“The first Tide-users did not command the elements—they bargained with the dark between stars. They copied the arts of demons and monsters, bending their spines until they broke.

  Then they bent some more.”

  - Fragment of a pre-Roman stele, attributed to the “Sky-Carvers” of the Anasazi.

  A frail, child-like arm appeared out of the encroaching darkness, thin and pallid as if drained of life. Dante’s breathing hitched, his body locking in place as the grotesque limb extended toward him. He recognized it from the countless nightmares he had as a child, teen, and young adult. Even now...

  It emerged.

  But then, in the blink of an eye, the familiar flesh began to change. The fragile, bony arm warped and shifted, growing in size, sinew rippling beneath taut, deathly pale skin. Within moments, the arm became that of an adult, muscular and unnaturally strong, a far cry from its emaciated flesh. And yet... it was the same arm.

  It had merely aged.

  The hand—stunning him with its appearance—lunged for Dante’s face, its fingers cold as death and riddled with callouses like sandpaper. His vision filled with that suffocating grip. The hand enclosed around his head, blotting out the world. His heart froze, and for an instant, he felt time had stopped.

  An icy thumb struck his temple while the other fingers stretched across his jaw, his cheek, and his eye. He struggled instinctively, thrashing against the invisible force, but his movements were feeble.

  Dante felt the grave that he had dug himself; at least, that is what the hand suggested. The harder he fought, the more futile it seemed. The hand’s grip tightened, and a grinding pressure gathered in his skull, a sensation so profound and visceral it felt as though his head were caught in a vice. Pain erupted, sharp and consuming, with molten steel through his nerves.

  The human’s breath grew shallow, his chest heaving as the pressure mounted. His vision blurred, his mind filled with a roaring static that drowned out all sense of self. The pain reached its apex, and then, like glass shattering, the world around him erupted into fragments of light.

  His eyes flew open, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he bolted upright. Cold sweat clung to his skin, chilling him more than the already frosty air of the room. He gasped, his breaths ragged and shallow, his hand instinctively reaching up to his face, half expecting to find the monstrous grip still there. But it was gone. It had never been there.

  Judas...

  The nightmare of his brother left his subconscious, but in exchange, it remained with the rest of him.

  Dante’s body shook, adrenaline surging through his veins as he tried to ground himself in reality. Slowly, the oppressive darkness of his nightmare faded, and the room around him unblurred. He used the Lightsea as a focus, creating a small ring of water in his palm.

  The effort woke him fully and brought his sharp mind to life. His eyes rediscovered where he was, and he released a long sigh.

  He was seated on the floor of the crew’s shared hotel room, a blanket loosely draped over his legs. The warm carpet floor reminded him that he was still in Romul, still in a waking world, not the nightmare he had suffered since he was a boy.

  Even as his eyes scanned the room, he knew the dream wasn’t typical. It had changed. Why? Because some tiny piece within Dante’s heart had changed. Ego wore the face of his brother. And then Dante himself. He had no clue what any of it pointed to and was afraid of making assumptions.

  The faint light of the city’s eternal glow filtered in through the wide glass window, casting long, pale shadows across the space. His crew was scattered across the room, each lost in their own fitful rest.

  On the ultra-king-sized bed, Sonna and Joan had apparently found some temporary truce, their arms stretched out in opposite directions as they slept, their shared breaths steady and rhythmic. The faint rise and fall of their chests betrayed no signs of discomfort, even as they lay only a foot apart on a bed that would likely fit five people in total.

  On the couch nearby, Archimedes had curled into himself like the boy he remained, his knees drawn to his chest and his face buried in the crook of his arm. His mop of unkempt hair peeked out, and he snored faintly, the sound soft and almost endearing. Meanwhile, leaning against the side of the couch was his guardian, his broad shoulders slumped with crossed arms. The shadow of his tilted head partially obscured Lucius’ face, but his quiet breathing showed no signs of unease.

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  Dante’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, his pounding heart beginning to slow as he found comfort in the sight of their resting forms. Whatever hell they had been through, whatever trials lay ahead, they were still here. Still alive. How long they would stay was unknown, but for the moment, he let himself smile with the moon’s light in his eyes.

  He knew, deep down, that Rejo was okay, too. The bastard wouldn’t fail him. Rejo wouldn’t die on his own or anything like that. He had proved himself far beyond even Dante’s paranoia.

  But as his eyes moved across the room, they stopped abruptly.

  Someone was watching him.

  Astraeus sat against the far wall, his lean frame silhouetted by the faint city lights behind him. His knees were drawn up slightly, and his hands rested loosely on them, his posture deceptively relaxed. Snow flittered from his downward palms, melting before it reached the carpet.

  The water that should have emerged did not, for it formed of the Lightsea’s blessing, not true snow. All Tides summoned would eventually return to their home. Greater mastery could increase the length they existed in the galaxy, but all would return.

  Battlefields of Praetors left years or decades of turmoil behind, while those above them could ruin a Sector for centuries, yet all would return to their origin.

  Such was the law.

  Dante extended his right hand and weaved a single stream of water before splaying out his left. The Hydro moved slowly as if brought to motion by a tracing finger, the malleability on display. Astraeus eyed the Tide before nodding with the same streaking tears of snow as usual.

  Then, he brought out his own palms, with one that formed a single snowflake. It fell a few inches from its conjuration and crashed into the abyssal-colored hand. The snowflake crunched, deforming from the impact, but it did not shatter.

  Both men became drawn in by the element on display. Their other hands twitched, and they felt energy flowing through them. Hydro and Frigo came to them instinctively. Dante was born with an affinity for change, while Astraeus held the potential for endurance.

  As the minutes passed, they learned more about each other without a spoken word than they had in the months they spent side-by-side. More so, they understood why this was not a common practice for training Tides.

  The Dirge and human opened up all their weaknesses to each other. Every minuscule part of their Tides split open, exposing the flaws, strengths, and habits they held.

  Dante did not trust easily. He was paranoid, prone to back away from relationships, and only acting as if he were there. Too many times had he been burned by love, whether romantic or not.

  But when he did trust someone...

  His mind lingered on Astraeus’ near-sacrifice. The Dirge had gotten lucky. No one, not even Astraeus himself knew his Stigmata was capable of what it had done. He had sliced open space and had himself yanked through with the ruins of the Heron’s Wing.

  Almost simultaneously, a droplet of water constituted in Astraeus’ hand, and a miniature snowflake shone from Dante’s.

  They peered up from their shared concentration. The moon was almost at the edge of the night sky, and yet they had broken through the most challenging part. Dante had unlocked the defensive Frigo while Astraeus had awoken his versatile Hydro.

  Still, without a word, the two dived back into the oceans, yet brimming with potential. Dante sensed some piece of his mind reinforced while Astraeus had flickers of memories scrape across his senses.

  While Dante could concentrate his entire being on the Frigo, Astraeus found himself locked upon a sole frame of a disjointed, splintered memory.

  It was him, looking down at a feral child with blood-red hair. His heart stuttered as he quickly fought to recall even a little bit more of that one image, but he could not. It vanished from his mind and left the tears falling with a greater volume.

  Only the snowflakes were not alone. Thin streams of cold water ran alongside them. Astraeus bit his lip and devoted himself to his training, for he had caught a glimpse. A glimpse of his past life.

  An impossibility had emerged, and he longed to grasp its truths.

  *************************

  Over twelve hours later, near the apex of the sun in the sky, Dante stood before a mid-sized house. Its two floors with drapes over its many windows reflected in his eyes as he shook his head at the gaudy decor like the rest of Romul.

  Behind him stood the rest of his crew, barring the doctor. She had stayed back to research her newest Biotic, inspired by all the Seafarers she had seen. Joan hadn’t divulged any exact details, but Dante didn’t need her for this.

  At least, he didn’t think he did.

  The captain stepped up to the door and rapped on the door with his knuckles. A second passed, then two, until the door slid open a few inches. With the movement, an annoyed voice said from the confines of the house, “What do you want?”

  Dante cleared his throat before replying as Ouran had told him, “We’re here for dinner.”

  A face emerged in the door's slit, that of a surprised Irgen with his scaly brows rising. He pulled open the entrance all the way before waving for the outsiders to enter, “Come. Come. We’ve been waiting.”

  In but a few seconds, Dante, Sonna, Lucius, Archimedes, and Astraeus all found themselves in an empty living room. No chairs or couches remained; instead, two individuals sat on the hard, wooden floor. One Tianshe and another took Dante a squint to recognize.

  Ah, a Gwek.

  The four arms through him for a loop, but as they turned to greet the newcomers, Dante spotted the green skin and sunken eyes, which no Harenlar would ever possess. Furthermore, she had one eye covered by an eyepatch. Beneath seemed to vibrate to Dante’s senses. She held power underneath that eye.

  Just as Dante inspected the Gwek, she narrowed her uncovered eye onto him with barely concealed indignation as she drawled, “Hmm... So you’re who they hired? Davan, do we really need them? I think we could do it just fine with the three of us.”

  The Irgen shook his head powerfully and retorted, “Perhaps. But Wraith wants three to pass, one of us in each Empire.” Then, those scaled, black eyes turned back to the crew. Combustion promised they would suffice.

  Astraeus’ whole body lurched the moment ‘Wraith’ was uttered, but a glance from Dante kept him in check. Now was not the time. Joseph would pay, but that was when they would make him do so.

  Dante opened the actual dialogue by asking, “I thought there would be two of you? If it's three, we’ll have to find out how to split up most efficiently.”

  While the man spoke, the Irgen and Gwek shrugged in agreement. Behind them, the Tianshe remained seated, not even bothering to stand. Nevertheless, the four-armed woman introduced herself after the moment of irritation, “Yeah, that was the original plan. I’m Petra by the way. This scaled-ass is Eran. Oh, and mopey is Numen. He was kinda thrown at us, but what can you do?”

  Eyes flicked between Petra’s crassness and Eran’s mournful sigh, knowing that the two had spent a lot of time together to be so used to each other. Astraeus’ gaze lingered on the figure in the back for several seconds while Dante continued the plans.

  Something about him prickled the senses in the back of his mind. He just couldn’t look away, no matter how hard he tried.

  Numen. Who is he?