The odd phenomena of the Chucalissa City excavation yielded many objects. However they seemed to be of many different cultures and tribes that are further south normally. Furthermore the carvings on the walls aren't of any tribe previously recorded in prehistory or even history in general. Is this an evolutionary and historical blindspot?- From the Mystery of Chucalissa.

  The two little ones with those silly little spirits left without much to say after the blonde one had fixed the exhibits after falling into my arms. He was just like my son. Small, soft, and unknowing of what he is. He could've knocked me out or hurt me in a worse way than he did already but... he didn't. He merely used his spirit's power and his own strength to overload my Mode and cause me to burn out with the help of the Starmarked Girl.

  The fight I had with them was the most fun I've had in decades. Now it's back to 'normal' whatever that is for me. I sit and study the same book over and over. Flipping the pages mindlessly. A sigh escapes my lips. Not one fight would ever compare to how exhirating it felt to use my Mode again. To fight such interesting people. However, I need to be a good exhibit. The skylight in my exhibit roof shows the same patch of sky it always had. The same food, the same books, the same guests (sometimes), and all the same things. When I close my eyes... I dream of it.

  Of course, the story is never too far in my mind even now. I stare down at my son's old teething object and lightly touch it. He used to carry it everywhere. He used to be so... so bright. My eyes burn and tears stream down my cheeks.

  I'm far older than my son ever got to be. Even through time's arrow I had lost him.

  My poor, sweet Ventura.

  In the past far-flung from the modern age was the golden age of my people. Large undercities far below the ground dotted the Mississippi River Delta. One was known by the Europeans as Kaisarion.

  My city was a glittering jewel only for my people and those who had lost theirs. We were only a thousand or so strong in the days of harboring the nations that had lost nd to the menace of the little ones who thought anything they sought was something they could own. Yet all they needed was a pce to stay. So I gave the refugees a pce to be safe. Inca, Mayan, and Aztec. All of them headed up north to my city and I took care of them. Of course the colonists came just a few days after; searching for the people who I had just taken in.

  Ventura clings to my leg, His golden hair and bck eyes just like mine. I take him up into my arms and he watches as the people all bustle about with his arms squeezing my neck gently. The weight is a small comfort but what disquieted me were the men in armor in front of me in my throne room.

  They all stared at me with their weapons trained on me. Not Ponce de Leon or Pizzaro or even De Soto. (Who had all respected me after I had shown them my Mode.) It was Hernan Cortez. Here to get the other tribes I had collected to keep them safe. He saw them as property and I...?

  I remember the burning. The searing sensation my brethren must've felt. My son sobbing as he tries to keep my eyes open with cries of, "Mother! Mother! Please, don't die!" My cloak and its feathers were seared into my memory. How ruined they were and how Cortez had looked down at me and spat on my face. How my son had charged him and swung his little fists into the armor.

  Cortez cruelly grips my son by the arm and yanks him off his feet. I can't remember what was said exactly but I do remember what I thought. 'No!' my mind screams at me to move, 'Save him! Save him!' the tumble of memories keeps going faster and faster like a madcap merry-go-round.

  Was it really Cortez with Hamon?

  De Soto wanting my kingdom for himself?

  Pizzaro?

  Ponce de Leon convinced that my home was some Fountain of Youth?

  Or was it that maniac, Kars?

  The shifting mass of memories past attacks me like a beast from hell. All ending in the fall of my city, my home, and all I had left to hold was my son. But even then I don't have him around anymore. That there's nothing to gain from me just sitting there and letting time pass me by waiting for someone who might not even be alive. Daniel's kindness, "Would you like for me to give you something back?" that question rings through the dream like a foghorn through heavy weather. His voice was heavy with guilt and festooned with self-loathing.

  My eyes snap open and I come to the one conclusion that I can think of. I want to move on. I want to keep going. I want to find a pce for myself in the world and remember what came before this. I want to find my son but I also want to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.

  This is all going to waste here. All I am is wasted just being gawked at like an art piece. I watch as the nightguards mill about outside my exhibit. Time is of the essence. It was simply a matter of getting out at just the right moment. My leg muscles tense like springs. And then, just like a leaping grasshopper I'm in the air and coming towards the window. Even quicker than that I ftten like a pancake and slip just through the metal sts in the gss.

  And just like that I'm out in the night. The heat breathes through my hair and the stars shine down like crystals in a cave, with the moon shining down swollen and fat. All I am and all I will be exploded out into endless possibilities. I run from the museum when I hear the arms going. All I need to do now is try to find my way to them. My hair feathers shoot out and flutter off to get a better picture of where I need to go. The vibrations in the feathers and the currents passing through them form a map.

  Near Beale Street, off in a little hole in the wall, there's the neon of that sign. Feathers slip into the windows and into his room. Daniel sleeps fitfully and it makes my heart ache seemingly thrashing and fighting an unseen foe. Mack Handy is snoring enough to blow around the feathers I sent into his own room. The swordswoman Loredana Zeppeli who was so rude to me...

  Sleeps soundly.

  Finally, Jolyne Cujoh. The girl with the star birthmark on her left shoulder just above the shoulder bde is curled into a little ball. The poor dear seemed to have been crying. I'm already moving through the streets with the pavement and cement hot from the sun and the wind smells of rain.

  The rain begins softly. A few droplets fall on my feathers. Then it becomes steady. At that my cloak spreads and catches the wind. Within a few moments I'm weightless gliding through the rapidly cooling night air. Running, leaping, and soaring. My hair and cloak billow in the wind like a tassel of gold and red and green. Freedom blows around me and shocks my senses down to the nub. My flight isn't too unfamiliar to me.

  But it does feel clumsy from all the years of disuse. The rain breathes down on the world like a constant drool from an unseen beast. Steam and heat curl and dance off the pavement and this jungle of concrete, steel, and wood. A world I barely got to know the outside of. I slip down from the dark skies and nd right on the roof. A little clumsy stumble was all that met me and I'm finally on the roof. There was a small building at the top of it. Like a shed or a storage pce with ample space for me to rest my head. I push open the door and shut it behind me.

  It's almost like nothing is there but I don't care. I'm free.