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Through the lace of dark curtains, the first rays of morning light made their way in. Feeling a prick of vague anxiety, Arlen, half‑asleep, reached out with her hand, searching until she found her son beside her. Gently and carefully running her palm over his small sleeping body, she took the opportunity to stroke his soft curly hair.
Silently, she got out of bed, put on a robe over her nightgown, and pulled the curtains tighter, blocking out the light so it wouldn’t wake the baby. Then, with a leisurely stride, she headed to the bathroom. Living long‑term in the same house — not a tent or a hotel — and carrying out morning routines with ordinary toiletries instead of camping supplies, still felt somehow wrong. She found it hard to get used to a settled, peaceful life, not to mention living with an illness that limited her mobility. Their glorious ascent had ended, and now all that remained was to learn to live with the gifts and curses the Tower had bestowed upon them along the way.
The 13 Great Warriors who had striven for the very top had hit a dead end and been forced to turn back. Like animals stucked in a cramped pen, they had fights with one another, but had enough sense to disperse to different corners in time.
Before, they couldn’t imagine life without each other, but once they had become god-like, something in each of them had changed. With power had come the desire to shine in the skies above ordinary people as solitary suns, holding sway unchallenged within the borders of their own lands.
Arlen wanted to believe that she and V would have led a more virtuous and less pompous life than the others. But before she could manifest her inner moral qualities, humbling her pride and setting an example for others, an unknown ailment had reduced her from a goddess to the status of a noble lady in illness.
She wished she could believe she wasn’t to blame for her own affliction: that none of the spells, brewed potions, or artifacts from ancient civilizations in her collection could have affected her health so severely. Yet she could never be sure. Arlen struggled with guilt over not remembering the early moments of her son’s life clearly, and over the fact that V had been forced to leave on a dangerous expedition to find a cure. She was frightened by memory lapses, by the haze that had clouded her recollections of the climb, as if it had erased the details of her life forever.
All this was too heavy a burden, but she was grateful to the heavens that among her old friends there had been someone who helped her find footing and took her in.
Hearing the familiar tinkle of a small bell, she walked to the hallway door.
“Good morning, Lady Grace. Was your sleep peaceful today?” On the threshold, as always, stood the benevolent ruler of the land they lived in.
“By your grace, my waking continues to be more peaceful and pleasant than my restless sleep,” - stifling a sleepy yawn before answering, she said, mimicking his old habit of speaking formally even with friends when he didn’t know what else to say.
“Unsurprising, since I stand watch over your waking state, while dream images come and go by their own laws.”
Han stepped inside, taking off his shoes at the threshold just as he did every morning before. He visited them daily, bringing breakfast. During their climb, he had made it a point each day to re‑braid his hair in some intricate pattern, but now, when he came in the morning, his hair was disheveled, gathered into a quick ponytail, or hanging in the remnants of the previous day’s style. Perhaps the depression of the journey’s end was taking its toll on him too, but Arlen preferred to think he simply put her and her child above his morning rituals.
When V had left, she had moved in with Ari Family, changing Floor 43 for Floor 94. The Graces had no servants to care for her; they hadn’t even had time to build a proper house.
Han was one of her close friends and also just a very good person who had helped her move, welcomed her warmly, and even managed to find a way to slow the progression of her illness and ease the symptoms. If not for him, she would have been bedridden and unable to care for her little one, so she was immensely grateful to him.
They had breakfast together, talking about everyday matters, plans for the day, her well‑being, the child’s health, the weather. From time to time, she thought she heard a baby’s cry and hurried off to the bedroom, only to return having confirmed the child was still asleep.
When he finally woke up, Arlen, without interrupting the conversation, sat down to nurse him in the living room armchair. She didn’t want to be like the snobbish wives of the aristocracy who hid nursing or even refused it altogether to preserve the “elevated image of the nobility". Han always reacted calmly to this, sometimes asking whether Arlen needed anything else for nursing or the baby’s comfort in general.
Arlen had seen a lot of people, but her little boy was the dearest creature she had ever laid eyes on. In his sleepy eyes, stars seemed to shine, and his quiet voice and babbling was sweeter to her than any song in any language of the world. How she wished V were by her side in moments like these.
As a first‑time mother, she still couldn’t decide on a name. She would have liked to discuss it with V again, but for now she couldn’t do so. They hadn’t settled on a name during pregnancy, and after the birth they had been temporarily parted. They had considered a name starting with “W”, continuing the tradition of the nickname “V” if it was a boy, and a name starting with “B” if it was a girl, following the logic of the next letter in the alphabet, but this time from “A” of Arlen. Since they had a son, “Wayne” somehow seemed the most fitting, but she still waited for V’s return to officially name the child. While they lived here, the two of them in the small house, pronouns had sufficed in their conversations with Han.
“He sleeps so much…” - she said worriedly, looking at the little one.
“How much should he sleep at this age?”
“I don’t know… Every child is unique, but what if I’m doing something wrong? What if I’m just a bad mother?”
“Arlen…” - Han’s voice sounded cautious, as if choosing his words - "You’re doing great, but you also need to take care of yourself and not strain your heart with worries. If you feel it’s too hard, I have people who could help look after him during the day and bring him back to you at night.”
“No.”
An unknown force made Arlen reflexively tighten her fingers around the child, as if she were ready for someone to try to snatch him from her arms. Tears welled up in her eyes, and a lump seemed to form in her throat.
“No,” - she repeated more calmly, catching Khan’s concerned look - “He must stay with me. I can’t let him go. I don’t know why, but I feel my heart would break into pieces even from one day apart from him, so as long as I can move at all, I’ll care for him. It’s hard to explain, but… perhaps only someone who is a parent themselves can understand.”
She remembered how Han had nodded understandingly, swallowing his words of concern, and hadn’t offered such help again.
They sat in silence together for a long while. When it came time for him to leave, she hugged him goodbye, habitually burying her face in the long strands of his blond hair falling over his neck. Han always smelled of gentle flowers and calm. He gently patted her shoulder and, as always when saying goodbye, told her she could call on him anytime or ask for anything she might be needing.
He was the only one who visited her in this house, the only adult she could rely on here. Arlen’s illness could only be kept in check under controlled conditions; she tolerated meetings with new people poorly, and old acquaintances weren’t in a hurry to visit her.
She and her child lived secluded, in a cozy house by a lake, surrounded by a vast garden with a hedgerow, marble columns, and fountains. A stone path leading out of the garden crossed a bridge over the river and then led into the forest, splitting into many trails. The son didn’t like the forest, and the atmosphere there seemed too gloomy to her, so they rarely went for walks beyond the quiet river.
In the distance, beyond the treetops, she fancied a strange building, a dark tower, as if shrouded in shadow even on the brightest day. Han’s gaze somehow began to look guilty every time she asked about it. He said that in the past it had housed either an altar or an observatory.
The structure had been abandoned long before he came to that Floor as a ruler, and due to the complexities of its archaic design, he hadn’t been able to either finish repairs or bring himself to tear it down. He asked her not to go there, as the building was falling apart and the old materials were covered in mold that released toxic spores. Arlen, for her part, had no desire to trudge through the forest carrying a child.
Each day followed a familiar schedule. She woke up, nursed the child, took him for a walk, played with him, fed him again, put him down for a nap, read books, did what housework she could manage, leaving the rest to Han’s people, who came to help with the chores while Arlen and the child were out walking, she rested, nursed him, took another walk, bathed him, and put him to bed for the night. Each day ended with a quiet lullaby; each morning began with gentle sunbeams. So their calm and orderly existence dragged on, Arlen’s condition neither improved nor worsened, but a certain boredom began to accumulate within her. Heavy emotions receded into the background whenever she looked at her baby, yet they never left her entirely.
She longed for V, sometimes sitting down to write him letters, but nothing more substantial than “I love you. Please take care of yourself and come back soon. Our boy needs a father” ever came from her pen.
One day, when she invited Han to take a walk with her and the child through the garden, along their usual route she noticed for the first time an unusual bush with soft‑purple flowers with yellow dots inside. It stood out against the green grass and looked unlike the others, the white, bluish, or pink flowers that usually grew here under Han’s guidance.
“How beautiful,” - Arlen bent closer and reached out toward it before Han could reach out to stop her.
“Be careful, that’s black nightshade,” - Han pulled at her sleeve in alarm, - “I don’t know how it got here, but be cautious, it’s a weed, and toxic too.”
“I like it,” - Arlen pulled his hand away and straightened up, - “I want it to stay. Promise your people won’t touch it.”
Han cast a wary glance at the flower and sighed.
“Only if you promise not to eat it.”
“Until you told me that, I hadn’t even thought about it… All right, I won’t.”
Over time, she began to notice more and more nightshade bushes around. Perhaps Han had decided to curb his overprotective nature and let it grow as she wished; perhaps the plant’s growth rate simply outpaced the weeding. Arlen’s memory didn’t return or grow clearer, but she thought she had once heard that nightshade had been used as a medicine in the past. She wondered whether it might help her ailment.
She trusted Han, but some voice inside her grew stronger toward night and whispered: “What if he knew this flower was the very cure you needed? What if he simply likes keeping you weak and confined? Are you really sick? You’re here like a prisoner in a cave, cut off from the real world. When V comes, will Han tell you about it? What if the way out lies in the old tower beyond the forest?”
Arlen brushed these thoughts aside. She distracted herself with caring for the child, reading, doing housework, and even decided to take up the basics of alchemy and latin script again. Days, all alike, dragged on one after another—until one momentous night.
For the first time in their small, cozy world, a thunderstorm began.
The day had been clear, but toward midnight thunder struck. Rain poured down in sheets. The wind howled, and in its wailing she clearly heard the cry and wail of an infant, keeping her from falling asleep. She kept checking her boy’s crib, but to her surprise he slept soundly, ignoring the noise outside. In truth, a dreadful thought crossed her mind, and she hurried to bend over him, pressing her ear to listen for his breathing and heartbeat. Everything was normal, but something still unsettled her.
Suddenly, a noise came from the living room: the window had burst open, letting wind and rain inside. Curtains flapped around, and books and small items began flying about the room. Arlen rushed over to close it. As she struggled with the latch, out of the corner of her eye she caught a faint source of light on the other side of the forest. Shivers ran down her spine. Someone was visiting the old tower.
Leaving a nightlight in the room with her son and kissing his forehead, casting a protective spell, she lost no time. She threw on a cloak with a hood and set off into the forest. Fearing to draw attention, she didn’t take a lamp and simply walked through the rain and storm toward the tower’s light. She sensed like the path she followed was lined on both sides with nightshade.
Her vision began to blur, and her consciousness dimmed and flared again with each lightning flash. The forest narrowed and widened before her, but she tried to keep herself together and ignore the strangeness. An unknown force beckoned her forward, toward the mysterious light.
At last, she reached the weathered stone structure, leaning over the cliff. In the dark, the tower seemed to writhe and shift shape before her eyes. The world around her grew hazy, but that didn’t stop her from finding the door and climbing the creaking spiral stairs upward. Every sound seemed to beg her to turn back, but she managed to reach the top and throw the door open.
In an instant, the noise outside fell silent. No rain, no storm, no wind. The room above was far more spacious than it had seemed from outside. The walls were smooth, as if made of marble; tall windows as high as a person, completely unlike the small exterior ones.
Lanterns made of suspendium hung on the walls, and imitations of stars shimmered on the high ceiling. The room was veiled in a light haze, vast and empty save for a large object in the middle.
There hung a cradle‑bed in the shape of a crescent moon.
Arlen didn’t remember how she reached it. She only remembered pulling it toward her and looking inside. Among the pillows and blankets lay, like a doll, a small child’s body covered with embroidered fabric, it looked same size as her son, perhaps a little smaller.
Unbelieving, she reached for it. Accidentally pulling the cover away, she saw a replica of her child: eyes closed, no breath, and a hollow hole in the center of the chest.
Arlen fell to her knees and clutched her head. It was as if she’d been jolted by a current. Her consciousness grew clearer than ever, and with an incredible headache, memories began to return to her. She started screaming and tearing at her hair, choking on her unconsolable weeping.
Everything, absolutely everything she had lived with here had been a complete, cruel lie. And the one who had kept her in this cage of illusion was none other than…
“Arlen! Arlen, you’re here, my goodness… Arlen, can you hear me? Look at me, Arlen! Arlen, everything will be all right, let’s go back home?”
Behind her, a tall figure in white robes appeared. She froze and stopped crying, raising a dark, hate‑filled gaze at him from under her brows. Han, who had been about to bend toward her, froze in place like prey before a hunter.
“You…”
“You.”
“It was your doing all along!”
He didn’t resist as he fell to the floor when she leaped at him and began to strangle his neck.
“Who do you think you are?! Am I some toy for you to leave in a plastic cottage and watch me play house?!” - tightening her fingers around his neck, she began bashing his head against the marble floor, while he kept looking at her with eyes full of shame and sorrow, eyes she wished she could burn out. Tears welled up again, but now from anger and helplessness.
“How could you… How could you lie to me about everything?! How dare you make me believe my family…!” - her breath grew short, - “That they were still alive?! Why did imprison me like that?! Answer to me, is this some torture from the monster on the throne, or did you decide to torment me yourself?!"
She forcefully pressed him into the floor, leaving a dent and a few drops of golden blood on the surface. Han didn’t even stir, continuing to look at her. When she finished and released her hold on his throat, he began to speak quietly, in a calm tone.
“My dearest, Arlen… I’m so glad to hear the ‘real’ you again. I regret having to resort to such methods, God knows I wouldn’t have done any of this if anything else had worked… I only wanted to help.”
“You’re lying again,” - Arlen whispered angrily, trying to make sense of his words.
“Arlen, I swear I’m telling the truth. Now… I have no reason to lie anymore,” - he turned his head toward the cradle, trying to avoid her piercing gaze, - “You came to my doorstep in a state of complete amnesia, holding a bundle with something heavy in your arms. I don’t know what exactly brought you to me, but I’ve never turned anyone away in need… To be perfectly honest, I didn’t remember anything about you except a vague knowledge that you were an ‘enemy of the Empire’. I recognized this from the spell you had placed on the child’s body.”
Han raised his eyes to meet hers again.
“I also realized you were no ordinary person, even among the Rankers… Few have contracts like those of the Heads of Great Families,” - the marks from Arlen’s fingers on his throat began to fade - “While you were her, you had... episodes where you tried to harm yourself, but no matter what desperate measures you took, not a single scratch remained on you. Moreover, sensing the Shinsu around you, fluctuating and coiling around, yet never integrating your body, like saltwater and freshwater of different densities that don’t mix... It was easy to see you were also an Irregular. I understood you were one of the secrets kept hidden in the name of ‘safety’.”
“And why didn’t you kicked me out?” - Arlen leaned back and sat down beside him, looking at Han with contempt and shielding the cradle with the child from his gaze, - “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always strived for safety and avoided taking risks.”
“I recognized the mark of Zahard’s blade on the child’s scar,” - Han said dryly, closing his eyes, - “Don’t misunderstand me, I would’ve found someone who could help you even if the cause of your suffering was someone else, but after seeing that, I realized I already knew too much. If I’d handed you over to someone else, they’d have faced problems too. I felt I had to learn more.”
“Such a careful gentleman" - she rolled her eyes.
“To be honest, I didn’t know what to do, but I knew that what happened to you and your child was my fault too. I found a spell that allowed me to look into your broken mind. I absorbed your memories and learned what had happened to us before, and what had become of you now. I know you don’t need my condolences, but what happened to your family shook me to the bone… I couldn’t stop the war you were fighting all those years, nor could I help you after it was over and you were promised peace. The only thing I could still do was find a way to help you come to your senses.”
Arlen snorted, drawing her legs up and hugging her knees. She began to sway slowly, trying to remember of what really happened to her after the day her son and V had died, but only emptiness echoed in her buzzing head.
“I tried every method to bring you back, but nothing worked. Even when I pieced your mind back together with a spell, it would fall apart again. The only way that allowed you to start thinking and perceiving reality again was to immerse you in a happy dream and block parts of your memories. Slowly, while in the dream, you began to react to things, speak words, use simple objects. You began to recognize… me, ask about things, you even tried to go outside and admire the view.”
“And you decided I deserved to live like this, in ignorance, locked in a limited world?”
“My unfortunate Arlen, you’ve borne so many hardships, and I only wanted to help. I couldn’t preserve your happiness in the outside world; I’m a helpless liar, and all I could offer you was an illusion,” - Han slowly placed his hand over his heart, knowing he had no right to touch her, - “Each time I created a world where your mind came back to life, but each time you found a way to realize it wasn’t real and then you would become inresponsive again.” - tremor crept into his voice, which he tried to control, - "Please forgive me for my presumption, for wanting and failing to save you. I’ll never be able to atone for all my other sins, but I want you to know I’ll never forgive myself either. If I could go back in time… I wish I would’ve stayed with you and protected you. Your child… the world was too cruel to him and too kind to Zahard.”
Arlen silently got up. She walked over to Han and, torn between the urge to strike him or burst into tears, embraced him, burying her face in his blond hair. She hated him as the Head of a Great Family and a servant of the Empire, part of the regime, a man too soft to side with the rebellion. But for the first time in many years, she was so close to him she accidentally saw the same sad and perplexed face, the same convoluted speeches about helping someone and the desire to make someone’s world better, exceeding his ability, just like her former friend had. Whoever the man before her was, he was the only one who could share her grief with her now.
"Arlen?.. Are you all right? Are you here? Can you hear me?” - Han said anxiously, gently patting her shoulder, - “If you want to keep strangling me, you’re doing it wrong.”
Unwillingly, she laughed, which frightened him even more.
“…Thank you. While I was ill, you cared for my son; you even covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t catch a cold. You’re very slow to figure things out with your decisions, but there’s still something good in you. When I tear this Empire down to its foundations, I might even let you live, but I can’t promise anything,” she muttered, pressing against him.
“Arlen, you’ve always been the kindest person I’ve known,” - he smiled sadly, finally able to embrace her properly and rest his head on top of hers, knowing there might not be another chance, - “Please, take care of yourself while you're at it.”
They stood like that for a while. Han pretended not to notice how she was crying, or that he himself had a lump in his throat. Calming down, Arlen pulled away from him.
“My son and I must go. We still have things to do.”
“I can’t keep you here another minute. If you need anything, come visit, I have the most delicious tea at my place.”
Without saying goodbye, Arlen took the child and left. Han remained alone in the room with the empty crescent cradle.
Arlen returned several more times, covered in dirt and whimpering like a wounded animal. Han never knew how much of her mind remained intact, but as long as she could grasp reality, speak to him, and didn’t try to harm herself, he didn’t dare put her back into the dream world.
At first, she wouldn’t let the child out of her arms, but after several decades, she began leaving him with Han, probably at the times when she realized she had to go somewhere too dangerous for him. She didn’t say where she was going or when she’d return, but she usually came back even more bloodied and with a crazed look in her eyes, clutching another cursed or blessed ancient artifact.
Han quickly gave up cautiously suggesting the child could be buried. The room of the crescent cradle had been both his nursery and his tomb.
Sometimes, when the boy stayed with him for long, Han sang to him, imitating the lullaby Arlen had once sung. He worried he was about to cross the line of sanity and join Arlen’s delusion that the child would live again.
He tried to think he wasn’t singing to a lifeless body, but to himself. Still, Han didn’t know whether he himself counted as a living person, and if they were both just bodies frozen in time and fallen out of life’s natural flow, did it even matter to whom the lullaby was sung?
Grace’s child wasn’t the only child killed by Zahard, but in the absurdity and inevitability of his death, he was unrivaled, clearest illustration of the King’s atrocities, a symbol of powerlessness of all the good that was left in the world. Han thought to himself, when he looked after the child, it was out of respect for the fate of one tragically lost to the adults’ war. It was resistance in it's own way.
One day, Arlen took the child and disappeared forever. Han didn’t know where they had gone. He could only pray to heavens for their sould to be reborn in a better place.