Althea sat with Kirra and Kaleb in a small, packed tavern. Somehow, Cyrus had seen fit to leave them to themselves for the time being. Perhaps he wished to allow them time to process their thoughts in peace, or maybe he simply had business elsewhere.

  Kaleb had a sketchbook with him and was observing the light fixtures and other features of the hollowed out wooden stump the tavern had been carved into. Wide-eyed, he flicked a small piece of loose charcoal off his page and ducked his head again to scribble a few more lines.

  Kirra was chatting up a poor fellow at the bar, her arm flexed in some kind of show of physical prowess. She had a stupid smirk on her face that Althea hated. She gestured wildly to the man, and then at the wall.

  “Your sister is a shameless braggart,” Althea mumbled, nursing a tasty drink that she wished was more alcoholic.

  “Ah… yes,” Kaleb agreed, not looking up from his page.

  Althea studied his concentrated expression. It was as if there was no one around him at all.

  She longed for Arévis to be awake. She doubted that either Kaleb or Kirra could comprehend how she was feeling. The sweet grounding of familiarity had been missing for too long. The beauty of Paradise seemed strange now, when before it had been alluring.

  Kirra moseyed towards them as noisily as possible, her nearly nude Paridisian in tow.

  “Kaleb!” She cried joyously. “Do you have anything sharp with you? A dagger, or a needle?”

  “No,” Kaleb mumbled.

  “Ughhhh.” Kirra made a noise of disgust. She addressed the strange man.

  “They confiscated our weapons—so I can’t show you. Why isn’t there a piece of metal in this whole gods-damned place?” She lamented much too loudly.

  “Iron and fire are prohibited,” He said meekly. “They are destructive forces not welcome here.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” Kirra snorted. “Find me something glass… I’ll prove to you that I can hit a small target from that distance.”

  The two lumbered away at last. Althea blinked off the onslaught and returned to her brooding.

  With another sip of her drink, the slow fuzz of calm crept upon her roiling thoughts.

  “I was serious in there,” Althea said. “I want to help the people of Gaither.”

  Kaleb paused for just a moment, then resumed sketching. “Don’t you have other things to do after everything you’ve just learned about?”

  “My parents are dead,” she drawled. “The Artificers that Arévis and I were hunting are dead.”

  Kaleb set his pad down on the table between them. His only drink was water.

  “How exactly are you going to help?” The words were spoken softly, but his tone was sharp with doubt. “Are you going to find this rare Orsanian specimen and deliver it to the Cruel Mother?”

  Althea pursed her lips in determination. “I want to work on the cure.”

  Kaleb scoffed at that.

  “Is it so hard to believe that I could actually do it?” Althea said. “Apparently my mother was the descendent of Hadyn—the immortal God of War. Clearly he was gifted with green magic. And who knows what Mother made me into? It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  Kaleb sighed. “I don’t know. But I don’t think you want to go there without more of a fighting force. The Goddess of the Plague may have the resources to help – but she’s right. Gaither won’t welcome a mage.”

  “A fighting force,” Althea murmured.

  Kaleb had already returned to his sketch. Althea thought that Kirra and Kaleb would be good assets if she needed help in a fight. Obviously Arévis would be good as well. What if she could convince some of the seraphs here in Paradise to join her?

  Althea rose from the table abruptly, which didn’t startle Kaleb in the least. As she walked past him towards the exit, she caught a glimpse of his drawing. Her eyes widened in appreciation.

  Althea set out in search of Iliana. She thought Iliana would probably be working, so she made her way towards the labs.

  After about an hour of wandering aimlessly, she realized that this had been a terrible idea. Without a guide, Paradise was too similar in layout to its other wings, making it impossible to know where she was, let alone where she had come from. Her only hope was that Cyrus would sense her distress somehow and find her. Whatever the extent of his black magic, he had proven he was capable of that much.

  Still, he didn’t come, so she sat down against a tree where some friendly birds were chirping. Maybe she could orient herself by mapping out the change of vegetation from here to the main street next time.

  Dusk further dimmed the warm ambience of the low-lit town, and more of the bio lights came to life, glowing like little stars scattered throughout the space. It had been too long since she had seen stars in the night sky.

  As Althea rose to make her way back to the main street, she felt a lurch at her core.

  It occurred to her that she hadn’t tried a very particular direction in one of the lab wings, and that if only she could make her way there, Iliana was sure to await her.

  Althea turned her heel and walked back towards the monotonous structures of the labs.

  Her sense of purpose took her to a very specific wing in a very specific area that seemed familiar. There wasn’t any reason she could think of to associate it with Iliana, yet it was clear as day that this is where she would find her.

  Althea marched through the membranous door and past all the strange compounds and bottles on the shelves, walking the length of the stone lab table, towards the domed structure at the end with all the pods. She knelt at a particular pod, reached her hand into its milky depths and felt, again, the seam of a membranous door at its bottom. The liquid whooshed out in a hurry, and she felt the cold draft from the staircase that led deep underground.

  It was a strange place for work, but then again, there wasn’t anything remotely normal about this place. As Althea descended the staircase, a row of lights lit as she walked by them as if they sensed her presence.

  As she approached the bottom, she could hear the flow of liquids being carried by massive arrays of those tube-like vines, pulsing with anticipation.

  Her heartbeat sped up, though she could think of no reason to be frightened.

  She walked down another corridor, and another, some with secret doors and passages that made her dizzy. Why put all this trouble into keeping something hidden? What could possibly await her down here?

  It had been cold at first, but the lights radiated warmth for her. She felt glad for their comfort, despite the austere whiteness of their glow. The light was not overwhelming, but gentle. The eeriness came mostly from the dim, pulsing green of the vine networks running along the ceilings and walls and even the floor sometimes like a rampant weed takeover.

  A heaviness settled around her as if she were being compressed. The air felt humid, and a low hum permeated the soundscape. The edges of her vision shimmered slightly.

  She approached a room with a heavily sealed door. The mechanisms all appeared organic, connected by those wretched vines.

  She touched at the construction of it, fascinated despite herself. Her fingers tingled.

  The door crept open, vine after vine unfurling themselves like snakes.

  At last, the door was unhindered. The feeling in her belly was gut-wrenching fear, but an even more overwhelming curiosity compelled her to open the door herself. She did so quickly, to make sure to overcome her own reticence.

  What she saw made her gasp in utter horror. She approached in short, abortive movements, and her hand clutched at her mouth.

  In the chamber was Ezra, the sickly paleness of his bare, emaciated flesh wreathed in a tangle of vines. His long arms were raised above his head, both hands engulfed in the stuff, like grotesque manacles. The mass of pulsing matter crept up past the sharp bones of his hips like a bunch of skirts. The tangle of his black hair was mostly hidden by some kind of device atop his head. It immediately reminded her of the crown of implements on Mother’s own head. To her disgust, it looked as if the tubing fed directly into the back of his skull.

  “So you’ve come,” came the hideous scrape of that wrecked voice, echoing only in her mind.

  Althea trembled on her exhale.

  “I didn’t know if I’d get another opportunity. Cyrus was monitoring you so closely. I thought it was the end when he muddled your memories of my first attempt.”

  Althea thought back to when Cyrus brought her to Mother. She had been wandering around here, but she couldn’t for the sake of anything remember why.

  “Cyrus’ mind control is very subtle. It only works if his implants are reasonable. He couldn’t, for example, have convinced you that you weren’t looking for something, or that you didn’t have something important to do. It works mostly as redirection. With specific manipulations, he can amplify other wants and needs and minimize small fixations—like the one I had compelled you to seek. If it’s not important to you, he can even erase it.”

  Althea trembled at the implication.

  “And what about you? You brought me here. Clearly you’re of the same… type.”

  “Much the same,” scraped the voice, “only far more powerful.”

  Althea tried to move toward the door but felt that her curiosity was suddenly far more pressing than her fear. She stayed in place.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I need you to free me. You won’t do it right now, even at my… suggestion. I must show you some things that you won’t want to see, but you must for the sake of me, my brothers and sisters, and the rest of the world.”

  She could only see his mouth and nose below the contraption, pale in the eerie glow, expressionless, his mouth unmoving as he spoke into her mind.

  “Wait!” Althea cried, cold now in the dank of the underground chamber. She clutched her hands at her arms for warmth. Somehow, questions had become her only measure of defense.

  “What is it?” Ezra asked.

  “How do I know what you show me won’t be a lie?” she asked. “I saw what you did to those Edajian Artificers… and I remember what you did to me.”

  “The deception was necessary to get inside of Paradise once more. In this case it won’t be,” Ezra argued.

  “I think you’ll do whatever it takes to escape,” Althea rebutted.

  “Once you see why, you won’t want me to stay here like this.” It didn’t ease her mind at all, and it certainly didn’t guarantee that Ezra wouldn’t try to deceive her. But she was curious.

  “You’re already starting to question Mother.” That ragged voice dragged at her mind. “I can feel your disgust at the state of me. The method of my restraint is much worse than you think. Here: feel it for yourself…”

  A wave of dread hit Althea as he said the words. But nothing he could have said would have prepared her for the suffocating feeling that enveloped her.

  Nausea threatened to upturn the bile in her stomach. Her mind was hazy and confused as if she had just woken up, yet no amount of clarity came to her as the time passed. She could feel a dull throb where the vines were embedded in her flesh—the back of her skull, through her spinal cord, through the veins in her arms and legs. Nothing eased the pain except the constant rush of depressants.

  Yet what was this horrible, ringing noise that scattered her thoughts?

  “It’s a psychic dampener,” he answered in that mad timbre. It was as if he had never heard the voice of another human before, and so didn’t know how to imitate it. “It’s strong, but Mother was never any good at tempering her creations. You were just close enough for me to reach you.”

  “Why don’t they kill you?” Althea spit out, terrified. No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t want to ask questions, did she? She wanted to leave. The thought was quelled by a niggling in her mind. Instead, she thought that there was too much she didn’t understand. Surely, he had some answers. She wanted to see what he had to show her. How bad was it? Shouldn’t she know?

  A chaotic noise filled her head like screaming. But she knew that this must be his laughter, bitter and inhuman.

  “Oh, how they’ve tried. Even I’ve tried. I don’t think there is a way. Mother saw to that with meticulous care.”

  The room faded around Althea, and instead of the grotesque figure of the black mage wrapped in vines, he was now on a cold table, muscles and viscera exposed. There were several figures cutting at him with steel knives, and others holding him down. The room itself was silent, but she could hear the distant echo of screams in the back of her mind. Ezra’s black eyes were like holes of despair. He writhed and writhed, yet the cutting did not let up. Among the observers was Mother herself, her eyes cold with determination.

  “There is no way to make me unconscious for long. I metabolize the compounds too quickly. Mother’s only recourse is to continuously pump me full of a strong mixture of depressants. It can keep me contained, as I am now, but… as you can see, there is no escape from the agony of her operations.”

  The table and arms of the surgeons were coated in Ezra’s blood. He fought them continuously, yet they continued, impassive.

  “We’re her creations. That means that she’s entitled to our bodies and our minds, you see. Hers to do what she wishes with. Hers to make powerful or to break.”

  The room faded away again and what materialized was an endless chamber, filled with pods of various sizes, each slightly luminescent in the deep dark. Each contained the washed-out outline of human bodies at different stages of development. Small pods contained the children, babies, even eggs and fetuses at the youngest stages. The room was muggy with the radiant warmth of their regulated fluid chambers.

  Mother entered the chamber with several young people that had black hair and pale skin. They walked briskly down the long hall.

  “That one is me,” Ezra pointed out. He was lanky and appeared to be around Althea’s age. His hair was cut short, and he wore a white lab uniform. There were no signs of the madness or violence that was all Althea knew of him.

  Mother’s chestnut hair was so long that it dragged behind her on the ground as she walked. It was entwined with braids and flowers. She looked terribly regal even in the dim light.

  The group approached the pod of a small child. It opened by Mother’s thought, the fluid draining out through the vine network.

  As she held up the baby for the others to see, she spoke reverently. “This is your new brother. His name is Cyrus.”

  “What will his purpose be?” Asked one of the girls.

  “He will be an illusionist. He’ll tell stories to our kin, and he’ll keep the utmost secrets safe.”

  The girl giggled. “But Ezra already does that, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, of course. But Ezra doesn’t have the sharp and stable mind that I’ve put in Cyrus. Cyrus will be very important for running Paradise.”

  Mother handed the child to Ezra, who held him gently, a strange look on his face.

  Althea didn’t have to ask what the feeling was, because Ezra filled her heart with it: adoration.

  “Mother told me in so many words that this child would be my replacement if I didn’t live up to her expectations,” Ezra spoke with despair. “But I loved him. I don’t know if it was because he had her favor already, or if it was because I saw it as a relief to no longer have anything required of me.”

  “Why did she want to replace you?” Althea asked, the scene fading and the grotesque figure of Ezra in front of her once more.

  “I was never any good at keeping secrets. I used to scare the other children if I told them too much by accident.

  “Mother’s children weren’t just creations—they were experiments. If the newest model made an older one obsolete, can you guess what she did to them?” The contemptible sickness of his voice stuck to her mind like tar.

  “Did she,” Althea swallowed, her throat thick with fear, “kill them?”

  “No. Worse.”

  Althea tried to think of what was worse. She thought of pain and torture, but that seemed cruel even for Mother. Why would she punish something she deemed obsolete? What purpose would they serve then? Why waste resources on them?

  She then understood what Mother did to her failed experiments.

  “She abandons them,” Althea said. “She abandoned you.”

  She could feel Ezra’s implicit agreement.

  “I was never truly alone. I had brothers and sisters with me in exile.” At this, Althea thought she saw his somber mouth twitch upward.

  “But most of their minds had taken a turn. I don’t claim to understand the mind, even with my gifts. Mother doesn’t know either, despite what she might say. I can’t convince myself that she isn’t responsible for my as well as their state of mind. An oversight, maybe… or perhaps a sacrifice she deemed necessary for our abilities.”

  Images flickered in and out of Althea’s vision. The Wanderers, naked and covered in mud, crawling and sobbing like creatures.

  “You haven’t felt the depths of humiliation until you’ve watched your sisters and brothers abandon all human dignity.”

  Althea’s skin crawled as the sensations of cold mud and choking mist caged her flesh.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Althea demanded.

  The silence was heavy with Ezra’s thoughts.

  “Have you ever been so overwhelmed by your senses that your only recourse is to retreat from every other function? Has your reality ever blended into another, where nothing means what it used to, and certainly not the same thing to others around you? Have you ever tried to communicate with someone so lost in this hell that you arrive there with them?”

  Althea’s expression darkened. “No, I’ve never been crazy.”

  Ezra’s screeching laughter made her flinch.

  “I can make you go crazy.” The dark, calm chill that overcame his voice sent a prickle down her spine.

  “I remember the taste you already gave me, thanks,” she noted.

  “Just a taste… is that all you can take?” His voice whispered low in the dark recesses of her mind, and images flickered in and out—too blurry to properly make out, but just sampling the edge of discomfort. The dense mustiness of the chamber encapsulated her like a membrane. The dirt began to crawl with insects that quickly overwhelmed the ground. They crawled up her legs and up her dress. She was paralyzed with fear and with the knowledge that in no direction could she escape the cascade of slick, cool carapaces against her flesh, the feather-light touch of spider legs, and the slimy softness of maggots and worms.

  When at last she could move she scratched at her own skin, gasped when the creatures reached her mouth, and then when her silent gasping became unbearable, finally a scream broke through.

  The image disappeared instantly and she was left with bloody gashes across her arms from where she had clawed at her own skin. Althea whimpered. She collapsed onto the ground, but immediately retracted her dirty hands in fear, eyeing the soft loam for anything moving.

  “Just a taste,” Ezra murmured, more to himself.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “What the fuck?!” Althea yelled in the small chamber. She wondered if sound could escape this place. Her breathing skittered and skipped as it crawled back to baseline.

  “One of my sister’s visions,” Ezra explained in his approximation of softness. “I see them and I hold them for her so that she knows she is not alone.”

  “You better get the fuck on with it, you psycho!” Althea threatened. “You said you had things to show me, not that you were going to torture me!”

  She huffed in the shivery recovery of abject terror.

  “My apologies,” Ezra wheezed. “You’re right, of course…

  “I tried to take care of them, wreck that I was myself. We all tried to take care of each other,” Ezra continued. “But I’m no good at caring for others.

  “They’re out there still—waiting for my return. They believed me when I said I wouldn’t abandon them.”

  “Then why are you here?” Althea struggled to say. She hadn’t moved from where she had fallen—an arm supporting her weight—the other absently rubbing at her face.

  Althea didn’t know if he intentionally sent her the wave of longing and desperation, but she almost retched at the intensity.

  Again, reality dissolved around her and as if she were vividly dreaming with her eyes open, Cyrus and Ezra materialized in a shadowed grove, lit dimly by fireflies and delicate bioluminescent flora. Cyrus must have been a child, no older than twelve years old judging by how small he was. Ezra seemed to have lost none of the awkward lankiness of adolescence even in his early adulthood.

  Ezra plucked one of the gently glowing white flowers from the earth and handed it to his brother. Cyrus’ face split wide with a grin, wider than Althea had ever seen it.

  In turn, Cyrus made a hologram of it, floating the delicate form for Ezra to admire. But when Cyrus looked up to Ezra for his approval, he was met with an unsmiling, concentrated face. Cyrus frowned. Before long, the entire floor of the grove blossomed with the luminescent flowers, which lit up the place to a staggering brightness.

  “Magnificent!” The cool voice of Cyrus exclaimed in Ezra’s mind.

  The “So are you…” went unspoken by Ezra’s will, but Cyrus could hear it anyway.

  The scene faded. Althea could still feel the lingering connection the two siblings shared.

  “You’ve never seen Cyrus smile like that,” Ezra rasped.

  Althea was silent.

  “It’s because his heart is heavy from our separation—from the division of the others that he is a part of.”

  “I thought that everyone here was a part of you.” Althea argued.

  “They are. But Mother created Cyrus to be similar to me and the others outside of the wall. Our other siblings do not share these abilities. No one else understands.”

  “Understands what?”

  Ezra seemed to struggle to put it into words. “Our experience is rare. Mother would say special – like a beautiful symphony that only we can hear. But it’s also quiet. If no one else can hear it, then we can’t be heard either when we speak of it.

  “You’re thinking that I can just show them. That’s true. But I try to avoid that when necessary. The results are often unpleasant and sometimes horrific.”

  How could such gifts be as awful as he described them?

  “Your abilities are extraordinary,” Althea chimed in. “They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen or heard of before.”

  “Yes,” Ezra agreed. “And still it’s been a gateway to madness. Except for Cyrus—his mind is like iron. He was made that way: perfected by the hideous trial and error that Mother sees fit to inflict upon us.”

  Althea frowned.

  “That’s why I am here, Althea. You have seen only a glimpse of the unique agony that Mother inflicts upon us. Before I destroy all that Mother holds dear, I’m here to free Cyrus.”

  Althea stood up and dusted off her dress. Her breathing was calm, even if her thoughts weren’t.

  She understood all too well the love he shared for his brother. She felt the same loyalty and connection to Arévis. Althea would have done anything to free Arévis of whatever the hell she had gone through, if only she had been given the chance. There was only one thing that stopped her sympathy from engulfing her.

  “When you say ‘destroy all that Mother holds dear,’ do you mean her children? Your brothers and sisters?” Althea asked without hesitation.

  Ezra was quiet for a moment. Althea wondered if he was concocting a convincing lie.

  “Only the ones that actively oppose me.”

  Althea nodded.

  “Well, thank you for your presentation, Ezra. I’ve learned a lot as I’m sure you hoped I would.”

  She made to exit, and felt a strong tug.

  “I’ve learned all I needed to. That won’t work.” She moved yet again towards the exit.

  “Wait!” His raspy scream splintered her thoughts.

  “Don’t even think about torturing me into staying, because I can guarantee I’ll leave you here to rot!” Althea whipped around, pointing at him. She realized this was a pointless gesture since he couldn’t see her. But he did know her thoughts. He could at least read her intent.

  “What will you do now?” The childlike parts of his voice made her ache. He sounded helpless.

  “I’m going to talk to Cyrus,” she said. “We’ll see how much your story matches up with his. And if he wants to be…‘freed.’”

  “He’ll just do as Mother wants! It won’t be his choice!” Ezra screeched.

  Althea sighed. “I’m not going to let you murder the people here. Maybe I can help you escape… but whether it’s with Cyrus will be up to him.”

  “You may succeed, Althea.” His voice became soft and dark with grave intent. It was like a coarse brush dragging across her skin. “But whether or not you help me, I will end Mother. I hope you believe that neither you, nor anyone else will stop me.”

  “I believe you,” she said, facing the door rather than looking at his sickly form. “But it might be up to me how long it is until you get the chance.”

  It wasn’t a moment after Althea ascended the staircase out of that chamber of horrors that she saw Cyrus. He was rushing towards her but stopped as soon as he saw her.

  “I was just looking for you,” Althea said.

  Cyrus was silent for a moment.

  “So you’ve spoken with him.” The cool voice in her mind was grave.

  “I have.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  “You must not free him. Not ever,” Cyrus demanded. “Can’t you see why?”

  “That’s why I need to talk to you. He said he wanted to free you.”

  “Free me? From what?” Cyrus frowned.

  “Don’t play dumb.” Althea folded her arms. “Free you from Mother. From her experiments.”

  “…I see.” Cyrus nodded, turned away slightly to contemplate. “Mother has learned from her mistakes. She does not make creations in such a cruel way anymore. There are no more who cannot be put to sleep during surgery, no more who can lose their minds.”

  “Oh, excuse me, my mistake, I hadn’t realized,” Althea bit out. “Oh, wait, what about that man strung up in the basement?!” she shouted.

  “You said yourself that he was Mother’s responsibility,” Cyrus defended. “She’s only locking him up for the rest of our safety. You can see that he’s not well. He’s dangerous.”

  Althea’s voice softened. “Do you really not see why he’s angry?”

  “Of course I do.” Cyrus’ voice wavered. “But can you free him knowing what he wants to do to this place? I know you don’t want that.”

  “Do you have another solution? Other than leaving him locked up in agony?” She asked.

  “The solution is already under way. Mother’s research is what will save him—what will save us all. She’ll find a way to…,” he trailed off.

  “Kill him.” Althea finished for him.

  “Or make him well again,” he answered quickly.

  “His grievances aren’t madness. What about your other brothers and sisters? The ones Mother left alone out there?” Althea demanded, gesturing wildly.

  “I know this mess needs to be cleaned up. But it can’t be done by burning it all to the ground,” Cyrus reasoned. “Paradise is constantly improving—someday there won’t be any trace of this unpleasantness, a-and we can spread our knowledge to the world when our system has been perfected.”

  “Hmph. Is that how Mother sees it?”

  “She will in time.”

  Althea moved to leave.

  “Wait.” Cyrus didn’t move to stop her, yet she stopped anyway.

  “Iliana is needed here. You can’t take her with you.”

  “Are you going to prevent me from asking her?” Althea challenged.

  “No… but what do you think will happen to this place if all those who question Mother leave? Do you really have no hope for Paradise—that Mother’s sins take away from the good we can do? Iliana is the only one you thought to take because she’s curious about the outside world. We need her to keep Mother attached to it.”

  She wasn’t completely convinced, but his conviction—no, his desperation, moved her.

  Suddenly, Cyrus’ head whipped to the side, startling Althea from her thoughts of sympathy.

  “What is it?”

  “She’s awake.” His eyes were wide. He took off running towards the exit.

  “Wait!” Althea gasped, running after him. “Do you mean Arévis?”

  Althea leapt after Cyrus, who was frenetic but surprisingly quick. He looked panicked.

  “What’s the problem?” Althea gasped, turning a sharp corner and sprinting through the softly-lit tree hollow. They emerged into a larger atrium of the enclosure where citizens had crowded the paths earlier in the day. Now it was eerily silent except for their labored breathing.

  She heard Cyrus’ voice, strangely calm and with no signs of breathlessness in her mind.

  “Several sensors went off in the lab. But I can’t hear Arévis’ thoughts.”

  Althea puzzled over this for a moment.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.” A cold tinge of worry colored his voice.

  They ran down a familiar lab wing, the brighter, white lights aglow behind the translucent membranous doors. At last Cyrus stopped at what must be Arévis’ resting chamber. The white light behind the door was dimmer than the others.

  Cyrus held out his hand but hesitated.

  “What are you waiting for?” Althea demanded. “Open the door!”

  Cyrus wasn’t paying any mind to her, though. He was looking down at the ground.

  Althea finally saw what drew his attention—tendrils of ice were creeping out of the membrane slowly like vines. The membrane grew more and more opaque as ice grew thicker behind it. Cyrus’ hands curled in on themselves even as he held them in front of himself.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Cyrus admitted, his voice quavering just a bit. “This could be dangerous…”

  Althea sighed. “Stand aside then.”

  She approached the door and raised her hand to the icy, ruined membrane. Feeling the cold of Arévis’ magic was somehow comforting. She breathed in and out once more, then began warming the door. She had nothing to ignite a flame, but her temperature training taught her a slower, more methodical way to affect objects close to her.

  Just as she could see the lights flicker behind the door, a shadow moved past the white backdrop.

  Suddenly, the door shattered violently. Althea and Cyrus fell to the ground, stunned. Standing above them was a soaking wet, naked Arévis, her hand held up like a weapon. Her long, tangled hair hid her face from Althea’s view. Her hand was trembling slightly. She moved it towards Cyrus.

  “Where am I?” She growled in a low voice. “Tell me!”

  From where her feet touched the mossy ground, a fan of white spread from her in a radius at a startling pace. It only just reached Cyrus’ feet and hands when Althea came to her senses.

  “Arévis! It’s me!” Althea shuffled back up to her feet and shielded Cyrus from her sister’s cold panic.

  Arévis drew back her hand to her mouth and gasped.

  “Althea…” She sounded disoriented. “It’s you…”

  It looked like she was beginning to calm down. Finally, she looked Althea in the eye and her breathing slowed.

  “Wha-what happened?” She mumbled, her hand now in the wet mass of her sodden hair.

  “I’ll explain. But let Cyrus help you. Let’s get you your clothes and things.”

  She furrowed her brow slightly but turned her head to Cyrus, still on the ground and frozen in fright.

  He looked to Althea before getting up.

  “Mother, that was terrifying,” Cyrus mumbled faintly in her head.

  “She’s not that bad when you get to know her,” Althea promised.

  “Why won’t he talk?” Arévis demanded, looking confused at their interaction.

  “What, you can’t broadcast something like that? You know you’re safe now,” Althea said.

  “I’m trying to,” Cyrus said, his voice still drained of his usual tranquility.

  Althea looked to the sodden mess that was her sister. “You can’t hear him?”

  “Hear what? Are you reading his mind?” Arévis balked.

  Cyrus gestured toward the lab Arévis had just broken out of and they all gingerly stepped in.

  “No, he reads mine. And projects what he says into it,” Althea explained.

  Arévis’ face went slack in surprise. She quickly recovered.

  “Stay out of my mind, black mage,” Arévis threatened.

  “He’s my friend, Arévis,” Althea assured her. “No need to be rude.”

  “If he stays out of my head, I won’t hurt him.” Arévis waved her hand.

  The lab was absolutely destroyed. Glass was shattered all over the ground, but Arévis' feet showed no signs of being cut. There was ice everywhere, creeping up and ruining some of the veins and light pods. There were fluids leaking some places, yet other leaks were frozen shut. Althea shivered.

  “What did you do to this place?” She mused. “It’s cold in here.”

  Cyrus led them to a drawer with clean linens and gestured inside. Arévis quickly grabbed a white robe and tied it around the waist.

  “Oh, I didn’t notice,” Arévis said. “I woke up breathing water, thinking I was drowning. When I stood and gasped for air, the ice was all around me. I must have done it, but it didn’t feel like I did anything at all.”

  Arévis looked at her own hands, fascinated. She gestured toward the sodden floor and a sheet of ice materialized in front of her, those same tendrils of ice skipping at the front of the wave.

  They all watched for a moment, transfixed.

  “She’ll have to speak with Mother right away,” Cyrus said frantically. “If I try to explain things, she might not be reasonable.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be reasonable?” Althea said out loud.

  “What?” Arévis grumbled.

  “You can’t explain things anyway,” Althea laughed. “She can’t hear you.”

  “Where are my things?” Arévis demanded. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Althea? How long have I been out?”

  “I don’t even know… a week?” Althea ventured.

  “A WHAT?” Arévis seemed to remember how they arrived and clutched at her abdomen.

  “You were gravely injured,” Althea explained. “More than the rest of us. You were in that tank to heal… and more, it seems.”

  “Come on. Mother wants her there now,” Cyrus urged. He started walking briskly out of the ruined lab.

  “Alright, we’re coming.” Althea followed.

  “Where are we going?” Arévis asked.

  “Mother wants to talk with you,” Althea explained. “I’m not sure I can explain all of this properly.”

  -

  Arévis took in the sight of Mother’s fantastic throne and slowly approached. Cyrus and Althea knelt as they did before, but Arévis remained standing. Mother’s eyes narrowed at the implicit disrespect.

  “I offer you a safe haven with healing and other unimaginable hospitalities, and in return you ruin my lab and approach me as if you’re my equal.”

  Arévis was silent for a moment, still surveying the room in awe.

  “Well, if I’m your equal, it will be thanks to you, won’t it?” Arévis barely enunciated, not even making eye contact. She was staring at the vines trailing from the throne.

  “I take it you’re enjoying the new power I’ve given you?” Mother asked.

  Arévis looked at her then, a manic smile splitting her usual stoic grace. Althea had never seen an expression like that on her face.

  “I owe it all to you. I don’t know why you did it, but I’m grateful you did.” Arévis knelt then, but the strange smile lingered in her eyes.

  Althea frowned.

  Mother looked at Cyrus, but his face was petrified. He couldn’t relay information to her about Arévis’ thoughts like usual.

  “The reason why you can’t hear Cyrus is because you have inherited your father’s abilities, albeit in a unique way. Somehow you are distorting the pressure around you to disrupt the proper signal from reaching Cyrus.”

  “My father?”

  Althea watched Arévis’ surprise as Mother recapped the truth of their parentage.

  Arévis laughed to herself, absently clenching and unclenching her hands, eyes wandering.

  Mother then started to explain the purpose of Paradise.

  “Oh, there’s no need.” Arévis held a hand up. “I understand.”

  “That’s wonderful. Then we can move to the next phase. In short, I think your abilities will be well-suited to irrigation. I’m sure you could help us optimize our fluid transport system as well. There’s room for other hobbies or aspirations, of course. You did study under Isold’s school and were a fairly gifted cryomancer, so if you want to master her craftsmanship—which will be no easy task—”

  “I have no interest in contributing to your tiny hovel,” Arévis said with no inflection and a dismissive hand wave.

  If Althea thought Mother looked insulted before, now she looked furious. Her green eyes had gone steely and her mouth and jaw tightened perceptibly.

  It seemed she and Arévis had a knack for pissing off powerful beings.

  “And you think… what? That you belong out there with the rabble?” Mother forced out, tight-lipped. “You think they’re going to appreciate your gifts? That they can properly utilize them?”

  Arévis laughed mirthlessly.

  “I’m done with other people ‘utilizing’ my gifts. They’re mine,” Arévis asserted.

  “These new ones aren’t. I gave them to you,” Mother retorted.

  “Like I said, I’m grateful. Grateful doesn’t mean I agreed to use them on your behalf.”

  Mother stewed in silence for a moment.

  “I explained to you the same history that I told Althea. These abilities are not to be taken lightly. They stay here in a safe environment where they can be controlled, with your new brothers and sisters.”

  “What brothers and sisters? I only have one sister, apparently.”

  “Who is also going to stay here.”

  Althea balled her fists and tried not to make eye contact. She could feel Arévis’ eyes on her.

  “No, she’s not.” Arévis laughed. “Come on, Althea. We’re leaving.”

  Mother sighed.

  Cyrus sheepishly stepped behind them to block their exit, looking at Althea with pleading eyes.

  “Please—there’s no need to fight,” Cyrus projected into Althea’s mind.

  “Arévis’, wait,” Althea said.

  Arévis turned to her, letting out a rushed sigh of her own. “Is there something you need to do here?”

  Althea addressed Mother directly. “We need to speak with Kirra and Kaleb.”

  “Who?” Arévis chimed.

  Mother and Cyrus exchanged quick glances.

  “No,” Mother said resolutely.

  “Stop relaying my private thoughts, Cyrus,” Althea projected silently. “Or things may have to get violent.”

  Cyrus turned a shade paler.

  “Althea wants to speak with… Kirra and Kaleb. We’re going to go do that now,” Arévis challenged.

  “Speaking with them would be inconsequential. But that’s not what she wants to do,” Mother bit out.

  Arévis turned to Althea in question.

  If Cyrus already told Mother what she was going to do, it was pointless to hide it.

  “She’s right. I have something to do,” Althea admitted.

  “You. Will. Not,” Mother threatened. She rose from her throne, the crown of living vines lifting from her head like a sea creature’s tendrils withdrawing. Free from her confines, she stepped down slowly. Her mass of hair cascaded behind her as if it were still attached to her monstrous machinery.

  “I don’t really know what’s going on, and I don’t care,” Arévis said. “You’re not keeping Althea here.”

  Arévis took a step forward, and with her crawled a blanket of ice consuming the ground moss.

  “Arévis,” Althea whispered, leaning in close. “I don’t have my flint and steel—I can’t help you right now.”

  “It’s alright,” Arévis said in a low voice. “We’ll get our things after I subdue her.”

  “Please be careful. You don’t know what she’s capable of.”

  Cyrus projected an alarm into her mind.

  “Don’t do this, Althea. You’ll ruin everything we’ve tried to achieve here!” He pleaded.

  “We’re not going to ruin anything—we’re just leaving,” Althea reassured him silently.

  “Leaving with him!”

  Not a second after he projected that thought, Arévis flicked her wrist, and the bed of ice that grew towards Mother burst from the ground like stalagmites straight into her space. Mother leapt back in surprise, throwing her arms up, but the crystal growth was too fast. She groaned for just a moment, surveying the damage. Shards of ice were embedded in her forearms.

  Althea watched for a moment, hoping this would be enough.

  Instead, Mother steeled herself and ripped out the largest shard none too gently with a shout and a grimace. It clinked on the frozen ground. Althea had taken her eyes away only for a second to watch it fall, but by the time she looked back up, the wound in Mother’s arm had already healed. She pulled the rest of them out, one by one, and each gaping wound closed like liquid filling a cup. When she was done, there was no sign that she had been maimed or had been in any pain at all.

  Her face was livid with an animal fury.

  But instead of moving forward to attack, she relaxed in an open pose as if she were meditating. Because what she had summoned wasn’t a deadly blade or blunt physical force—but thick clouds of gas spewing from the vine pipes on the ground that reminded her sharply of running through thorns and fire.

  Althea grabbed Arévis’ wrist to pull her back and out of the room, but at the same time Arévis conjured her pressure shield. From inside, it looked like they were in a soap bubble—the cloudy air outside separate from the clear, still-breathable air inside.

  Arévis and Althea began to back away towards the exit, Arévis carefully holding the bubble over them with what seemed like strenuous concentration.

  Turning around finally when it looked as if Mother wasn’t following them, they were confronted by Cyrus standing before the membranous door.

  “Tell her to put down her shield, Althea,” Cyrus implored. “It will just put you to sleep.”

  “Get him to move, Althea,” Arévis said simultaneously. “There’s no need for him to get hurt.”

  Meanwhile, the bubble moved towards Cyrus, as did the two sisters.

  “Move, Cyrus!” Althea projected.

  He stood his ground, though his breathing was shallow and his pulse skittered in his neck.

  Face to face now, Arévis simply grabbed his arm and threw him to the side like a ragdoll. He rolled a few times before bracing himself on his hands and knees. Althea was pretty sure that she didn’t have the strength to do that before.

  Over the membrane was an actively growing wall of reinforcement vines. Althea’s gaze darted to the sides and she could see those barely-destructible thorns that sealed in its citizens creeping up to reach them.

  Althea pounded her fists against the vines, but to no avail.

  “Arghhh!” She yelled in frustration.

  “I have an idea.” Arévis said quickly. She grew a stalagmite on the ground and broke it off like a sword. It seemed sharp enough.

  She began hacking at the vines frantically, not bothering to look back.

  Althea couldn’t help looking back, though. The thorns approached slowly but steadily. Arévis’ plan might not be fast enough.

  “Make me one!” Althea demanded.

  Another stalagmite grew from the icy moss, sharper and with a crude handle. She was a bit impressed, but now was not the time to become overly confident.

  She plucked the ice sword off its root and started hacking at the vines with Arévis. They grew back slowly enough that she could see progress.

  Arévis now made her own sound of frustration and flung her stalagmite to the ground, where it shattered unceremoniously. Instead, she planted her feet, raised her hands to the exposed membranous door and froze the whole structure—including the straggling vines—stopping them in their tracks.

  The thorns had just begun to creep up the door when Arévis, in an act of reckless desperation, punched the door while growling like a madwoman. To Althea’s utter surprise, the wall shattered! Even Arévis looked flabbergasted.

  In their moment of hesitation, Cyrus had approached and grasped hold of Arévis’ arm.

  It seemed like an easily escapable grip, and the look on Arévis’ face said the same.

  But Althea felt a presence behind her that seemed the bigger threat. Before she could turn, a warm hand was on her back. The world became foggier and foggier…

  A moment later, Althea regained consciousness only to turn and see that Mother had been frozen into one of Arévis’ signature snowy statues. She gasped in horror.

  Arévis was just withdrawing her hand after finishing. Cyrus stood like a statue himself, his mouth gaping.

  “Well, let’s go, then,” Arévis said.

  Althea moved to follow and looked to Cyrus.

  “You coming with or not?” She said out loud.

  Cyrus looked to Mother, concerned. He scuttled after them frantically.

  It was now the middle of the night, and Paradise was again faintly glowing with bioluminescence. It was too bad Arévis couldn’t appreciate its beauty while they hustled, ever-focused on their escape plan.

  Cyrus led the way to Kirra and Kaleb first. He was chalk-pale but seemed to be functioning in survival mode. Althea thought it was wise of him to cooperate rather than try to fight them.

  The siblings were sleeping in their quarters when Cyrus gently nudged them awake.

  “I’m sleeping… go away,” Kirra mumbled. Kaleb sat upright, rubbing at his eyes and looking at Arévis in awe.

  “She’s awake,” was all he said.

  At this, Kirra gasped as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. At least she was alert now.

  “Well, it’s been a second, so I assume Snow’s not here to kill us.” She gawped.

  “No, we’re not here to kill you,” Arévis said, though her tone implied it was a shame.

  Althea grew tired of their slow action. “Hurry and get yourselves together. We’re going to find your weapons, and then we’re breaking someone out.”