Chapter 11: The Second Day

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It took some time for the reunited family to settle down; but it began with Ofelia and Annad happily pushing food into their hands. Day old bread, bruised fruits, and smoked meat that tasted of ash were passed around, and not one piece was turned down just because it was damaged. Star was confident that Keids had fed her family in the hours she had slept, but she hadn't eaten since the night before. She ate ravenously, even looking over other people's small handfuls and asking them which pieces they weren't going to eat.

"We made an important discovery, not too long ago," Annad told them while they ate. "I caught a certain young person trying to sneak off to look for something to eat, and – I don't know what I was thinking – I ran out into the street after her. I had hardly grabbed the girl by her sleeve, and... Well, a pair of the monsters came around the corner and spotted us."

At once, her husband looked horrified. "Isn't that what got you in so much trouble last time you were here? You, of all people, should know better!"

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry, dearest."

"And how is it you're both still alive? As far as I've seen, those abominations attack anything that moves."

"Things have changed since you looked, then," Annad insisted. "I was frightened, too, and ready to fight for both our lives. I was sure my unmarked face, at least, would be cause for something. But all the pair did was laugh at our fear. They called us ticks, and said that we were all the same. Then one of them kicked some rubble after us, but that was all. They went on their way and didn't pay us a second thought. Do you realize what this means?"

It was clear that few of them saw anything important in it. Mostly, they were upset with Annad and Vivi, both, for being their usual, reckless selves. Her brother, however, was thinking hard on it.

"They don't see any difference between human beings, one to the next," he reasoned slowly. "We are as alike to them, as they are alike to us."

"And so it is," she agreed. "Vivi and I went ahead into the streets after that, and gathered the feast you're enjoying now. A great number of people offered things, when we asked. As long as no one caused a scene or spoke too loudly, the monsters acted as though we weren't there; and they didn't give me a second's thought, even though I stick out like a sore thumb."

"The people are coming out of hiding," Ofelia continued for her. "The first broadcast said the lock down is lifted, and that we may go out again. But there is still trouble. Without Central Control to keep order, everything is hibruse – as you say, one big mess."

"Agreed, and very dangerous," Annad added. "Now that they can come out of hiding, the people are just like us: hungry, angry, and desperate. They're looting empty buildings, stealing from one another, picking through garbage for food and fuel. Even valuables with no real use are being pilfered. We saw it everywhere, while we were out."

Zamiel shook his head sadly. "But its freedom. More freedom than we've ever known. Did anyone ask of us?"

Annad just shrugged. "Here and there. Many were commenting about the sunset last night; I didn't know it was part of a coded greeting until Vivi explained it, and I'm afraid I still don't understand."

"A clever idea of my own, miss. The folk on our side know not to trust others who don't answer them in the agreed way. I'm sure they must have wanted to trust you, but now of all times, I don't blame them for being suspicious. I hope no one gave you a hard time."

"No, they gladly offered us anything they could spare. They wanted to be of help; they just didn't want to talk with us. At least, not to me. They were all happy to see Vivi; a few patted her head, and one woman even gave her a piece of candy she had found. That woman was weirdly glad to see her, now that I think of it..."

Then, seeing she had talked herself off course, she shook herself. "The point is, we can walk about safely in broad daylight, without sneaking around under cover of magic. Our clothes, our faces, the color of our skin – its been made plain to me that it doesn't matter to the things set to watch us."

"They are only here to keep the people from acting on any clever ideas of their own," Zeel reasoned. "If only the queen, or at least another human being were doing that job, they would have seen you and known at once that something was wrong. We have an incredible advantage, here."

"Maybe," Annad told her sternly. "Now the question is, what to do with this knowledge? Its only an advantage as long as they don't think there is a difference between us. No one outside this house knows seems of your little jailbreak, so far; but that could change at any moment."

"We need to think quickly, then," Zamiel decided. "Before they know to look for us. What we need is a way to somehow rally the rebels in the city, while we still have secrecy on our side."

"The radio towers?" Leah suggested at once. "They're live again, after all."

"That will take too much time," he answered. "The nearest station is on the other end of Southside, and it will be heavily watched just now, and there is no way to know what might lie in our way."

"Word of mouth will be best, then," Annad told him, as if she had made the final decision. "Your people may be suspicious just now, but they seem organized to me. You've trained the common folk well for this. As long as they know the right way to greet each other, they can get the message around in little time."

Zamiel raised an eyebrow at her, looking impressed. "You've thought a lot about this already," he noticed.

"I heard you like a good plan," she answered smartly. "As it happens, so do I. I took some time to study our maps and makes notes of what I saw outside, so I have plenty more ideas, if you'd like to take a look."

For the first time in days, Zamiel looked positively delighted. "At last, someone else who speaks my language," he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Take me with you!"

"I'll just be borrowing this one, then," Annad laughed to Ofelia, as she hauled the other woman's lover to his feet and toward the stairs. "Oh, you and I are going to have a lot of fun together. Tell me more of Central Control? I've been so curious, even since I was little, I could just die."

"Only if you will tell me more of the Arin lands. I, too, have been overly curious."

"It is a deal, my good man."

"Well, Central has changed a great deal since the last time you were here, let me tell you..."

And the two disappeared down the stairs to tell each other all their favorite stories and make more great plans. Annad and Zamiel hadn't known each other for ten minutes, and hadn't even been formally introduced yet; but they were already getting along like old friends, as Star had always thought they might. Working together, she didn't know what they couldn't accomplish.

"Its a little past three o'clock in the morning, by my reckoning," Zack Rivan said shortly, staring out the window at the night sky. "Whatever plan our friends arrive at downstairs, there won't be any sense in going about it until sunrise, at least. What are we to do until then?"

The silence that answered him was a heavy one. Many shuffled their feet and scratched their heads, wondering the same thing. The obvious thing to do was to sleep, while they still had time; but most had already done that for hours in the pirate's den, and weren't tired. At length, Allun broke that silence by clearing his throat and calling Vivi over.

"Be a friend and look through my pack for a deck of cards," he told her. "I never leave home without one, these days; one never knows when it might come in handy. I'll even deal you in first, for your trouble."

That idea seemed to cheer everyone up. A simple game of cards wouldn't accomplish anything in particular, but it would pass the time, and keep them from worrying through the rest of the night. Arin and Zebak alike were discussing which games they all knew how to play, and which ones they could teach each other, and arguing lightheartedly over who would play first. Zack Rivan was wishing he had a few dazi to wager, only for Zhena to swiftly remind of the vow he had made himself in the dungeon, to never gamble again if he made it out alive. Taking heart in that, he thankfully clapped her on the shoulder and sat down to just watch.

Star was glad of all this, but didn't feel like joining in. That feeling of numbness had returned, and now she didn't feel like doing anything at all, but also like she ought to do something. Mostly, she felt a great desire to simply sit alone for a while, without people hovering over her and asking how she was. Darn it, they already knew the answer: poorly, impatient, and still not fully comfortable in her own skin. While her family and friends were distracted with the card game, she got up and trotted down the stairs without excusing herself.

Her first instinct was to go in her room on the first floor and lock the door behind her. When she came down the hallway, she found that this was impossible. Her door had been wrenched open so that the knob had been torn right off, and sagged on a single hinge. Reasoning that she would still be by herself, she stepped into her room and peered into the darkness. It was so thick, all she could make out was hulking shapes, all of them in the wrong places.

She fumbled in the dark for the shelf behind the door, where a candle and some matches had been hidden and left untouched. In that feeble light, she saw her bed and its soft quilt chopped in two. Her desk and chair had been flung across the room, and now lay in splinters. The drawer with her pens and ink had been ripped out and thrown on the floor, leaving a very expensive puddle seeping into the wood. In her small closet, all the lovely clothes Leah had made for her, and her worn boots – as she had feared – had been torn apart and trampled on.

Not as though the monsters had been looking for anything in particular among her possessions. There was no purpose in it at all. Or, perhaps there was, if only because this sort of senseless destruction was all they knew how to do.

Star knelt and pushed aside the clutter of pens and ink, and dread gave way to relief. Just outside the black puddle, unstained and unbroken, was the favorite of all her tools. Crafted of the green plume of a Maris fighter, it was one of the few things she still had from her old life. It no longer gleamed, like it had when she had first found it, but it was still just was brilliant in her mind. It was the greatest weapon she had ever owned.

With some difficulty, she shoved aside the remains of her bed and pulled one of the floorboards away. Beneath it, the several journals she had kept of her own adventure sat safe and intact. So much had happened since she had started keeping them, she was halfway through a fifth one. And now she had so much more to add to it.

She felt that she had found a direction, herself. She made a small space amid the wreckage, and set the candle down on the floor. She sat in its light, opened her latest notebook, dipped the gleaming pen in the puddle of ink. And she did what she loved most in the world to do.

She began to write of how the world's fantastic marvels were reality. She wrote of history's very real wonders, as well as its sorrows, which had happened before her eyes. Thinking carefully and leaving out no detail, no idea, being as truthful as she could, Star wrote more of her own story.

She had no idea how much time passed in blessed solitude, as she carefully, honestly chose the words to tell her tale; ink was difficult to erase, after all, and she only had so much left. When she had begun writing her father's tale, it had often been difficult to find the right words for his struggles. She had often labored for days, knowing full well which words to use, but strangely frightened of putting them on a page and making them tangible. She had overcome that fear long ago. Today, after all she had seen and done and the terrible numbness that filled her, she felt there was nothing too powerful for her to put into written words, to make real for others. A kind of magic she had always possessed.

The candle had burned quite low, by the time a timid knock came on the gaping door. Shaken back to the present from her writing, Star gasped and looked up, and saw a small figure in the dimness. Zizi was standing outside her room, watching her warily, as if afraid to disturb her, but too concerned not to ask.

"Star, you've been – you've been gone so – its been a long time, and – and everyone's all worried," he mumbled. "Are you – you going to – are you alright?"

She set her pen down with a shrug, unable to turn him away. "I suppose I feel better," she answered dumbly. "How is everyone else?"

"Better," he agreed, with a wisdom she had never seen in him before. "Zione finally – she won! She beat – no one could beat Allun. He would always win. But Zione did it! She was really proud. They all were. Vivi couldn't even – she didn't do it. Not even once. She was so mad."

Star had to smile. "He's always been the best at card games... How many games have they played?"

"A lot," he answered, feeling safe enough to come inside and sit next to her. In his small hands, he was still clutching the garish diadem, unwilling to let its most valuable stone out of his sight. "They've been – for hours and hours. I think its been – it feels like days and days. Don't you want to – they all miss you. And Leah said that you – you could have done it. If you had been on their team, you could have – you would have won. Leah said so. She misses you. So do I. We all do."

Star gazed at the open book in her lap, thinking of all the progress she had made. Once upon a time, disappearing like this would have made her feel guilty. She would have been sorry for worrying her family, and sad to have missed out on their fun. She was changed enough now to not feel sorry at all for needing her space.

"I didn't mean to upset her, or anyone else," she apologized anyway. "But I've gotten a lot done on my own. Look, see? I'm nearly to the part where we make it home."

She let Zizi look over the pages she had filled, inwardly glad that he still couldn't read as well as she could. To have him chance across the passage where she had hacked a man apart, like their home had been, and to have him fully understand the words, would have crushed her all over again.

As she had expected, he flipped through those pages without really reading them. Instead, the boy seemed to just admire her neat handwriting, and how tidy the work was. Zizi had always liked looking at her work, even if he couldn't read it. He had always said it was nice to look at, and that it made him feel good about himself. More of the magic she had had all along.

He looked up at her after a minute. Really looked at her, as if searching her face for something. He reached up and thoughtfully touched her short-cut hair, staring at it in a sort of confusion.

"I like it," he said. "It looks – you look good that way."

Not one person had commented on her hair yet. Star had nearly forgotten about it, herself. She glanced over her shoulder at her mirror, thrown against the wall and badly cracked, and finally looked at herself for what seemed the first time in an age. The face that starred back was dark with angst and fear, and the bright, pale blue eyes were red from weeping. Lopped off with a cheap blade and still sticky with products from the ball, all that was left of her mane was a bizarre mass of matted tangles. She looked so changed, just like her father was; and so, in a new way, she was still his spitting image.

She recalled looking in a mirror the first time her false mark had been stained in place, and had felt as though a stranger had been looking back at her. She had grown used to it, though, and even to like it. She had looked in a different mirror, the night before last, with her hair curled and her face layered with cosmetics, and felt that same sensation that she was looking at someone else. She felt it more so than ever, now. It was hard believe anyone had recognized her.

So it was no wonder Zizi sounded so confused. No one could quite picture her without the long, flowing locks she had always been so proud of. The hair of a maiden, innocent and naive of the world around her, untouched by its dangers and evils. The hair she no longer deserved, then.

"It suits me," she mumbled at last. She only realized that Zizi had been trying to cheer her up when he pulled his hand away and fiddled dumbly with the diadem instead. He seemed disappointed that his well-meaning attempt hadn't worked.

"Can I see that?" she asked, holding out her hand for the diadem. Trusting her completely, Zizi nodded and passed it to her, though he did so with some reluctance. Star could feel the Deep Magic it held humming as soon as it touched her skin. In the candlelight, gold and iron shone, and precious gems winked like fire. The metal and stone alone were worth a fortune, or maybe a kingdom; but it was only a headpiece. Anyone could wear the diadem and claim to be important, but those pieces could all be picked apart and sold without a thought. It was no more than another shiny, like Vivi's collection.

Trembling with reverence, Star touched her fingertips to the obsidian talisman. It was so alive inside, burning with a magic so fantastic, so majestic, it robbed her of words. It made her feel at home, the same way as the Earth sigil had. With Zebak blood in her veins, she was heir to its magic as much as any of them. But only one person in the world could claim the magnificent stone's real power.

"I'm so sorry that it had to come to you this way," she sighed, handing it back to its rightful owner. "It isn't fair to you."

Zizi surprised her by shrugging, as if the whole thing was simple. "Its alright. I – I like it. I met the Titans! They were all – they're all my brothers now. I never had a brother before, and now I – I've got three! Rowan taught me to meditate and – and Mithren said to call him just Meeth, and – and Doss says I'm wise and have good ideas."

Then he smirked and lowered his voice as he said, "Rowan says not to call him – I'm supposed to call him the Keeper, but – don't tell him I didn't, okay? I think its dumb."

Star couldn't help smiling back. Zizi may have become a Titan since she last saw him, but he hadn't changed a bit.

"Your secret's safe with me," she promised.

He grinned his thanks, then became serious as he looked lovingly at the diadem. Or, rather, at the obsidian. "I can – I think I can do a good job," he said. "I just want everyone to be happy – everyone, not only us. It just want it to be right again. Like it used to be – in the stories, where its all – where they all live happily ever after. I want to do it. And Doss said its how – its why we get picked. Oh no, I did it again... But he said its why – its what it looks for. The Deep Magic. It likes that, and it – it looks for it, and it finds it in – when we come along. And that's all it – that's what really matters."

"I just wish it hadn't fallen on you, Zizi. Deep Magic is a heavy responsibility. It can be such a burden, at times, and you are such a little boy. Its going to be so hard for you."

Zizi tilted his head at her. "Why? Because it was for you?"

There it was again. That new wisdom, which had certainly come from the talisman. The other talismans – the Arin sigil, the Traveler pipe, the Maris crystal – were also like that. They never chose the equipped, the strong, the obvious. Instead, they always equipped the chosen, the humble, the ones they trusted to wield their power for good. People like Rowan and Mithren and Doss, and now Zizi, who longed for peace and unity and justice for all, not just for some.

People who understood that this was the way the world was supposed to be. People who could see that bigger picture and delight in it. People who were brave enough to put that first, and fight for it, where others would use that power for themselves.

"I know what it means, Star," Zizi went on. "I'm gonna – I get to be king, now. That's pretty amazing. I don't – I'm not sure how I'm – or what I should do next, but we'll all – we'll figure it out, I guess. We always do. And we always win. Like Allun wins at cards. But first, I – I already know what to do right now."

"Really? And what's that?"

Zizi hugged the diadem close and beamed at her. "I'm gonna use the – I'm gonna fight the Dragon Lord! With Deep Magic! Her magic is fake, but mine is – its real. Really real. I don't know – well, I guess no one knows how yet. We'll know when we see it. But that's okay. I'll use my magic to fight, and – we'll be alright. We'll all be alright. I promise. A king's supposed to – kings protect their people. They love their people. And boy, do I love mine. All of them! I'm gonna use my magic to keep them safe. That's all I know. That's okay, too."

And so it was. He made it sound so easy. He had only been Titan for two days yet, and had so much to learn of magic; but he strangely understood it better than anyone else Star had ever met. Because he was just a child, he was able to believe in its beauty and wonder, and simply trust that it would prevail. Moved by all this, she put her arm around him and pulled him close.

"The faith of a child is a remarkable thing," she commented. "Too often, we take it for granted. You know, the very day you appeared in Ofelia's attic, I got a funny feeling about you. Somehow I knew you would turn out to be far more than you seemed. I certainly hadn't expected it to be all this, but I'm glad it did. You were well chosen, Zizi. I daresay, there was no one better for the job in all the land."

For a long moment, they sat together and enjoyed that knowledge. Then Zizi jumped to his feet and tugged at her arm, trying to haul her up.

"Come here. Look at this. You're gonna – I bet you want to see."

Unable to turn the littlest Titan down, she let him pull her up and out the door. He led her through the house and into the common room, where she was surprised to find she could see her way without her dying candle. He brought her to stand in front of the wide, broken window, where the sad, empty street sat sullenly outside.

"The sun is rising," he said, pointing out at the sky. "There's clouds, but – but its there. You can see. Its morning. A whole new day."

Just as Star was taking heart in this, a din erupted from the kitchen. Annad and Zamiel had been there, quietly working on their plans. All at once, a host of other familiar voices had joined them, along with the sound of the backdoor creaking open. Zane and Zirita had returned, and not at all alone. Star also heard Misha, and all three of Zane's children crying and babbling in fright. Curiously, she also recognized the voices of Seth and Spencer, who ran the rebellion's secret presses, and the voice of Porii, their grandmother.

They were alive. They were all alive! Star and Zizi left the window to peer into the kitchen, and it was impossible not to be cheered by the gathering there. They were by turns rattled by all they had survived, overjoyed to see their leader, and alarmed to be suddenly face to face with Annad of Rin. None of that had stopped her from holding out her hand to the children, saying hello and asking their names. The two little girls had shrunk away in fear to cling to their father, and their young brother went on wailing in his arms, refusing to be comforted.

Zane heaved a terrible sigh and held his children closer. His whole body was ridged, and his eyes were downcast.

"My wife is dead," he announced, sounding dead, himself. "She defended our children to the very last... It wasn't enough, but she gave everything she had to keep them safe."

"The same can be said of my husband," Zirita added, resting her head on Misha's shoulder. "Korus never had anything to do with the rebellion, but they cut him down, anyway."

"Not before he saved my life," Misha went on. "We heard them coming, and he pushed me and Lola both into a cupboard behind a closet in his office. It was just in time, too. They missed be by a breath, but Lola... She wasn't fast enough... Korus never stood a chance. I think he knew it, too. He tried, but..."

"It wasn't enough," Zamiel finished, devastated as his friends were.

"We escaped by a miracle, ourselves," Spencer added quietly. "We weren't going anywhere, until our grandmother said she had a funny feeling. Something deep in her bones, telling her to just go. So she followed it, and we couldn't think of leaving her, so we followed, too."

"And it led us to Zane's house, of all the fortunate places," said his brother. "We don't know how she knew to go there, but... Anyway, it was nearly perfect timing. The children were hiding for their lives, and would have been all alone if eb'ati hadn't thought to go there."

Zirita peered at the brothers gravely. "And surely it put you safely out of the way for an attack of your own," she guessed. "Have you been back...?"

To this, Seth shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Its only three generations worth of books and rarities, and a few patched-together presses. It can all be replaced, in the years to come. The important thing is, none of us were hurt."

Which was a blessing, compared to what their friends had lost. But Star looked over the faces of the three librarians, and saw that they were hurt, indeed. Their livelihood, and the work they were all so passionate about, had clearly been destroyed like everything else. Star felt her heart sinking for them, as she recalled the many books she had borrowed from them, and all the pleasant afternoons she had spent with them in the past.

In fact, it hurt so that she gasped before she quite knew it. Just like that, all eyes were on her and Zizi, and it all began all over again. More relieved reunions. More awkward introductions. More explaining that the rest of her family was there. More people asking how she was, and more having to answer that she was okay when she clearly was not. But what else was there to do, really, to fill all the time they had?

Bhlai House was suddenly very full, she realized. People of all ages, shapes, and colors were crowding into it, as if they were drawn to it. Star supposed it made sense; the house had become their base, and the rebels were used to gathering there for all manner of reasons. Still, it worried her that they might come flocking to the place as if it were a beacon. There was little food, few supplies, and next to no cheer to go around. If they came looking for hope and answers, they would be bitterly disappointed.

"How are all your plans coming along?" she asked her aunt, looking over all the papers on the kitchen table. It seemed a cluttered mess to her; but Annad appeared to know what each paper was, and picked one up right away to show her.

"We've made a lot of progress. It's nice having someone who knows which resources are where. Look at this one," she said, pointing to where buildings on the map had been circled. "Military storehouses. Powder and ammunition for cannons will be stored in them, among other useful things. Zamiel believes those doors will be sealed by magic, but that is clearly no problem for us. We can arm the common folk, and take control of the walls this way."

In spite of his own grief, Zane had paused to listen and was thinking it over. "I believe you will find the cannons in disrepair, these days," he cautioned. "With the advent of magicite technology, such things are being abandoned. The stones are far easier to transport, and don't require a store of ammunition. I'm afraid the cannons left on the wall are mainly for history's sake."

"Yes, we've already discussed this," Zamiel agreed heavily. "But they're hardly ancient, and neither are the stores in those buildings. They can still be used to some effect; as a distraction, perhaps. Besides, the people will prefer to do something at least appearing to be productive, than to do nothing at all. That mission could put some of our hotter heads to work and out of the way, before they do anything foolish."

Annad stared at the map, and then smiled humorlessly over it. "It's a strange and funny thing. Zebak cannons are legendary in the west. They still tell tales of them that give even the boldest children nightmares; I had a few, myself, when I was small. Hard to believe the damn things have been retired and put on a shelf. Hard to believe someone's found a way to kill people faster..."

Hating to see her aunt this way, Star gripped her hand. "There's one big difference, though," she said. "Cannons can't heal. Cannons can't undo their own damage. Cannons can't be used to make the world a better place. Magicites can. They've been used to harm others, certainly; but I've also seen them used to save people. Someone with a magicite in hand has a choice. A cannoneer does not."

Except for now, perhaps. Very soon, those cannons would be used to make the world better for the first time. The more she thought of it, the more Star liked this idea. In fact, she wondered if Zamiel might let her have a hand in leading that mission, if she asked. Now that she was rested and had some strength back, she felt more like her old self. More like one of those hotheads who needed a useful task to fill their hands with, before they did something disastrous.

A crackling noise in the corner caught her attention, and she looked to see that the one working radio in the house had been placed on the kitchen counter. No doubt someone had brought it to Annad and Zamiel, so that if there was another broadcast, they would know it first and add that knowledge to their plans. As it was, they were both thrilled to hear it.

"It's been dead silent since midnight," Annad commented. "How do you get it to do something helpful?"

Before anyone could answer, Pila – Zane's eldest child – stepped forward and began turning the dials without being asked.

"Like this," she supplied, making sure the woman was paying attention. "You've got to turn it, and turn it, until you can hear it clearly. See?"

It must have made Pila feel a little less small to know something which Annad fo Rin did not. She didn't seem proud or impressed, though; just baffled, as if she were explaining to this grown person how to add three and four to make seven. Annad simply smiled and said thank you, as she took her place at the table with the other adults to listen.

As was the custom with the Zebak, the grown folk were sitting on the long benches around the table, while the children settled themselves respectfully on the floor. Even Zizi, their new Titan and King, sat with his friends on the cold, dirty floor. He stared meaningfully at Star as she tried to sit with them, and she realized that he had done this to leave a space for her.

Because she was 16, and grown, by the laws of this land. Feeling awkward, she slid onto the end of the bench beside her aunt, wondering if she belonged there, after all. Meanwhile, the radio signal still wasn't clear, and Seth and Spencer were fiddling with it in vain.

"What if the wires are scrambled?"

"I don't know, the lady said it came through last time."

"But that was last time. Maybe it was dropped or something, since then?"

"Stop messing with the tuner dial, man, I could almost hear it properly that time."

"Did you try flipping the back switch on and off again?"

"That's stupid."

Tired of their fussing, their grandmother forced her way between them, brandishing her cane to scare them out of her way.

"Takusk – you smack," she proclaimed in her thick accent, hitting the radio smartly with her cane. As if by magic, by law that mothers must always be right, the signal became clear. A familiar jingle heralding the morning news was playing, and Porii was looking very pleased with herself.

"There is your box, all fix," she dismissed, taking her seat again. "Now we hear. And they hear. Maybe we die soon," she complained, as always. As she sat down, the jingle ended, and a voice took its place.

Not the usual voice, though. They were all used to the confident voice of a trained newsman on this channel, ready to begin the morning report every day at seven o'clock. The voice was different today, but not unknown. It belonged to that popular gossip columnist, who had successfully take that column from the papers to the radio stations, with mixed feelings from the rebels. No one wished her ill, but many found her obnoxious, even sniveling, when the queen came around; and none of them appreciated her ever-changing theories on who and where they were, and what they might be up to.

The woman's tone was normally simpering and overly bubbly, as though her head was full of hot air instead of brains. This morning, it was quavering and timid, with the sound of someone reciting words that had been prepared for her. She was trying to sound normal, Star could hear it; but she sounded terribly afraid.

"Good morning, citizens. It is seven o'clock in the morning, of course, after another night of chaos and turmoil in the city streets. An uneventful night, however, in spite of curfew lifting earlier than anticipated. This curfew, planned to lift later on this afternoon, was moved ahead to earlier this morning, as many have already heard. The Dragon Lord, in her graciousness, has allowed this for the certain few to, in her own words, gain a head start in their survival. Truly, a blessing for which we all can be grateful."

She usually praised the queen like this on purpose, and always sounded sincere about it. Today, she only sounded blank and hollow.

"The state of things is still as frightening as it was yesterday, with very little to report. The Central housing district in Northside has been all but burned to the ground, with similar districts in other areas left little better. An estimated 4,000 officers have since been arrested – a staggering 1,500 increase from just last night. This does not account for the nearly 2,000 Central children repossessed, nor the unnumbered household servants seized in the last two two days."

Annad gasped and clenched her fists. "That was why people were so glad to see Vivi," she realized, looking ready to weep with dismay. "I thought it was odd to see no other children about, but I thought nothing of it then..."

She was unused to hearing people spoken of like own-able property this way. Star had been revolted by it in the beginning, too, but had learned to tolerate hearing it. There was little to be done about it, in this place. Seth held his finger to his lips, begging her to be silent, and turned the volume up.

"In the meantime, citizens can rest assured that the traitorous rabble of Central Control is being dealt with, properly and orderly. Our benevolent queen wishes her people to know that they will never be cause trouble for us again. Since their flawlessly orchestrated capture, some 2,000 have been done away with for their crimes against our queen, with only a handful remaining to be, in her words, put away."

Zamiel's mouth fell open. "2,000?" he gasped, horrified. "That's more than half of us! I could have stopped this..."

Zirita gripped his hand, and shook her head gravely. "No. No, you couldn't have."

All heads bowed in sorrow. Zirita was right. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent Central Control's capture and slaughter, and it was pointless to blame themselves for it. They had only done their very best with what they had been given. What more could be asked of anyone?

"This was a mistake," Zamiel whispered. "A terrible, terrible mistake. I should have known better – that nothing, nothing can stand against the Dragon Lord. I should have left my grand ideas in my own stupid head, where they belong."

Annad tried to reach across the table to him. "Zamiel, don't – "

"Our city wouldn't be destroyed," he babbled. "Our people wouldn't be dying. Our children would be rounded up and herded away like dumb beasts. Nyoma, and Korus, and my little brothers would still be alive! I wish I had never started this rebellion. It's only led us headfirst into our own doom. I wish I could turn back time and talk some sense into myself!"

And to that, Zirita scowled and shrunk away from him. Star had never seen her particularly angry before. Now, she looked absolutely furious.

"Then I wish I could turn back time, and tell myself to start it in your place," she told him, an uncommon coldness in her voice. "I knew even then that something like his was bound to happen, and it frightened me to my very soul. From where I stand today, I would rather lose everything fighting, than let my old, sad life go on another day. This is a dark day, Zamiel, and we've already lost so much; but we've lived to see others, and we haven't lost everything yet. I'll be damned before I see you give up like this!"

The rest all shared her feelings. Star could see it by the fire in their eyes, fueled by all their sacrifices, and a growing desire for revenge like her own. But Zamiel had suddenly become so small, as if he was trying to disappear altogether. He had carried the weigh of the rebellion on his own shoulders for so long, and had carried it so well; and now, he was crushed under the weight of his failure. Perhaps it would have been odd if he wasn't wishing himself and all his friends back in time.

Star chose to allow it for now. There was no reason to try and console him; it would only seem cruel to do so, while all he could feel his consuming guilt. She knew that Zan would never have stood for such talk. If he had been there, he might have slapped his oldest brother across the face and snapped at him to pull himself together, though it wouldn't have helped anything. Even if she was holding his place, she couldn't think of doing that to him now.

She couldn't help wishing she could go back in time, herself, as the reporter went on and on about the damage and casualties around the city. If she had known what would happen next, she would have hugged and kissed Zan a few more times. She would have given anything to tell him how much she loved him, just one last time, before he had been sent away to die in the wilderness. As it was, she couldn't remember the last real word of any consequence she had said to him. But it hadn't been a goodbye, or a promise to meet again, or anything of value. Whatever it had been, it hadn't been worth remembering.

The last time he had seen her, she had been shaking and weeping with fear, laying helplessly at the Dragon Lord's feet. He had been devoured alive by a savage beast by now, believing that his sacrifice for her had been in vain. Believing that all his hard work and changes of heart for his brother's rebellion had been for nothing at all.

The idea made Star want to cry, but she pushed that grief away and let it fuel the rage in her belly, instead. Zan would never know that she had survived to fight again, but she was determined to honor that. They had promised each other that they would never give up, even if the worst happened; but the worst had happened, and she had endured, just as she had promised. There was nowhere left to go but straight ahead, now, and she refused to look back a second longer.

"That concludes the morning report," the reporter was saying, her voice loud in the heavy silence. "Now, for the weather. And... Well, my goodness, what weather we are having today. Not quite clear enough to see last night's sunset, I'm afraid; the clouds still haven't lifted, even enough to see the sunrise. But perhaps it will be clearer this evening, and we will see the sunset tonight? I'm sorry, I'm not really the person for this..."

She was no weather expert, to be sure; but it was the most riveting weather report any of them had ever heard.

"Did she just say what I think she said?" Misha exclaimed. "Or was I dreaming?"

"The password," Zane agreed. "She knows it! She's speaking to the rebels – she's trying to rally them!"

Without warning, Zamiel slammed his fists on the table and snatched a pile of papers, crumpling them and throwing them in a flurry on the floor.

"Well, someone get to the station and tell her to stop it," he snapped, jumping up and storming away. "Before more of us throw our lives away in a senseless fight."

As Star watched him go, she recalled something Alanis had said recently, and saw how right she had really been. Zamiel Garased was a born leader, but he was not fit to be a king. He refused to share responsibility for anything; and so, while confident in success, he was always crushed by even his small failures. He took them too personally, and let them distract him. In the blink of an eye, all his best qualities had vanished; and now, all he could do was despair.

He was an obvious choice for king. He was the one everyone expected for it. Fate would not have favored him, though. In the end, he suited it as well as John was suited to carry the Earth sigil, or Asha of Umbray to be Keeper of the Crystal. They, too, were obvious choices, and they would have done their very best; but they clearly weren't the right people for the task.

And now the people had heard the call from their own radios. Without a doubt, they would answer it. They would rally to their captain, looking for solutions and plans and directions, because Zamiel always had them. They would come looking for their king. And all they would find was the shell of a man they would have once followed to hell and back, and a small, stuttering child being led by blind faith.

Maybe they would answer to their one true Titan. Maybe they would be convinced to share his unsinkable faith. Maybe they would not.

Only time would tell.