Joy didn't respond right away. The wind shifted around her—a silent murmur from the Lure, asking if she needed an excuse to retreat. She did
Joy didn't respond right away.
The wind shifted around her—a silent murmur from the Lure, asking if she needed an excuse to retreat. She didn't. Not anymore. The heat in her chest wasn't rage now. It was something unfamiliar. Complicated. Like respect… laced with unease.
She was taught that heavy-footers didn't feel things the same way Pyxen did. That they destroyed more than they built. Their words twisted like vines, growing over truth until it suffocated.
But this one…
Orin didn't hide his cracks. He flaunted them. Made jokes with them. Let them bleed philosophy he didn't believe, to see if someone else might.
He wasn't like the others. That didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. But danger, she realized, wasn't always loud. Sometimes, it thought too hard. Cared too much.
That was what made him dangerous.
Joy folded her arms and looked away—not out of defiance, but to give herself space to think. "You're still wrong about most things," she said, half-heartedly.
Orin smirked. "Most things are wrong about most things."
"Tch." She didn't laugh, but she didn't glare either. "You talk too much."
"Maybe," Orin said, already scribbling invisible notes in the air. "But you listen more than you admit."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't push it."
Then, she walked beside him for the first time since they met.
The Lure shifted the path again. Not to escape, not to test. To honor a moment neither of them fully understood.
A hidden side of the world was revealed to Joy through Orin—a side that could lead to their redemption. Sure, they had traveled in contradictory paths, switching based on convenience, but could she be sure their tribe wouldn't have shared the same trait if Zee hadn't guided them all?
Were they any different from any other Wanderer on Wanderlust?
None of them shared Zee with the others. Every Pyxen knew their world could hold all of Wanderlust and more... yet Agora deemed the others a curse—never sharing, never trying to cure that so-called curse.
Was that curse even curable?
From what she saw through Orin, they needed chances—a lot of them. Chances to learn how to give, not just take, from wanderlust.
Can you talk to Wanderlust? Joy pleaded with Zee. Maybe teach it a thing or two about raising children. About sharing its immense power... without consequences.
"Consequences!" Joy paused. "What happens to the person who committed the crime?" she asked Orin, choosing a longer path to extend their time together.
"Caught, stripped of their Mystica, Ornyx, and thrown in solid confinement." Orin checked off an invisible list and then noticed Joy was still waiting. "We don't kill."
"Why not?"
"Phy—"
"—Don't start!" Joy turned and began walking back toward where they had come from.
"The higher-ups don't believe in death for death. It didn't make sense to me at first, but I suppose it does now. Besides, living without any Mystica or an Ornyx should be punishment enough."
"For you!"
"For me," Orin confirmed.
"Doesn't that take a lot of resources?"
"For one, they're sent as free labor to mine for energy stones we call Ores." Orin showed Joy an everlasting fire, caught in time, frozen inside a ruby to last forever. "Where I got my cheap labor idea from," he cackled.
"You're one huge sponge—soaking up knowledge, regardless of its origin or use," Joy frowned.
"If you want to compliment me, compare me to the Mystica, not its byproducts." Orin frowned back.
Joy checked her face and, with Zee, to see if her frown was visible.
It was.
Yet for such a smart guy, he missed the obvious.
"Given minimum food, minimum resources, while extracting more than they contribute..." Orin continued listing. "They say it's a kind of second chance. Obvious cover for free labor, if you ask me." His pride in the government's decision sparkled on his face.
"Second chance..." Joy focused on the positive. "Even for a forbidden sin?"
"If you take a life for a life, where will it end?" Orin tried to reassure Joy, yet her expression remained troubled, which Orin, as always, misinterpreted. "Don't fear, I'll get the perpetrator as soon as you hand me over to my next guide. I have an idea, I need an adult for!" Orin's malicious grin returned.
"I'm the only guide," said Joy. The only one after that smile, she told herself.
Orin began developing some evil ploys, muttering to himself. "Didn't realize the Pyxen village was so close to our hotel. Must complete the case soon if I want an audience later."
"Planning on abducting a Pyxen?"
"No! Made a deal with a smart one instead," he taunted.
"Let me guess—because they agreed to be part of some crazy experiment of yours?"
"There's no way I'm that obvious!"
"Keep your mouth shut... then maybe you won't get tagged by a Pyxen," chuckled Joy. "Write that down, Zee." She high-fived the air.
"Wait!" Orin halted. "A single guide is enough to get me anywhere?"
"Not any single guide." Joy pumped her chest, mimicking Orin's earlier stance. "This guide. Didn't you hear? I'm a prode...ge! Prodey! Ge-bay!"
"Protégé?"
"That thing." Joy flipped her short hair, bouncing away.
"And you were the one who guided the criminal... last."
"No!" Joy stopped bouncing and glared at Orin. "I didn't like his energy, so I handed him to another, who gave him to another—because he felt what I did." She pouted, turning away.
A puzzle clicked into place, almost forming the entire picture... then a swarm of pieces fell on top, clouding the solution from Orin's vision.
Damn you, Lure—not now, he cursed, dropping low in a snap, back to the Pyxen's waiting pose.
Concentrate, he told himself, shoving away the extra pieces and shooting back up in a hurry. "We have to reach the hotel. Now." He dashed away.
"Not on your own, you're not!" Joy reminded him. "And not by running." She turned toward a shortcut. "We walk. Slow and steady."
"But..." Orin pointed at her with a shaking finger.
"Blame that on your selective hearing," Joy smirked.
"This is urgent." Orin stopped and pulled Joy into his arms. "I need to know how many guides one needs to get from the foot to the hotel. The case depends on it... Well... a part of it does!" He shook Joy until she relented and answered the question herself.
"Around four or five."
"Around!" Orin fixated on that single word, a smile stretching so wide it threatened to split his face in half. "Ouroboros isn't space stretched to infinity in a single point. It's an ever-changing loop of infinity."
Joy rolled her eyes. Sure! Miss the obvious, but catch onto the impossible!
Deep within Ouroboros, where the government still held some control over the events about to unfold, a Sentinel bumped into a kid wearing a dirty hat. His questions about Hem looking for Orin sparked a deep memory—an appointment she had to keep. What did that mean? Who was it from? And why did a hat too big for his head feel so precious? None of it made sense. Yet the kid moved, after what felt like a decade, to fulfill a promise made to someone she loved.
"Hope the kid is alright," the twins muttered, making a silent prayer to Aurochs.
"Must be safe, hopefully," Hem added.
"These are low-level thugs." Tendra stepped on the shrunken boss, wiping her feet on his face. "Can't you professionals tell something that simple? My boy is safe for sure."
"Huh-huh!" All three stepped back at once.
"Even if they are 'F'-tier goons," Hem said, crouching to examine the bodies for skill-level clues. But Ouroboros's vitality boost made the calculations more complex. "Their boss would've sent a 'D'-tier hidden Warcaster to train them. Judging by the destruction around here, he was with them. And he's not here now. The kid's smart, but no match for a D-tier Warcaster."
Hem ordered enforcers and Sentinels to stay away from the battlefield, not wanting their heavy, clumsy footsteps to interfere with the delicate traces Ouroboros was already trying to erase.
"Speaking of feet…" Hem glanced around. "Where's Tenshu?"
"Their kind's not built for speed," Tendra waved off the concern. "He'll catch up when he can. You concentrate on finding whoever he's meant to pummel when he does get here." She shoved Hem toward the broken remains of the hotel. "Now make something out of nothing."
"Uh... okay." Hem focused and spotted a small piece of wood wriggling. He rushed forward, lifting the rubble to reveal an Arachnivis beneath. "Weeves!"
"He named an Arachnivis?" Tendra asked the twins.
"That's Orin's."
"No wonder the name's so weird."
Tendra's frown deepened as Hem tried to communicate with the mystica. Then it faded, replaced by wonder, as the Arachnivis responded—no chants, no overrides—just pure comprehension.
"That kid is something else, alright."
Thanks to the Pyronyx shower and the Ouroboros-enhanced climate, Weeves' web art finally started to make sense to Hem. No wonder Orin understood Weeves' work when no one else could—they both shared the same artistic style: that of a toddler.
"What kind of spider can't weave?" Tendra's shout shattered Hem's concentration. "Hey! Now I get where the name comes from." She high-fived the confused twins.
"Why are you still involved?" Hem asked her.
"Kid's my Joul," Tendra said proudly.
"Did she say—" the twins gaped.
"Yup."
"I meant jewel."
"Sure you did."
Tendra placed a hand on Hem's head and turned it back toward the mystica without breaking a sweat. "Concentrate."
Hem couldn't resist the force. Damn, she's strong. He made a note to himself: never contradict a big man's wife—even when the man isn't around. If someone can push an Obelith around, everyone else is just a toy.
Weeves recreated Orin's entire battle within her webs—up until the moment Orin stashed her for Hem to find, and the building collapsed from some unseen force. The footage didn't show Greg turning into a giant, but Hem pieced it together from the damage left behind.
"That kid is freaking amazing!" Tendra and the twins exclaimed in unison. "How did he make those huge fireballs?" they asked, tugging at Hem's shirt and pants.
"Let go—they're gonna come off!" Hem wriggled free, his pants halfway down. "That was a mix of Grunvok's spit, Znox's flammable hair, Quenara's color for flare, Camlyth's transparent skin effect, and Zephyra's scarf." He blurted it out before they could grab him again. "The mixture's super complicated. Especially if you want a big fireball, but we all know the kid can do that kind of math before we even blink."
"True!" The trio slouched back in agreement.
"For someone who hates Ornyxes, he sure makes things that match mystica power," Tendra muttered, thinking aloud.
"Now let me concentrate before the Ore's effects wear out!" Hem shouted at them, turning back to Weeves. He hoped the footage from Halloway Station would reveal more clues—something he could witness firsthand without relying on Orin's commentary. The kid skipped scenes or outright erased moments where other Wanderers were involved.
But Hem had forgotten: Orin never cut corners when it came to mystica. The footage relayed everything the boy had described during their first encounter.
"Is that—?" Hem leaned closer, and Weeves stretched a filament to zoom in on the bystanders' expressions during the fireball's eruption. "The kid was right."
Hem's eyes darted around, half-expecting the wrath of ancient mystics to descend on him for speaking the truth out loud.
Within the footage, the people, frozen in place while facing an all-consuming fire, exhibited one of the ancient mystica's most common traits. Orin shouldn't have known this. Not with the limited access to knowledge about such forbidden mystica, and especially not under Valeri's restrictions.
Yet somehow, he figured it out…
"He's one heck of a smart kid. Glad he's on our side… for now," Hem muttered, shrugging off the ominous sensation creeping up his spine—for now.
The gang returned to the hotel, the latest development elevating the case far above Orin in priority. A person with access to the Phoenix's flames could take over the four kingdoms with almost no resistance.
And to think I solved this case so fast, Hem cursed himself. Is that why the Mystarchs are after it? That must be why they targeted a kid. Children were never their ammo before. But if Marrowbane gets hold of the ancient mystica bones, they can counter the flames. Add the Phoenix fire to their arsenal, and they could rise straight to the First Mystarch position. The Dragon-Scale Mystarch wouldn't stand a chance. No flame has ever come close—not even that of a Dracx.
"Listen up…" Hem began, addressing the twins and Tendra, who had, once again, forced her way into their group. "The 'Wraith-Spine' Mystarch operates from the shadows. They're rarely the group's leader, but rather a strategist hiding behind others. Ready to vanish if the mission fails. A clever tactic—hiding the head among the tails. They've avoided leaking intel this way for years. Don't underestimate them just because they're the lowest-ranking Mystarch. Their boss… could take me on. And honestly… I don't know if I'd win." Hem clenched his fist, furious at his admission.
"Boy! I knew y'all were weak, but this is just plain pathetic." Tendra dismissed his concern with a scoff. "My boys in the Titans could handle them just fine." She flexed one arm.
"Stop praising other Mystarchs," Hem grumbled.
"Haven't seen a reason to praise you lot," she shot back, earning a chorus of laughter from the twins.
"What's the Titans' ranking?" one of them asked.
"My boys are sitting at number four. Inches away from the third spot."
"You talk about them like they're your boys!" the twins laughed.
"They aren't!" Hem jumped in. "People only fancy them because they think opposing the government is cool."
"No," Tendra said, casually. "Tenshu used to be their boss."
That stopped Hem in his tracks. He gaped at her.
"Even the government needs someone watching over it. Otherwise, they turn into tyrants." She shrugged and nudged the stunned guide forward. "Now move it. I've got a shop to run."
"No wonder they fell from first to fourth," Hem mused aloud. "A gang made of Obeliths—dumb or not—should be at the top. Still… maintaining fourth place after losing their leader isn't a small feat." He nodded to himself, almost proud of his logic. "What about the punishment for leaving the gang? Surely that wouldn't apply to their boss…" The thought made Hem shudder.
"Oh no, they did pummel Tenshu for leaving," Tendra said nonchalantly. "And they got an earful from me after. Can't walk away from rules you set." She shrugged.
The group fell silent, visibly trembling at the mental image of an Obelith—especially one like Tenshu—getting pummeled. That image embedded itself deep into their minds, unshakable.
"Relax!" Tendra waved it off. "To an Obelith, another Obelith is just a normal Wanderer. Same with their fists. For them, it's just a regular beatdown."
No matter how casually she said it, the horror remained burned into their memories.
"Remind me to stay humble in his presence," Hem muttered to the twins. "Why did he quit anyway?"
"Love," Tendra answered without hesitation, immediately shifting into a fighting stance, expecting Tenshu to appear and contradict her, as he always did. But this time, he didn't.
"Where is that big oaf, anyway?" she muttered, glancing around.
Back at the hotel, Hem finally pulled rank, ordering every enforcer and Sentinel to conduct a full-scale search for a kid in a hat. Any opposition was squashed under the weight of authority that, for now, outmatched even the Queen's. While Arcane Force officials obeyed the command, they secretly dreaded it.
Because once migration starts, they whispered among themselves, Hem's career goes sliding back into the gutters of Wanderlust.
"Here we go again…" came the knowing smirks. Most slacked off during the search, barely disguising their apathy.
"Anyone informed the Queen?"
"Already on her way. Hem's finished," they concluded with grim satisfaction.
The twins, meanwhile, stood awkwardly among the bustling Arcane officers—too underqualified to belong, too involved to walk away. They'd already failed multiple times: first in losing the girl, then Orin. And now, while Hem wasted time pulling them out of the Lure's grasp, they had nothing useful to show for it.
They quietly excused themselves from the current search. A naive part of them believed the best officers were already on the job.
Then one of them remembered something Orin had quoted once—from Dr. Quack, of all people:
"It's not about having the best people at the job, but having people who will give it their all to get the job done."
That cheesy line hit harder than expected.
Reinvigorated, the twins gathered around a pile of old case folders, rifling through them, eager to find something they could contribute. Something only they could do.
It didn't take long before they zeroed in on a single clue: 'Nostaw's leaf' with the 'recorded scream.'
Years of misusing Whisper Leaves had taught the twins one valuable thing: even a scream could be recreated.
Without thinking twice about the consequences, they began recklessly using up Whisper Leaves, trying to reconstruct the exact scream from Nostaw's leaf.
The eerie echoes caught Orin's attention first, luring him from whatever breakthrough he'd been cooking up. Curiosity always came before glory.
Hem was drawn in next, though his reason was far simpler: to shut them up.
"Where the hell have you been?" Hem snapped at Orin the second he appeared.
"Don't blame me—blame Ouroboros." Orin pointed at Joy.
"At what are you pointing? I'm not Zee," Joy pouted.
"You claim to be in touch with her—relay the message."
"I've never seen a little guide before," Hem muttered, eyeing Joy with mild suspicion.
"We'll get back to her during my grand reveal," Orin declared, stepping in front of Joy and blocking Hem's view. "For now, let's deal with whatever ghastly ghost got into them." He flipped his shoe at the twins, who immediately stopped.
Hem picked up one of the used Whisper Leaves, whistled low, and muttered, "This is genius."
"Possessed by a ghost of intellect?" Orin nodded approvingly.
The twins beamed, scratching their heads in embarrassment. "We just had an idea… thought it might help. Glad we're on the right branch."
"I'm impressed." Hem gave them a rare thumbs-up. "Keep going—I'll be right back." He turned and dashed off.
Orin and Joy exchanged a glance, then followed. "Get him," Orin said, pointing to the street.
Tendra, already nearby, intercepted Hem. "Hold up, Senti—what's the rush?"
"Let me go!" Hem struggled. "I have to get out and come back here with Lyra!"
"Not happening," Tendra said, holding him in place with little effort. "Not until you explain in excruciating detail." She glanced at Orin for backup. He nodded.
Tendra crossed her arms. "This ain't a one-man show. Spill it."
Hem exhaled sharply, then relented. "We're establishing a timeline. If we recreate the scream and Lyra uses her audio-pulse mystica on it, we can pinpoint the exact moment of the event. It'll solidify our case before migration starts—in four hours."
"Getting there and back takes at least half a day," Orin pointed out, confirming with Joy.
"Why not contact her from here?"
"I'm not dumb, kid," Hem snapped, exasperated.
"You used the latest mystica to contact her?" Orin raised an eyebrow.
Hem's fury extinguished like a blown candle. "…Maybe revisit that last statement," he muttered.
Orin sighed and turned to Tendra. "Got any show-off friends who own one of those high-end communication mystica?"
Tendra cracked a grin. "Know the perfect one."
She led them briskly across the streets to a fellow Mystkeeper's station.
"What do you mean you resold it?" she bellowed, moments after stepping in.
"Good plan," Hem tuned out the mystkeepers' bickering and admitted to Orin. "But even if we find someone with the mystica, why would they have another person's contact? Is that… the right term?"
"Yes. Contact info. Wanderers love shortening stuff for some bizarre reason." Orin sighed. "And yes—they'd have the other person's contact. Mystica has always been the glue that pulls the Wanderers together. Whether to show off or watch themselves 'connect,' at least one owner would've saved the other's info without thinking twice."
Orin gestured to Joy. "Watch me."
He climbed the shop roof for a higher vantage point and scanned the crowds for women with open purses, looking for reflective glass that would redirect sunlight into them. Seeing no obvious candidates from that height, Orin called out his Ethekuls. They unleashed clouds of glowing, luminescent smoke across the plaza.
The smoke trapped solar energy—perfect bait for those using solar-charged mystica in purses.
"Found one." Orin squinted, then described the woman to Joy, who zeroed in and guided the group toward her.
Without hesitation, Orin snatched her purse mid-sentence, declaring, "Sentinel business."
"You can't do that!" the woman shrieked.
Hem winced. "I'm very sorry about him—"
But Orin cut in. "She's not supposed to have mystica like this. Not while Ouroboros is under review with the mainland government."
Hem's posture straightened. "He's right." He yanked the purse back. "Sentinel business."
Joy folded her arms. "Both of you are carved from the same rock."
"Contact Arcane Force 221N," Hem demanded of the stranger.
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"How is she supposed to do that?" Orin echoed her exactly.
"You did!" Hem pointed accusingly.
"She'd have to've been in physical contact with someone from the office." Orin scoffed. "Who walks into Arcane headquarters and trades numbers?"
"Well… everyone should."
"Stop thinking so highly of Wanderers," Orin muttered, ignoring Hem, and described Valeri to the stranger. "Seen her? Traded contact info?"
The woman shook her head. "Never heard of her."
Hem climbed to another rooftop and scanned again. "Found one!" He pointed toward a passerby flaunting mystica nails—shimmering, shifting with embedded sigils.
The group repeated their steps—this time, Orin let Hem snatch the purse first.
Unlike last time, this new stranger had Valeri's contact saved.
"How?" Joy asked, curious.
"Restricted mystica," Hem replied. "They couldn't show it off normally. But nails? Fashion always finds a way. I figured…"
"Might be onto something," Orin muttered. "Too bad it's about Wanderers."
"Genius!" gasped Joy, clapping.
"Hey!" Orin protested. "Still my idea." He shot a glare at Hem. "As payment, you're letting me into the crime scene. One more time."
"To spoil my case? Not happening, kid."
"Come on…" Orin whined. "There's something I missed. One more look and I'll get closure."
"Stare at the portrait all you want. You're not stepping in."
"Painted by a Wanderer. Ugh!" Orin gagged dramatically.
"Chromist," Hem corrected with a scowl.
"I did make one using the Quenara," Orin muttered to himself. "This might work." His eyes glinted with some half-baked scheme, then he glanced back at Hem. "Won't work either way. You need an emotion expert, which neither of us is." He pointed at Joy. "And she's worse than us."
"Am not!" Joy shouted, kicking Orin in the knee. He yelped and started hopping in circles.
"What are you gonna do? Nod at the feelings?"
Hem stepped between them, eyes narrowing. "Enough." He sighed. "Joy, take them back to the hotel."
They vanished and reappeared faster than expected—but only Joy noticed the difference. No one else seemed to catch on.
Far from the chaos, Valeri sat alone in her modest Arborcentis carriage.
Nineteen kids in Ouroboros. She needed space. Deserved it.
The Suns hung low. Light filtered through the open carriage window, soft and gold, brushing her papers like a memory half-formed. Her mind drifted, unusually unfocused. The world had gone still—and somehow emptier.
Then it stirred.
A quiver. Barely perceptible.
Valeri blinked.
Her Zilthari hairpin—usually a quiet ornament—began to pulse with iridescent light. Its delicate wings shimmered, lifting with purpose. Around her wrist, the Fluttra unfurled into a ring of luminous hums, responding.
Before thought could catch up, a projection bloomed from the mystica—a spectral visage in soft hues: Orin. His face held urgency and quiet resolve, distorted gently by the light, as though he was reaching through the distance to find her.
Valeri's breath caught. Her throat tightened.
He was the first—her first call.
After handing out her contact to dozens of strangers, including Wanderers and mystica vendors, he was the only one who reached out.
'Orin... my first caller. Why you... Why!' she murmured, a tear slipping down her cheek.
The bittersweet tone of his message mingled with her solitude. Though she longed for a call, the weight of his solitary outreach filled her with a profound melancholy. In that tender moment, the Zilthari and Fluttra seemed to echo her sorrow—their vibrant hum softening into a mournful cadence.
Yet beneath the sadness, a spark of hope stirred. Valeri knew that even a solitary call could herald the start of something greater—a chorus waiting to be sung. And so, with a trembling sigh, she answered, her voice a quiet promise to bridge the distance between them, a connection Orin had come forth to offer.
"Find a person named Lyra. We need to talk to her—prompto!" Orin shouted over the static hum of the mystica call.
Valeri sighed, the corner of her lip twitching with something between frustration and affection. "Of course, my first call is for someone else." She stared out the window as the station approached. "Why do I ever expect basic decency from this kid?" With a final exhale, she turned back toward the group. "Wait here."
At the station, Valeri moved quickly. She found Lyra Hert and thrust her mystica into her hands. "Be delicate," she warned repeatedly. "I still have many installments left."
"That must be why Tendra's friend doesn't have hers anymore," Hem muttered.
"Yup!" Orin chimed in. "Getting familiar with a mystica takes time. You don't get full access until the payments are done."
"Mystic tech's not like Ornyxes," one of the twins explained to Joy. "Way more expensive, way harder to maintain—"
"—and nearly impossible to keep," the other finished.
"Yet a billion times better," Orin added, pointing toward the magic unfolding between them—a connection bridging two distant worlds.
Back on the mystica call, Lyra gawked at the flickering projection of a miniature Hem. "This is impossible." She turned to Valeri. "Magic."
Valeri rolled her eyes. "Be awestruck later. Help them now."
Lyra leaned in, shielding the projection with her hand. "Tech, I get. Mystica's always been a little spooky. But Hem Lock asking for my help?" She squealed softly. "That's an interdimensional miracle."
"They can still hear you, you know." Valeri pointed at her glowing Zilthari hairpin.
Lyra didn't skip a beat, instead turning to the hologram and smiling sweetly. "So! What can my Hert do for you, Hem?" She winked.
Hem visibly winced. "I'm already regretting this." He tried to step out of view, but Tendra kept a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Just listen to the scream," he grumbled. "We need your read on what happened."
"Exto'...wei'...flus!" Orin and Valeri chanted in tandem, expanding the mystica projection into a 3D viewing module that floated between them like a shared dream.
Then, with the use of Bubblepedes' shimmering orbs and Resonix vocal bells, the experience deepened, becoming immersive. Holograms flickered into life-size.
The Ouroboros team—Hem, Tendra, the twins, Orin, and Joy—now stood as vivid holograms beside Valeri and Lyra in Halloway Station.
Likewise, Lyra and Valeri appeared in full-size, almost corporeal form in the hotel hallway.
"This is bonkers!" Lyra gasped. Her hologram leapt toward Hem with a gleeful, yet disbelieving, expression.
He dodged on instinct.
"Do not jump on the Sentinel," Tendra scolded, though she had to hide her smirk.
"Don't move," hologram Valeri instructed with an ear-piercing tone. "Pop the bubble, and I'll have to recast the spell." She pinched Lyra's ear with practiced ease, like an older sister corralling chaos.
"What made you dodge a hologram?" she demanded, staring at Hem in disbelief.
"Orin did the same thing here," Hem said dryly, straightening his coat.
Lyra beamed. "We've both got geniuses on our teams. Isn't that, like, quantum impossible?" She kept reaching for Hem, her hologram flickering with every lunge.
Valeri narrowed her eyes at Orin's floating form. "Since when do you have a Resonix vocal bell?"
Orin threw Hem a glare. "Thanks for ruining my dramatic surprise."
"Focus on the case." Hem didn't flinch.
"We can't." Orin folded his arms. "You forgot the minute-and-a-half immersion limit."
Valeri groaned, pressing fingers to her temple. "And during that break, you schemed against me? Again?" Her voice was weary, but not surprised. She'd long stopped hoping for peace where Orin was involved.
Hem made a mental note to debrief her later—about Orin's unsanctioned travels, the mystica he now wielded, and the increasing need for her to rise to meet the boy's evolution. Orin wasn't the same student who once challenged her out of petty rebellion. He was building something.
"Back to the case," Hem snapped the air, regaining command. He gave a succinct overview before nodding to the twins, who began echoing the recorded scream on a fresh Whisper Leaf.
Lyra, watching Nostaw's original whisperleaf, stopped them mid-wail. "Again. And match every inflection. You're an octave off."
They huffed but complied.
Hem watched without comment, but his voice entered the quiet like a blade:
"Actions reveal the truth. Emotions can be false. Words can lie. But choice? Choice is the final fingerprint."
Lyra paused, nodding once, then smirking. "Nice analysis, Sentinel. But I've got a truth I trust more." She turned toward the hologram, her tone suddenly softer, aching.
"Yes, choices define us. But words shape those choices. A whisper can guide a fall—or save a soul."
Her eyes glistened. "We're not mystica. Not all-knowing, not perfect. We're Wanderers. We stumble. We search. And before someone breaks completely… their screams are just ignored cries for help."
A heavy pause fell. Then, her voice cracked: "Those screams?" She touched the leaf reverently. "That was a woman losing the love of her life," she said, a single tear traced down her cheek.
"I GOT ONE MORE!" Orin crowed, breaking the silence.
"What?" Valeri and Hem barked in unison.
"Nothing!" Orin quickly shut his mouth, tugging Weeves from Hem's coat. "Almost slipped," he muttered to the mystica.
He whispered to it again. "Weave that sequence… now hold. Zoom."
Lyra mistook the cue and repeated her conclusion—until a shrill cry from the recording abruptly overrode her voice.
"Lies!"
The word tore through the space, cutting off her sentiment like a blade.
The scream echoed for only a moment—sharp and sudden—before fading into silence. Everyone turned instinctively toward the source. Orin, however, stayed fixed on the image in the Weeves bubble. The projection had paused mid-motion, magnified and distorted by the lingering mist of the resonant spell.
From the smoke of the incident footage, a figure emerged—a man, cloaked and hooded, stepping down from a darkened carriage. The world behind him was ash and shadow, but his form... darker still. His clothes were not merely black, but blacker than black—so much so they separated him from the carriage's gloom, like a silhouette swallowed by absence.
Orin leaned in, his breath catching. "That's it... That's what I missed."
He reached out to touch the image, only for the bubble to rupture the moment his fingers neared. The vapor imploded with a hiss of displaced magic.
"What in Aurochs' name—" Orin spun around.
The room was empty.
"Where is everyone?"
"They left behind that kid... the new one!" The twins' voices rang behind him. Orin jolted, spinning to see them peeking around a doorway with identical grins.
"Kid!?" he snapped.
They were used to this—Orin zoning out into one of his "internal sessions," a phrase he used to describe the whirlwinds of thought and perception only he seemed able to keep track of. Once he came back, he would always explain things in scattered pieces that somehow formed a complete picture.
They filled him in: Jefferson's daughter had appeared, wearing the wide-brimmed hat Hem had been hunting. She claimed her stepmother was a monster, then bolted straight to the crime scene.
"Sir told us to stay here. With you." The twins nodded in unison.
Orin's mind clicked back into gear.
"No time." He grabbed their collars and yanked them close, the mystic tail coiled around his waist, enhancing his strength enough to drag both boys off-balance. "One of you take me to the portraits. The other? I need a ton of Eleant grass. I've solved it."
"So did Sir," one of them said with a cheeky grin.
"Then let's see whose version holds." Orin shoved them apart.
One twin dashed toward the Gatekeeper, waving wildly to gain access to the storage. The other led Orin deeper into the archive halls.
At the portrait room, Orin stood still, eyes gleaming like molten glass in the dim light.
"Found you..." he whispered. "Can't believe I missed it the first time."
Jorek opened his mouth to remind him that they had been rushed during their last visit, full of distractions, and under surveillance.
But Orin shook his head. "Shortcomings." His voice was curt. "Excuses. Won't happen again."
Moments later, they rejoined Jorik, who struggled under the weight of bundled Eleant grass. With deft movements, the trio wrapped themselves in the golden strands like ancient mummies, obscuring their figures and shielding their scent—a ritual passage taught in one of Orin's less-documented discoveries—a way to avoid mystica triggers left in forbidden zones.
"Let's go." Orin adjusted his wrappings and stepped toward the scene of the crime once more.
Revanche Hope, the illegitimate daughter of Jefferson, recently remembered a promise and moved toward the hotel with the help of a kind Pyxen. She had forgotten her name and joined the 'Lost' to survive. These groups are comprised of individuals who are too weak to resist the lure and have lost their sense of self. Collected by officials and shipped out in batches to recover and reunite with their loved ones outside of Ouroboros, Revanche was held back because the Lure had wiped her memory clean. Unable to remember her name, the risk of sending her out without guidance was too significant, so they kept her behind, hoping her parent would come in search of her.
When a sentinel came around asking for her hat, a memory of a man resurfaced, reminding her to run and keep the hat safe. The memory made no sense, yet she staggered into Ouroboros on her own until another incident jogged her memory and led her to the hotel.
Kence, the Gatekeeper, held her back from entering until she could mention the room number, which she did once a scream triggered another suppressed memory.
The child claimed that a hologram woman's gibberish was a lie, but she didn't understand why she thought so, only that the feeling seemed right. When the normal people moved, causing the ethereal ones to disappear, more memories resurfaced, and she was escorted to the room.
Revanche hoped all her memories would come flooding back, but before she reached the room, a foul stench seemed to snatch her memories away, leaving everything in the room nonsensical.
Neither Hem nor the tiny holographic Lyra on Hem's wrist could make sense of the developing situation. The hat indicated the little girl was Jefferson's daughter, yet she couldn't recognize her mother, the second body, or recall her father's name.
"I am Revanche Hope," she tried to convince them, but they trusted the Lure more than the distorted memory of a little girl.
Hem had little time and even fewer puzzle pieces to make sense of the developing events. To make matters worse, Lyra's contradictory idea and the queen's sudden arrival to take Revanche Hope away prevented Hem from using the crime scene to jog her memories. Meanwhile, Orin stumbled in, dressed like the Umoss race, though wrapped in Eleant grass instead of their usual inscribed ribbons of preservation.
"I think we need more grass," Orin said, holding his mouth to prevent spraying the queen.
The twins react on instinct, saluting and ripping their tight costumes. Orin slips his newly acquired mystica around their mouths, sealing space itself before they spray over the evidence.
"Had to intervene, didn't we?" Hem glares at the Umoss trio.
"I can explain." Orin throws the twins outside, closing the door with his leg. "Okay, maybe closing the door was a bad idea." He opens it to find the twins hurling and shuts it again. "Nope, it was a good idea all along." He wraps the voidreaver around his neck and pulls the contents back into his stomach, where they belong.
The Queen orders the Warcasters to throw Orin out, but he ties the voidreaver back onto his stomach, threatening to become a fountain if anyone approaches.
"Your move, lady." Orin makes a funnel with his mouth, pointing it toward the queen. "Why is she here?" Orin asks Hem. "Also... who is she?"
The question shocks the room into silence, and even after Hem explains her position, Orin only frowns. "Go rule the Kingdom then, Hem is in charge… here. I think!"
"Good guess," Hem sighs. Before the Queen could show her dominance, Hem steps forward with his badge, claiming authority over everyone present at the crime scene. He repeats the same verse from his last three standoffs with the queen: "Let all authority yield before the unyielding truth of the Aetherium Edicts. Every shadow of interference is dispelled, every misdeed accounted for—by my hand, the scales of justice remain inviolate, and the penalty of obstruction is irrevocable, for I am the keeper of absolute justice. All who tamper shall be deemed obstructions to the light. Should secrets remain unsolved, know that the burden of failure rests solely upon my shoulders, for I am the sole keeper of absolute justice."
Forced by the Aetherium Edict, a scripture of rule passed down by the first era of Nomads, everyone in Hem's path to justice moves aside.
Orin aims for that power, while the Queen warns Hem of the consequences.
"I took light of the matter three times. It won't happen a fourth," the queen warns.
"Out!" Hem points, glaring at the Queen, then at Orin.
"Ain't working on me," Orin says, cackling.
Orin's chuckle shocks everyone for the umpteenth time. And before the Queen takes Orin's words to heart, dispelling his age from the equation, Hem knows the kid will be in serious trouble. To remedy the kid's lack of care, Hem decides to explain his revelations, hoping the rambling will surpass his transgressions.
On the other side of the call, Valeri began preparing an apology letter to the queen as soon as Orin stumbled into the crime scene. The letter became a scrap of paper once Orin started shooting out revelations.
"We aren't in infinite space... We are in an infinite loop that continually changes. An ever-changing loop of infinity." The shocks began, without giving the listeners a break to comprehend, and before they could, the kid jumped onto the next line of thought. "Makes no sense, yet this scenario can prove the time gaps and our Oracles' luck in getting the job done."
"No wonder Ouroboros is deemed a Wonder," jokes Joy.
"Not the time, Joy," Orin hushes her.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Hem finally interrupts Orin's rapid fire.
"Time and space are distorted in Ouroboros."
"Still makes no sense, kid!"
"People's memories aren't distorted. They see and store them in a single filing order, but because of the time and space distortion, they think they have situations stored in a knot. Add mystica and the lure of Ouroboros—like the stupid one-and-a-half-minute rule, inability to dream, enhanced attributes, and whatnot into the mix... no wonder we have no solid leads to uncover the mysteries of Ouroboros."
"Focus, kid! How is this information going to help us in this case?" Hem gestures to the bloody room.
"I am at the edge of this era's breakthrough, and that's what you're worried about? Seriously?"
"A discovery without proof is just a theory. A never-ending loop of people guessing until the next time Ouroboros stops. Proof in this case can close it up and bring peace to their loved ones." Hem places his hand over the small girl, jolting Orin's heart. Flashes of his mom were visible in that little girl's eyes.
How could he not see her pain?
How could he not be more passionate?
Why is he so broken?
When did he fall so low?
"You can still help," Hem snaps Orin out of the guilt loop. "There is always a way back." He smiles. "Guess everything is a never-ending loop. It's never too late."
"All the proof we need is her." Orin looks at the girl, shrinking into herself, forcing herself to suppress the memories. "She blocked her memories somehow. Once she remembers, this case will come to a close." He clutches himself, turning away, and slowly raises a trembling finger at a wall. "All we have to do is reveal her dad."
Hem gets closer, the wall no different from others holding the roof in place, except for a thin discoloration at the center, which ran in a circle. The difference in color was so subtle that maybe only a Chromist might have caught the change in hue, and only after close inspection.
Trusting Orin's judgment, Hem places a wary hand over the wall. The soft, cold sensation forces him to pull away in discomfort.
The Warcasters rushed to Hem's side and were shocked to find a dead body hidden within the walls—a decaying body of Jefferson Hope.
Covered by an unregistered, new Ornyx, which worked similarly to a mystica known as Camlyth: the cloak took on the room's texture, hiding him in plain sight. The lack of oxygen had claimed his life long ago, and now the fluids produced during decay had dispelled the Ornyx's magic, revealing a discolored ring around the edges.
Orin steps between Revanche and the Warcasters while talking to the queen. "She isn't responsible," he declares, analyzing the Ornyx from afar. "That Ornyx not only has similar scales, but the very skin of a Camlyth. For maximum effect, the Camlyth hold their breath to go invisible. Though a cheap copy, this Ornyx needed a proper seal to go invisible."
Orin's analysis drags out Revanche's suppressed emotions, forcing her to relive the incident. By choice or effort, she wasn't able to forget the terrible sight of Jefferson stabbing her mother repeatedly. The memory played out as if she were reliving the moment for the first time again… Jefferson's final words, "Run... run far, far away. Let me sort this out, and we shall be together. Forever. Now run!" forced her to follow the instructions once again. Her feet carried her away, back into the embrace of the Lure—the only place that could hide her forever.
Revanche knocks Orin off balance as she darts toward the door.
"Never too late," Hem's words force Orin's legs to move on their own, following Revanche out of the hotel and into the unknown paths of Ouroboros.
When Orin caught up to Revanche, she broke down in tears, revealing the whole story to him. She hoped that after doing so, she wouldn't feel obliged to remember and could forget the incident forever.
She dropped to all fours, begging Ouroboros to reclaim the memories as she narrated the incident to Orin, drop by drop, soaking his shoes with her tears.
A surprise turned to horror, just as Hem predicted. Revanche had planned an elaborate sketch to surprise her dad, an Oracle of the highest rank, but instead, she got a surprise of her own—catching her stepmother with a lover she had long suspected.
Now, she finally had proof to free her dad from this cruel woman's clutches. She had borne the mistreatment, a small sacrifice to keep him happy, because her dad loved Mrs. Hope to the suns and back. But he wouldn't any longer, once she could point out the lover in a crowd.
Love had kept Jefferson blind all this time. Not anymore. Once his precious daughter pointed with solid proof, her previous suspicions would take form.
The surprise backfired when Mrs. Hope's boyfriend claimed her surprise visit could turn into a surprise disappearance.
Mrs. Hope snickered in the back as her boyfriend tried to squeeze the life out of Revanche. Her amusement quickly turned to pure horror when Jefferson appeared out of thin air, smacking the boyfriend to the floor. However, the boyfriend was stronger, and a struggle ensued, with Jefferson trying to protect his daughter from the two monsters.
Revanche never fully understood her father's presence or his motives for hiding in the dark. Maybe he wanted to murder them all along, or maybe he wanted to catch them in the act. Motives didn't matter back then, only the strength of the one who wanted to protect and the one who wished to keep a secret.
"All happened so fast," said Revanche between hiccups. "He fought off both of them, who tried to kill him, and then..."
She reached out to touch a scar on her cheek—the moment her stepmother got too close, a sharp nail still clear in her memory. Yet there wasn't any scar. All of her injuries had almost healed, thanks to Ouroboros.
"When this happened, my dad lost all sense of self, and in a flash, it was all over. Two bloody bodies on the floor... He told me to run away. Hide for a bit..." She held her head, struggling, yet forcing the memory to play. "He said to tap on the wall after the Sentinels cleared the scene. We can be together forever, he said."
While Orin thought she had no more tears left, fresh ones formed around her dry eyes.
"I can't believe I erased that part, too. I can't even recall the secret knock. He must have waited for me this whole time! He was patient for so long, all his life—waiting for a job, meeting me, and finally getting the woman of his dreams. This time, the wait shouldn't have been this long. We should have been together. Forever!"
Orin had nothing to say. He wished someone had tried to cheer him up during his worst days. Perhaps then he could have used their words, been useful in some way, because the guilt of being silent consumed him from the inside.
What would Hem do…? Valeri? Elio… Hysteria!
Orin remembered all the times Hysteria sat beside him. Never uttering a word, yet somehow reaching depths no one else could.
"I am here..." she would always say. "I will always be here."
And she always kept smiling.
"Why are you bothering me?" I always pushed her away.
"Sitting where I like. Is that a crime? Sue me, then, and we'll have our conversation at Equinox." She chuckled.
"What's the point in sitting there?" I asked on multiple occasions. "Wanna debate instead?" I always offered.
"No," she'd always refuse. "I'm here when you need me. I'm sure you have yourself for any kind of debate, so... no thanks."
"What will sitting beside me accomplish?"
"Nothing much." She'd glance at something in the distance, like she was reliving a memory. "But when nothing makes sense—when the world feels like it's closing in—turning around to find someone beside you, not talking, not judging, not trying to solve anything... there… That's all the hope and healing some people need. If nothing else, we Wanderers can be that. Be someone's presence, you know?"
Her smile had been so bright that day. He never understood why—until she added: "Since no one was sitting beside you, I thought I'd take that place. It's nice being someone's presence. Every life deserves at least one."
Is this the trait Hem talked about? Orin wondered. Without realizing it, he was already beside the girl, already holding the torch to show her he'd be there, no matter what.
He had embraced humanity in its purest form: He became someone's presence of hope.
Revanche gently wrapped her arms around Orin's, and they sat there, on the ground, for a while.
Orin recalled many moments from his past. He still didn't understand how his legs had moved on their own to follow her. He didn't regret it, though he hated being out of control. But the words that followed would come back to haunt him.
"As a theory..." Orin spoke, the words spilling out before he realized it, "...there's this one source. It suggests everything is made from it—split apart by some unknown goal, and once the goal is complete... it reunites."
Revanche stopped trembling. Her eyes, long since dried out, now locked onto Orin's lips.
"What do you mean?" she croaked, her lips cracking from thirst.
"That there might..." Orin trailed off—
—and the words that followed cut straight into her heart, reigniting something she'd thought lost: hope.
She leaned in closer, whispering: "Can we?"
"I'm not giving up until I've tried my best. And trust me—my best is Wanderlust's best shot." Orin smiled, becoming Revanche's presence—her rock—pulling a shaky smile from her lips.
"That's if the Lure doesn't get us first." He added, scratching his head nervously.
Revanche tensed. Her eyes darted around the ominous jungle, the shadows calling her back. "Wait—what? We might die here‽"
"Should've considered that before you ran out without a plan." Orin scolded.
"Me? I was emotional! What about you, Mr. Rescuer? Shouldn't you have a plan?"
"Sure! Blame me, you ungrateful little brat!" Orin snapped, yanking her cheeks.
"Why do I always get useless rescuers?" Revanche retaliated by tugging on Orin's hair.
Both froze when the Lure's whispering tendrils curled a little closer.
They hugged each other in panic, wailing in unison. "We're gonna die!"
"From stupidity, maybe." Joy's voice called down from above, lazily perched atop a branch.
"By Zee—no!"
Ouroboros pulsed. The world shimmered—and the jungle's threat dissolved. The trio bounced back to the hotel room like rubber bands snapped from tension.
To the rest of the world, they'd been gone for mere minutes.
To them, hours had passed—grief, revelation, and absurdity all folded into silence until Joy finally stepped in.
"Hey!" Orin waved at Hem, now standing near the scene of the wall's revelation. "I've been thinking for a while—"
"—A while?" Hem cut in, eyeing them all. "You were gone for maybe two minutes. What happened?"
"Time and space, remember?" Orin gestured around dramatically.
Hem narrowed his eyes. "Still makes no sense."
"Let me explain," Valeri's voice buzzed through the mystic tech. "Your mind erased the memory of waiting. It's a defense against Ouroboros' spatial distortion. Many scholars have theorized this effect, but until now, we've never had living proof."
"Now we do!" Orin announced proudly, twirling his nonexistent mustache. "Wanderer for the win!"
"Still sounds like heresy." Hem sighed. "Miss Valeri—did you experience the gap?"
"No," she admitted. "To me, Orin vanished and reappeared instantly."
"That's because Ouroboros transfers concepts." Orin chimed in, pacing. "Not people—concepts. It also links you to places or states associated with that concept. Mystech just... helps us remember the connection."
Hem raised his hand, ready to flick Orin's head—then stopped as Valeri's voice cut in. "Actually... he might be right."
Hem froze. "Wait—the kid is right?"
"No wonder Zeus deemed them unready for Ouroboros," Valeri muttered under her breath.
Orin perked up. "Wait—who's Zeus?!"
He dragged Hem's hand closer to the mystech device, zooming in on Valeri's expression.
She smirked and dodged the question. "Since when do we remember our fellow men?"
Orin arched an eyebrow. "Since fellow bugs can judge complex, abstract equations at a single glance."
Hem stood still, his arms crossed, his brow twitching in frustration. "I feel way off," he muttered, half to himself, watching Valeri and Orin volley terms and theories he could barely grasp.
"Welcome to the club," said the twins in unison, each placing a reassuring hand on Hem's shoulders, pulling him back into their fold.
Orin turned away from Valeri, who continued to toss riddles like bait, withholding answers with smug precision. He pointed toward the Warcaster standing near the dais. "For a Queen, you sure are dumb."
The Warcaster twitched.
"I am the Queen, you insolent brat!"
For the first time since her election, her poise cracked. She snapped, pointing wildly at everyone and no one in particular.
"You both look alike. " Orin waved her off, indifferent. "Could've fooled me."
"Why, you—"
Hem stepped in, hands raised between them like a referee breaking up a mystical wrestling match.
He leaned close to Orin, whispering. "Just so you know, I don't have power anymore."
"What?! Why not?" Orin's voice pitched up.
"Should've paid attention in 'Ways of Wanderers' class," Valeri sang from the mystech line, before Orin cut her off with a spell, his voice laced with urgency.
"She won't call back. She's afraid of the concepts. Now—" He turned, eyes sharp. "Explain."
Hem sighed. He lifted both hands in surrender. "We solved the case. That's it. Once we close a case with sufficient proof, power defaults back to the Queen. I don't get to stay in charge. All I retain is custodial authority over the records."
"These rules are ridiculous." Orin ran his hands through his hair. "Dumb Wanderers and their even dumber rules."
The Queen had already recomposed herself, brushing her robes smooth and straightening her spine. She gave a single, elegant cough that drew all attention. "Since ya'll—" she emphasized the word, eyes on Orin, "—'solved' the case with proof," she gestured toward Revanche, "and… some wild theories," her gaze flicked back to Orin, "I shall only deduct half the stars that would otherwise be assigned by Sentinel Hem Lock."
The twins immediately began wrapping Orin in Eleant grass before he could curse about the stars—or, worse, publicly admit he didn't know what they were.
"Let him free," the Queen ordered, and the twins reluctantly obeyed.
"Don't ask about the stars," they whispered as they unraveled him. "We'll explain later."
"Didn't care the first time, won't care now," Orin muttered, brushing grass off his shoulders. He turns to the Queen, that trademark smirk blooming again. "What about the three other cases you're about to be proven wrong on?"
That smirk shouldn't have meant anything. But Hem saw it. The ego, yes—but also something steadier behind it.
And then Orin turned... and winked at him.
Something inside Hem cracked.
All the hard-earned recognition, the stars, the case victory—everything—was about to be swallowed up by that kid's arrogance.
"No—" Hem lunged forward, driven by instinct, ready to knock the boy cold before he could ruin everything.
But then Orin said something that stopped Hem cold: "You were right, all along."
'Did that kid 'actually' acknowledge something?' Everyone who knew anything about Orin thought.
No. That couldn't be right.
He had to be playing a trick, Hem reasoned. So he continued the assault.
"Those three cases you thought Hem lost..." Orin called out, dragging the Queen's attention like a net. "He won!"
Hem's strike landed before the smirk could grow any wider. Orin hit the floor hard with a loud thud! Only thanks to Ouroboros' lingering vitality and a twitch of its tail did the boy stay conscious.
"Oww! Whose side—"
"Shhh!" Hem knelt over him, voice low and sharp. "Not the time. Never is the time."
Orin blinked. "So we let the mastermind go?"
And with that one question, Hem froze.
"What do you mean?" the Queen asked, her voice taut with sudden interest.
Orin sat up, dusting his shirt. "I don't care how smart Jefferson was." He turned to Revanche, offering a quick shrug. "No offense. But not even your dad was clever enough to pull all of this off—not alone. Not even if he somehow got access to the forbidden firepower."
The Queen narrowed her eyes.
She could verify the claim, yes.
Some Umossians could trace a soul by burn pattern, even within Ouroboros. But bringing one in would kill them. And worse—it would expose forbidden rites, known only to the Umossian leaders and a scarce dozen others.
No... Better to let the boy speak and trap himself in his logic.
Orin stepped forward, drawing from the files Terrance and the other Sentinels had prepared for him. He held them up like notes before a lecture.
"Let's talk about 'Factorless Fire.'"
He flipped the first file open, reading the summary in a mocking tone.
"The factory burns down. No origin point. No ignition source. No accelerant. No, nothing."
He snapped the folder shut.
"Now, with what we've seen here? Easy. Forbidden mystica can defy ignition rules—start, stop, or shift fire without any traceable cause."
He grinned.
"Next up— 'Impossible Position:' Witness swears the same person committed two crimes, same day, same time, two different locations. Travel? Impossible. Timeline? Implausible."
He finished, cracking his neck.
"Until you account for time distortion. Ouroboros does it. Concepts can do it. Mystica bends memory as much as space."
The Queen's expression tightened ever so slightly as Orin tapped the final file.
Classic: Closed-Room Mystery. No entrances, no exits. Victim dead. Killer gone."
He pointed upward, to the very hotel they'd emerged from.
"They never left. Hid in plain sight. Under a Camlyth cloth, maybe. Masked from sight, hidden in wait. Sound familiar?"
The Queen didn't reply, but Hem watched her closely—and for the first time, saw her frown with something like... respect.
Orin, still bruised but undeterred, stood center stage now. Not a theory-riddled brat. Not a lost kid. Not even a nuisance. A force. And Hem couldn't help but wonder—how long had this been building?
Satisfied by the Queen's open-mouthed, speechless, and stunned, Orin turned to Hem.
He leaned in. Whispered a truth meant only for the Sentinel. "You were right. There is someone behind it all. Those three old cases? They were tests. Dry runs. Practice rounds... for this. Ouroboros was the real target."
He pauses for a dramatic cause. Then with heavier words he continues, enjoying the moment of his brilliance: "The mastermind's still out there, playing games with lives—for reasons I can't even guess. So…" He locked eyes with Hem. "Take over from here... And we shall take him down together, later."
Hem didn't move. Didn't breathe.
There was no rush of triumph, no fist in the air, no smile. Just that gut-deep tug he had never quite shaken… pulling again. The one that whispered, There's a lock here. Hidden in the pile you thought you'd solved. In plain sight. Still sealed shut.
And suddenly, it made sense.
The simple cases were never simple... They looped. Twisted. Ever-changing factors. Infinite spirals.
A mystery pretending to be solved is more dangerous than one still open.
And this one... this was cruelty at its cruelest.
Orin had been the key. But now Hem saw what lay beyond the lock: Jefferson wasn't the end.
He wasn't even the point.
No… Whoever was behind this wasn't aiming at a broken kingdom or petty disputes.
They were aiming at Wanderlust.
All of it.
Every kingdom.
Every pillar of power.
Every law, spell, sigil, and secret.
About to be tested. Twisted. And Undone.
The mastermind—whatever they were—had command of mystica once thought dead, or forbidden.
Powers that should have turned to dust in the old eras.
And the mysteries they were preparing now?
They would shake the world ten times over.
The four kingdoms wouldn't stand a chance unless they stood together. Unless they found a master of mystics and a locksmith mad enough to find answers in impossibility.
Hem stood tall, eyes sharp with purpose; Orin and the twins at his side.
Wanderlust had a war coming... The coming of a new era.
———<>||<>——— The EnD ———<>||<>———