Читать книгу: «Coffee-Stained Pages. Part 2»

Cover designer Lilla Somn

Translator Lilla Somn

© Lilla Somn, 2026

© Lilla Somn, cover design, 2026

© Lilla Somn, translation, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0068-1476-9 (т. 2)

ISBN 978-5-0067-1890-6

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Light 11. What To Do With Uninvited Guests

Ami’s eyes snapped open.

…Those heavy lids strained to plunge everything back into darkness…

No, no, no! Don’t you dare! Don’t sleep. Not back there. We’ll end up in the same place. It’ll all continue.

“Oh no — no!”

…It all felt far too real.

Spirits. They wouldn’t materialise in this darkness… would they?!

Or her frantically pounding heart would thump against her ribs one last time and… stop forever.

“Don’t be silly. There are no spirits here.”

I’m… not so sure.

Amelia shivered.

It was chilly. Cold wind, cold sweat. Her back was vulnerably uncovered.

The breach was quickly remedied.

…as if a blanket had ever saved anyone from an immaterial threat passing through objects and time…

“Enough!”

Ami sat hunched, the plaid pulled over her head. Logical arguments aren’t very convincing when you are totally terrified…

…It would be much better if she knew how to make witch fire.

It wouldn’t be so dark. She could illuminate the surrounding space. And see there were no spirits in the house. Or… see if one was standing in the corner. Or… looming over her bed now?!

“Ooooooh… No — no — no… Stop it!!”

…No one’s there… No one’s there… Calm down, silly…

She began rocking involuntarily, as often happened when severely agitated.

“Pull the blanket down, and you’ll see there’s no one here.”

Ami shook her head sadly at herself.

No. The blanket stays in its place. Even if… No one’s there. No. One. Is. There.

“The rustling is just the wind under the entrance drape.”

Maybe.

“The voices are echoes from the outside.”

I’m not sure.

“Don’t be scared. Check. No one’s there. I promise.”

…Oh, well…

Amelia cautiously lowered the blanket, bracing for the worst… But…

No. No one was there. Only an indefinite darkness and the ominous rustle of the entrance drape. And the horror. Diffused within it. Waiting for something. Everything seen in that dream still felt real and lurking nearby.

She… desperately needed the loo, by the way.

“Don’t be scared. Please, don’t be scared.”

I wish I could… Nevertheless, I don’t want to deal with cleaning our bed on top of everything else.

“It’s a good reason to act. Be brave. You have no choice.”

I actually have.

“It’s an unwise decision. You’re an adult servicewoman, you can handle anything. You’re the one to be frightened of. No magical or parental tricks can frighten the grumpy village rotter.”

True. You’re a great immaterial adviser, voice.

“Scoffing, aha. So, you’re fine. Just go then.”

Not fine, but the situation is not unusual. Habitual, I dare say.

She exhaled and straightened up, leaning against the cold but rough solid — and thus seemingly reliable — wall, still clutching the plaid convulsively.

Her travelling cloak, laid over the sleeping ledge, slipped off and flopped onto the floor.

Ami flinched and glanced sideways at the wall behind her.

It smelt… dusty? Dust? On the wall? Are you serious, Kotti?

Her back was probably covered in dust now. Everything is covered in dust here… It scarcely mattered. Being dusty wasn’t so terrifying as being paralysed with terror.

That’s what she thought as she scrambled off the bed, tossed the plaid aside, and marched resolutely towards the sanitary bucket.

There and back to bed! Here and now. No ancients! Toilet truce!

Trying to distract herself with thoughts, Ami walked to the loo, resisting the urge to run, then bolted back to the bed, leaping onto it feet — first and diving back under the plaid.

Quietly without screams. Spirits or not, they wouldn’t get that from her.

Despite all the tricking and luring, the fear didn’t subside entirely upon returning to bed.

The sleep, however, had vanished without a trace, leaving nothing but to ponder the dream’s meaning before finding the strength to get up again to wash.

She needed to start getting ready for work. No time to waste.

Let’s do the old usual trick of distracting ourselves with rationalisations since we calmed down a little bit.

Nooo… Not the wooork… Not whenshe feels bad enoooough…

“Theeen going back to Kanteeeeneee..”

Noooo… Let’s get ourselves going… After a while. Just a moment. The night was hard.

“Don’t be too relaxed.”

I wish I could relax… Everything is under control, though. It’s too early to go to work.

Amelia slid into a lying position. She wrapped the plaid over herself and scowled.

Pray tell me… What utter rot? Why am I dreaming this? How does it relate to predecessors? Who preceded mother? Omillians? Omillians do honour spirits, by the way… So, the Ancient Omillians… Selva’s spirits…

“But you are not Selva at all, based on your pale skin, unroyal posture, and coarse features.”

Ami sighed. Yes, she fell short in many other ways too. Though…

…Who knew? In Omill, Nordic and Selva traditions were so closely intertwined that they could no longer be separated. It’s a genuine culture. A society in which individuals select whatever resources they like from the ones that are available and dismiss everything else.

It’s possible that her mother had Selva ancestry. It is understandable why Ami herself found the Selvas’ enthralling practices and half-mystical worldview appealing. Though nothing Nordic was alien to her either. A true child of this place.

“And a part of this dust. Someone utterly devoid of witchcraft in addition.”

Sigh.

If only things were different. She wouldn’t be stuck in Kantine. And her mother too. She wouldn’t be this Ami. Or there wouldn’t be any Ami at all. It could be for the best; no Ami, no problem, but there’s no use in thinking about it now.

Knowing where her maternal grandmother dwelt in Omill could be useful.

But the very knowledge that she exists was discovered by accident on another sleepless night, sneaking down the corridor towards her room after using the outdoor loo. Trying to go secretly without being noticed and carefully skirting a patch of light from the kitchen, she heard Auntie and Father whispering about Mother’s latest absurdities and… Ivette’s aversion to her own kin.

Ivette’s Omillian ancestry and her relationships outside of Kantine were never brought up before. Rather, the complete lack thereof.

…As though it were as embarrassing as remaining up late.

…Amelia was reading, though! And what did these competent construction and field personnel do? Huh?

Anyway… Apparently, barely grown, Ivette left home, permanently erasing from her life at least her mother. And Omill.

Amelia didn’t blame her. She would do exactly the same if she had a small chance. It’s unfortunate they didn’t mention the grandmother’s name. Perhaps… It would be interesting to find her here. Not about asking for some help, but simply to talk. But how… But why?

Ami was a complete disappointment and a nuisance to her family. She definitely doesn’t want to be the same to anyone else.

But if… Well… If, hypothetically, Granny could tolerate a burden. Couldn’t they have given her to Granny? Instead of dealing with an unwanted daughter?

Perhaps such a dubious prize is unwanted anywhere on the Mainland.

There’s no use in thinking about that. Their worst enemy is here. Dawn broke.

…What?!

When she opened her eyes, it was far too bright. Likely the third luminary had risen long ago…

…Aaaaaah!

It’s happened again. She fell asleep right before time to rise for work! As always. Nothing is changed here.

The sleepyhead leaped to her feet, swiftly adjusted her top drape, and was about to run. But remembering the night’s cold sweat,, she hurriedly grabbed her travel bag, pulled out the first underdrape she came across, and flung her own upon the side of the sleeping ledge.

“Need to organise a laundry sack here.”

Yes, yes, they need to do so many things…

“We’ve been here long enough and still haven’t bothered. Yet found time for so much else.”

“We’ve been busy! Gnat off.”

Yes, bog off, please, my head is totally gnat-swarmed now. And that “tidy up tomorrow” that never comes. It’s always this light with something again undone and uncomfortable instead. But I’m absolutely not in the mood.

“And there’s no use of whining now. Go-go-go.”

The clumsy servicewoman briskly left the kotti, hoping memory wouldn’t fail her and she wouldn’t waste time wandering lost.

Whizzing past the coffee shop, the sweet tooth decided she deserved something tasty and calming.

“We’re late, you know.”

Gnat off. A moment here wouldn’t change anything — it’d be unnoticeable against the overall time late for work. However, it has the power to alter our mood. And that’s what matters, not depriving ourselves of a straightforward pleasure that requires little effort.

The Archivist quickly traded a few grains from her dwindling supplies for indescribably pleasant-smelling early coffee and some flatleaf-biscuits. Briefly sweeping her gaze over the beautiful murals of the lovely coffee kotti, she smiled contentedly and, with a satisfied soul and belly, left that charming premises and dashed on.

It’s a crazy luxury for her to buy coffee on the way to work in misty fresh air smelling of pine Omill. For some happy creatures here — it is the lightly basis. But not for her. Unfortunately. But… She can only sweetly inhale this dizzyingly pleasant smell of freedom. And envy. Herself. Finally. She wasn’t mirebound. For a while.

Though this was extravagant — spending the last barter goods on what one could easily get for free at work. But if she really wanted it. So. It is fiiiine.

And it will be so. Another light, another biscuit. And if it turned out starvation came for her due to extreme impracticality — well, so be it also. She’d take responsibility for this and manage somehow. As she always did. That was the very Ami approach to life, and she knew no other. And she’d do even better with some doping.

So. She has her coffee. She took care of herself; she didn’t run in her perpetual rush or deprive herself of coffee and biscuits like usual. That’s why this girl is doubly victorious this light.

Did it mean the chronic masochist rusher was finally learning to live? Well, at least it was the first step. Well. Cross the square — and we’re there.

Cheered up and inspired, Amelia even managed not to get lost and found her way to the Temples quickly. Now… The only thing was to pop in to Milo and not get killed or, worse, sacked. That would be so daft.

But of course. Having flown into the Station, the Secretary immediately bumped into the Chief. And the whole just started improving world is panicky, stopped for a moment…

…But the smiling Omillian just pointed imperiously towards her workstation after a warning finger-wag.

Guiltily nodding, she obediently ducked into the cubbyhole, plonking her lovely water bag of coffee and the embroidered pouch of cheering contents onto the desk.

“Awkward.”

Awkward. We have to ask him to unseal the office anyway.

“True.”

It didn’t stop her life from improving. The boss didn’t look angry; she had a nice walk and wasn’t too late. Plus no Kantinian landscapes outside her outer window and no loitering outside her work window. Perfect.

She sank limply onto the chair. The adrenaline rush from rushing began to dissipate.

Soon everything around her slowly started to warmly blur… A whitish haze, like steam from coffee, crept across the floor and rose higher…

…Gradually, the pale veil began to cover everything… The world grew brighter…

It was even… hypnotically pleasant.

Especially against the contrast of the night’s darkness and nightmare.

The very dim light inside the Archive was actually rather cosy… And the darkness no longer felt so threatening… On the contrary, it felt… like a light.

A soft light spilt everywhere.

— Lucy!

The sound sliced through the space, halting the flight. Amelia jumped.

…Who’s Lucy?! Is she… here? Why is she here?!

— Oh, Ami! I need some tablets from last month, — boomed a voice from somewhere distant.

…That was… her! Oh, yes… She came to work here. Damn insomnia…

The owner of two names shook her head, trying to shed the semi-hallucinatory state, and automatically tried to jump off the chair, nearly falling off it.

Right. Seems she’d nodded off.

And her coffee? The coffee bag is lying on a table. And it’s cold. But it didn’t spill, being at the bag, at least. Great. The rest of this light will be bearable.

— What?.. What can I… — she managed to force her sluggish tongue to respond, eyeing the coffee bag.

Apparently, obtaining the artefact was more important than drinking it.

— What’s wrong? Are you alright? — Came from somewhere on the opposite side of the coffee bag.

Ami struggled to shift her gaze to the window.

The concerned voice belonged to… Kimi. Yes. That was her name. The very dark-skinned Selva, beautiful as a starless night sky.

“Ami, wake up. Now.”

If only I could.

— Ahem… no. And yes. Yes, didn’t manage a proper nap this light, — the flustered impostor Archivist nodded weakly, catching a momentary dizziness. — Must be… the stress. What… what’s for you?

She leaned on the desk, exhaled sharply, and tried to open her eyes wider to prevent them from sticking… The world continued to shimmer and sway lazily, but a single act of willpower could stop it interfering with work for now.

— A stack of inventory lists from the recent warehouse checks, — the officer sighed so heavily even sleepy Ami grasped that Kimi wanted to do this task about as much as Ami wanted to find it.

The Kantinian snorted.

— Righto. I’ll look. And bring it. — she replied monosyllabically.

Her head wasn’t working, but words somehow formed and flew out by themselves. How kind of them to help her simulate working.

— No rush, — Kimi smiled conspiratorially before leaving Ami to her own devices.

“And you complained no one cares about you.”

…Holly gnats…

Well. Wake up and find ghouls-knew-what. Two impossible tasks at once.

— Kimi! — Ami called out abruptly at the girl leaving.

— What?

The Omillian returned to the window.

— Do you… do you know any way to protect against unwanted spirit visits?

— “Protect”? Why, Ami? — the Selva asked, perplexed. — Well… If you wish… Asking them not to come is the most effective way in my experience.

— That’s… it?! Just… ask? Really?

— Yes. That’s it.

— Th… thanks, Kimi. I’ll think about it.

— You’re welcome. Only… Ami. Why send them away?

— Because… They are… mighty scary?

The dark-skinned service woman snorted sceptically, rolling her eyes.

— You desperately need them now, if you ask me! Or any other Selva. — She said it in a didactic and caring tone. — They advise. They help and protect. And they don’t come without reason, over trifles. Usually, they want to point out something very important. Something you’ve missed yourself. It can be tricky to understand what they want, you know, but trying is always worth it!

— Thanks, Kimi. I’m… just having issues on receiving help. From anyone.

— Then… stop being like that!

The service women looked at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter.

Kimi’s saluted cheerfully, and soon her steps faded away.

And Ami, who had woken up a little and felt better, could sink back onto her chair. Or the floor…

…But rustling sounded again from the window side, preventing it. Surprisingly.

— Ami, how goes it? — came a lively greeting.

“Bogged down. Again. Thanks for asking.”

It was Donny. An irritatingly buoyant chap of sturdy build.

Was he… was he ever morose?.. Not that it seemed very suspicious, but… this light it was just… grated? And stirring thick feelings laced with envy and a slew of questions. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be like that?

— I can’t say. Words fail me, Donny. — the Kantinian sighed aloud. — Can give you only a long, mournful howl.

— That bad?

— No. Could be worse. Honestly.

— Haha, — Donny chuckled uncertainly. — Not sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for you.

— Both. I’m in no position to be picky right now.

— As you say…

Donny wasn’t inclined to ponder others’ ambiguities deeply or dwell on little personal tragedies. Probably his secret to energy conservation and cheer. Light of character and unburdened by his own or others’ sorrows, he made to flit off carefree, as usual.

— Want to hear a joke I heard recently? — he squinted slyly.

— Go on, then.

— Right then. Who wins an argument between two seasoned sods?

The officer smiled slyly and made a dramatic pause.

Ami looked up at him, showing the sincere interest.

— The most miserable one! — Donny proclaimed triumphantly.

Ami grinned approvingly.

— Smashing! — she smiled.

— Feeling brighter?

— A little. Thanks. Appreciated.

— There. Take the documents and consider I’ve shared the mood. Cheers.

Ami mustered all her strength to smile again and gave a touched snort.

— Cheers!

She didn’t know what else to add, but it wasn’t needed. The carefree Donny, already forgetting about Amelia’s very existence, flew off.

“They’re really frightfully nice here, huh?”

Yeah.

And Ami… what else was left but to dazzle everyone from her cramped, dark den with her sparkling wit? Since nothing more spectacular was available.

If only she could dazzle with a lightning bolt. She wouldn’t have to work here then. But she could be a witch in a Witchium. What a dream…

Speaking of which.

…How could one arrange a little nap here?

If she stretched out on the floor. Could she sleep? No. Because someone’s clomping down the corridor. Again. Swamp it! Hope they’d just pass by.

We need to do something anyway. Sleeping here will lead to more awkwardness if Milo find us.

“There’s no motivation.”

…Not being fired. And…

Ami’s sight fell on the coffee bag, reminding her that she’s the happiest miserable girl on the Mainland. Doesn’t work well with a deadly tiredness, but still better than nothing.

So. Not sooner but later, the warehouse inventory lists for Kimi were, by some miracle, eventually found. Apparently, all parts of the Kantinian servicewoman’s consciousness were so terrified of losing her job that even those parts that shouldn’t have… joined the “collective” search.

And that’s how the whole light in general passed under the white veil. Beside a growing pile of unsorted tablets on the desk.

Any attempt to engage a single brain cell resulted in Ami completely blanking out into empty unconsciousness, utterly unable to think.

Finally leaving work, the Secretary still felt desperately sleepy. She dragged herself home on her last legs, barely remembering how.

The Kantinian just came into the kotti with a heavy relief, moved the dirty drape from the sleeping ledge to a chair, and plunged into heavy sleep.

“We could’ve amused ourselves this idiotically back in Kantine too.”

She didn’t even have the strength to argue with herself. So it was the last thought to flicker through her mind before oblivion.

Moreover, the tidying process did not occur in this light, the mountain of unpacked items was now neatly bagged on the table, and the sad picture did not offend the eye now.

They were closed tightly.

The unsettling surroundings and inadequate lighting of the dwelling did not bother her in the slightest.

Probably, even if spirits gathered and started to howl near Ami’s bed, she’d just wave them off irritably.

Can’t die twice.

No strength or time left for doubts, fears, or self-recrimination. Isn’t that a type of happiness?

Light 16. Sunshine through the Rain

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.

Light 19. The Eating Regime Must Not Be Violated

Ami shifted her gaze from the mountains of tablets still littering the floor to those already occupying their rightful places on the shelves.

A rearrangement was inevitable, which constantly necessitated adjustments. Problematic… But it’s much easier when the problem is no longer abstract. It just demands concrete action.

Amelia picked up another flat piece of writing clay… and froze in astonishment.

It’s… unbelievable! It was… right… It was the customs inventory Milo was looking for! But… how? Why was it here? How could he have missed it?

Though… it’s hardly surprising given the sheer volume of information he was ploughing through. He would be pleased to finally have it.

The Secretary hastily made a move towards the exit… and sprawled flat on the floor, tripping over one of the tablet mounds.

It hit her leg painfully before shattering into pieces across the floor. The tablet she’d been holding flew into the air, performed a dizzying somersault, and crashed hard onto the floor also, likewise exploding into flying fragments.

…Great. Ssssplendid.

It hurt so much.

Ami tried to get up, pulling her legs in, trying to ignore the pain in her bruised knees. Blood began to seep through her drape from a cut on her elbow, nicked by shards.

The Archivist managed to sit up amidst the shattered documents.

…What a bog-rotten mess…

Well. No way Milo would get his document now. So sad.

Or… perhaps he would. If Ami quickly gathered the fragments and found a way to glue them back together.

She sighed heavily and got onto her bloodied hands and knees, intending to start collecting and sorting the shards. She needed to do something about her elbow, really.

A cloth from her bag would be handy to wipe the blood or for gathering the shards. Cloth was needed immediately anyway.

Ami stood up abruptly, leaning against a shelf.

…It… wobbled slightly?

She felt a flicker of panic.

Had that enormous, foundational shelf she’d always thought immovable just wobbled?! Or… was it her world that wobbled?..

The Secretary looked up at the archival shelving unit in horror.

The vibration she made had dislodged the tablets slightly. Some of them hung precariously from their slots. It needed to be fixed immediately before everything here was covered with shards. Milo should know that the…

…shelves seemed tilted? And looming over her…

Or was she so sick of this place that she couldn’t help but feel like it was falling apart?

Not only could *she* crash into pieces. She was so sick of it… Either way, she needed to get out of there. Get some fresh air, find a piece of cloth… And Milo.

But before she managed to do anything, tablets began raining down on her head. Shattering with a roar, cracking her skull…

Ami woke with a scream.

…Just… a caravan of nightmares… Again. How to… stop this…

She was sweating cold and breathing heavily.

Her heart seemingly didn’t want to participate in this any longer and was trying to escape through her ears or punch through her ribcage.

The ringing in her ears was deafening and occupied all the internal and external space.

…This is what you get. This is what you get, girl, for ignoring your inner protest…

…On the upside, she no longer felt her usual heavy sleepiness. And she could forget about it this Aeon. If they kept showing her such things…

The Kantinian felt a cool draught and turned her head towards its source.

The wind was strong, lifting even the heavy entrance drape, bringing small clouds of dust with it… Onto the recently cleaned floor! How dare it?!

…This chaos couldn’t be conquered just once, could it? It kept coming back…

…Was it even worth fighting?.. Was anything?..

Aaargh. Perhaps not. But the result had looked so pleasant and calming at first.

The floor was clean. Things were neatly packed away in bags. The dwelling in general looked much friendlier. The illusion that she could control things happening in her life was so solid.

But Entropy is a primal, eternal and undefeatable enemy. Entropy and Death can’t be escaped or forgotten; they rule the world, no matter how hard you try to move them deeper into a corner of your mind, your dwelling, or your life. They find you.

So. Is it worth fighting? Unpleasant dreams keep returning, even to a tidied space.

She sat up with a sigh in the bed, which had been cleared of things and now looked more like a bed than a shelf for storage.

Maybe not.

She was shaking, but with the internal numbness that had taken over her entire psyche, it was not entirely clear whether the chills came from stress or from the cold.

Maybe also multi-light malnutrition was doing the trick.

She’d been eating very sparingly lately. There was food at work or any café during the light upon presenting her Temple employee minitablet. Or not showing it and getting food for free, because most of the nearest coffee shops already knew this redhead.

But before and afterwards, absorbed in tidying and feeling an overwhelming need to rest afterwards, Amelia couldn’t make it to the Forest. Or the public gardens. She hadn’t even been to the Market, though she still had some seeds left for trade.

In Kantine, it had been simpler, because everything was a garden there. You just picked food on the run. You could only appreciate it after you left the city.

Good to know Kantine had some advantages. But the best thing was not returning there to use them. So. She must hurry to work. The fact that she had already visited it in her nightmare didn’t count as labour hours.

Can’t say the dream could have been prophetic. Those tablets were killing her.

Groaning quietly with fatigue and muscle aches, Ami got up and trudged to the washbasin.

After struggling to make herself more or less presentable and donning clean drapes, she set off for work to discover whether this light would prove fatal.

Reaching work, she hesitated a little about whether she should ask Milo to unlock the Archive.

That dream had been so real. And the memories of it were so fresh.

What if she really was buried under tablets in that narrow space? Even if it didn’t kill her outright, she’d simply suffocate… Ami felt a wave of nausea at the thought; darkness swam before her eyes, and the dawn ringing returned to her ears.

She had always been claustrophobic and preferred open spaces.

Amelia was a true Kantinian, at least in something.

Their houses might not be particularly elegant or warm, but they had enough space inside to be comfortable, full of light and air. Those who dealt much with living nature and plants knew well — life was impossible without light and fresh air.

Darkness and stuffiness are for Dwarves.

Whirling sharply, Amelia quickly strode outside right after Milo left the Archive, practically bowling over Irji at the Station’s entrance.

— Oof, sorry Irji! — Ami exhaled, forcing an apology instead of the curses also fighting to get out, and trying to quickly bypass the human-shaped obstacle blocking her path to open space.

— Ami… — the massive, red-haired Omillian obstacle asked worriedly, peering at her. — Is everything fine?

— Ahemmm… Rather no.

The operative stood half outside. Conversing was easier now, as the ringing in her ears that hindered normal communication seemed to subside.

— How so?

— Strange dreams, prolonged stress, a little bit of under-eating… — she hissed through gritted teeth. — Nothing special, as you see. You know how I love to complain. I should…

— Under-eating sounds serious. — The Omillian frowned. — Aren’t they feeding you well here?

— If you could enlighten me on where to get more food, that would be great.

— Milo should have given you the tablet with Sandra’s badge. You can eat for free in the Temple Sanatorium. Or any café you like, just…

— I have it, thank you. I do eat there during the light. — Ami replied, stepping outside and gesturing for him to follow.

— And?

— But the portions are too small.

— And “plenty” is…? — the officer asked interestedly.

— Well, roughly the same as we eat during the lunch break. — Ami explained, perplexed, not seeing his point. — But more, increasing portions by one and a half to two times. Maybe I’d eat much more now due to chronic malnutrition. How… how do you all work here half-starved?! Do you bring something from home with you? Bet you do…

— Six times our light ration! — Irji was really astonished. — Amelia. I wonder how we haven’t eaten ourselves yet.

— Well. You’re nice here.

Irji looked at her again in surprise and somewhat distrust.

— Though I must admit I’m lucky to be fed at all. — she quickly added. — Kantinians wouldn’t bother to do it for strangers. I… should’ve gone foraging. But I didn’t. And I bear hunger particularly badly. So, just ignore my gnatness.

— Well… You can ask them to give you bigger portions. No one will refuse, I assure you.

— Is it that simple? Why isn’t everyone doing it?

— It’s *that* simple. Everyone just doesn’t need that much. You can ask them to give you some food to go also. Everyone understands that Temple workers shouldn’t starve. How can we help others being helpless? Blimey, what an appetite! You wouldn’t think it to look at you. Dimensions are… quite modest. Compact and hungry all the time. Sounds dangerous.

— It’s an average appetite by Kantinian standards, even if my height isn’t standard. I won’t grow up anyway.

— Before we spontaneously begin to lose our dimensions here, we must feed you… Look. I was going to replenish my supply of nuts and berries this small cycle. We can move this event to this light. If you want.

— Of course I do! Thank you. I don’t want to be a nuisance.

Tears welled in the Kantinian’s eyes.

— Don’t even think about it. I’ll give you a hand at first, and then you can get it sorted out yourself.

— I’ll chew it.

— Chew… what? Ah. Hand. Well. See you later then. Now I should show my face in my office. I think.

— To make Milo incredibly happy. Pity that, usually being a people pleaser, I can’t do the same for him. I can’t get myself into my den this light.

— I’ll be a hero.

— Yes, you are, in my opinion.

Irji nodded and left, while Ami, wiping away the last traces of tears, lingered a moment longer, filling her lungs with delicious Omillian air as if storing it up.

“What… what an ooze-eyes we are.”

“Gnat off. Everyone has problems from time to time.”

“But they don’t start snivelling, playing on pity, and begging for food. We’re a grown woman, theoretically, perfectly capable of feeding ourselves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s too much for her, obviously.”

Yeah. Doing my best here. Gnat off.

Ami hastily wiped her reddened eyes on her sleeve. Then slowly headed for her doom. Her Archive.

But as a matter of fact, the future no longer seemed quite so bleak.

And the problems, though formidable, appeared solvable now. Even in her “daft” task, as the secretarial work was, there was room for her mighty intellect and logic.

Although, the more she did it, the more respect she gained for Lucy, who’d developed her own working system and managed to conquer the Great Clay Chaos in general.

And Ami, by Ami’s standards, had achieved the impossible here.

Only a third of the half-mountain remained, occupying far less space by the walls. Her table and chair were free. Splendid.

A timid ray of hope pierced the clouds of pessimism.

The Omillian air brought a grim resolve instead of helpless indifference.

Maybe not all was well, but let it be. Since nothing could be done, it would do.

A picture from her ungrown period suddenly came to her.

There she was, timidly peeking out of her hiding place, hoping that just once, a clod of earth wouldn’t land squarely on her head to the delight of the other ungrowns, thrown by the neighbour girl. Being clumsy and slow, Amelia couldn’t throw things far and accurately or catch the gnat. Especially when angry.

Getting angry meant losing. Mockery was unavoidable. So, let the dirt come. If there was no way to avoid it… let it be. No friends. No pretty clothes. No emotions.

The Kantinian shook her head, banishing the unpleasant flashback.

The burgeoning euphoria almost deflated before it could fully inflate. Typical.

Time to immerse herself in the task that was finally yielding results, to preserve her fragile peace of mind.

Dispute. Complaint. Statement. Report. Inventory.

Shelve it all and rearrange it yet again.

And as expected, nothing fell on her during that light of sorting and shelving. It was daft to hope for such a swift deliverance from life’s complexities.

Milo’s loss didn’t turn up either.

…Interesting. If she could glimpse it in her dream… would the data match reality? Hmm..

Footsteps sounded. Ami tensed unconsciously.

…Not for her. For Milo or Moki. Phew…

Served them right. And this… It sounded like it was heading here. Damn swamps.

— Ami.

Who?! Ah. Irji.

— Ami, let’s go while the lumins are high.

— Hm… How will I explain it to Milo?

— Tell him the truth. It’s a good reason to leave.

— I feel a bit ashamed. They would have eaten me to the ground for this in Kantine.

— But we’re in Omill. Luckily. Consider it an unplanned shift with overtime. An unofficial patrol of the Forest area. Two people, as prescribed by the latest orders. All according to the rules.

— Alright. Wait a moment.

“I hope none of the documents will disappear during this moment.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Amelia approached the chief’s office, involuntarily watching her own office, which she didn’t really care about, out of the corner of her eye, and carefully disturbed the curtain.

Having received an invitation to enter, she carefully looked into Milo’s office.

Not knowing about the lost document that Ami had dreamed about, the Chief studied the ones that hadn’t been stolen yet with a frown.

— Milo. I think I’m done for this light. And I’m useless here. Can I go and fix my food problems?

— Of course, Ami. Just seal the Archive.

He waved her off almost like an annoying gnat.

— That’s why I’m here, actually.

The Boss raised an irritated, questioning look at her. And sighed tiredly, remembering what the matter was.

— Right. Go.

The Secretary happily left her superior alone with his concerns, got her bag out of her office, and she and Irji left the Station to solve her problems.

— Irji, why is it not allowed to go into the Forest alone according to protocol?

— And two shouldn’t do it either. Believe me.

— But why?

— See for yourself… Four of the amnesiacs were found precisely in the Forest. Yes, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything; many were found in the city also.

— Maybe they went into the Forest after losing their memory.

— Maybe. But the fact is a fact, though no one talks or thinks about it much. Otherwise, how to forage? And do the patrols?

— Right. Well, I wouldn’t cope alone anyway; I hardly know what to gather. In Kantine, we lived mostly off the fields and gardens; foraging was something extra, almost a pastime, and not essential.

— New skills are always useful.

— They are.

They walked silently through the town and onto the path that led into the Forest.

Amelia took a deep breath of the air, smelling of trees and ground. The beautiful, soothing scent of nature, which had been her last refuge in this grim world for many cycles.

— You know… An Archive cabinet crushed me in my dream this night. Fell on me with all its tablets.

Irji chuckled mirthlessly and shook his head.

— Even your dreams are about work.

— No peace or rest, yes… But I feel totally fine here and now. Despite these late events and so on… Like, it’s much safer than it was in the Station. Or anywhere else. The Forest was always my best friend. Shame we see so little of each other now. Communing with nature — the best thing for tired, desperate people.

— Totally agree.

The tall, good-natured strapping lad, quite Nordic in appearance but with Selvan grace, pushed through the undergrowth without snagging on anything, without constantly stepping into slippery mud hidden under purple fallen leaves, and without tripping over roots…

…Phenomenal.

Admittedly, Ami kept up. The local vegetation wasn’t as dense or clingy as around Kantine. Whether it was a biome peculiarity or simply trampled and broken by frequent local visitors was unclear.

Be that as it may, this forest was somewhat different from her familiar one, despite the short distance between cities. The trees here resembled relics from books. With long, spreading, sharp-leaved branches. Or strange, dwarf forms on stilts, with pot-bellied leaves sticking straight out of the trunk.

It was so awesome. So beautiful here. She really needed to come here more often.

They had to stop periodically to examine this unfamiliar, wondrous flora, to her delight.

The Omillians, it turned out, were no less surprising, as they ate things completely alien to Ami. Not that she hadn’t seen these plants before… She had, in fact.

But she would never have thought to put them in a bag. Her people never gathered these roots or these berries. Irji didn’t look like someone capable of cruel pranks. And Amelia wouldn’t have held it against him, even if her world plunged into eternal darkness after three days of diarrhoea and continuous vomiting. Because… he was nice.

However, this walk was somewhat educational for Irji too. He knew nothing of the fruit that Amelia had put in her bag without question. An exchange of experience.

…That would never be useful outside of Omill.

Their forests and living conditions differed quite noticeably.

Having gathered a decent amount of food, they headed back towards the city.

— This should be enough, I suppose… for a while. — Irji chuckled. — I didn’t show you the plants that need soaking or special preparation, though. But you can ask me or others about any suspicious plant you find. I think you’ve got enough information for this light.

— That’s for sure! Thank you for your time, Irji. You really helped a lot; I can’t thank you enough.

— You’re welcome. I replenished my supplies as I planned. See you at work.

— Yeah, see you tomorrow.

Irji headed home, and Ami… was lost again.

She realised they’d entered the city from a different direction than they’d left.

To her relief, the Temple spire was visible even from here. Thus, she first returned to work, trying to memorise all the giant mushrooms she passed along the way, and then set off for her kotti.

She reached home utterly knackered but deeply satisfied.

A large bag of food always instilled confidence in the coming day and added a hefty dose of optimism. She stowed her haul in the coolest spot — behind the washbasin — and, barely making it to the bed, instantly plunged into a dreamless sleep.

…Thankfully.

It seemed exhausting herself to death was her way of stopping the nightmares.

Light 23. Coffee-Coloured Innards

Ami finally seemed to be settling in, slowly but surely.

The inside of her cup had taken on a greenish tint from the sheer volume of coffee consumed. Amelia’s own innards had most likely followed suit.

It made her a bit more Omillian.

She snorted in satisfaction, sipping the coffee Kimi had warmed for her.

The dawn was off to a cracking start, and exploiting the native populace definitely appealed to her. So refreshing.

While sifting through mountains of tablets, she’d not only kept abreast of practically all the recent cases but had also unearthed several intriguing ones that niggled at her.

The Archivist felt a strong urge to make a note of them and analyse them in her spare time. Perhaps because it was certainly more interesting than the habitual Kantinian “Strange dent in Ada’s field” or “Mysterious disappearance of an enormous ale cask”.

The most miraculous thing was that Amelia had even managed to start investigating the peculiar symbols. Utterly unique symbols, to be true.

What hadn’t she compared them to yet? More potential references were needed. She wished she worked in the VST. She’d always wished.

Her list of shattered dreams was much longer than her list of clues. So, back to the clues. What if it wasn’t a natural language? Obviously.

Did the VST suspect a certain “group” already? A non-human group, maybe.

There were some utterly unstudied creatures on Malinland. Like Dwarves. Or Ocean creatures. What was known about the latter? They chased off anyone trying to enter the water. And killed. That usually marked the end of communication, at least as far as Ami knew.

Did they have a writing system? No one knew. But what business would they have on the surface? To exterminate everyone, ensuring no one ventured into the water?

Anyway, the VST took all the materials on this case, and some bright heads — excluding Ami — were already working on them. This meant the direction of enquiry could be dropped.

…And it was so vexing…

Brilliant cases were for shiny individuals. And what she deserved was a routine serving.

She sighed contentedly, sipped her coffee, and surveyed the heroically tidied space she’d brought to order in the shortest time, much to Milo’s delight.

She had settled into the role of Archive overlord and made peace with her local clay population. One must do what one can, if one cannot do things the other way.

The against — her — will Secretary was constrained, practically locked away from all light in this dark corner, which… she almost liked at the moment.

At the very least, she’d made her peace with it. It was enclosed, solitary, and almost secluded. And it was full of interesting things to read.

If only…

— Ami…

…If only people wouldn’t keep traipsing in…

The Secretary tore her gaze from the shelves of potentially interesting reading material.

— …Fetch me the transport data between Omill and Kantine, please.

…With daft requests.

Rayleen’s equally grim face appeared in the window.

Seeing the officer’s weary face, Ami softened somewhat and silently, without comment, went to search for the requested documents.

She herself had only just organised this mass. Bloody swamp… Why couldn’t she remember where the needed one was? Probably because the task was rather large.

But now her advantage was that she knew where the journals and cases were because she had put them there herself. So, soon after, she could present them.

— Swamp and gnats… — the woman sighed. — Need to get stuck in. And I… can only think about coffee.

— Not a bad start. — Ami encouraged.

— Suppose so…

— Leave would be a smashing follow — up, wouldn’t it?

— Yes, probably…

The spooky spirit of Rayleen headed for the coffee pot, and Ami returned to the tablets.

“What to start studying? The latest odd cases. Precisely what to start with?”

Good question…

— Ami.

…Yesssss.

— Fetch me the incident summary for the last small cycle, please. And take these…

— Donny. Are you sure you want to tackle this now?

Amelia smirked, unable to restrain her naturally sarcastic nature. She took the tablets, however.

— Don’t want to at all. — Donny admitted honestly. — But, sort of, have to. Milo won’t let me just be.

— Well, if you put it like that… Look, poor Rayleen’s running on coffee fumes.

— Gnats, she does look frightful! — Donny added sotto voce. — Needs leave.

— Told her exactly the same.

After dissecting Rayleen’s situation, as befitted a true all-knowing Secretary, Ami returned to her other, increasingly professional duties.

“The incident summary”… Hmm. It was a bit tougher than transport data.

The servicewoman approached the cabinet and paused.

Finding something now was much easier. Even at Ami’s leisurely pace, it was considerably quicker than before.

— How are you settling in, anyway? Made any friends? — Donny shifted the topic to her personality, being people-orientated in general.

Where was it… Ah, there.

— I’m… fine. — Ami answered. — People here are nice, although I am friends mainly with the clay tablets. And outside of work, my best friend here is the dictionary. I read it at night… to fall asleep.

— How fascinating.

— It is. I can’t exactly foist such a gloomy, preoccupied character on people. Seems a bit rotten…

The Secretary placed the requested tablets before the officer, who was puzzled by this turn of the conversation.

— …But I plan to bring it to that gorgeous Hill near the city soon.

— Great choice! The Hill is a marvellous spot. — Donny nodded understandingly, finding something to latch onto. — Definitely climb it if you haven’t yet! The view’s truly awesome. Just mind you don’t fall off while gawping.

He clearly grew bored during the long chat.

Donny’s hyperactive nature didn’t allow him to linger long on any single aspect of the endlessly diverse world.

Dialogue with him, as always, lacked depth and didn’t detain him at the archive window for long. Probably for the best. Why burden him? Even if his lightness couldn’t be easily destroyed, there was no need to test it with unnecessary thoughts or actions.

The Kantinian envied him a little but understood she wouldn’t last half a light in that mode.

And now, after Donny had gone, she could return to selecting particularly interesting tablets for herself.

After shelving the ones just received from Donny, naturally.

— Lucy.

…Oh, for ghoul’s sake…

— Yes… Calvin? — she blurted out a name clearly not belonging to the visitor.

— Moki. — the arrival corrected.

— Ami. — the Kantinian reintroduced herself.

— Ah, yes, of course, Ami… — Moki continued. — Sorry, I was miles away.

— It’s fine. No need for you to unlearn our secretary’s name for half a cycle. What can I do for you?

— Take this report off me from yesterday’s case.

— Taking it. — Ami replied to the empty window.

Something seemed off with everyone this light; they lacked the urge to chat.

Fine. An extra reason to commence a one-way exchange of information with the tablets. Better this way, to be true. Less annoyance for both sides and more of… What did she have here?

“List of Arrivals with the Latest Caravan from Prime”. Nah.

That stuff bored her back in Kantine. What about the fresh ones that came from Donny?

Hm. Inspection of the site where the unknown was found. And the results…

Nothing interesting in general, but… a scrap of cloth with those symbols was found in the victim’s pockets. So, one of those odd cases. And they had these stunning symbols again.

But why was Donny on it? Why had he been shifted from contraband and tracking caravans to disappearances? Because there were no more issues there?

Ami doubted it.

She couldn’t say she would be better at this type of investigation… but she would definitely be more useful than sitting there, in that clay-sorting swamp hole, never seeing the light…

…Hmm. Something was truly fascinating about these symbols.

It was a shame the witchgraphy images weren’t attached. Or if they were, someone had taken touching care of them.

…Probably all with Milo again. Greedy git…

Well. This goes with the other tablets then. Could be shelved closer to the witness interview transcripts from Tallah and the report on the joint work with the Temple witches regarding their… issue from Kimi.

…Kimi! She’d brought something this morning too. And it was unread. Just quickly shelved so Ami could drink her coffee undisturbed. Anything… amusing?

“Kele’s informants’ insights from the Elves”. Interesting.

It was… Kele. And elves. What could be more amusing?

Two things as beautiful and unattainable as the luminaries.

Conversations with elves formed a whole branch here. Definitely worthy of closer study and grouping on the shelf without disrupting the overall structure. But Ami doubted she would get to them or be able to efficiently process such a large number of documents in the short time allotted to her. And if she wasn’t in such a nauseatingly weary state from trying to read everything at once, she’d have tackled the documents immediately.

Sooo… Elves. One more never-never on her wishlist.

And it could be very promising. If romantic relationships ultimately brought only disappointment due to mismatched expectations and reality, nothing like that could happen between her and the Elves. Because Ami had no expectations about the forest folk. No ideas whatsoever about what they were like, beyond the drivel in almanacks and daft Kantinian tales and jokes.

So, those writings were compensatory. She needed to reorganise them at least.

Well. The very report from Kele. Hmmhmhmhm… Nothing remarkable either. Except… the handwriting, maybe.

Kele’s symbols looked somewhat unusual. Some letters were burnt… In… the Selva style? Was it?

The Secretary took a tablet authored by Kimi.

…Yessss. Something similar seemed to be there…

Interesting, how did the script differ across regions?

You only had to ask. The Archives held documents from practically all cities. At your service.

The templar placed her notes alongside the reports.

Omillian letters, compared to Kantinian ones, had peculiar little tails on the symbols. Kantinian symbols were quite angular by comparison. Like the Kantinians themselves.

It was simply easier to write that way, holding the cloth. Short wedges, rather than the flourishes others could burn as they pleased… Lucky gnats they were.

However, placing non-Selva Irji’s notes beside them, one could see his handwriting was something midway between the geometric shapes of Ami’s letters and Kele’s flourishes.

And the Primean script rounded all symbols slightly and added dots where needed. Theirs were the strictest and smoothest of all… Neat.

Ami distinctly remembered where several documents from Zeth were placed. And a couple from Lim, which she’d found in the general pile and long examined with a sense of awe, were shelved nearby.

They were found quickly. No wonder. You always remember useful things better; it’s just the way the brain works.

She happily retrieved them and looked at them again.

Here. Zethian symbols… Even more whimsical and ornate than Omillian ones.

Why did they bother to draw this? Though, if memory served, their words were short. So, presumably, they weren’t fussed. Good for them.

Zeth was a great place in general. Ami had never been there, but she knew it had tall inhabited mountains and the highest percentage of Selvas among the urban population. A dream city. She really must pluck up the courage and head there if nothing works out here.

And the document from Lim. Fascinating material it was inscribed on. Rough and smooth simultaneously, light and fluid. The symbols resembled ones seen before… yes. Like Irji’s. And like Rayleen’s. But the similarity ended with the outward form.

Lim’s records were barely legible to Ami. Reading them in an Omillian or Kantinian way resulted in such garbled nonsense that any intended joke couldn’t compare.

The Archivist didn’t fancy filling the area with loud laughter from the den.

Let’s return to the mysterious notes. Couldn’t help doing it anyway.

She placed them alongside the rest of the dazzling symbolic splendour.

These symbols were clearly burnt sequentially too, like Kantinian or Omillian script. But they almost lacked distinct strokes and shapes, composed of dots and swirls. Which made them unreadable. Utter nonsense.

Better get back to reading the documents before the next “Lucy, fetch!…” comes.

So. The reports said that the Elves hadn’t noticed anything suspicious nearby. Probably because all human actions could likely be classified as suspicious. Or unsuspicious.

They simply didn’t give a toss. Veeeeery “helpful”.

All happy personalities were indifferent to others’ squabbles, though. Like Donny was indifferent to her whinging. Like…

— Ami.

…Oh, here it comes.

No, it was Elsu who had come.

— Listening!

— Fetch me the latest list of those undergoing treatment at the Temples again, please.

So predictable.

— For which period?

So boring.

— The last small one.

— Got it.

Amelia sighed lightly and began searching distractedly along the shelves.

Holly ghouls, where had she put it?.. She hadn’t put it anywhere… The list was still on her desk. She’d meant to look at it herself.

The Secretary returned to the desk, shifting the elven-focused tablets. And found it.

— Here you are… Swamp it.

— What’s happened?

— I’m a lousy secretary, but it’s not new. Forgot about the reports for Milo!

— But you’re a good operative, perhaps.

— Thank you. I flatter myself that I am, but I’m not sure now. It’s like a whole life has passed since I saw a glimpse of freedom.

Elsu responded with a sympathetic and reproachful look, took the tablets, and returned to her office. These emotional swings from grandiosity to worthlessness were exhausting indeed. And Ami went to her Chief immediately.

The Secretary approached Milo’s office door and reproduced the now-familiar gesture. Ha. Almost like a real Omillian. Coffee, saturating her body, had influenced her mind.

Becoming a witch suddenly was the next shocking stop on her never-never list.

…This bog list was on her mind all light! All her life, though…

Receiving permission to enter, she did so immediately.

A pile of tablets towered on the Chief’s desk. Incomparably smaller than Ami’s recent heaps, but still impressive.

One could only hope the witchgraphic images of the recently found symbols were among them. If they weren’t, she’d just ask. She really craved them.

— Milo. Got a moment?

— Half a moment. What do you need?

— The tablets.

— Are the ones you already have in the Archive not enough?

— A couple of important ones are missing. Let’s exchange. I’ll give you the ones you requested. And you give me the images for those symbols mentioned in Donny’s report in return.

— What a deal. Back on that again?

— Well, yes. What else is there to amuse myself with?

— Finish the sorting, for example. Or study the caravan manifests and warehouse reports looking for inconsistencies, if you have a significant amount of free time. You’d take a huge load off me, Moki, and that same Donny.

— A bit dull for a leisure activity, don’t you think? I fed enough on that back in Kantine. But maybe I’ll glance at them sometime, since I’ve got some experience in that area.

— It’ll be much obliged. Ami. I still don’t get it. What’s… so fascinating about these symbols? I mean, for you.

— Besides them… being mysterious and unknown?

— Probably just a cypher. Unknown, but nothing mysterious. Smuggling, shady deals… no mysticism.

— And… the amnesias?

— Just a witch — tech. Also unknown yet. And the VST is the best candidate ever to solve this.

— Yeah. I really know how ordinary people engaged in dodgy dealings get advanced witch-tech. Assuming it is people, of course.

— I personally no longer assert these things are directly linked, or linked at all. I’m now inclined to think we should consider customs fraud separately from the amnesias, strange forest sounds, and other “anomalies”. They appeared practically simultaneously, making us think they were connected. Kyle, naturally, disagrees… The amnesias are directly linked only to the symbols, if you ask me. Now get back to work, please. Enough playing VST agent here; these people have been training for this for cycles.

— Well… Now that was really offensive.

— You are helping the Station a lot as a good Secretary. Starting with how quickly you cleared the backlog. — Milo added conciliatorily.

— Oh yes, a bloody marvellous start, I must say. — Ami snorted. — What’s wrong with my initiatives?

— I don’t see much sense in them. Even if we assume you can skip your duties at some point… Not to mention that they are not your direct responsibilities? If you were my direct report, I would have fired you already.

— I’ve been messing around with these symbols for a while now, and you’ve hardly noticed a drop in my productivity. Quite the contrary. As a manager of a large branch, you should know that being able to take a break during work lights, within reason, increases productivity.

— You don’t have any respect for authorities, do you?

— I have. That’s why I ask and don’t just copy things quietly.

— How did your Kantine chiefs tolerate you?

— They didn’t. That’s why I’m here. Bothering you.

— Look. We’ve been battering our heads against this for nearly three great cycles. What do you plan to achieve?

— I reckon the symbols are the key. No need to be a VST agent to tell that. Yes, it’s more like a personal palaeographic interest than a proper investigation. But… would you give me those witchgraphs?

Milo shook his head, returning his gaze to the document he was reading.

— Milo. I lost a part of my mental health here, and I’m having nightmares about this job already. Will you provide me with a little entertainment in a dark closet while I conscientiously perform my extremely important duties? Or shall I just work like Donny without any enthusiasm, offering no help with additional boring chaff?

Ami swept the big pile of tablets off the Chief’s desk.

— Leave that one…

He deftly plucked a tablet from the stack in her hands without toppling it.

…Now that was skill! How did he… practice?

— …and find entertainment outside work time.

— I will. — Amelia conceded. — Where’s the biggest library in town to admire the other symbols?

The Chief looked at her thoughtfully.

— Hmm… the Temple Witchium is the best spot, I think. It’s Finnian’s department.

— He will kill me instead of giving me access.

— Worse. He’ll file a report on you to the Temple Chief. You’d get off lightly if he just boiled or chilled the blood in your veins. Finnian possesses neither a charming disposition nor reserves of patience and friendliness.

“Good thing we have a Kantinian-localised resistance to dislike and ill-will.”

— You’re no sweetheart either, on the other side. Give me the cases, and then I’ll slink back to the clay-sorting swamp hole I came from, never to be seen again. How Lucy coped with this horror…

— Brilliantly… Even brought coffee instead of stupid ideas.

— She will forever remain my unattainable ideal in secretarial work. The kind one doesn’t particularly want to attain.

Milo returned to his reading. And Ami backed slowly out of the office, carefully carrying the pile of tablets.

She turned and shuffled just as cautiously towards her cubbyhole. The pile danced a dangerous dance in her hands. A greater way to further piss off Milo was close… at hand.

Luckily, Irji, standing by the coffee table, jumped up to help move the entrance drape.

— Cheers, Irji! — smiled the Archivist.

— Ami. Up to the ears in work.

— Yeah. Even if the Management doesn’t appreciate it.

…An incredibly enchanting aroma was spreading through the Station hall…

— Why not carry them in batches? Or ask for help? — the officer made an exasperated gesture.

— I’m a contemporary Secretary. — The Kantinian lied cheerfully. — To be true… I’m simply not used to it. It didn’t work out well during my previous experience. Irji. My horizons are limited by these documents. Pray tell me. Do we have coffee in the pot? I desperately need a break.

— We have. And guess who’s brewing this light? Rayleen! — Irji made a silly delighted gesture.

— Brilliant! — Ami clicked her tongue approvingly. — Just pop these down and I’ll grab my mug. And I need to go outside. It’s all really beginning to get suffocating.

She brought the cases to her workplace with Irji’s help, grabbed her mug from the bag, and practically skipped towards the coffee table.

— Finally trying to integrate with the team, then? — Elsu rumbled, pouring herself coffee.

The quick and quiet huge officer was already there. The cauldron in her hand seemed more fitting than Ami’s small mug. She could have drunk straight from it, actually. But she seemingly liked the ritual itself.

— Yep! — Ami chuckled, appreciating the metaphor. — Doubt how well I’ll blend in, though. Sometimes I feel like… some dense liquid. Still end up separate at the bottom.

— We’ll keep stirring you and won’t leave you alone till you scarper. — Dave grinned.

— Thanks! I’m touched. Really. — Amelia smiled wearily.

— It doesn’t matter who we are; while drinking coffee together, we’re one team! — Kimi declared the motto jokingly.

— And being two-thirds made of it already — practically family. — Rayleen snorted.

— The remaining third is leafcakes. — Irji added. — And this practically erases all the differences.

— I’m sincerely chuffed to be part of this coffee-and-leafcake family! Will raise a mug to that later. Once I reach the cauldron.

— That’s where the sisterhood ends! Speaking of leafcakes. — Tallah frowned. — Where are they?

— Coming! — Donny’s voice rang out from the entrance.

He’d barely placed the hefty bag on the coffee table before several hands reached for it.

— Hang on! Let me just put it down… There. I think. You, ancient beasts. — Donny deposited the bag and took a leafcake for himself. — Delivery’s done. The courier is proud of not eating it all by himself.

— You wouldn’t cope with it. — Faella doubted, popping a sweet into her mouth.

— I could. It would just take up some of my working time. And you know these Lindin’s leafcakes. Treacherous. You think — not another one, or I’ll burst… The next moment you’re chewing another.

The other officers nodded.

— How do you… decide who fetches the leafcakes this light? — Ami enquired curiously, taking a sip from her cup. — Duty roster?

— Nah, why… — Donny shrugged. — Whoever fancies leafcakes just goes.

— And… What if no one does?

Everyone exchanged glances.

— Well… — Donny spread his hands. — It never happened yet. More often, several fancy it at once.

— Well — well, coffee smell. — Milo materialised beside the coffee table. — And all my fair Station is here, of course.

— Rayleen’s brewing this light. — The Selva raised a meaningful eyebrow.

— Ahhh. — Milo understood. — Message received.

— Amelia.

…Who here used her full name? Those who remembered or read her service record.

Rayleen was apparently one of them.

— Did you fill your mug? — the officer continued after a brief pause.

— Yes! Elsu did. But the mug is mine.

Ami readily displayed her cup brimming with invigorating green liquid warmed by an adorable giant.

— Then — to us! — Rayleen clinked her cup amiably against Ami’s.

— To the coffee team! — Kimi raised her cup, and everyone followed suit.

— To the elements of earth and water, so whimsically combined in this splendid beverage and dessert! — Tallah joined in.

— To the motley group combined into a team! — Faella played along.

— Cor blimey! — Donny snorted approvingly, shaking his head.

— Yapee. — Davin concluded.

And everyone synchronously brought their cups closer and took the first, most delicious sip.

The coffee break ended, and Ami drifted back to her cubbyhole with her mug.

Time to shelve the stack of problems migrated to her from Milo’s desk.

“Lim to Prime. List of Rarities sent”, “Northern Warehouse Report”. “Illegal Import from Zeth”. Smashing. What more could one wish for?

Nevertheless, the rest of the light passed surprisingly quickly and without much fatigue; Amelia accepted her fate made of routine tasks.

With the same indifference with which she carried out her work, she left it.

And suddenly felt a renewed surge of energy. As if her brain didn’t want to give up its investigative curiosity.

So. How about that long-tempting hill? Though the entrance lay partly through the Forest, and she couldn’t be arsed to trek, perfectly aware she’d have to walk back too. But… her feet were already carrying her towards the hill.

Leaving the city and stepping onto the mountain path, breathing in the witchy forest air, she found herself, without noticing, humming a long-forgotten tune.

Humming it, she reached that spectacular plateau with the lake, barely noticing the journey.

The problems began to dissolve and were left near the ground. Perhaps they didn’t bother to climb. Or her head, unwilling to lug extra weight uphill, shed superfluous thoughts.

Or perhaps they disliked her singing style.

In any case, only the tune and Ami remained on the hilltop.

Gazing spellbound at the evening city below, the Kantinian barely realised she was singing. And couldn’t have recalled the song for sure, let alone all the words.

Idle singing, as well as anything idle, wasn’t much approved of in Kantine. Unless it was traditional or festival songs.

It was believed that one had to be extremely careful dealing with music; improper usage would attract evil spirits and set one on a “slippery slope” in general.

Considering Ami had never strayed far from her favourite slippery slope, she had little to lose, and she hummed in the woods often. First they were traditional songs, then ones heard here and there, or that came to her greedy — for — melodies mind.

And this mind was both empty at the moment and filled with songs at the same time.

The sky had darkened considerably; only one setting luminary remained visible.

The surroundings and the lights of the evening city looked so stunning that Ami’s song grew louder in joy and wonder, almost full — voiced now, causing her to tap her foot as well.

..Stop!.. What was that?!

Amelia fell silent and spun around sharply.

The distinct sensation that someone was watching her. And listening…

…But, no… No one was there. Thank the luminaries.

The last thing she needed was to cover herself in shame if her singing was heard. Even if it was only forest spirits who wouldn’t tell anyone. They didn’t deserve such torture, either.

Let them listen to musical Selvas with excellent hearing and vocal abilities, who could sing evenly and faultlessly, picking up from anywhere.

The song in her head quietened, leaving it quite empty.

Ami turned her gaze to the dark sky. The risen second satellite beautifully backlit the clouds. She sat a while longer in the quiet and then set off home wearily.

Light 30. Life Gets Back on Track

Work was becoming increasingly engrossing. At some point.

Ami tried to save her psyche and had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the cases. Other people’s cases had become like her own.

She’d skimmed nearly all the lower shelves of reports by now, selecting the most intriguing and jotting down facts from the investigations that piqued her interest.

The Kantine free spirit was no longer *that* bored in her cubbyhole. She was always capable of finding entertainment for herself.

But the envy. The envy that had started to creep in as the stress lessened. The huge envy of everyone else roaming free. They asked her about particularly interesting cases. Puzzling cases. It was still here. In this habitually half-dark room.

Though the “wild child” had been consumed by the “nerd”, whose hands now held all the information about what was happening around her, in the city, the surrounding areas, and even beyond.

Not one remotely intriguing fact remained unnoticed or unexamined.

Amelia had decided for herself that everything had its time. She’d gather information in Omill and then launch her own investigation back in Kantine.

Things couldn’t be changed right now. So she might amuse herself with what she’s got. Enjoying practically unlimited quantities of genuine Omill coffee and reading material unavailable to common people, more fascinating than the usual heroic tales.

One question now: should she venture higher, tackling cases accessible from the second level, and ask Milo to open the access?

Or… seek novelty horizontally, by plucking up the courage to visit Finnian’s Archives after all?

Who’s more likely to refuse first?

In the light of the recent disappearances of materials, all the Temple department heads had developed a belated suspiciousness. Even towards their own subordinates.

The simplest thing in this situation was to wait until something else was brought in. The answer to her unspoken question was a shadow looming in the little window.

Ami pushed aside her cup of cooled coffee.

— Kele. Haven’t seen you in cycles, good to see you.

— No one to heat up coffee? — The Selva made a charmingly sarcastic face.

— Nothing escapes your insightful mind. — Amelia replied with the same good-natured sarcasm.

— On the bright side, I haven’t distracted you often, and I’ve brought you a whole pile of reports at once. Give me yesterday’s materials on… the relatives’ interviews from Calvin in exchange.

— Right away. Thanks for your delicate concern. The coffee in my cup has gone cold, indeed. Here it is, if you want to help while I’m searching for the case…

The Secretary went into the depths of the closet to look for the necessary document, continuing the conversation.

— …Calvin’s materials — an excellent choice. Academic… style, engaging presentation. Won’t be dull. Only, he didn’t quite flesh out the theme. What about those people now? Did they start new lives? Or are they trying to piece the old ones back together? So fascinating. You might as well go round interviewing them all yourself again.

And returned with the requested tablet.

— You… read the cases again. — concluded the templar operative. — There are a ton of these clay things, and you don’t have that amount of time during the light… So I have to ask. Where does this *particular* interest in amnesias come from?

— I want one for myself. I’m interested in many topics, in fact. But there’s something so incredibly terribly attractive about these amnesiac affairs that caught my attention back in the Kantine. Your poetic Selva soul must appreciate the dark appeal of this.

— It… doesn’t. It’s just weird and creepy cases.

— Then you should sit here in a gloom for a while surrounded by other immobile, lifeless objects, feeling envious, peeking into the reports of the living. *That* is true weirdness and creepiness.

Ami sighed, handing Kele the tablets in exchange for her cup of the coffee, warmed in a heavenly, fantastic way. It definitely already made her light.

— I’d be happy to sit quietly or even nap for a while. — smirked the officer. — If you ask me. The cases are often less interesting than you’d hope. Read my latest ones I gave to you, and you’ll fall asleep.

— I will; you can count on it. Sleeping in this dusty place, especially one without nightmares, is the best possible entertainment here.

— Sprinkle some dried kiki berries against nightmares. And air it out to chase off the lingering spirit. Have a pleasant reading.

— It absolutely will be pleasant now with a warm coffee. Thanks, bring some more.

Ami took a big sip of the divinely touched coffee with pleasure. Watching Kele head off to a place where conversations with real, solid people, going outside to investigate something dreadfully intriguing and large, and normal windows were a lightly basis.

No wonder. He *is* normal. More than that, he’s awesome.

And Ami is fine as she is. Communicating with symbols would suit her fine. The tablets will endure. No need to reply. Fewer awkward situations.

Hiding in the shadows. Not showing her face in the light. That’s what the swamp monsters usually do. If they’re not hunting.

As for the darkness… She’s accustomed to the sparse, intimate lighting here. And didn’t even bother to acquire a proper Kantine oil lamp from the Caravans.

She could see well enough in here. It was just that every time she left the cubbyhole, the gloom creature was briefly blinded. Probably something like what cave-dwelling Dwarves experienced. On a much grander scale, of course.

Spitting out her frustration in a sigh, the Secretary laid out Kele’s newly arrived tablets, still glad for the new reading material.

Ah… being a nice Selva diminished the truth.

The cases were, for the most part, interesting. *His* cases were certainly fascinating. Even the fruitless wandering through the Forest.

She could do it too. Though, unlike Kele, her sense of direction was appalling, and in the end, they’d probably be searching for her.

Ah… now this was *really* interesting!

Reminds me of what Calvin wrote about recently. And Kele took away.

But no great loss that the document’s gone, since everything significant is already in her notes. Can supplement it.

It can be useful. For her own… investigation. She will continue in Kantine.

It’s a pity she has to analyse it on her own, while absurd theories keep surfacing from oblivion only to sink back again. She wanted to discuss it with someone besides the voices in her head, which never say anything new.

— Ami.

…Raging swamps…

No time for thoughts, which were coming thicker and faster lately. Immeasurably more frequent than the visitors. But still. For the bog’s sake. What’s up?

— Listening.

— Take these tablets off me, please.

— On it. I’ll ease your weight of information. What is it? Ooh, fascinating… The gnome glimmerdust is back…

— Meaning me? Nah. My temperament’s not that fiery. Here’s another copy of the request to Zeth also.

— Taking. But there are no free slots left… Doesn’t matter. Faella. Do you know… why does Lavy live here in Station?

— Nope. Don’t know. — the selva shrugged. — She just does.

— She… doesn’t have a house?

— She has.

— Alright… I’ll ask Lavy herself.

The half-mysterious underforester Lavy, as discovered while sorting documents, not only guarded the Station at night. She also participated in enforcement operations. When necessary. Presumably when they managed to wake her.

Fortunately, enforcement operations in Omill were, to put it mildly, few and far between. So Lavy could sleep as long as she wanted most of the time.

— Lucy… ugh. Ami. Give me the tablets on the latest warehouse reports. — Moki mumbled, as always, gazing distractedly off to the side.

— On it.

Ami paused, debating whether to say it.

— Moki. — she continued uncertainly. — You… oversee the Warehouses. And the Caravans. It’s a statement. I’m not asking. I’m reading all the reports here.

— Yes. Why?

— I did the same boring stuff back in Kantine for a while. I tracked and recorded shipments. So I know where to look and when intervals or the quantities look suspicious… And I saw it there. I’m just interested in your take on it, it’s not reflected in any documents.

— Are you? — Moki looked at her with such surprise, as if he’d only just noticed a living person was in the booth.

Ami quickly, before he recovered, pulled three tablets from the shelf and jabbed a finger at one of them.

— Look… They’re roughly equal, and, if I’m not mistaken… they correspond to the departure times of the trade haulers from Kantine… Here. That’s where the root of all this stems from… Alongside Zeth. But Zeth is secondary… Don’t look at me like that; I’m far from a genius…

She shrugged in response to the distrustful look from the silent officer.

— …my job was to monitor particularly valuable sacks. And I roughly remember the caravan schedules. Here, here and there are our incident dates. If you look at arrival dates, it’s less obvious. Haulers move at different speeds. But the departure dates… have roughly equal intervals. See? Though, I could be wrong; I need to ask Milo to make a fresh query to Kantine. And this glimmerdust… is so vexing.

— Don’t even mention it… Hm. It needs double-checking. — the gloomy Selva mused, scratching the window ledge. — I forgot you were an operative.

— I’d almost forgotten myself. — the Kantine woman snorted. — Not that I was some successful, effective officer. Investigated minor cases.

Ami fell gloomily silent.

No point raking it up. And Moki probably wasn’t interested anyway.

— Fancied investigating major ones? — he asked suddenly.

— Of course. I’ve always been fond of detective stories and wanted to be a VST agent. And certainly never wanted to be a writing tool buried in gloom.

— You dislike this job that much?

The Selva surprisingly decided to chat.

— Well, I’m used to it, and it hardly gives me nightmares anymore. But who’d enjoy being stuck motionless in a dark corner?

— Lucy did. Why did you agree then?

Moki looked at her quizzically, tilting his head.

Now that he’d found time to linger and look her way, it became noticeable that the direct, sharp gaze of his violet eyes was steady and piercing.

— Living in Kantine was gloomier than working in this room.

Selva frowned. Even more.

— I… have never been to Kantine. Had no business there. Is it really so bad?

Oh my gnats, *it* talks. This monolith stone statue can chit-chat.

— If you’re a grower — then no, — answered the Secretary, trying to keep her tone matter-of-fact to hide the slight flutter. — Quite the opposite, all paths will be open to you. But woe betide you if matters of fertility and reproduction hold even the slightest interest for you.

— That doesn’t particularly interest me, I admit.

The Kantine woman snorted.

Who’d have thought the broken agricultural tool had something in common with a solid Selvian statue?

— Well, now you see. — she smiled. — Gathering coffee near your kotti is far more interesting. My mother says any city grows tiresome. Probably, after a couple of years, I’d take Omill for granted too… if I got the chance.

— Maybe not. — Moki shrugged. — It’s objectively good here. I was born in these parts and could easily live my whole life here. Though I can’t say I wouldn’t be interested in seeing other places. Someday. After retirement.

— I want to too! Even before retirement. Perhaps I’m unfair to Kantine, who knows. Time will tell.

— So. What’s the actual gain for you in staying here?

— Fulfilling a contract I signed. It’s a joke. A prospect… I think. I desperately need one more chance to escape my hometown. The place is toxic for me. So I try to do something about it. Anything at all. Hoping it could be the beginning of something. And the end of unnecessary suffering.

— True enough.

Moki nodded and thoughtfully headed off to his office, leaving a surprised Ami.

With Rayleen, who had just approached.

— Yes? What can I do for you? — the Secretary enquired, snapping out of her stupor.

— Take all this off me, please. — the officer exhaled wearily.

Rayleen carefully placed a large stack of documents on the ledge, which Ami hauled inside in stages.

— I relieve you of this burden! — the Archivist declared theatrically. — Go and… rejoice!

— Thanks. — The templar saluted. — Heading home and feeling lighter.

— Gnats! It’s the end of the working light already! I hadn’t noticed.

Truly, chinwagging isn’t sorting tablets.

Time to pack up. Ask Milo to seal the cubbyhole. Enquire if there’s any news from Lucy. Dying to know how she’s getting on over there, in Ami’s place. And it’s unclear what she’s feeling about it right now — curiosity or schadenfreude?

Will be clearer when details emerge.

Actually, she’s got no time for schadenfreude. She needs to go to the Forest for food. Refresh the knowledge gained from the helpful Irji.

Nothing cleanses the soul and thoughts of everything like the Forest. The Forest brings you back to yourself and offers sound advice like no other.

The community of trees helps you feel you’re also part of existence and that you’re alright. Or to focus on inner discomfort and understand what’s wrong.

The pleasant, measured rustle says more than the hubbub of human voices.

Right then. Food bag in hands and onwards — to the wise, beautiful place where Selvas and Elves roam.

Light 33. Just Another Working Light

Sunrise began with coffee.

And with Kimi, who asked to find something. As usual.

But not without profit for the Secretary. Kimi had reheated Ami’s lukewarm coffee because she’d come here first with a request. It was becoming a tradition.

— Blimey, I shouldn’t be here heating coffee for you! — the officer exclaimed suddenly, setting the cup on the ledge and smacking her forehead.

— Sorry for being a waste of your time and energy. — Ami smirked.

— That wasn’t what I meant. — the Selva waved dismissively. — You don’t have the documents I need. All the “disappearance’ cases are with Milo. As has been usual for the last few cycles. Dreadful business. But he seems overly fixated on them, don’t you think?

— And you need them because…? — Ami took a sip of the pleasantly warm coffee, squinting slightly with pleasure. Omillishly.

— I suspect people aren’t vanishing *in* the forest. There are strange noises, odd things and bla-bla-bla, but I’m sure the Forest itself isn’t to blame. And not just because my turn for forest patrol is next light.

— Of course not. — Amelia nodded teasingly.

The temple officer made a comical face in answer.

— Good luck sticking to your theory. Milo seems rather protective of his own versions. Though you could always ask to do the patrol instead of me.

— Ami, I’d be chuffed. Believe me. But Milo will object. Still, do ask him, of course. Though… This season isn’t ideal for tramping through the Omillian part of the Forest. Everything’s waterlogged. Soggy grass, soggy boots, soggy draperies, chilly draughts down your neck… Ruins your whole impression of Omill. But I suppose you don’t care.

— True. Beggars can’t be choosers. I might not get another season. Still hunting for the anomalies, then?

— Yes. Also checking if any locals are lost in the woods, in trouble, or need help, as usual. Patrols are more frequent now and involve more officers. Maybe Milo will be more accommodating; everyone is so knackered.

— And how does Milo expect to spot these anomalies? In the “traditional” way, like before? Where does one of you vanish?

Kimi giggled.

— Suppose so. He… rather over-relies on our intuition, or something. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do in his place. I doubt the Academy provides instructions for situations like these.

— Milo says we’re short-staffed and couldn’t manage our core duties. And now we’re throwing the manual to the swamp and sending people out alone but still not including non-witches in patrols. I… personally, I don’t know what to think.

— Don’t look at me. I don’t know either. Presumably because of the frequency. I just trust Milo, you know; he’s the Chief and these orders are his responsibility. A huge responsibility. I don’t envy him.

— Maybe it makes sense, you know. If you started vanishing in pairs, you’d need twice as many replacements.

The officer swiftly reached a hand through the window and lightly flicked Ami’s forehead with three fingers.

— Oi! Kimi! I don’t miss Lavy! No need to duplicate her whilst she’s asleep. I saw petitions to Sandra and the Chief Administration on Milo’s desk. To increase staffing, asking other services to join our patrols. Or mobilising volunteers.

— So, if we’re running out of staff… perhaps you will stay here. Even after Lucy returns. If the Kantinians hand you over.

The Omillian spread her hands and gave a wide, Selva-style grin.

— I think ours will hand me over gladly. — the Secretary grinned. — Unless they decide spitefully to keep me, just to deny Omill. Beyond my courier duties, I’m of little value to the Department.

— Ami, don’t talk like that; you’re sabotaging the morale of the Station.

— Why d’you need it? — the secretary smiled slyly. — It’s so cosy here.

— See you later.

Kimi saluted and headed for Milo’s office.

Ami ought to pop by him later too. She could innocently inquire if she could perhaps stroll through the forest instead of someone.

She was tired to death of passively sitting in a closet and studying documents. More than her colleagues were tired of the additional workload. She needed relaxation and movement like air. Like the fresh air of the Omill forest. Yes, she went for walks after work. But it wasn’t the same. She had been studying the matter for so long that she simply could not wait to take part in it all directly. As an operative, which is what she actually was.

She drifted over to her desk with the spread-out notes, symbols, and witchgraphs in annoyance. But didn’t manage to study them because of more activity at the dispatch window.

…What now?..

— Ami…

— I am Ami. You are not. Lucky you. Yes, Irji. What can I do for you?

— Haha. Take these cases off me, and this — could you pop it over to Milo? I’m in a rush.

Irji sounded worried.

So Ami mustered all the warmth and calm she had and put it into her reply.

— Course I can. Off you go, and mind yourself.

The officer snorted loudly and seemed to perk up.

— Thanks. See you!

“You all say that.”

Convenient timing, in fact. A perfect moment to reach the Chief, who had sneakily kept the “tastiest” documents for himself to read comfortably with his coffee.

The Secretary scooped up the documents left by Irji and resolutely marched towards the boss’ office.

— Milo.

— Yes? — he replied without looking up from the tablets.

She hadn’t even started annoying him yet… But he already seemed annoyed.

Intuition told her this occasionally quite nefarious Omillian trickster knew why she was here.

This was for the best. It made things easier.

And it was in his interest to cooperate; otherwise, she’d linger longer, extracting information piecemeal and irritating him. He definitely wanted to get rid of her quickly.

— I’ve brought something from Irji. For a more convincing simulation of frenzied labour.

— Splendid. Drop it here.

The Chief waved wearily, not acknowledging the quip.

Those files on his desk… must be what Kimi mentioned. Something new. Truly important.

— These tablets you have here… — Ami began cautiously, edging closer to the documents. — Do you… still need them?

— I do.

Swamp gnats! He was determined to keep them for himself!

— Rather… large stacks. — the bored, curious Secretary managed through gritted teeth, trying not to growl. — And so frightfully little material to go on.

Engrossed in studying the clay bounty, Milo paid no heed to the threatening undertone in her voice.

“Ami, relax. He owes you nothing. You can ask. But not demand.”

— Is the Forest still a prime suspect? — she enquired. — I mean, from the *small* number of protocols I saw, I understood that the Forest was the first thing almost all the amnesiacs remembered when they came round… But they’re unsure. Yes. But… Isn’t it risky, then, sending constables to patrol alone?

Milo snapped his head up, giving her an angry glare.

Clearly, she’d touched a nerve. The decision was uncomfortable for him too.

— Our people can handle themselves! — he snapped. — We’ve patrolled the forest like this since the Station was founded!

Amelia quickly raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture.

— Don’t kill me! I volunteer to help. After my work, if needed, but better instead of it.

— We already discussed it.

— That was before the patrols became more frequent. I want to help. I’m so deeply immersed in this gnatty topic that I just can’t stay away anymore.

— Ami, stop it. I spoke to Sandra about increasing our numbers or mobilising volunteers, and it’ll happen soon. Dismissed.

Milo wearily pushed his hat slightly forward, shading his eyes.

— Wait. I analysed the Caravan logs as you suggested.

— And? — The Chief’s disapproving gaze returned to the Secretary.

— Can’t shake the feeling the trouble comes from Kantine. It’s not about myself, and it’s not because I think my hometown is the epicentre of all evil on the Mainland. But the first memory loss cases were recorded precisely there. I believe the troubles just come *through* Omill. Simply because all major roads converge here. We must cooperate with the other cities and ask for their logs to see the whole picture.

— The VST does that. And that’s why the Temples started the exchange programme.

— Yes. Not to give me the opportunity to bother you. It’ll end soon, but before it does I want to help. I need more information to analyse. And I require a change of scene for a couple of lights.

— Take a short leave. Besides, patrolling will be reduced soon. A significant portion of the events occur within the city limits. I’m about to propose posting observers along the Trade Tract and near the Warehouses. I’m certain — that way we’ll quickly track and stop all this. You are right about that. Wherever it comes from, it must pass through Omill. But I’m not sure about Kantine. How would Kantinians manage tricks of such complex witchery that baffle even seasoned Temple witches? Highly unlikely.

— I’m not saying the Kantinians themselves are behind it. I’m saying someone is operating *from* Kantine. Let me explain. I came to this conclusion back in my city, starting from the light I accidentally got hold of data on caravans from Prime. I was just starting out, little experience… But even then, it seemed someone had slacked or fiddled. As if afraid of something. Goods were coming in far exceeding Kantine’s internal needs. Had I bothered to check the warehouses, I’d surely have noticed. And that it all vanished without settling in Kantine. It was… *interesting*. More interesting than these disappearance cases, which were rare. There weren’t that many people vanishing; cases weren’t as high-profile as missing property. So, they were closed and forgotten, lost among other problems. The victims were likely mostly loners and terribly unpopular. Because no family would ever allow valuable labour to vanish. They’d gnaw through walls and the Chief of Order’s skull to get their layabouts back onto the fields. So it just passed by a city full of gossips, but extracting valuable information is even more difficult than shaking it out of you here.

Milo chuckled, and Amelia continued.

— I got some details because I dwell on things. Where better for powerful witches to hide than in a witch-phobic city? In that atmosphere of denial, it’s easiest to conceal real vice. Shout loudest that you don’t have it, and accuse others of misusing it, and the job’s done.

— That’s bordering on philosophical.

— Yes, there are more mystics here. I’ll bring you a copy of my records… Oh. It’s in Kantinian. I’ll translate it. Now I’ll take these unneeded cases and leave.

— Take these, and let your report focus more on the smuggling angle. That’s most interesting and promising. We must concentrate on something; otherwise, our heads will burst.

“Lucky your hat holds it together.”

— And give me the approximate disappearance and amnesia data for Kantine.

Milo adjusted his headgear.

— It’ll be very approximate.

— I’m fine with that.

— You know how it goes. “Lost in a Forest’. “Gone to another city”. Or even that famous “Came from the Wasteland after disappearing from a Tavern’ case, based on which our orderists happily decided they’d found the universal solution. A couple of taverns were closed. Not faffing about with this nonsense for cycles. Highly efficient.

— Quite so.

— Long absence of serious incidents makes everyone complacent. It feels like we’d hardly had any before this. Something to tell the others for a laugh… These lights, everything changed. And I’m somewhat itching to observe the situation after returning to Kantine. At least, it’ll make sense and won’t be boring anymore. I’ll try squeezing information out as methodically as I do from you now.

The Chief looked up at her again.

— Commendable zeal, but let the VST observe. It’s terribly dangerous.

— I’ll be on my home ground. And face fewer pointless restrictions.

— Not so pointless.

— And the VST will stick out there like a sore thumb. All they can do is trace the orders of goods from outside.

— They’re on it.

— And?

— Fruitless so far, I think. Kyle doesn’t report to us in detail.

— Can we make him?

— You can. But only by becoming the Head of the VST.

— Gnats… That won’t be anytime soon.

— No, not anytime soon. Where does all this enthusiasm come from…

Milo sighed wearily.

— I told you. My entire cognitive process now consists of studying tablets because my world has shrunk to a dark little cubbyhole. I desperately want to be part of all this. I really want to help. I could poke about the Forest. For instance, instead of Kimi.

— You don’t know the local Forest like Kimi does. There are anomalies. Natural or… not. Which is… rather creepy. You don’t have witch-sense or intuition. So it would be just a walk for you. You can do that anytime without putting our Temples in danger of taking responsibility if anything happens to you whilst you’re here.

*“How long must we be pushed about like furniture?”*

*“As long as necessary. The power’s in his hands. Whinging is useless.”*

— Alright. — the Secretary continued, shifting her expression to a more placid one. — To summarise. They will search for appearances at a certain time or created anomalies. Barely findable. Unless lucky. Or unlucky. Who could create it? Not many, I suppose. Which narrows the search. The Mainland itself. Exceptionally powerful witches. Or Elves, maybe. The first and third options mean we can close the case immediately and wait patiently to see how it ends. If it turns out to be the second option…

— Terrifying. To live knowing someone can do such things, and even worse, that it’s done deliberately. Smuggling, fine. Hoarding, fine. But… Abductions? Memory wiping? Unthinkable. I hope it’s a natural anomaly.

— And if it is elves?

— What would be the motive?

— To snatch the males.

— What?!

“We really managed to surprise him”.

— Kantinians say elves lack males, so they occasionally snatch ours, regardless of looks or age… Seems to me more like projections from the Kantinian women themselves. Such peculiar theories are standard practice in Kantine.

— I hope you won’t hold that as a working theory?

— Only for amusement. Though, Elves are such enigmas, one could invent all sorts about them. An informational void needs filling; even with rubbish, it’s human nature. And the first thing heard lodges in the brain permanently. That’s why I’m trying to fill my head with the contents of these tablets instead of the products of my imagination.

— If you keep consuming all the information found on the Mainland, your ginger head will soon splinter into bits.

— At least I’ll die happy. By the way, Davin’s report mentioned something. Could I have a look at the interesting knick-knacks found?

— Alright. You’ve earned it. But just a look.

Milo retrieved the items from the safe. Ami peered at the oddly attractive little objects. They were so peculiar. The materials were strange. What was their function?

Surely they weren’t created just to perplex. But even if they were, what were they made of?

They looked smooth. This stick seemed made of the same material as the first item. This one was… so thin! What was it? Extraordinary! Like clay heated to translucency, but incredibly thin! With… a liquid inside? It was hard to imagine rolling clay that thinly. A pity they couldn’t be touched. Or appropriated.

What were they for? How were they formed? Zero answers. Like everything connected to these cases.

— Well?

Milo was clearly pleased with the effect. As if he’d crafted the items himself.

— Stunning… — Ami breathed out, shaking her head in astonishment. — Breathtaking. Witchgraphs don’t convey it. Are they… Dwarven? Joullish, maybe?

The officer returned the evidence to the safe.

— Maybe.

— Is this all that was found?

— There are four of them. The most intriguing ones Kyle took with him, as I said.

— Will the VST chap bring them back? — Amelia stared at the Chief with genuine interest.

— Aye. Those we’ll need until the investigation ends. The rest stay with the VST, thoroughly analysed, witchgraphed and so on.

— Jolly good fun for them. — Ami clicked her tongue enviously. — So many fascinating things pass through their hands.

— Things one has absolutely no clue what to do with. — Milo grimaced. — An object can be dangerous. Toxic. Or it breaks during examination.

— If there’s no clue what to do — do something, and something will likely happen as a result. Occupational hazard, and no other way.

— Is that your approach?

— Aye. Better to do it than gawp at witchgraphs. Had I got these things for longer…

— …and they’d vanish.

— Odd conclusion! — Ami snorted irritably. — Next you’ll say you think I’m nicking everything!

— No. The disappearances started earlier. Just saying it’s safer with me.

— Well… hard to argue there, probably. Aaaaa! Speaking of vanishing… My Archive! I should go!

Milo shook his head disapprovingly.

— You should run.

Ami shot out of the office towards the Archive, left unattended.

Not… quite unattended. Another supplicant was already loitering at the window.

Amelia gave them an apologetic wave and ducked into the cubbyhole, still slightly pensive.

Fancy that. What an intriguing moment to join the team.

Peculiar cases. Riveting events. Mysterious objects. She could almost feel like a VST agent. Lucky her.

She put the tablets on her table and rushed to the window.

— Sorry, Calvin. I was held up by Milo. What can I do for you?

— Ami. Take these reports off me.

— What’s in there?

— Consolidated forest patrol logs for the small cycle… Several lights’ worth from our whole lazy cohort. And a small appendix — witness statements from locals. Nothing special.

— I see. Thank you.

Calvin heaved a sigh and departed.

Right. Time to sort the stack and see what was there, besides the cases she’d issued recently. And… continue scrutinising the fragments and tablets with symbols.

— Ami.

Right. Someone new. Fun postponed. Reason: Davin.

— Give me the recent response to the Zeth caravan query.

Ami quickly scanned the just-received documents.

No. Not here. Odd. They must be with someone… Probably. She headed for the shelves. Yes. There they were.

— Davin. They’re with one of you. I don’t recall exactly who I issued them to.

— Probably Rayleen?

— Aye, probably… So many people in one light. Davin, who handles intercity documents for you usually?

— Irji. Or Callian. Callian now; Irji’s on Forest patrol. They’ll swap later, probably. Why?

— Just curious. In our station, I mostly couriered. Wonder who they replaced me with. No one’s reached us yet, though I know they won’t send anyone without dire need.

— Maybe they’ll send Lucy?

— Maybe. Wonder how she’s getting on. Heard anything?

— She’s fine. According to her relatives. Milo mentioned it recently.

— Jolly good. I must ask him what she’s up to. Curious.

— Well, do ask. I’ll try to find the reports myself.

Davin ambled off towards Moki’s office with his usual unhurried gait.

Interesting, had he always been like that? Or in his youth did he dash about so much he was simply knackered by now?

Time to sort and read what Calvin brought. Or… No. It was time to go home.

Or… “or” again. The Mountain looked incredibly attractive. Beautiful. And beckoning. The scent of herbs and trees and an Omill view were included.

Was it sensible to stroll up the mountain in light of all she’d heard? With the anomalies causing people to vanish or lose memory? Probably not. But her time was short.

She might not have another season here. These green paths would stay unwalked by her. And those strange squiggles, dots, and dashes wouldn’t be deciphered. Or they would be, but she wouldn’t even know how.

Was some information hidden, not in the symbols themselves? In reflections? Not *that* simple… A special tint on part of the wedges, maybe? Or missing invisible fragments? Or a texture? A relief? Maybe the fabric split in half or needed heating? Or could one of the items in Milo’s safe be useful?

Surely all these primitive analyses had been done in the OSD Labs. Well. All that was left was to wait for the OSD chap, Kyle. And start pestering him with her accumulated curiosity. The last hope was that he was nicer than her Chief and wouldn’t order her to get lost in the swamps too.

Ami walked into the Forest on a familiar path… and immediately understood why the service people complained about patrols.

The grass was very wet. Maintaining balance without slipping wasn’t as easy as she’d like. The Kantine forest floor was covered in pine cones and needles; it was less slippery than this clay soil and stiff grass.

A sane villain would never operate in such a setting. A human villain, that is. Or… How did the Selvas manage to go anywhere in their elegant thin boots?

A mystery. Or witchery.

Though, it was a bit warmer here than in Kantine. They didn’t even bother heating the kottis much in cold seasons. More witch tricks, perhaps. Of course, Ami knew nothing of that. The local climate itself could be the result. Who knew?

Regardless, her enthusiasm for conquering the mountain with wet feet waned quickly, as did her plans to become an Omillian heroine. They had to be postponed indefinitely. Until the season changed and the weather improved, at least.

Which, in her circumstances, meant almost “never”.

Light 38. Kele on Sick Leave

It seemed this light couldn’t possibly hold anything more peculiar than what had become its usual fare. The mind adapts, after all. You adjust to stay sane.

So, even the strangest, most inexplicable and frightening things become mundane. The intensity hardly matters — only the contrast does.

This light’s first visitor, and thus honorary coffee companion, was a sleepy, scowling Selva named Tallah.

— Ami. Fetch the tablets… Or don’t, — she grumbled. — I forgot. I’m unexpectedly on patrol this light. Aargh.

— So *unexpected* that you won’t warm my coffee first? — Ami smiled teasingly.

Tallah quickly caught the excuse to linger a bit longer in the dry warmth, just chatting idly. And the Secretary was happy to help and do the same.

— Alright, — the servicewoman replied, snatching the cup from the Archive windowsill willingly.

— Milo needs no special reason to torture his employees. But now I feel he actually has one. Things have become more intense lately, judging by the number of orders.

— True. And Kele tumbled into a pit yesterday; now Milo insists we patrol twice as often.

Tallah winced and snorted irritably.

— That’s unfortu… — Ami began. — What?!

The news struck her. She took several unthinking steps toward the window ledge, elbows propped on it, staring wide-eyed at the annoyed Tallah.

— Kele… fell into a pit?.. — the Secretary asked woodenly, struggling to mask her alarm. — Blimey… Milo finally got his desired event… Hope… he’s pleased.

Amelia hissed through her teeth in annoyance, holding back curses.

— I reckon… — Tallah snorted crossly. — Look. Faella’s coming down. Here’s your coffee. I’m off. Wish me luck avoiding his fate.

— With all my heart! Honestly. And where was the pit?

— Not sure. South of the Mountain, I think… Sandra and company are marking it; they are already there for details. She’s promised extra personnel for patrols, by the way. But we’re not bothered. Because… Faella and I are off to find our own pit this light! Right, sister?

— Right! — chirped her near-identical Selva colleague. — And ours will be grander than any pit ever found on this Mainland! I swear.

— Yeah. Let’s go, girl.

With a shared, stylish “Selva” gesture, they strode out.

Amelia watched them go with envy and nervously took a sip of her still-warm coffee.

…How? How did it happen? How could he?.. She needed details. For sure.

Because Selvas are seasoned foresters. They grow in these woods — it’s practically their home. Nothing bad can happen to Selva in a Forest.

Everyone finds trouble occasionally, but Selvas… rarely. They’re one with the Forest. And Kele’s sight and instincts are notoriously sharp. He wouldn’t trip or get lost on the blackest night.

…It’s all a bit odd…

Two options. He found the long-searched anomaly. Or he’s overdue for leave… Maybe both.

“Don’t worry. The report will come soon, undoubtedly.”

“And Tallah didn’t seem upset. Annoyed, not upset. Nothing serious, then.”

For Tallah.

“Why so bothered?”

A good question. Who gave these people the right to wander through the Forest so freely? And to trouble us with their injuries. Huh?

“Milo did.”

So, he’s to blame. He will be held accountable. I’m heading to his office. And if the door cloth wouldn’t be torn apart, it’ll be a great achievement.

Once there, she almost hissed again, holding back the overwhelming emotions.

— Milo, Tallah and Faella left for the Forest.

— Logged it?

He sounded pretty irritated too. No wonder.

— Yes! Er. Not yet. Are all patrols doubled up now?

— Yes. Why?

— Just asked. May I?..

— No. Pop to Kele’s, fetch his tablets.

…For the love of gnats! Can he ever be human?..

“Nope.”

“More reading. Neat.”

…Right.

Cold rage settled where thin hope had dwelt before.

— At once. Mighty woodsman takes a tumble. Scandalous.

“Stop it. He’s not in the mood.”

“He will kill us. Telling you.”

Try me. I’ll kill him first. Enough of it.

“Don’t be stupid. Leave.”

“No information here. Let’s get the clays.”

Then we go to the Forest. By ourselves.

“What a stupid idea.”

Yes.

“Totally ridiculous.”

Definitely. But still better than being torn apart because he ignores me. Or trying to tear his hat. Soon.

She glanced angrily at the Chief. Hiding from adversity behind his hat brim, Milo didn’t notice the storm.

So, hurricane Ami stormed out and trudged to the many Selvas’ shared office.

Lonely Davin was there. His warm, broad smile suddenly embraced all the space around. It surrounded the perplexed Secretary like a blessing and momentarily melted her icy resentment. She managed a strained smile back and thoroughly inspected Kele’s desk, grabbing all the documents.

It will be boring without Kele. But it’s less boring while reading his reports.

“Milo ordered these.”

Milo is busy enough to miss them. We can read them and keep them safe. While waiting for Elsu… who went to the Forest with Sandra’s team. Lucky Elsu.

Amelia smiled sadly at Dave again and returned to the Archive, feeling the darkness and hopelessness were denser and deeper than usual.

The gloom and dust seemed to concentrate. It was almost suffocating.

…It had come *this* far. Too bad.

“You should stop.”

I know… I can’t. It’s too late. It’s already got me.

“It’s… not wise.”

Can’t help it.

Unable to cope with the dust storm of mixed emotions, the Kantinian swallowed hard, wondering if she should flee before the darkness crushed her skull.

“You should leave.”

Leave what? The Archives? The Station? Temples? Or Omill itself? I can’t escape from myself.

“You will return to Kantine soon. It will end by itself.”

Yes, but… All these thoughts are toxically suffocating.

Starting with the return to Homelands. And finishing with not seeing Kele, no matter how long it lasts.

“That’s what happens to plant-grower girls who think themselves fit for a fancy witch clay city. Reality smears them.”

…Yes. And whatever we did. It’s all pointless. And always will be…

“Ami. This adrenaline needs burning out. Somehow. Or it will blow us up from inside.”

…How?! By… running? Away from this place?

“Not the worst option.”

— Ami.

It sounded distant, muffled. Like through water… Or the thick fog of Ami’s own sorrow. She flinched, turning her gaze to the window’s light.

— Fetch the inventories and audit results… I hate Moki’s paperwork! Tedious slog… But it is what it is.

“It is what it is, true.”

Another irritable Station officer. Too many for one light? They’d blow the place apart if this continues.

— At once, Irji.

The serviceman squinted, seeing a faded spirit fetching the documents.

— Gnats! Are you… still starving? So pale!

— No. No, I’m not. Just… argh. As usual. Don’t ask.

— Things going wrong… I see.

— Since I was born. And that was wrong too…

— Coffee break’s coming. Maybe you’ll change your mind.

— …Well, if you put it like that. You know how to cheer people up.

— I know that food always does the trick.

Irji’s footsteps faded toward the stairs. And Ami’s thoughts returned to her escape.

“So. How… far?”

Yes, exactly. How far can we go? Escape… from thoughts? From the room? From the Station? From the city? From life itself? How far? I feel claustrophobic inside all of those.

“Let’s not overdo it. But a short stroll wouldn’t hurt.”

To the coffee pot, then. Or… towards… the Sanatorium! Yaay!

Ami’s entire being jumped with fear and joy. Alarmed voices chattered in unison.

“What?!”

“No — no — no. Very bad idea.”

“Totally ridiculous.”

“Don’t even think it.”

“We shouldn’t show that much… interest.”

“Sounds pretty scary too.”

“Forget about it.”

“Better read his reports.”

“Yes. What about learning the details from the source? Even before Milo does? Useful for our investigation.”

“Which we paused due to foul weather.”

Very funny. Why read reports when I could ask Kele?

“Don’t be stupid.”

But I am.

“Not *that* stupid. Someone questioned him already, for sure.”

“Elsu and Sandra learnt everything.”

And they won’t share with us.

“Sure they won’t. Who are we to share proprietary information about an investigation we are not conducting?”

I’m fed up with that.

“Go home, then.”

Yes. But I’m going to Kele first.

“Visiting a near-stranger colleague. With questions outside your competence or none of your business. Not awkward at all.”

Story of my life. Socialising is always awkward. I’m used to it.

“Go embarrass yourself, then.”

Do I have your blessing?

“No. And you don’t even know the Sanatorium’s visiting protocol.”

Well. I come. I see a person. That’s all. What protocol? I’ve been a templar all this time, not for nothing. Let it be useful once. Besides, I need to get lunch there anyway.

Amelia leaped up and headed resolutely to Milo’s office before she could reconsider. She almost knocked down the boss leaving the room.

— Milo, I’m away. Seal the Archive, — she reported in a peremptory tone.

— Right. Lunch?

— Yes.

“Is he trying to feign interest?”

“No. He’s trying hard not to be rude this time.”

“What a nice guy.”

Never mind, people. To the Sanatorium we go!

The growing irritation didn’t allow her to think much about consequences, so she quickly left the Station on a wave of feelings from the upcoming meeting.

Stepping outside into the warm light was truly soul-saving.

Amelia took a deep breath of Omill’s fragrant air.

The smells of Freedom. That’s why we are here. No one can take it from us. Only with our last breath.

Wind blew woodland scents… from the more attractive Forest. Not this time, Forest. We’ve got stuff to do… But I promise to visit soon.

Swiftly switching attention to bakery aromas and Temple incense, the Kantinian took another deep breath and resolutely headed for the Sanatorium.

Having flown in like a hurricane, she forgot all sanitary and social norms, risking another uncomfortable situation and incurring the wrath of the staff.

But… the target was in sight.

…Kele!..

He was there, propped on a cot in a far corner. He seemed fine. A slender splint on his leg, which he swung idly mid-conversation with a…

“Don’t. Don’t be jealous. You have no right, first. And second — it’s a healer-Selva he’s talking with.”

Right.

Amelia admired the picture while waiting for the nurse to leave, freeing access to her colleague. To her relief, Kele maintained his regular cunning squint despite appearing fatigued. It warmed Ami’s heart.

She couldn’t help a half-silly broad smile she hurried to hide.

So… everything looked bright again. Far better than her panicked imagination had painted.

The Secretary caught the scent of healing herbs. Clever. Omillian healers blended witchcraft and herb-lore, making treatments absurdly effective. Cheating, really.

If only Kantinian healers had that technology. It would have spared her much suffering.

…Heart, quiet down…

…I need to hear my own words. Speak evenly. Casually… Ahem…

The healer left. But her legs were soft, and her tongue felt glued. Thoughts refused to cooperate. Her pulse raced. Even Amelia’s gift for speech — and her usual unconventional approach — failed her. Utterly.

“Why did we even do this? We’ll be hospitalised ourselves this way soon.”

Bog off.

“Should we… approach? Or keep standing here in this ridiculous manner?”

Bog off!

“Anyway. We’ve been noticed. We have to go closer now.”

Yes. We… have to.

As she approached, the Selva smiled and withdrew.

— How… are you?

The typical question was delivered with great difficulty.

“Splendid opener indeed.”

Told you.

— Ah, Ami. — Kele smiled warmly. — I’m fine!

— Does it… hurt?

He shook his head.

— Not so bad. Could’ve been worse, you know.

— I’m so glad… to hear it.

An awkward pause ensued, during which the Kantinian’s overheated mind raced to find a suitable topic. And an answer to why she was here.

— So. They let you out finally?

The silence was broken by the sweetly smiling templar, apparently unaware of the internal catastrophe.

— Nnn… no. I ran away.

— Who’s glowering through the Archive window?

— Milo will… He’s in a real ghoul mood this light. Worse than ever.

— He has a fair reason.

— True… So do others. Because of you, by the way. Irji lumbered with Moki’s work. Faella covered your patrol.

— Oh, poor gal covers me! So sweet. Wish I could feel the guilt… But I don’t. I’ve had enough.

Weary Kele’s face showed a frustrated expression.

— So, this is just an excuse for an unscheduled break. Just as I thought. No wonder. This investigation is a slog. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…

— I think you did. — Mocking, Selva squinted slyly. — Do you mean also… Milo isn’t coping? Huh? Suggestions?

— None. Nobody listens anyway…

Ami huffed, genuinely annoyed.

— I do.

…It sounds… inspiring. And scary.

And her tongue stuck to her palate again.

— I… appreciate it. But… I lost my train of thought. So… I just ask. So… You just… fell. Straight… in a pit?

Selvian officer raised an eyebrow warily.

— Aye. What are you… getting at?

— Just… asking… The story is really weird.

Amelia let out a tired sigh, accompanied by a gesture of despair.

— You don’t say… Aye. I fell. Knocked myself out. Came round, realised my leg was bunged. Patched it up. Started yelling. That’s all.

— Do you think… it was a trap? Or?

— Not sure. Milo thinks so. I’d better take his side. Better than admitting my own incompetence.

The hidden laughter in his self-deprecating phrase made Ami smile.

— It was… A very well-hidden pit. I suppose.

— Yeah. Branches and dirt. Neat edges. Could be a natural erosion pit, though… I didn’t sense anything suspicious. Except… the smell, perhaps. But it could be… well. Anything.

— Nothing much.

— Right.

— Where roughly was it?

— Northern woods… South of the Mountain. Why? Planning to go there? You won’t fall in it; it’s visible now. Find your own pit.

Ami exploded with indignation, reinforced by active aggressive gesticulation.

— If only I could! Milo’s so stubborn! I mean, I could if the whole Department were in a pit. And no one was left to operate. Or to hold me back… Yeah.

— *That* bored, huh? Ready to ditch all the Templars down a pit? And who’ll warm your coffee?

He smiled, eyes alone conveying sly warmth. How… did they do that?

— Not all of them… Milo’s proper tumble would satisfy me.

— They’d just replace him.

— That’s the problem. There’s no way out for me, as you see.

— Milo… is not the worst Chief on the Mainland, you know.

Amelia sighed heavily.

— I know, I know… Compared to my Kantinian boss, especially, Milo’s a rare gem… Which doesn’t mean I don’t want to see him shining in a pit. I… hate him. I hate you all, to be true. Don’t look at me like that. Think for yourself. What do you do here? Living freely. In a gorgeous city. Strolling its streets and woods. Having great kotties. Taking it for granted. Shamelessly. Just frowning and drinking coffee… argh.

— Ah. Envy. Old as the Mainland. We warm your coffee, being nice. And you hate us in return.

— Can’t help it.

A gloomy Amelia received a sceptical look from her colleague.

— Why… did you remind me of coffee, though? Now I want some.

— I could bring you some! Theoretically. If I don’t drink it on the way.

— Do it. Bring me one… with Ilira flakes, please. I need to celebrate the start of a minor cycle’s rest. Finally.

— Soooo long! I mean, yeah. The damage is serious.

— Not so serious, but I don’t mind… I really need a break.

— You deserve it. I mean, the rest. Pfffah! Well… I’m off.

— Good luck… Wait! Take my water bag. Yes. Now go.

Ami hastily left the place with mixed feelings.

Deeply happy. And deeply unhappy. The awkwardness of it all. It would pursue her… Why did she come? Why start this awkward interaction?..

Well. What’s done is done. Enough.

Hope the coffee will fix things. We require the best coffee on the Mainland. Luckily, it’s in every establishment here.

On the way to the dazzling blue landmark mushroom, she realised she had no idea which café had Ilira-flake coffee. Or what it is.

It didn’t matter. She’d find those flakes no matter what.

The lunchtime didn’t make it easier, but the fourth café had it. Though it claimed as her work-lunch ration, leaving her nearly starving, she wasn’t upset.

She took two. It was soul food. A frustrated templar needed something to lift her spirit. Something tasty. Something Kele favoured. Something celebratory.

She took her first sip before leaving the colourful place she would love to stay in… if not for Kele waiting for… his coffee. Of course.

..And it was… majestic!..

Go away, bitter thoughts! Make way for this sweet, unthinkable, incredible, creamy, smooth avalanche! Bury us with your tastiness… Wash away our sorrows for a while.

They will return doubled due to coffee hangover… But later. Much later…

— Ooh! You brought it! Cheers! Makes my convalescing merrier.

Kele sniffed with joy and nodded approvingly.

— And quicker, I hope.

— I doubt it… — the truth officer cautiously turned down the frantic rush.

— Oh. Sorry. I take it back. I forgot you’re celebrating some rest… For the healing of our tired souls! Cheers!

They raised their bags. Kele’s was heavier, to Ami’s envy. But not for long. He took a big, greedy sip.

— Great… Yes… Think of it. Tastier food here. Visitors bring treats. That Mountain view alone! Gorgeous…

He joyfully took another sip.

— Don’t make me doubly envious… You know how this ends.

Ami narrowed her eyes, feigning a threat. Selva grinned.

— And? What would you do to me? There won’t be a second pit now. At least, not while I’m lying here.

— Nothing bad will happen to you. But I can’t restrain my rage forever. Mark my words — something extraordinary will happen at the Station soon. You wouldn’t want to miss it, having just second-hand reports about it?

— I don’t want to be there when it happens, either. You’re a rage-bag, you know. It frightens me sometimes.

He squinted slyly, looking inquiringly from behind the coffee bag he was sipping.

— It’s an instinct of self-preservation. I can’t just sit in a dark place, doing nothing wrong, while Milo keep burying me in my clay pit… As an HR professional, you need to be discerning when hiring people, and if you see rage in front of you, you need to realise that you can’t keep it bagged up for long. It will eventually burst forth, tearing everything apart. Even if you’re super diplomatic and all politeness, you’re still smiling and burying. That’s what you do.

Amelia compulsively lifted her bag, finishing her drink in one gulp. And immediately regretted that the last sip of this miracle had been taken in haste. And indignation.

— That’s very Milo. — the subordinate remarked conciliatorily. — All civilised, proper and friendly.

The Archivist glanced at him briefly and let out a tired, irritated breath.

— Speaking of Milo… I think I should go now. Miss him much.

— Ta. Good luck! Mind the pits.

— Oh, don’t gnat me off! Where would I find pits? In my cubby? Or the floor swallows me? My chair-worn drapes are in bigger danger.

— Wow-wow. Don’t hit me. I’m damaged already.

— Alright… I’ll wait for you to recover. Ta!

— Ta-ta.

Kele saluted charmingly. Could he be… less charming? It’s unfair.

…Especially now, safely out of reach on sick leave… And… utterly unreachable, considering Ami’s prospects.

For who was she? And where is she from? Kantine held no wonders like Omill’s. And she’s already in a serious relationship with her anger and melancholy. They knew each other well and were closer than her mother or sisters…

She exhaled grimly, tossing her ginger head irritably, and marched off, racing back to the Station.

And… the visit. Yes, it wasn’t perfect. But the view and the coffee were good. And neither anxiety nor claustrophobia seemed so crucial now.

Somehow, everything now felt… manageable. Worth coming for. Worth enduring these mad waves of joy and woe.

Ami smiled fondly. And a cold hand clamped over the flicker of joy, curdling it into icy stupor. What a bog-witchery.

“Whatever you imagine now… Look at him. He’s beautiful. Such men aren’t easily ‘caught’. Unlike you. And rarely stay alone. If ever.”

It’s true… Selvas are cute. Talk with elves. Go on interesting assignments. Make her worry… While no one would notice if she vanished.

Milo would grumble about finding a new Secretary. Her family would sulk over their wasted investment. Though it was clear from the start that relying on her was folly. Everyone reminded her constantly.

Amelia trudged gloomily into the Station, peered into Milo’s office for him to unseal her doom room, and slumped into her cubbyhole, staring at the tiny window.

Employee of the cycle. Hello darkness, my old friend. Here we are again.

“It’s better this way. No one should see us like this.”

“Yes. Your inadequacy now cloaked in shadow.”

Go rot.

“Snap out. Work resumes. They won’t let you wallow.”

Don’t need your pep talks.

“There will be plenty of disappointments. Don’t dwell on this one.”

Thanks.

“Skip personal dramas; the work won’t do itself.”

The only thing I’m marginally fit for… Right. Staying in our cubby, ignoring my needs, doing nothing significant, like a good employee, while real officers work.

…Why then? Why go on? This nonsense… Nothing would change… Ever…

— Ami.

…Oh, hello, distracting voice.

She signed out the visitor’s name heavily.

— Elsu… Reporting already?

— Aye.

— Quick.

— I’ve barely three lines. Nothing to report.

— I see. Any thoughts?

— Felt something odd near it… Don’t know. I’m not sure.

— But?

— Why disguise a pit so expertly and not fill it or leave it? Makes no sense…

— Ran out of time? Couldn’t be bothered?

— Don’t know really… Found nothing nearby. Questioned everyone… Waste of time. Maybe Finnian’s witches should’ve looked, but traces are likely gone… Physical ones washed away. Witchery fades fast. So…

Elsu shook her head irritably and trudged off. The contest for Most Disgruntled Officer continued.

— I see… Give it to me and forget it.

— Thanks. I will.

Ami swiftly held the report to the window.

She’d read it, then take it to Milo. Too much tasty information reached his bright office directly anyway.

The Archivist quickly scanned the tablet.

It was literally nothing. Kele’s cases were more attractive.

Soooo many lights without Kele ahead… But what’s the difference? He rarely graced her window anyway. She’d survive three fewer visits per minor cycle.

…Time to deliver it to the Chief.

— Milo. The short note from Elsu is here. She looked… totally baffled. So exhausted. Because of…

Milo grunted disapprovingly.

— Ami. Don’t start again.

— …I bewitched her from my melancholy cubby.

— I believe it. Maybe all these amnesias are your doing?

— Possible. Know so little about myself.

— Hand it over.

Milo snatched the tablet.

Ami planned to shuffle back to her cubby… But it was a small plague party in this epidemic of gloom. Voices hummed in the Hall as officers gathered.

Time for Irji’s wise advice. Coffee and sweets were cleverer than anything.

Officers, as glum as Ami, lugged cups toward the coffee pot. The gathering felt subdued yet warm and friendly, bringing a measure of calm. A silent feeling of mutual support. It carried her through the light, which finally, mercifully, ended.

Amelia left the Station.

Though unstable, the emotional gale seemed to ease. No longer swinging from despair to euphoric nausea — she felt drained. Feelings dulled. A numb indifference wrapped her. She hardly cared what comes next anymore.

A stroll in this state? Perhaps not.

Simpler to go home, eat, and rest her weary body. And be alone with her thoughts.

No. It’s not *simpler*. Sleep wouldn’t come. Restful sleep needed earning. Breathing felt laboured enough without adding confinement. Entering her kotti now felt like suffocation.

Ami walked, counting steps. A heated discussion raged inside again… But she didn’t care.

Likely nothing new. Thoughts came, thoughts went… Like her life’s events.

Her body trudged the familiar route, left the city, and drifted toward the big green Hill she didn’t notice. Her feet carried her, thrilled to be in charge.

The physical effort, heavier than usual, brought mental relief. Especially with the intriguing flowers and plants flanking the path, snagging her wandering attention.

Omill’s trees held a unique hue… like its sky. Noticeable as she climbed higher.

The walker stopped at a level spot, spotting the previously noticed pond with water lilies and a stone seemingly placed by nature for sitting. She sat, her bag under her, and sank into a blissful stupor, gazing across the water reflecting the sky.

Everything invited serene contemplation: the half-wild pond was beautiful, the city view splendid, and the air brought profound relief.

She could finally breathe freely. Become a breath, dissolving into it all.

Shedding the weight of “self”. For a while… But everything’s temporary. Voices were right. She dealt with a lot of frustration before. And. Where is it now?

All forgotten. Like it never existed. The same will happen to her whole life.

Happiness. Peace. Joy. Fleeting things. Brief flashes against gloom and hardship.

Gone in a blink. Worth noticing?

Probably. Not their length, but their frequency matters. Yet clinging shattered them. One could only immerse fully in each moment. Perhaps that was all the happiness life offered.

The icy chokehold loosened. She could observe her cherished sights undistracted.

The gradual illumination of Omill’s landmark mushrooms by their clinging plants and own soft glow. The sunset luminaries outlining the charmingly round kotties.

So hypnotic… Impossible to look away.

Ami “froze” on the vista, unaware the city, mushrooms, and distant woods blurred into colours, then into one bright smear… Time passed unmarked until her eyes refocused.

It’s properly dark now. Mushrooms shine so bright. Stars glitter above the softly glowing city.

…And now the wanderer realised she had half of Omill to cross.

She’d won this light’s fight with gloom. Her mind felt clearer, emptier.

But her physical strength? Barely enough to stand. Only collapsing seemed feasible. To sleep right here.

Amelia eyed the stone sceptically.

Unlikely comfy. Especially without bedding. Omill was warm, but the season was cool.

Like it or not, she must haul herself home.

Groaning, she stood, thanked the lovely spot for its company and temporary peace, and trudged home. Unaware, a silly tune looped in her head, hummed discordantly by her weary voices.