Dawn breaks over Rome’s clouded sky.

  The rays of sunlight peer down onto a broken city.

  The coliseum lies in ruin as protestors gather outside the Division Pza.

  The wedding banners have yet to be torn down, but the many murals of Adamus Atheneum have already been defaced. Almost everything depicting the Emperor himself has been destroyed.

  Although a vocal minority of his supporters fight to preserve the legacy of their figurehead.

  The roar of the Republic tourists grows louder.

  “We told you so.” They all say before fleeing to the spaceport, only to find it locked down.

  “No one can leave the city,” was the st order Gelmidas gave before locking himself inside the Pza with Vanessa Soryu and her husband.

  Borders and security checkpoints appeared at each entrance before the sun could rise.

  Division and Republic soldiers alike now stand on guard as the people they serve call out for war, and for the head of the Scorched Archer.

  Nadeden was st seen being led into the Pza’s holding cells, but there are many conflicting reports, and no one is sure what it is the Emperor intends to do with his former lover.

  All anyone knows about the whereabouts of Adamus Atheneum is that he is somewhere in Rome; that is all.

  Only a few even think of Cassandra Soryu.

  Some presume her dead. Most presume that she is hiding somewhere with Adamus.

  The truth is much more complicated.

  “I’m not going back for your violin.”

  “Why not?”

  “This city is looking to become a warzone, Cassandra. Not to mention that your Mother and Gelmidas have probably figured out that my Smith and I broke into the Pza st night.” The Mystic takes a bite out of a loaf of bread as Cassandra slumps down in her chair.

  The shirt that she threw on after abandoning her wedding gown catches on the armrest as she pouts. “If you open a portal, you could be in and out in a second.”

  “Well, judging from your body nguage-” The Mystic spits between chomps of white wheat, “You’ve already determined that you’ve lost the argument-” A wet crumb falls from her mouth. “So what’s the point?” The girl swallows her food and tosses the crumb back in her mouth.

  Cassandra looks on in disgust. “You need to chew with your mouth closed.”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  “I’m done talking to you.” Cassandra leaps out of her chair, shoving its wooden legs back under the dusty table. The action disturbs the pstic bag hanging at the end of the attic. It smacks into the wall with a thud.

  The man standing next to it quickly readjusts the bag and examines the red liquid inside.

  “Are you even sure that’s working, Smith?” Cassandra asks the pale man covered in scars, who has been watching over the unconscious body.

  “Blood transfusions were common for humans before elixirs made them irrelevant. I had to have one a few days ago after I arrived in Rome. If my sibling’s biology is anything like mine, they don’t need a specific blood type. The blood already in their body should adapt to suit their needs.”

  Cassandra leans over the bed. She curiously watches the blood work its way through the tube and into the thin, pale skin. “How is that possible? I thought that you two were just Machinists in normal human bodies.”

  “It must have something to do with their powers,” Mystic comments, tearing another piece of bread with her teeth.

  The man shrugs, “Probably. None of us know for certain, but it seems to be working.”

  Cassandra turns away from the bed to gre at Mystic, who chews loudly with her mouth wide open for the whole universe to see.

  “I’ll want to ask him some questions when he wakes up.”

  “About the Scorched Archer, I assume?”

  Cassandra hangs her head high at the accusation, “Perhaps.”

  The Mystic takes another bite of saliva-covered bread. “Whatever you say, fangirl.”

  The dry remark rings in Smith’s ears.

  The bedsheets twist as their dirtied body stirs.

  Something is piercing them. It’s stabbing into their human skin. But the sensation makes them feel safe. Almost warm.

  The metal calls out to them. Smith cws at it, ripping it from their skin to gaze on it and the strange trio that’s carefully watching them.

  “I wouldn’t-”

  Smith becomes alert. Summoning a dagger to protect themself.

  The act only drains them further. A chill runs along their arm.

  They’re low on blood.

  “Do that…” The Mystic finishes the sentence as she scoffs down her bread.

  Smith’s head is pounding. Their mind is racing too fast to think. They grip the dagger tighter, clinging to it. “Who are you people?”

  The man steps forward, rolling up the sleeves of his coat and pcing his palms together.

  He contorts his fingers into a ball as the blood dripping from his arms becomes an iron sphere in his hands.

  The dagger slips from Smith’s fingers at the sight of the metal. “How?”

  The man sets down the sphere and opens his coat, revealing the hole left by the consciousness transfer machine.

  Impossible as it may seem, another Machinist has managed to escape the Forge and the Rusting.

  Smith can hardly believe it, but they aren’t going to deny themselves this moment of triumph. They leap forward to hug their brother.

  “Smith!”

  “Smith.” The man pats his sibling's head.

  “How cute.” The little girl takes another chomp out of the loaf of bread.

  “I had a feeling this reunion would be a needlessly emotional one.”

  The girl hops down from her chair. She tosses Smith a chunk of bread and leaves the rest on the table. “You need to eat something. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and human bodies demand a lot of fuel.”

  Smith catches the bread and gazes down at her. She looks up at them.

  The pair inspect each other in silence for quite some time until Cassandra feels the need to speak up, “You could just tell him, y’know.”

  “But I wanted them to figure it out, it’s far more fun that way.” Mystic smiles as Smith turns to Cassandra.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “She’s been helping us, my Smith. Just as I helped you back on that ship all those days ago.”

  Smith shudders at the words. They slowly gnce back down at the Mystic.

  She twirls her silver hair and judges them with her uncanny blue eyes.

  “Mystic?”

  The girl nods. “Yes.”

  Smith scurries back up against the bedrest.

  The whole attic turns towards them as their heart drops dead in their stomach, only to begin rapidly racing as they run through the facts in their head.

  It can’t be them, can it?

  I found the Mystic rusting in that ship. I was trapped with them until they died, and then I was dragged back out and tortured by the captain.

  The next thing I knew, the captain cracked open the Mystic’s head in front of me, and the head asked me for a wish. All I said was “bring them back.”

  Nadeden told me that Davon got his ability to summon portals from a head like the Mystic’s, but how is that possible?

  The heads don’t actually grant wishes, do they?

  That’s ridiculous. Even if that were the case, it’s impossible to bring someone back to life…

  Smith makes the connection.

  Adamus is alive.

  Nadeden said he died and that Gelmidas has two of the heads with these powers.

  Did he use them to bring Adamus back to life?

  If that’s the case, then it’s entirely possible that my wish could have brought Mystic back to life, but-

  “Everything you’re thinking right now is correct.” Mystic crosses her arms. The attic turns to her now. “You were wondering if the wish you made was the thing that brought me back to life, right?”

  Smith carefully draws away from the bedrest, nodding their head.

  Mystic sneers. “Well, it was, although if you did want me in my previous form, you should have been far more specific.”

  “Why?” Smith nervously asks, finally taking a bite of bread.

  Mystic begins her lecture, “The rules of the heads are still unclear to me, but it seems like they interpret wishes in a very literal sense, and the more vague a wish is, the more it’s open to interpretation. I’m assuming that your wish was of the vague variety.

  Something simple and coming from emotion rather than logic, I have determined you to be the emotional sort after all. Because of this, I presume your wish was something along the lines of 'give them back' or 'bring them back.' Am I correct in this assumption?”

  Cassandra can do nothing but watch and listen in wonder at Mystic and Smith’s bizarre discussion.

  Cassandra used to think that she was an odd person, but this Mystic girl is on a whole different level of strange, and her answers have only given Smith more questions.

  “You’re right-” Smith says as they swallow the bread they’ve chewed and rise from the bed, “But that doesn’t expin why you’re so tiny.”

  Mystic steps on Smith’s toe.

  Smith hops up in pain.

  “That’s what I meant when I said you should have been more specific, you feeble-minded simpleton! The head saw your human body and ran with that assumption! It’s your fault that I’m like this!”

  “Wait…” Cassandra interjects as Smith caresses the toe that Mystic stepped on.

  “If he is the one who brought you back to life, and the head made you human because it saw that he’s in a human body, then how come you're a girl and he’s-”

  “I’m not a he!” Smith blurts out, stomping their healed foot down.

  “There’s your reason, Cassandra.” Mystic points at Smith, “This Smith doesn’t identify with the arbitrary bels of gender.”

  “I’m sorry, but what does that mean?” Cassandra squints at Smith, clearly confused.

  “Well, it’s hard to describe, but because I spent my whole life in a metal body, this human one just doesn’t fit me. So being called a man definitely doesn’t sit right with me because I’m just… not that.”

  Smith looks to their siblings, “What about you two?”

  The other Smith shrugs, “I honestly don’t care.”

  Mystic smirks, “I actually kind of like being female, although I do wish I were in an older body more fitting of my centuries' worth of knowledge.”

  Cassandra crosses her arms. “I guess it makes sense. I mean, plenty of species don’t have genders at all. But I can’t keep calling both of you Smith.”

  “Why not?” Both of the Smiths ask in unison.

  “Because it’s too confusing!”

  “A lot of this is confusing…” The thin Smith mumbles.

  “If it really is that difficult for you, Cassandra…” The other Smith scratches his chin where the small stubble of a beard grows.

  “You can call me Anvil instead.”

  Smith and Mystic gnce at Anvil.

  “Good name.” Mystic grabs her bread off the table. “That work for you, Cassandra?”

  Smith considers their brother’s new name. Anvils were what human metal workers would shape metal on top of. Humans would hammer the metal and force it to take a new shape.

  Ironically, Anvils themselves were made from metal.

  “Is there any special reason you chose that name?”

  Anvil hardly even thinks about his response. “I just like the way it sounds.”

  Smith smiles. Nadeden had said the same thing about her own name.

  Nadeden!

  Smith has been so preoccupied with these new revetions that they hadn’t gotten the opportunity to ask, “Where’s Nadeden?”

  Cassandra’s eyes widen.

  Smith is on a first-name basis with the Scorched Archer. The thought sends a jolt through her.

  She struggles to hold back the army of questions she’s dying to ask.

  Mystic tugs on Cassandra’s pants leg, whispering, “Me first.”

  Cassandra rolls her eyes and lifts her leg away from the child.

  Mystic strolls toward Smith, taking their hand. “Nadeden has been captured by Gelmidas.”

  “Then I’ll go rescue her.” Smith sps aside Mytic’s hand and makes for the door, light-headedly stumbling from their ck of blood.

  “I fear it isn’t that simple, my Smith.” Mystic tosses a crumpled paper at them.

  “Your friend tried to kill the Emperor and his son in front of everyone in Rome. If she were to simply disappear from her cell, it would only be a matter of time until they hunted her down again and killed her. If you save her, you’d not only be putting yourself at risk but all of us. Besides, we have bigger problems.”

  Smith folds their arms, resting against a wall. “What could possibly be bigger than-”

  “Pick up the paper and see for yourself.”

  Smith picks up the paper, unfolding it. “What is this?”

  Mystic hops onto the bed, “That’s what’s beneath the Division Pza.”

  “A child’s drawing?”

  Mystic smacks Smith across the face. “Now isn’t the time for jokes!”

  “Who said they were joking?” Cassandra dryly states.

  Smith smirks at her. Cassandra just cemented herself on Smith’s list of friends, while Mystic seems determined to never make her way onto it.

  “This is a serious matter of the greatest importance. My Smith, do you recognize the runes in that illustration?”

  “You mean drawing?”

  “Smith, you do realize that I could kill you with a snap of my fingers, correct?”

  Unsure if Mystic intends to go through with the threat or not, Smith focuses back on the paper. “Now that you mention it, the runes do look simir to ancient code.”

  Mystic takes the paper from Smith, pcing it back in her pocket before they can make anymore judgmental observations.

  “Indeed, they do. The container in that illustration comes from a temple on the pnet Terra-Draxus, one of the first human colonies. It and Frax both had a system of catacombs that ancient machine heads were rumored to be in. Based on reports of Magnus Ohavim’s death at the hands of Gelmidas Atheneum eighteen years ago, I learned that the te Emperor was in possession of this container, and after examining construction records within the first year of Gelmidas’s reign, I determined that Gelmidas had built a basement beneath the Division Pza to store this container. Now,”

  Mystic leaps off the bed, hopping to her feet. She takes a diagram with a long list of names off the dusty table and holds it up for all to see.

  “Here’s the important part and the most concerning.” Mystic points to Gelmidas’s name on the diagram.

  “We all know that Gelmidas Atheneum is responsible for creating the Rusting. He said so himself. We can also assume that the container inside the pza had at least one head inside of it. Had being the keyword here. Now we also know that,” Mystic points to Adamus’s name. “Adamus Atheneum has some sort of strange power to transform into a deadly creature and has bracers that keep it contained.”

  Smith nods. “I fought that creature; it rusted every piece of metal I summoned.”

  “It did?” Mystic drops the diagram.

  “I…” She stutters and begins to pace the room.

  “I was under the assumption that Gelmidas used one head and Adamus somehow used another, but-” Smith makes the connection before Mystic can.

  “If I used the head to bring you back to life, is it possible that Gelmidas used the head to bring Adamus back to life?”

  Cassandra winces at Smith, “But Adamus never died…”

  Smith corrects her. “Nadeden told me she watched Adamus burn alive right in front of her before she was exiled to Terra-gilma.”

  Before Cassandra has the proper time to react to the revetion, Mystic yanks a pair of pens out of a drawer and scribbles something atop the diagram.

  “If Gelmidas did use one wish to bring Adamus back to life as you say, then there would be no reason for Adamus to have his abilities unless the Rusting is tied to him somehow, unless…”

  She drops her pen. “No… It’s insane. However…”

  She snatches the pen back up and connects Adamus’s name directly to both of the heads. “Yes, of course!”

  Mystic holds up the new diagram with arrows tying the heads and names together in triumph. “Adamus is the Rusting!” She shouts at the top of her lungs.

  Everyone stares at Mystic like she’s the dumbest girl in the universe.

  “Uh…” Cassandra scratches her head. “What the fuck?”

  Smith shakes their head. “I’m with Cassandra, what are you getting at Mystic?”

  Anvil huffs, “I hate to agree, but the Rusting only affects metal, how could it be a person?”

  “Think about it.” She pressures all of them as she drops the diagram.

  “If Adamus did die in that fire Nadeden witnessed, and Gelmidas did indeed use the heads to resurrect him, let’s assume that a small chunk of metal was somehow inside of him at the time. Maybe he had been stabbed by an iron sword or been impaled on a steel beam. If that was indeed the case, then wishing Adamus back to life would be useless, and Gelmidas would have to make another wish to take the metal out of Adamus while it was still inside of him; therefore, the wishes would be intertwined, and reality would be rewritten directly around Adamus!”

  “Wait,” Cassandra sighs. “Are you trying to say that the universe revolves around Adamus?”

  The Mystic hesitates, lifting a finger, before pcing it down. “Well, that’s a bold statement, but let’s just put it this way: if this were a children’s fairytale, Adamus would be the main character.”

  “Great…” Cassandra groans. As if Adamus needed to have an ego twice the size it already is. She keeps the comment to herself.

  “If this is the case, does this mean that killing Adamus would undo the Rusting?” Anvil coldly inquires.

  Smith and Cassandra both look to him and trade expressions that say they aren’t willing to go to such extreme methods, at least not yet.

  Smith asks for a more straightforward solution. “What if we just find another head and wish to undo the Rusting?”

  “Hypothetically…” Mystic taps her chin in thought.

  “Both of your proposals might be possible, but undo is a strong word, and we don’t know enough about the nature of the heads or the Rusting to go forth with such permanent solutions, and I think we can all agree that nothing good has come from using the heads. Chances are, if we asked a head to simply undo the Rusting, it would interpret that in a way that would be devastating for the entire universe. With all that said, there is still one thing that is troubling me.”

  Mystic yawns, pointing to the empty circle on the diagram that now lies on the floor.

  “Anvil and I confirmed that the basement beneath the pza does exist, but we weren’t able to get into it because someone had pced a rune barrier around that area.”

  “But that’s impossible,” Smith cuts in.

  Mystic holds a hand up, indicating that she still has more to say. “Not if we assume the humans can use our magic.”

  Smith takes a moment to think. “I’ve seen humans use runes to store metal in containers before.”

  “Yes, but they merely copied those runes from the ones they saw on the containers. What Anvil and I encountered was something more complex… original even…” Mystic’s voice fades off in thought.

  Smith is more than familiar with how difficult Machinist spells are to master, especially those of the Schors, but they have met one person who used magic with ease: “I met an Elf on my way here. She had powers simir to the Machinist builders, but she didn’t tell me how she got them.”

  Mystic sticks a fingernail in her mouth, nibbling on it as she pores over the information in her head. “Fascinating. I believed that humans had learned to use our magic, but if other species have as well, that changes things. But if this Elf you speak of was born with her powers...”

  Cassandra takes a moment to think as well, but quickly dismisses the possibility she’s considering. The odds that Smith met Triminiv, the Elf of Death herself, are near zero.

  Yet it is still worth asking. “Was the Elf named Triminiv?”

  Smith absent-mindedly shoots off a passive, “Yes.”

  Cassandra can hardly believe it.

  First Nadeden and now Triminiv, this Smith person seems to be a magnet for significant figures, but that isn’t the point; the point is that. “Triminiv was born with her powers.”

  Mystic smiles at the words. “Excellent, that means my theory was correct.”

  Smith steps away from the wall, kneeling beside Mystic. “Your theory?”

  “Oh, did I not mention that?” Mystic snorts, waving Smith aside for beings so stupid.

  “It’s a strong possibility that there’s another Machinist in Rome, one that doesn’t want us seeing what’s inside that basement.”

  Exiled_From_Earth