Ami awoke with a heavy head. Her eyes refused to open.
…Must go. Must. Must. Must…
…So sick of it.
"Surely something interesting will happen at work today."
What? A new document?
"Get up."
No.
"You have to."
Right.
Ami exhaled sharply and, before she could change her mind, threw off the blanket, stood up, shed her drape, took several steps to the washbasin, and… slumped down beside it. This spot was well-worn by her back and posterior from previous visits. Without bothering to scoop water with her hands or a ladle, she plunged her head into the cool dampness and held still.
She only straightened up when her lungs screamed for air.
Water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders. Soaking.
Ami shook her head, rubbed her eyes, and looked questioningly at the bag.
How many mornings had she thought about bringing her mother's torn notes to work? And about properly washing her water pouch also – that faithful companion holding her coffee and helping her stay somewhat conscious these past few working lights.
The Kantinian could wash it in the stream by the purple Mushroom; she'd seen the locals do it. And refill it immediately, because her current state wasn't much better than previous ones.
Then… why wash it at all? The remnants of the previous drink would be washed away by the next one again… Given the rapid fill-and-empty cycles.
The doses of coffee kept increasing, often leaving her heart pounding like a mad drum and her hands trembling. But without this adrenaline shock, the whole situation would be utterly unbearable.
Sometimes fulfilled dreams are a heavy trial.
But not as heavy as unfulfilled ones would have been. Her current troubles were easier to bear than the daily grind she'd faced in Kantine.
Probably that's why she hadn't made a single attempt to give up and run back yet. Ami wasn't some heroic figure stoically enduring hardships. It was just a suicidal but pragmatically obvious choice between two evils.
The Kantinian shook off her stupor, shaking her head vigorously again. Droplets flew from her wet hair across the kotti, leaving distinct marks on the dusty floor.
Right then. The notes. Let's bring some sense to this moderate, inevitable suffering.
She crawled over to the bags of hastily unpacked belongings, ignoring the chill coming from her damp drape. And transferred her mother's notes into her bag. Finally.
Maybe she will find time for this.
Rummaging through the pouches, she found the symbols she'd copied from reports earlier. At least they were still there. Neat.
Time became a valuable resource. As well as power. She hoped it wouldn't run out suddenly, one way or another.
This feeling of slipping time and missed opportunities pursued her relentlessly.
Alrighty. What she really needed to do now was dry her hair and get dressed. As a part of the programme to fight the dawn chill, at least.
If she just put her outer drape back on, it would be uncomfortable out on the street, under the plain wind of Omill. It would be noticeable even in her current state of emotional numbness. Even the wind of freedom could be harsh and cold.
Or especially the wind of freedom.
Anyway. Adding comfort to her life wouldn't go amiss.
The servicewoman carefully pulled the last clean under-drape from her belongings bag. She hadn't brought many, so laundry and shopping were next on the to-do list.
No food was also an issue. Clean clothes running low, payment seeds dwindling, the kotti untidy and unwelcoming… Meet Amelia the Homemaker.
"Stop whingeing like an old grumpa. Look at the bright side."
I'm going, I'm going. Brightside is outside.
Also there are a few assorted flatcakes from her last café visit. Which was nice.
The delicious study of local culture and customs continued. And she'd consciously chosen walks and exploration over tidying up the dwelling, so she had nothing to complain about, to be true.
Ami quickly put on her outer drape, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside.
A light drizzle was falling. Maybe changing the drape was pointless.
Oh well. Fate itself decreed this an inopportune moment for comfort. But something still should be done. The detour to the stream by the purple mushroom to rinse the water pouch.
The rain is lovely. Always pleasant for cooling a throbbing head, while everything smells of wet freshness, local herbs, and the clay of Omill's kotties.
The best scents on the Mainland… Plus, coffee would smell lovely at work.
Rainy weather is perfect for staying indoors with cosy smells and good company, not resenting the sunlit street outside. Life is looking up. In a way.
Ami grinned widely.
She entered the Station and nodded to Faella.
— Rain picking up? — the other woman enquired, glancing briefly at Ami. — Glad I made it to work on time then.
— Just drizzling as it was before. — Ami shrugged. — No worse since morning.
— Ah. — Faella nodded understandingly, looking more closely. — Your hair's wet, but your clothes are almost dry in comparison. I see. Hygiene procedures.
— You can call it that. — Ami agreed. — Still, you made it on time.
She nodded towards the coffee pot, from which Faella was pouring the dregs into her cup.
— True. "First come, first served". — Faella chuckled. — Join me.
— I'll wait for Milo, he'll be here soon. — Ami sighed. – For he won't tolerate an empty coffee pot in his domain. Nor a Secretary loitering by her cubbyhole, unable to start work.
— Oh! — Faella exclaimed, remembering. — Poor one! Right, you can't heat coffee or open doors. Hand over your mug.
Ami obediently extracted the vessel from her bag.
— What a… lovely little thingy! — Faella admired, taking the cup and pouring the last coffee into it. — You two make a wonderful pair.
— Oh, thank you.
Faella smiled warmly.
She's so nice. I really don't know how to react.
"Don't take it personally. People say things to be nice. Normal people, I mean. Maybe you will copy some of their skills some light."
— There. — said the Selva, returning the cup to Ami. — Can't help more now. Milo's dashed off to Sandra's, and I don't know the Archive seal.
— Thanks for the immortal last coffee sacrifice. That was incredibly kind! I couldn't do it for anyone, to be true. Waiting for Milo will be much more pleasant.
Faella gave Ami's shoulder a pat and headed to her office.
Three signs of consideration already, and the light has barely begun. Nice.
Or was it more? Should have a separate ledger for these intangible treasures.
The entrance curtain lifted, and the Station Chief flew into the Truth Hall.
— Ami! The Archive's unsealed… Made a bit of a mess in there; don't be shocked.
— Sounds threatening. But I'm rarely shocked by anything these lights. — The Archivist nodded melancholically.
— Come on, help me bury you deeper. We need it now.
— Coming. — Ami agreed shortly, rising and leaving her mug on the coffee table. — Shovelling more dirt onto my ashes? Always happy to oblige.
— Why so grim? — the Chief enquired merrily.
— Because I *am* grim.
She followed Milo to his office. He scurried up and made a quick unlocking gesture.
The Chief's desk was piled high with tablets, with a couple more stacks beside it. Clearly, the workload was immense.
From what she'd observed, the Omillian wasn't an irredeemable slob; under normal circumstances, he wouldn't permit mess on this scale.
But that wasn't what preoccupied Ami right now.
Why did Milo have large windows in his office, while she had one measly slit?!
Either it was for document preservation or due to Lucy's photophobia.
Likely the first. Who'd voluntarily block out light and air? But who knows?
"There also is someone who chose to leave Kantine's windswept, sun-drenched fields and meadows to work in this dark, stuffy cubbyhole. Searching for new life and new experience. You got exactly what you ordered. Mountains of experiences, unsorted tablets, dirty laundry and dust. What more could you want?'
Quiet. I want more comfort. I already said it.
— Look. All this needs shifting… and I don't know where you'll put it all. — Milo gestured helplessly. — But you're the Archivist.
— No mocking. I think we should chuck half of it.
Her interlocutor stared at her, perplexed.
— Ah. Joking. Yes. Why not? We've already lost some of the crucial things. — he snorted in annoyance. —Seems losses aren't just Finnian's department's problem anymore.
— How so? — The Secretary frowned supportively.
— Swamp knows what's happening, Ami! I've turned the place upside down, but I can't find the customs register from two cycles back. Should make copies of everything, then copies of the copies.
— And where do we store that?
— Dunno. Don't care. Stash it under the Station. I used to think it's secure here. Now I'm not sure of it anymore.
He sank wearily behind his desk and drummed his fingers nervously.
— This is an alarming sign.
— You don't say.
— And what does that mean for us? Globally?
— Don't even want to think about it… — Milo exhaled noisily. — One of us… No. Can't be. Impossible. I've a top— notch, trusted team; Sandra and I were just discussing it.
He shook his head decisively and resumed drumming.
— I'm sure Finnian says the same… Yet documents keep vanishing.
— Not only documents. People. Evidences, memories… Goods from warehouses. Warehouse records about the goods.
— …People who made the records… So, the whole Mainland will disappear soon. And we wouldn't have anything to worry about.
The boss gave Amelia a disapproving look.
Not a good time for jokes. He thinks.
— Who has Archive access? — The Archivist swapped the topic. — Except me.
— Me, Lucy, Sandra, Kyle, Moki… Some clerks from the Chiefdom. Any action is traceable. And noticeable. But documents just disappear somehow.
— Well, start with me. My criminal exploits so far are just copying symbols… With you aiding and abetting, by the way.
— True, true… Why do you want them? You didn't tell.
— I think they look kind of familiar. Wanted to compare them to those in mother's notes.
The Station Chief waved a dismissive hand.
— I really don't think it makes sense. We've already done handwriting analysis. Not Zetish, not Liman, nor Northern.
— Not elven? Not dwarven?
— No. Unless they belong to sea monsters, but there's no information on their script, for… obvious reasons.
— Ran out of food in the Ocean.
— Learned to breathe air, got their bearings sharpish, and organised a covert smuggling ring for highly specific items across the Mainland… Sounds plausible.
— You're welcome. That's why I'm here.
Milo chuckled sarcastically.
— Other theories?
— None.
— What do elvish writings look like?
The Omillian pondered before answering.
— Their strange squiggles don't look like writing at all… More like plant sketches. Spirals with tiny offshoots, branches with leaves.
— And where were the symbols found?
— Those specific ones? Intercepted contraband from Zeth. — He clapped his hands. — Right, let's get on. Grab some tablets.
Ami obediently took part of a stack.
— And where are the others? — the curious one persisted. — If they are?
— Kyle took them to Prime.
Ami shook her head admiringly.
— Shiny symbols, VST Agent and Prime. Fascinating.
— Don't be distracted too much.
They left the office and headed for the Archive.
Milo snorted irritably.
— Hang on, forgot something else. Hold these… No, put them down for now. Carefully, don't trip or fall in there.
Ami stepped inside cautiously. And… nearly crumpled.
There was certainly something to fall over.
Behind the opened door awaited… a surprise. Space in her already cramped cubbyhole had diminished. Significantly. It wasn't even clear how to enter here.
"Holly boggers!"
"So many of them. How did they fit here before?"
"How does he…"
"No. The question is… Is he expecting us… to shift all this?!"
"Come on. What difference does it make? We couldn't find anything before either."
Utterly pointless job.
"Back to Kantine?"
I'd rather die heroically shifting this mess.
"Not just *this* mess. The mess in the kotti too."
My whole life's a mess. We'll have to clear it. Step by step.
"Put the tablets down first."
Right. I didn't call a meeting this light. Chill, my people.
"I'm chill. At least, we're officially unable to work. Can't even get inside."
Quieter. Need to think. It wouldn't dissolve on its own.
"Or maybe it can. Wait for new disappearances."
Ami tilted her head thoughtfully, observing the epic Chaos. Greater and bigger than any she could do on her own... Rampant, encroaching mess was everywhere. Either it would engulf and bury her, or…
Amelia took aim and stepped between the tablets.
"One step". She froze, standing on one leg. The stack in her hands wobbled. No!
She quickly planted her other foot somewhere. The tablets shifted, admitting her foot. Most fortunately.
Now we needed to tactically plan the second step towards the desk. If *someone* would light the blasted lamp, it'd be much easier.
"Two steps".
Ami reached the desk and, carefully nudging another clay pile aside, deposited her load, exhaling with relief.
She looked around.
This would bury her. For sure. Aeons hence, they'd find this repository and say: "Here lies one of the settlement's secretaries."
And she's no Secretary at all. What a disgrace.
— Ami!
…At least one external voice. Finally.
Amelia reluctantly tore her gaze from the hypnotic, spontaneously growing tablet mounds.
Someone out there was trying to get her attention. And remembered her name.
Worth diverting for.
It was Milo again.
— Yes?
Reacting calmly to the mention of her name was not a newly developed work habit of hers. As well as her sluggishness wasn't just usual drowsiness.
It was a stress reaction.
— Come fetch another couple of stacks.
Milo's voice sounded strained. Ami tried her utmost to feign attentive concern.
— Coming, — Ami replied tonelessly, still stupefied. — Just need to crawl out somehow… Milo, light this blasted lamp. Please.
The non-witch found the uncooperative glass fiend and, finding space to step forward, thrust it through the window.
— Not so blasted. Perfectly good lamp.
Milo chuckled, making a quick gesture over the transparent clay wretch, which instantly lit up. Annoyed, the servicewoman pulled the offending item back into her workspace and froze.
…Lighting it was clearly a mistake.
Now everything looked not just less optimistic but downright shocking.
Ami placed the lamp atop the tablets on the desk, exhaled sharply, and focused on navigating back to the door. No time to linger on intermediate tasks.
…Reports near the door, current cases in the middle, correspondence by the window.
See? We're strong enough to handle it. With half of our wits, especially.
Yes, we can forget about our mysterious scrolls now… But he said there's no chance the answer could be found easily. But it doesn't mean we wouldn't try.
Well. Sort by class. Then goes sorting by date. Grouping could come later… perhaps by case handler rather than location.
Or by location… Tricky choice.
If documents had fixed locations here, like in Kantine Archive, cases and shelves could be permanently numbered. But this Archive was far smaller, holding mainly current cases; old ones moved up, archived ones transferred to the City Repository, and classified ones went to the Temple's vault.
— Ami.
Leaning slightly, she looked out the window.
— Yes… Moki.
— Take the reports for this light and give me…
— Sorry, Moki! Giving you nothing this light. Look inside. I can barely step back from the window now.
— Ah. Right then. — Moki grunted glumly.
— If Milo pushes you, say it's me holding you up.
— I'll do it. — He smirked again.
Ami took careful steps between the piles, shifting them tighter.
Walking in semi-darkness between treacherous tree roots, mud puddles, and snagging branches in the forest seemed to have given her invaluable skill. She gathered tablets near the entrance and restacked them atop those slightly further away. Freed up more space for shuffling the colossal mass.
The Secretary picked up the first tablet, skimmed the contents, and noted the date.
Let that be the foundation of the first pile. We must start with something.
The first lump of building clay laid… She took the next tablet.
Would sit atop this one. The next one… And a new pile.
She gradually restructured the "mountains", turning flat plateaus of disorder into high peaks of sorted stacks optimistically rising around the edges of the madness, until she felt a distinct urge to feed her mighty intellect.
Mighty oozes! She'd been so engrossed that she missed lunch.
She'd finish sorting the entrance area to some logical point and, with a sense of moral satisfaction, reward herself with something tasty. Good old Ami.
Conqueror of hopelessness and aeonic despair. The last leaf— cake in her bag wouldn't go amiss now. But…
Where is the bag?!
One more tragic disappearance. More tragic than any other to hungry Amelia.
Where could it be? Where did she throw it in the darkness?
Likely, she has sat or stood on it several times already. Or piled tablets on it.
Good thing there was no liquid pouch inside at the moment, though.
A flatcake wouldn't lose taste from a shape change. Repeatedly tested in Ami's perpetually stuffed bag. Only berries will get squashed, and decorative nuts are off.
Should probably take out the notes when it is found.
Ami scanned the room. And spotted her quarry.
The bag sat peacefully nearby, unconsciously nestled safely between tablets.
The Kantinian blissfully extracted the sweet remnant of magnificence from its pouch, inhaled its enchanting aroma, and began chewing thoughtfully.
Delicious. Scarcity made things especially tasty. She examined the flatcake's filling. Something red with little seeds inside… Still couldn't figure out what berry was inside. Doesn't grow back home, that fantastically sour, fragrant wonder with tasty seeds…
She sniffed and sighed blissfully.
…Marvellous. A natural treasure spotted and enhanced by human art…
— Ami.
…Aaaargh… Not again.
Sighing, she shifted her adoring gaze from the sweet's filling to a reproachful one towards the shadow in the window.
— Give me, please… — the spectral supplicant began.
— I won't. — Ami poured all her weary sarcasm and annoyance at the interrupted meal into the phrase. — Because I can't.
…How dare they?
However, there was something heartwarming in the whole situation.
The upside was that the normal Ami had taken the place of the terrified one. Her poor reputation in Kantine's Order Department stemmed from her actions, which also explained why she was rarely assigned to "people-matter" duty.
Just because she was a complete failure at it.
In other words, they did assign her in the hopes that her communication skills would improve with experience. But the superiors were consistently unhappy with the outcome. Socially awkward, overly blunt Amelia couldn't… or wouldn't do anything about her character and "style" of communication.
You can't say she didn't try. However, it felt that it was beyond her control.
— I'm not asking for your leafcake. Really. — chuckled the voice from the other side.
Thank the Gnats for that. What a… velvety voice… Kele?
His appearance couldn't be considered entirely unfortunate. Though, it didn't change anything. There was total Chaos ruling that territory.
— Was I chewing *that* loudly? — Ami asked glumly.
— Yes. Chomping loud enough for the whole Hall! — Kele declared cheerfully.
— Oh my gnats…
— Just teasing. It's only true for me. And the other ones with sharp hearing. But there are very few.
He laughed playfully. What music to the ears.
Ami exhaled admiringly again, like after inhaling the aroma of the flatcake… with its mysterious berry. Was it tasty in itself? Or just as a part of sweets?
— I wouldn't be surprised if I was chomping loud enough for the entire city, drooling copiously all around. Omill provides extremely appealing things. And… I can't help you this light. Not out of my stinginess. I've got… a disaster here. See for yourself if you peek.
— Whoa! — came Kele's surprised exclamation as he followed her advice. — Impressive.
— Aye. — Ami sighed, regretfully popping the last of the flatcake into her mouth. — So I have to heroically conquer the clay swarm of this swamp disorder. Want it or not.
— Poetic.
— Aye. I'm nearly Zella Clayhand here. If you've anything to dump, feel free to pile on more problems. If not…
— No, nothing to dump, — Kele replied. — Got it. I'll leave you in peace. Probably the best I can do now.
No, not the best.
— You can contribute to improving my working conditions, if you'd like to. — Ami blurted out unexpectedly cheerfully.
— Why not? How?
— Warm up some coffee for me? Please. If there's any left in the pot after the break. I left my cup there. I missed lunch, and coffee's my only hope now.
"Strategically playing the pity card again. Nice."
"Don't overdo it."
Gnat off.
— Whoa. Harsh exploitation spotted. — Kele chuckled. — Why not go grab lunch now?
— Want to place this planned chunk of chaos a certain way before I forget. It'll nag me like an obsession and stop me from eating properly. I could jot the plan on cloth. If only I could reach the desk. And had some superpowers.
— Good luck with your epic battle then…
Footsteps of the departing Selva sounded. Right then, farewell and goodbye. As expected.
"Well done at ensuring people recoil from you even here. Splendid consistency. Now crawl back to the swamp you emerged from and stay there until the next bright idea."
Drown you.
"Audacity works for charming people. You never belonged to the category."
"At least she'd tried."
"What an embarrassment."
"As always. Nothing changed after changing the city."
Get bogged, people. Let's go back to work.
The servicewoman wiped her hands on her drape and picked up the nearest tablet… whose date was wildly out of sync. The foundation for a new pile, seemingly.
But where to place it?! Needed more space.
There's no place here. Only by standing herself. And her resting spot. Noooo…
"We have to."
But how to work here at all? The conditions are already unbearable!
"Then we have nothing to lose."
— Here you are. Almost fresh and warm. Lucky you. Pure green energy remnants in the pot. — A voice came from outside after a while. — It's a pity you've already noisily munched your leafcakes.
…Wait… What?! Nooowaaaay…
— Couldn't be helped. Happens on its own.
— Wouldn't advise drinking it on an empty stomach anyway. Take it from a local, been drinking this stuff almost since birth…
— …and swam in it before that instead of amniotic fluid, aye. — Ami replied, trying hard not to betray astonished delight. — I believe it. Thank you so much! Coffee will be my apéritif now. No choice for now. Will be more careful later.
— Still can't get used to a non-witch working within the Temples. — Kele shook his head.
…It worked!!! It… worked!!
Her cup passed from the Selva's elegant hands to hers.
…Lucky girl!
Oooo, this smell… Can't wait!
The enchanted vessel contained inspiring drink heated by Kele's hands, which is much more invigorating and inspiring. And subjected to the dark-skinned officer's intense, curious gaze.
— Quaint mug you've got.
— Ivlia nutshell. — Ami informed. —Thank you for help in possibly reducing the Precinct's Chaos.
— Right. Hope I'll get my tablets faster. I never do anything for free. —Kele smirked ironically. — Will this do, or warm it more?
Amelia, squinting with pleasure, took a large sip.
— It's perfect! I'll bring the solid Kantinian order on this primal Omillian chaos, I swear. These tablets messed with the wrong Secretary!
— But seriously. We're a team here. Don't forget about it.
— I won't! Considering everything you see is Milo's doing. Now I've got to save my life so I'm not buried alive. All that's left for me. Hence the involuntary heroics. Didn't you see him… tearing about yesterday, turning everything upside down?
A renewing warmth spread through her core. From… the coffee? Or… Hands, stop your trembling. Please behave. Too soon – that was just one sip.
— Nope. On patrol yesterday.
— Ah… Right. Suppose I should log such… events. Keep forgetting. So, I'll just be envious instead. That's in my power.
— Envy! To the routine patrolling?
— My routine is much scarier, isn't it?
— Can't argue with that. Milo rarely messes up, to be true. Something disastrous happening, I suppose.
— Well, I *hoped* this exclusivity wasn't just for me… Otherwise, he shouldn't bother. Pity for him also. I saw a huge amount of cases on his table. He doesn't want to be overloaded alone. And as a result, I'm trying to eat or otherwise exploit people. So, blame Milo anyway. And come later. I will try to perform my labour feat here.
— I will. — The Selva tossed his hair off his shoulder with a charmingly flippant gesture. — One can hardly pass by the ground floor anyway.
…Nnnice…
The Archivist took another big sip, squinting from a double pleasure. Pity good stuff ends so fast, leaving only warm memories. But the energy boost will be here for some time. But she has a feeling…
…Things would definitely improve now.
Kele saluted and headed for his office upstairs. The Kantinian couldn't help but watch him go. The Temple uniform absolutely suited him.
Though, he'd probably look smashing in anything, being quite the striking lad.
If only Ami herself were even half as graceful and elegant.
No chance. Not given. Just like wielding witchery to heat her own coffee. Or being born somewhere decent with minimally psyche-deforming friendly surroundings.
Vegetative sullenness and stocky sturdiness. It's her baseline.
"Don't expect much."
"Expect nothing, to be precise."
"As a clumsy Kantinian girl should."
"Don't embarrass yourself here too."
"It's not worth it."
Aye, right… There will be some dim-witted planter for me some light, if I'm lucky. Crystal clear. Couldn't be clearer.
And there's no point hiding it; the ginger klutz had always been rather awkward.
Even if her frightened object of interest didn't recoil and flee immediately, they did so soon after.
Hard to blame them, though. Ami understood perfectly well what it was like not to want to be with her. She herself sought escape from herself in reading or other pursuits. A brain full of never-ending problems.
So. Time to recall the beloved "sour berries" mantra. And back to work.
We're not adorable, but we can be useful. This wonderful place deserves some gratitude. For not spitting her out immediately, at least.
Finishing her coffee, she exhaled with a light smile, habitually wiping the mug on her now greenish-tinged drape.
And stoutly turned back to her gloomy, chaos-filled, Ami-head-like cubbyhole, returning her beloved mug-companion to the bag. Even this type of work can be a remedy and an excellent distraction.
Fuelled by the inspiring charge of coffee love for the rest of the light, lunchless and breakless, resolutely and detachedly, she slowly chipped away at the threatening mass of written clay. She created small islands of order, trying to structure the chaos in this area of her life.
…And firmly sending back to their offices the few who were insufficiently informed about her struggle.
A pleasant feeling of control over something. Leaving at the end of the working light with most of the mountain unsorted was almost sad.
But… later. Now, if energy remained, maybe she could tidy up her kotti too. Need to pop into a shop for a large rag for bedding also. Just in case. And gather stiff grass for a broom. So, no walks, no deviations from the tidying plan.
Time to stop escaping, losing respect for her own decisions and their consequences… and ultimately, for herself. It's her life. Her job. And her kotti.
Her choice and, consequently, her responsibility. Yes, it's all temporary… but life also is.
And she managed to grab this piece of her dream before her body stopped walking and breathing. A little joy before her lights are finally dimmed.
Whatever the past, fixating on it meant losing the rapidly slipping present.
Just think about it. Half a cycle ago, she'd thought it all impossible. And now she's…
Living in Omill. Chats with locals. Has her very own Omillian kotti.
She's deadly bog-tired and almost burnt out. But she's out of the trap. And you know… She's not coming back. Amelia will use all her Kantinian persistence to not go back to an old life, to not go back to Kantine.