather was about to answer, but Méandre beat her to it: "Exactly. He's the one sending us."

  Cheers erupted.

  "So Wright's plan is coming to fruition," noted Wanda, pinching her lips. "A new world."

  "Indeed," assured Méandre. "And we are here to help you get there." His pupils darkened. Suits covered the passengers.

  "Incredible!" exclaimed the teenager. "Practical," approved his mother. "Could you make them bigger?" asked Bischoff, struggling with his outfit.

  "There's no time to waste," intervened Heather. "We need to get moving." Her palm pressed the red decompression button, a testament to Méandre's finesse.

  The left side peeled away, revealing a contrasting landscape. A wide furrow marked the chaotic landing, stretching into rows of topped pines.

  The shuttle's nose was buried in a tall wooded dune, hiding distant peaks. A smell of iodine accompanied the breeze, lifting sand into the folds of their protective suits. The atmosphere was thick, laden with gases in equal measure, reminding Heather of Daedalus.

  As the group explored their surroundings, Heather pulled Méandre aside. The boy seemed worried, like a guilty dog fearing its master's reaction. His black eyes sank into their sockets, extending to his cheekbones until Heather held him in her arms.

  "Aren't you mad?" Méandre asked, tears streaming down.

  "I'm proud you mastered reality," Heather began gently. "But I'm saddened by your choices." Her warm tears mixed with Méandre's.

  "I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "I thought that's what you wanted, and I couldn't control myself."

  Heather shivered. "I did want it, but not like this. You forced me. Do you understand?"

  "I do," Méandre assured, sheepishly. "Even if you wanted to kiss me, I should've waited for your consent."

  "Exactly. We build our world together. I won't allow anyone to dictate my reality, no matter how tender or sweet they are." She caressed his face.

  "Is that why you pretended to be an Etherean?" Méandre asked softly.

  "Their opinion of us is crucial," Heather assured. "It's better they believe we're indispensable."

  He nodded, ashamed. "How did you feel when I made up that kiss?"

  Heather grasped his forearms. "Disoriented. I was proud of you, but I felt pulled against my will. Magnetized."

  The guilt hit Méandre. "Hexy, forgive me. I messed up."

  "You're forgiven, but you'll need to make it right. Everything depends on you now," Heather reminded him.

  A smile returned to Méandre's milky cheeks. He ventured, "So your reality changed, but not your consciousness?"

  "Yes, that's correct. Well observed..." Heather admitted, pondering. "That means the shield also protects the mind!"

  Hasty steps approached. "Etherean lords, you should see this!" called the teenager, running towards them.

  Heather shot him a dark look, but he continued. She studied him: upright posture but slouched shoulders, burdened with regrets not his own. A martyr, she thought.

  "What do you want..." she began before he spoke.

  "Léole, Madame," he replied, contrite.

  "That's not what I'm asking, Léole. Why are you bothering us?" Heather continued sternly.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. My mother sent me; Conscologist Syn Phofield has made a discovery."

  Heather smiled. "You're forgiven; lead us to him." The teenager obeyed willingly.

  "Well done," Méandre acknowledged once he'd left them following. "The more I learn, the more I appreciate your skill. You're not really an Etherean, but you can manipulate reality."

  He meant it as a compliment, but Heather felt her heart tighten. "Shh, be discreet if you want to show you're learning," she said calmly.

  "Of course, sorry," Méandre whispered. "How long do we have to stay with these people? I don't remember planning this."

  "It was possible but unlikely. But it seems neither Wright nor the Admiral care about their fate. If we hadn't intervened, they'd be dead, which Wright and she knew."

  "But Wright equipped them with shields..." Méandre pointed out. "And some shuttles survived, I saw them. Other Ethereans preserved them."

  "It's possible Wright only wants some of them... or knew we'd be there. Are you sure of Lawton's loyalty?"

  "He proclaims it, but that doesn't mean he's devoted. But it's a machine; it can't lie."

  "Where did you get that?" Heather asked, intrigued.

  "I don't know, but I'm certain," Méandre replied.

  "In that case, we need to wait and get closer to Wright," Heather observed.

  "You want to go back?" Méandre asked, surprised. "We're already free, no guards or Spaciens, we can escape."

  "We won't be free if Wright closes the vortex - the Universal Administration will take this fief," Heather argued. "And abandon these people after saving them?"

  Méandre put his head in his hands. "Fine, you're right. But once these people are safe, if anything goes wrong, we disappear. And there's no guarantee Wright's plan will work."

  "You're becoming cautious," Heather noted with a compassionate smile. "I like that." Méandre blushed.

  They arrived behind Léole at the gathering; the crowd parted. Dr. Phofield was squatting near huge spread wings. The raven's carcass fixed them with a malevolent eye.