It’s a bright day on Terra-Draxus, yet Smith is still cold.

  They had grown so accustomed to the heat of Ourobeel that they had forgotten the fact that a sun can still shine on a cold day.

  They couldn’t care less, though. Their skin is as icy as their true metal body once was, but the scar on their palm is warm. The bandana wrapped around it is warmer. It is a stabbing warmth. A reminding warmth.

  They rest that scathing warm palm on the counter that a Republic customs Officer sits behind.

  “I’m looking for an associate of mine.” Smith decres.

  The customs Officer informs them that, “I’m not sure I’ll be much help. We’re still trying to get the indexes sorted from the transfer st month.”

  “Were they Division records?” Smith asks, curious.

  “As a matter of fact, they were,” The customs Officer states as she pulls out the weighty tome of an index. Its cover is blue with a yellow flower. “The Division held Terra-Draxus longer than any other human colony.”

  “So why did the Republic take it now?” Smith inquires as the Officer flips open the tome. “Presidential orders,” She says, “Vanessa Soryu said she wants the Republic to have taken back all the Division colonies by the time she’s let off Tethaseele.”

  Smith raises an eyebrow, “And the Division has no say in this?”

  “Where have you been, kid?” The customs Officer nearly ughs, “The Division’s gone, Adamus Atheneum handed it over to President Soryu.”

  Smith removes their palm from the counter, tightening the stained bandana, “Why would he do that?”

  The customs officer presses her white-gloved finger against a page of the index as she chuckles, “Hey, Tethaseele’s a nice pce, and Adamus clearly doesn’t want to lead; chances are the boy just gave Vanessa the reins because he wants a vacation. Now what’s the name of your associate?”

  “Smith?” Mystic calls after them as they march away from the counter and out the door of the customs office. She rushes outside after them but is unable to keep their focused pace. She snaps her fingers in desperate frustration and hopes that no one notices her nd atop Smith’s shoulders as the portal fizzles away.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Smith struggles to stay banced with Mystic on their head. She yanks on what little hair they’ve grown and sps their brow.

  “What do you think you’re doing?! Or are you just not thinking at all, my stupid, stupid Smith!” She smacks their brow again.

  Smith snatches her by the colr of her shirt and tosses her down to the dirt. An onlooker gives them a dirty look.

  “My idiot sister,” Smith grumbles, knowing that it's the only good excuse they can give for flinging a small child to the ground.

  The onlooker shrugs and walks into the customs office.

  Mystic stands once the eyes are off her. “You’re the one who’s an idiot, my Smith! You didn’t even ask about Ryomen! No, the mere mention of that Adamus boy, and you’re running off to kill him!”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Wasn’t what my Smith? Wasn’t pnning on running away, finding a ship and going to Tetha-whatever its fucking name is to kill Adamus and get revenge for him killing the only human, no, the only person you’ve ever given a shit about? Don’t pretend like you haven’t spent the past month fantasizing about it, because everyone can see how fucked up and full of rage you are!”

  Smith shakes their head, running their bandana-wrapped hand through the short hair that Mystic disturbed. They sigh, “You're using a lot of foul nguage.”

  “Well, that’s because I’m fucking mad you dumbass!”

  “Why are you mad?” Anvil asks as he walks toward the customs office with Cassandra.

  Mystic points at Smith, “Right when they were about to ask about Ryomen Kaga, they took off in the other direction, all because the ignorant human they were speaking to mentioned the pnet that Adamus Atheneum is on.”

  Cassandra squints under the shadow of the hood that hides her face. She may have been reclusive during her time as Vanessa’s daughter, but the slim chance remains that someone might recognize her. Adamus may very well not be putting in the same effort to hide; even still, she has to ask, “Are you sure it’s him?”

  Smith clenches a fist, “I’ll find out.”

  Their voice cuts the air. There’s no doubt in it. No hesitation. Even Cassandra can see that Smith fully intends to follow through with the statement.

  They’ll find out if it's him, alright. They’ll find out by any means they deem necessary.

  That fact scares Cassandra. That sort of determination is all too familiar to her. That’s who Smith learned all this from, she thinks, they’re intent on emuting Nadeden the same way I tried to for so many years.

  “So you intend to simply leave us, sibling?” Anvil asks, holding the runed sword at his side along with a small pamphlet of some kind.

  “They better not.” Mystic tugs on Smith’s pants, gring up at them, “We need to stick together. As far as we know, we’re the only Machinists left in the universe. Adamus Atheneum is the source of the Rusting; he could very well be the Rusting itself, as I’ve previously stated. But we can’t go after him until we know what he truly is and what the heads truly are, and in order to do that, we must first discover how those runes got on that bde, and we’ll do that by finding Ryomen Kaga, so get back in there and ask that customs Officer if she knows where they’re located.”

  Cassandra and Anvil trade a gnce and a smile. “That may not be entirely necessary,” Anvil tells Mystic.

  “How so?” Mystic questions, hopeful.

  Cassandra pnts her hands on her hips, “Since Varaphis said Kaga sold him the metal, I figured that Kaga was a trader or businessman of some sort, so while you two were waiting in line, Anvil and I did some asking around of our own in the business district.”

  Anvil holds out a pamphlet. Smith grabs it and looks it over. “Well, that’s awfully convenient.”

  “What is it?” Mystic hops up and snatches the paper from Smith’s hands, “The Mori-Keeper?” Mystic reads, “Owned and operated by Ryomen Kaga. Well, I suppose we know where to find him now.” She hands the pamphlet back to Anvil. He has to bend down to take it from her.

  “It may not be as easy as we think,” Smith says, “Did you see the operating hours?”

  “I did.” Cassandra sighs in disgust, “It’s a nightclub.”

  Mystic clears her throat, embarrassed, “What does that mean?”

  “It means we may not be allowed to get in, and you definitely won’t be on account of you being…” Cassandra hesitates.

  “Short in age and stature?” Smith finishes Cassandra’s sentence, taking a kick from Mystic by doing so.

  “I’m older than all of you. I should be a wise old woman, not a useless little girl!” She kicks up dirt as everyone around her shrugs and rolls their eyes.

  Mystic sighs and recomposes herself, “Fine, I can’t go, and breaking into Kaga’s pce of business with a portal probably won’t be the best way to get on his good side. And I know you all don’t like it when I do things efficiently, so we’ll avoid an interrogation,” She holds up a finger and is sure to state, “For now.”

  Anvil nods. Smith folds their arms. Of course, Mystic wants to beat on another person for answers, she’s desperate for them.

  “I shouldn’t go either,” Cassandra adds, “I’ve kept my head down so far, but if I go into a pce as crowded as that, someone is bound to recognize me.”

  “I agree,” Mystic’s eyes dart between Anvil and Smith. She points at both of them, “It’s up to you two, then.”

  Cassandra squints at Smith and Anvil. She looks them up and down, examining both of them before stating, “There’s no way you two are going to be allowed in looking like that.”

  Ever since being trapped in a human body, Smith has taken issue with their appearance.

  The only exception was when they were on Ourobeel. During that long month, they mainly wore whatever fit them and gave little thought or care to how they looked. Anvil, Mystic, and Cassandra all had that attitude when they were traveling as well, but now, given the current circumstances, aesthetics must be taken into account.

  Smith once wondered why cloth had to be gendered. Now they wonder why cloth needs so many other categories and bels.

  However, they keep their curiosities and compints to themselves as they drape the tie around their neck and stuff their bandana into the pocket of a well-ornamented green suit jacket.

  Terra-Draxus is not a wealthy pnet, but because of its status as a prime Spaceport lying between two bustling sor systems, including the one home to the central Division pnet, it does have some very wealthy cities.

  The Mori-Keeper is the bustling nightclub lying within one of those wealthy cities. Smith and Anvil walk toward its warm, luxurious glow of torchlight burning on the sides of gmorous concrete architecture. The city's denizens ugh and joke amongst themselves. The elites all wine and dine as countless Republic Officers watch.

  The customs Officer told them about the occupation, but Smith would have never thought that it was on this rge a scale. How could Adamus Atheneum have handed all of this over to Vanessa Soryu? Because he’s selfish, Smith reminds themself, Adamus only cares about himself. He’s a monster.

  “Cassandra will have to be careful depending on how long we stay here,” Anvil states, scanning the rge crowds of white and red intermixed with hundreds of other colors of people of all species. “She’ll be fine,” Smith cims, “We won’t be here that long anyway.”

  Anvil adjusts his orange tie. He had settled on a rather expensive orange and bck suit combination, which Mystic’s portal funds easily paid for.

  Smith was initially uncomfortable with the idea of stealing, yet they want to do everything in their power to be done with this matter as soon as possible. Cassandra suggested they wear a bck and green suit combination to contrast Anvil. Smith begrudgingly agreed.

  Cassandra also said that it was probably wise to avoid wearing Republic or Division colors, and it seems that everyone else in line at the Mori-Keeper had the same idea.

  The nightclub is an extravagant brick of a cement cage. Its walls are carefully lined with gss filled with swirling water and flowing sediments, all illuminated by torchlight colored purple by powder as expensive as it is rare.

  Smith would call the four men at the front entrance bouncers, but guardsmen might be the more appropriate term. Three of them hold spears while one rummages through the bags of coin that are exchanged as payment. It is only when the coins are properly counted, and the ones who handed them over are properly searched, that the guardsmen decide to let the customers inside.

  The exchange and counting of coin goes well enough, but the security search is a different matter.

  Anvil left the runed bde with Mystic and Cassandra, which will undoubtedly make discussing it with Ryomen Kaga difficult. Still, Anvil expected a weapons search and therefore didn’t want to carry any weapons. Smith expected the same, but didn’t expect the guardsmen to be so critical of other things.

  “How’d you get the scar?” The man searching them asks upon seeing Smith’s palm.

  “Accident,” Smith states, annoyed.

  The man narrows his eyes, “Was it the type of accident you have often?”

  “Often enough.”

  Anvil gres at Smith, they shrug. It was indeed a stupid thing to say.

  “What about this?” The man pulls the bandana from Smith’s jacket.

  Smith scowls, “That’s a familial item.”

  The man stretches out the worn fabric, “Awfully bloody and dirty to be a familial item.”

  Smith twitches. They hold back the urge to make a fist and punch the man in the nose. I shall not raise my hand, they think, not here at least.

  “Well, we don’t get to pick our families, do we?” Smith huffs. The remark is enough for the man to fold the bandana and sp it into Smith’s chest, “I have my eyes on you.” He states as he opens the door for Smith and Anvil.

  The pair enter the Mori-Keeper.

  Music soars over the clouds of pipe smoke and the murmurs of the elite patrons. The walls of the club are painted as purple as the artificial torchlight. A well-stocked bar sits on one side of the club, and on the other lies the only thing not shining purple.

  A man adorned in a loose-fitting, elegantly detailed, and definitely expensive violet silk robe walks on stage to join the musicians. He works his way up to a pole lodged at the center of the stage. A shifting bundle of pulsating flesh rests atop the pole. He cps his hands over it. The sound echoes throughout the entire club. He cps again and again, his hands joining the music as he whispers, “Is it a good night, Terra-Draxus?”

  The club roars.

  Smith narrows their gaze on the stage.

  “Shall we ask the barkeep about Ryomen Kaga?” Anvil wonders. Smith leans on a wall, blocking Anvil’s path before he can continue to the bar. “No,” Smith says.

  “Why not?” Anvil asks as the man on stage cps his hands a final time and begins.

  “Stare at the stars with me…” The man taps his foot as he sings, “Watch them shine and gleam, off in the… distaaaanceee.”

  The music rises, bring as Smith whispers to Anvil, “Something tells me that’s our man.”

  “The singer? What gives you that impression?”

  The singer sways his head back. The bangs of his hair fall over his eyes, daring to touch his moustache as he smacks his lips together, “I’ll take you out there one day, my dear, into that big beautiful void! SAIL NOW WITH MEEEEE!”

  The drummer beats twice on a skin pelt lying across a pstic barrel. The sound rings out with the appuse of the crowd. All but Smith and Anvil join in the noise.

  “I’ll take you anyyyyyywhereeeee… My sweet dear, ANYWHERE! Anywhere is nooooot enough for you!”

  Smith slowly steps over to the bar. Anvil follows them. “Men tend to funt their power. Ryomen put his name front and center on that pamphlet.” They sit on a barstool. Anvil sits beside them. “An elite club, with a high fee to get in, armed guards outside, and one other thing…” Anvil scans the crowd at Smith’s words, “No Republic officers.”

  “Aaanywhere, oh, you stare anywhere! DEAR, YOU LOOK ANYWHERE! And half these pces don’t look as good as you…” The singer holds out his arms. His silk sleeves hang over the stage. Shadows lurk within the folds. “I took you anywhere, my dear, WE WENT EVERYWHERE, we still go everywhere, and half those pces aren’t as good as you…”

  The music trails off with the man’s voice swinging into a grand crescendo.

  “Cassandra would have loved this,” Anvil mumbles. Smith waves away the barkeep, trying to offer them complimentary gsses of water. “I think Cassandra has better taste than this,” Smith mutters, pcing their scarred palm on their chin.

  “Why did we go there? Why go anywhere? Why staaaay anywhere? My dear, I only wanted you…” The singer joins the crescendo, pcing his robed arms and hands full of rings onto the pole in front of him. “Why weren’t you satisfied? My dear? Now I open you among the stars… YOU’RE AWFUL! FULL OF FLIES! MY DEAR, WHY DIDN’T YOU STARE WITH ME?”

  The drummer beats the pelt.

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU SAIL WITH ME!”

  The drummer beats the pelt once more.

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU STAY WITH ME!”

  The drummer beats the pelt a final time. The violins, cellos, and flutes all draw out a final high note before fading into a short series of low ones.

  “We could have seen the stars…”

  The patrons all burst into appuse as the song trembles off into a low, steady melody.

  The singer bows, “Thank you, my Mori folk, and thank you, Terra-Draxus,” he rises, biting his lip and running a ringed finger through his mustache as he smiles, “I have been Ryomen Kaga. Now, if you would allow me to take a break, everyone, it appears as if I will be making some new friends tonight…”

  He locks eyes with Smith at the bar all the way from the stage.

  They remove their scarred palm from their chin and make it into a fist.

  “I guess you were right,” Anvil smirks.