John left very quickly, having various princely duties to attend. "I've already seen the map," he said. "Good luck, both of you." He hesitated a moment, and wrapped Vriska in a warm embrace that ended far too quickly for both of them.

The map was a strange one. Written in Middle Trollish, it depicted Prospit and Derse as gigantic in proportion to the other locations on the map, as well as various mythical creatures roaming the countryside, vast streaks of color in the middle of the Painted Desert that would be miles wide if they were real and little serifs for documented wind currents. It tried to depict the stars as well, forcing the ground to curve away oddly, creating a much distorted view of the world. While Karkat did not doubt its authenticity, he was unsure as to the map's usefulness as, well, a map. "This is not cartographically accurate," he said, very slowly and deliberately, because he had other things he'd wanted to say, but he would not be rude to the priestess.

Vriska snatched it out of his hand. "This is amazing," she shouted. "It's a real pirate map!"

"You're still into pirates?" Karkat sneered. "I thought you'd have grown out of it by now."

Vriska ignored him and pointed at the signature. "Spineret Mindfang, third of that name, the Marquise of Lomat. She was such a total badass! This is her treasure Karkat!" She traced a line with her fingertip from the isles of Lomat in the North Sea to a rocky crag near a small city on the Bright Coast, at the exact midpoint of Prospit and Derse, at least according to the wonky perspective. "Hellllllll yes, anything she had hidden must be worth at least three dowdy princesses."

"Wait, you can read Middle Trollish?" asked Karkat, obviously not buying it. "And Jade is not dowdy!"

Vriska rolled her eyes. "Of course, any idiot should be able to read Middle Trollish. It's just Early Modern Trollish with really awkward passive constructions and the prefix 'MEKHAY' instead of the suffix 'AYI' and 'DEHFEH' for 'THES' at the beginning of words and random 'HTEM's scattered around for no real reason, combined with spellings from Plats-Trollischer and several Derse-Carapatian loanwords."

Karkat gave a stiff half-nod to acknowledge that he had, in fact, heard her say words, but not that he had understood any of them. She glared at him. "Is it so hard to believe I'm literate?"

The priestess took the opportunity to cut in. "She's right you know; this is the Marquise's map. She was my ancestor. I never had the courage to undertake the journey myself. Despite the rather artistic approach to the rendering, I can assure you that the calculations of distance and longitude and such like are completely accurate. I will gladly give you this map, on one condition."

Vriska moaned just as Karkat readily accepted it. "It is a selfish request, admittedly," she said, looking embarrassed. "I only wish to see my ancestor's treasure once, before you present it to the princess." Vriska sighed in relief.

Karkat looked at the map. There was something disconcerting about their destination. "That's an angel," he said, pointing at the winged creature flying over the city. The head of a human, with wings like a cherub and the tail of a dragon. Not nice creatures by any means. Vriska looked at it. "The City of Wrath," she said, reading the epithet. "Beneath the nesting ground of Angels lies the Grotto of Despair, where my treasure is hidden."

She and Karkat looked at each other grimly. "This is going to be incredibly dangerous," he said, with a look of fierce determination.

Vriska gave a trite nod. "I love it!"

They set out from the Cathedral shortly after. The legitimate suitors were all going to depart the day after tomorrow, so Karkat and Vriska were determined to get a head start, which meant preparing for the journey today. "We're going to need to steal another magic rope—"

Karkat shook his head, producing the rope. "I picked it up on my way out yesterday and forgot to tell you."

Vriska snatched it out of his hands with a delighted grin. "Yessssssss, now we just need to steal—"

Karkat grabbed Vriska by the shoulders and shook her. "No dammit, we don't need to steal anything!" Apparently, Karkat had money. The Knights are paid only middling wages, but there were so many strictures and restrictions that he'd had almost no choice but to be miserly. "No gambling, no booze, no women until we've been in for ten years, no ostentatious clothing, and we have to sleep at the barracks four days a week so there was really no point in getting my own place, and we weren't allowed to personalize our spaces in the barracks so basically I have a mountain of useless platinum collecting dust at the bank."

"Wow," said Vriska, rubbing her chin. "You are a stingy fucker."

"Did you not even hear what I just said?"

After withdrawing all of his money, Vriska convinced him to split it two ways, and ran off. Karkat was half-certain that he'd never see her again, but still ended up buying a pair of riding-beasts and enough supplies for two people. Vriska did in fact return while he was negotiating the price of a tent. "Just getting one? I hope you understand that you're sleeping under the stars then." She was now wearing a leather outfit with a spider web pattern, short enough that he could see her knee-length red boots. She wore matching red gloves as well.

"Fuck off," he said. "You look like a hooker."

"An expensive one, I hope; the dress alone cost me fifty platinum," she said, flipping her long hair so it smacked him in the face. "And you're not one to make fun of my outfit. What is your deal? Maybe they only put in that rule about ostentation because of you."

Karkat had gotten himself some new clothes, since all of his old ones were still at the barracks and his uniform was far beyond ruined. At first he'd just wanted to get some serviceable traveling clothes, but then he had decided that money was for spending, dammit. He was out of the knights and could finally afford to treat himself. He bought a thickly padded arming jacket embroidered with the sign of the Signless, a coat of light mail, a lovingly crafted bracer of black leather, an extravagant red cape that clasped with a large silver Cancer symbol, a sword-belt for his new war-sickle, and a fine black hat. It had been sized for a human, so he'd had to poke holes in it for his horns. "I look nice! I look like a well-off young adventurer who shouldn't stand out too much in any given crowd, while you look like you charge a hundred platinum an hour to whip people and call them bad."

"Well seeing as you already paid me," said Vriska, smacking his behind hard enough that he jumped. "Do you want the rest of it now or later?"

"This is dumb," said Karkat, coloring as he inched away from her. "Did you buy anything useful or did you just spend all my money on crap?"

Vriska had also acquired a steel buckler and a huge boating knife with a wicked looking notch in the blade. "And did you know that they sell razor blades by the pound?"

Karkat raised an eyebrow. "What? Who?"

"Certain circles Karkat," she said, affecting an air of exclusivity, "circles that you as a knight are not privy to."

"Where are you keeping—?"

"On my person," she interrupted. "Now, which of these monsters is mine?" She asked, pointing at the riding-beasts.

Karkat pointed at one of the riding-beasts, a white female with a heart-shaped birthmark on her hindquarters. "Maplehoof. She's incredibly gentle, perfect for a new rider."

Vriska jumped on gallantly, flicked the reins—

And was tossed off in one fell bucking motion as Karkat grinned evilly.

The bust of King Daniel I had a stern, fatherly look. He'd been handsome in a sort of classical way, with proud angular features and an aquiline nose like some Emperor of the pre-Derse human kingdoms. At least that's what Eridan managed to make out as it sailed across the courtyard intent on taking off his head, leaping out of its way. As it exploded against the wall, he shouldered his rifle and fired, missing Equius by a hair. The bullet left a fist-sized crater in the opposite wall. "Give me a minute," he said, cranking the handle, "these bloody things take a whole minute to—"

Dave dove off the roof, cloak billowing heroically behind him, swinging his glittering silver sword in a deadly arc for Eridan's head. He quickly blocked the stroke with his rifle and lunged for the knight with his bayonet, still cranking with his other hand. Dave parried each blow easily, almost as if he were bored.

When the rifle clicked, fully reloaded, Eridan took a step back and pulled the trigger only for both of them to be knocked to floor by a wave of moving earth. Eridan looked to the left; Equius had launched a vicious hammer blow at the ground, and was now hefting a statue of the Great Knight almost as big as he was. "Alliance?" asked Dave. Eridan nodded.

Equius hurled the statue as if her were a javelin and Dave jumped on top, easily bisecting the thing before leaping for the troll. Eridan meanwhile flanked Equius and opened fire, only for the larger troll to offhandedly smack the bullet out of the way. It skipped along the ground like a stone over water, leaving an ugly rut in the neatly trimmed lawn before cutting an odd wedge-shaped hole in a nearby pillar. Dave went in low, going for the knees, and was punted across the courtyard for his troubles. Thinking quickly, Eridan threw his cape over Equius's face and tried to stab him in the chest, only to be shoved aside by Dave.

"I changed sides," he explained, shifting the grip on his greatsword. Now he had one hand on the pommel and another on the arm of the crossguard, giving himself increased reach and leverage. At least that's what Eridan assumed when Dave swatted his rifle out of his hands, shouting "fore!"

Equius smacked him to the ground and picked him up. "I didn't," he explained, and smashed Dave into Eridan. He then picked up both Eridan's rifle and Dave's sword, aimed them at their respective owners, and—

The Dignitary cleared his throat, emerging into the thoroughly ruined courtyard. "Why are the lot of you still here? The other suitors are out preparing for their journeys as we speak."

Equius dropped his weapons as the other two stood up and dusted themselves off. "I don't wanna get married," said Dave. "Too many pretty girls in the world to settle on one."

"Nor I," said Equius. "I, well…"

"He's in love with his maid back home," said Eridan tactlessly. "And I, meanwhile, have simply come to terms with the fact that no one will ever love me."

The Dignitary smacked his forehead. "Are you dense? If you bring the princess her gift—"

Dave whistled at him like a dog. "He's too conceited to settle for an arranged marriage. He wants his wife to love him with the unconditional devotion that pilgrims to the Sufferer's hatching place can only dream of."

"Fuck you, Dave," he snarled.

"Girls even think you're good looking," said Dave without changing tone at all. "It's the way you carry yourself that keeps them from liking you. Like everything else is something you had to scrape off your shoe."

"I don't act like that—"

"But you always have your nose all scrunched up like you're smelling something nasty—"

"Is this why you three were fighting?" asked the Dignitary, trying to refocus the conversation. "Arguing over who can maintain the haughtiest attitude?"

Equius shook his head while the other two continued to argue. "We were just entertaining ourselves."

The Dignitary's face surged with anger before he managed to calm himself. "I'm sure the Prospitians will not appreciate this, and tensions are already rising between our parties. Perhaps you could try to socialize with your future brother-in-law? Ease some of the tension by extending the olive branch?"

Eridan sniffed. "That's not really an option. He's off making love to our foster sister or some such—"

Dave interrupted him while Equius fumbled for a towel. "Okay first of all you know I'm not comfortable with you calling her that and you know the reasons why. Mostly because you're always trying to black-flirt with her or whatever the fuck you call it. Second of all, you just put an image in my head that I really don't approve of and I'm afraid I'ma have to beat your ass for real this time."

"Yes," Eridan continued, loudly, "really resealing the bonds between our two nations if you catch my drift—"

Dave took a lazy swing at Eridan's throat, which the Dignitary blocked with his cane, finally losing his cool just a bit, and snarling. "I know that this is how you have fun at home, but perhaps you could do something more….Prospitian to enjoy yourselves?"

Eridan backed away from Dave and asked, "And what would fine gentleman of quality such as ourselves get up to in this city?"

"Gentlemen of quality?" asked Dave with a raised eyebrow. "Don't the girls back home call you a handsy lout? The guys too now I think about it. I know you trolls don't discriminate."

"That was just the one time—"

The Dignitary growled. "They go out drinking, so just leave here before you destroy more of the palace!"

Equius nodded and, before they could launch another argument, picked up his foster brothers by the scruffs of their necks, walking away.

The door to the tavern opened and the room went silent as three ominous figures in purple stepped inside accompanied by a chill wind that must surely have stalked them from the frozen wastes at the Earth's end. The princes of Derse strode into the center of the room, assuming the lordly mien of conquerors rather than guests. In the center was one with the face of a ghost and eyes like death, a shining greatsword in his hand with a golden pommel, likely stolen from some Prospitian lord on the battlefield. He was flanked on one side by a grim-faced giant among trolls, scarred and battered by countless battles, and on the other by a haughty sea-dweller, shark-like teeth bared in sneer, glasses coldly throwing back the light of the room and obscuring his eyes. He held a rifle, most prized of weapons, muzzle to the ground as if it were a common cane. The ghostly figure in the lead opened his mouth, and spoke, voice as cold and mechanical as the heart of Derse. "Where the troll women at?"

As soon as they were able, Karkat and Vriska set out from the main gates under the watchful gaze of the Four. They could not help but marvel at the heroes. On beast-back, they were still dwarfed by the feet of the mythic beings, and their heads were wreathed in mist, sparkling in the morning light like halos. Each was portrayed as an amalgamation of troll, human, cherub, and Carapacian, each adorned with butterfly wings of such delicacy that no terrestrial artisan could have crafted them. There was the Seeress, with suns in her eyes like vision fourteen-fold, the Knight with his sword of fire and his armor of clockwork, the Witch with her dress cut from night, holding a frog in her delicately articulated fingers, and the Heir, with his smiling eyes, called the laughing god by the beast-men. No one was entirely sure of what or who the Four were; each of the Three Faiths interpreting them in some different way, but they agreed that the Four represented some fundamental, benevolent force in the universe.

But soon, the pair was out of the shadow of the giants. They rode in relative silence through the outskirts of Prospit, consisting of small townships and irrigated manors, mostly composed of clay and painted yellow, surrounded by lemon orchards. Occasionally these would be guarded by chained lusii, and the two tried not to gawk at their enigmatic forms, each creature completely unique except for its coloring; impossibly white. Prospit had not been built with these creatures in mind, and most trolls with larger lusii lived here in the countryside for convenience sake. Vriska saw a gargantuan spider as large as the Seeress' bare foot, and tried not to shiver. Such a creature could easily have claimed her as its ward, and then where would she be?

There was much more greenness around than either of them had ever seen in their lives, having never left the city, and they wanted to enjoy it. The fruits were in blossom and the air was abuzz with bees. Vriska rode up to a lemon branch hanging low over a clay wall and snapped it off, bruising the stiff leaves to enjoy the sharp scent. Soon it was pleasantly warm. As far as adventures went it was quite dull, thought Vriska. Maybe they'd meet some sand pirates out in the desert. She threw her branch at Karkat, having grown bored with it. "Ow," he shouted, "that shit has thorns!"

Ignoring him, she said, "Hey, let's race!"

"Race? You can barely ride—"

She ignored him and shouted "hiyah!"while digging her heels into the sides of her mount, which promptly did nothing but turn her head to glare at Vriska, flicking her ears in annoyance. "Riding beasts aren't horses," Karkat taunted, riding around her in a circle to demonstrate his skill, his beast's footpads clicking lightly on the yellow paving stones. "Hitting them only gets them annoyed. If you want to go fast, you click your tongue."

She did so, and nearly fell off as the creature accelerated to breakneck speeds. Karkat rode after her, keeping near to make sure she didn't actually die while offering some words of encouragement. "Grab the fucking reins. How are you going to steer on your back like that? Shouting is just enraging poor Maplehoof, stop it before she does something she regrets. Oh I get it, you're actually a circus rider and this is part of your act, pretending to be terrible. It's pretty good but sort of unrealistic; tone it down a notch or twelve and you might resemble someone who doesn't have severe brain damage."

Enraged, Vriska managed to swing herself back up into the saddle and steer Maplehoof towards Karkat, giving him a vicious backhand and stealing his hat, leaving him with a mess of aluminum foil on his head.

Vriska clicked her tongue several times in rapid succession, assuming that it would make Maplehoof run faster. She was actually correct, to her misfortune, because she had no idea how to make her slow down, and soon Karkat and his repeated expletives were fading away into the background. Vriska was adaptable of course, and was soon acclimated to actually riding, if still unable to control her mount properly, and took a minute to watch the scenery go by. The ground began to slope upward and Maplehoof began to slow down until she crested the hill, and stopped.

Up ahead as far as the eye could see, was the glittering expanse of the Painted Desert, an endless sea of sand, streaked in countless colors; red, pink, gold, green, blue, teal, cyan, vermilion, violet, indigo, burnt orange, fuchsia, magenta….

And she was still listing the colors when Karkat finally caught up to her, just as awestruck as she. Though they would never deny the beauty of Prospit, neither had realized until now just how color starved their eyes were. By mutual agreement, both of them rode downhill as quickly as possible, dismounted, and played in the delicious rainbow sand like children.

An hour later, Vriska was still shaking multicolored dust out of her hair, annoyed but happy. Karkat let off a volley of sneezes, exhaling clouds of rainbow powder. He blew his nose into his handkerchief, which was now a psychedelic wad of moisture and strange new colors neither of them had names for. He threw it away in disgust. "I bought that this morning. You just have to turn everything into a competition don't you?"

Vriska flipped her hair at him, releasing another burst of luminescent particles. "You're just jealous that I won." She too began to sneeze until Karkat laughed at her.

Eventually he asked to see the map. She rolled her eyes. "You can't even read it Karkat!" Vriska pulled it out of her saddlebags and looked at the course she'd lazily plotted this morning. Northeast from the city until they reached the Hatchery, then they'd follow a stream due north until they reached the Bright Coast. Far ahead, she could make out a low domed building of green stone, surrounded by trees. "We're going the right way."

It took them the better part of the day to reach the Hatchery. Vriska had underestimated the distance due to the relative flatness of the desert. The sun was high in the sky now, and beating them down without mercy. Vriska was regretting not buying a hat. Both of them were regretting buying so much black. The wind had kicked up, and at first they were relieved to finally have a breeze, but eventually the little puffs of sand started getting higher and higher, becoming low waves, and soon they were slogging through something that was not quite serious enough to be a sandstorm, though the tiny particles stung all the same. What's more the shifting walls of color were very uncomfortable to look at, changing shades so often that it hurt their color-starved eyes until they were wishing for the comfortingly constant yellow. By the time they arrived, both were very sandblasted, and mildly delusional.

"I am the lord thy God," said Karkat as a handful of the Dolorosas made their stately way from the building, helping him dismount and taking his riding beast to the stable.

"I can fly!" shouted Vriska, performing an elegant swan dive off her saddle. The Dolorosas in their black and green gowns watched with concern as she tried to swim her way across the sand.

The Abbess sighed. "First time in the desert. Let's get these two cleaned up."

Some time later after the pair of them had been thoroughly scrubbed and rehydrated, they met her again for a light meal of fruits and honey. Vriska once again muttered about the lack of meat. The Abbess was a tall, stately woman with short, feathery hair, whose jade colored eyes glowed like lamps. She clicked her tongue at Vriska. "You were always such a carnivore. I swear one of your ancestors must have been a crocodile."

Vriska raised her eyebrow. "Huh?"

The Abbess shook her head. "We remember all our children, Vriska Serket. Frankly I never would have dreamed to meet you and Karkat Vantas again, especially not on a pilgrimage together. What kind of wiggler would you like?"

Karkat blinked. "Huh?"

"Mixed-caste couples tend to get one that's between them on the spectrum," the Abbess explained. "So let's say olive?"

Karkat squinted at her. "I'm sorry, I don't think I was being clear," he said. "Let me rephrase that. Huh?"

She seemed confused. "You're not in a moirallegiance?" It had become a habit since the opening of Prospit for trolls who lived in the city, almost exclusively moirallegiances, to adopt wigglers in something approaching a human family, finding that lifestyle more suited to city life amongst less violent peoples. Both of them had in fact, been brought up this way, overseen in large part by a troll named Rufioh.

Vriska gagged exaggeratedly. "Noooooooo! Spades all the way."

"That makes much more sense," said the Abbess, who seemed relieved of all things. "I doubt either of you would be much good at calming the other down, and I shudder to think what you would do to a child."

"Hey," snapped Karkat, "I am a goddamn emotional rock. I would be amazing as the passive partner in a moirallegiance."

'Mind your language, this is a house of God," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Karkat muttered an apology. "If you are not here for a wiggler, then why have you come?"

"We're going to the City of Wrath," said Vriska.

The Abbess gasped. With a melancholy look, she said, "it was wonderful seeing you both again," she stroked their foreheads. "You will be in our prayers."

Vriska smirked, pulling back slightly. "Is it really that bad?"

The Abbess cupped her chin almost forcefully, and sighed. "Yes."

They were given rooms at the Hatchery, cramped little cells of green stone. Vriska found that she couldn't sleep; it seemed religious people were even worse off than the poor, because even the stones of Prospit were softer than the cot she'd been assigned. She looked out the window to see the desert bathed in the light of the rose-moon, a hundred-billion shades of pink. The effect reminded her of a pile of raw meat, in various states of decay. She quickly developed a headache, and left her cell.

Vriska wandered a while, practicing her sneaking. She avoided places illuminated by the moonlight, and steered clear of the Dolorosas wherever she found them, taking pride in her skill. Eventually and entirely by accident, she found her way into the birthing chamber.

The Mother Grub took up most of the length of the chamber, curled slightly in her slumber. Vriska was not entirely sure what to make of the creature. She'd seem a virgin Mother Grub once, pure white with a moth-like body, but this one was very dark grey, and had stretched out something like a termite queen. There were only little scraps remaining of those glorious wings; presumably she'd eaten them to help facilitate her first brooding period eons ago. Her face had a certain ethereal beauty, but it was very difficult to reconcile with the massive insectoid body. For once she found herself agreeing with the human notion that troll reproduction was weird. While they had a loving, caring creature that had undergone many of the same experiences they will one day have, trolls got a completely alien, nonsentient yet somehow semi-divine being that watched over their squabbles with pronounced disinterest. Vriska stepped into the chamber, and only then noticed that Karkat was there as well, kneeling on the floor.

"You didn't strike me as particularly religious," she announced. He jumped.

Glaring at Vriska, he answered. "Well it's not as if I was some kind of warrior monk for a significant portion of my life or anything." Vriska shrugged and sat down next to him. "What do you want?"

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "My bed is uncomfortable and the moon is making everything outside look like your insides; pink and abnormal and gross. Hey, try to convert me so I can fall asleep!"

Karkat squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I'm not actually that religious, but I just wanted to pay my respects. Is that so wrong?"

Vriska yawned. "Mmmhmm."

"Fuck you, et cetera." He turned his attention to the massive creature that had given birth to him. She kicked one of her long spiky legs in her sleep. It would have been cute if not for the fact that she could disembowel him with those things. "Remember that one summer I told everyone the Sufferer was my ancestor?"

Vriska nodded. "And I believed you and went out preaching your gospel of 'fuck everyone everywhere'. Then Rufioh got mad and washed our mouths out with soap, and you cut out your nonsense."

Karkat chuckled half-heartedly. "You see, some Dolorosa told me that at church once. And being a dumb kid I believed her. I didn't learn until that summer that it was just something they tell mutant kids to make them feel better about themselves, like when they tell human foundlings that God is their father or some shit." He rubbed his arm nervously. "I guess it just makes me feel like I actually belong—"

Vriska yawned even more loudly, stretching her arms out and falling back, resting her head on her hands. "Good night Karkat."

Karkat glared at her for a long while, fuming. Just as he decided to resume his meditation, her left eye snapped open, all seven pupils zeroing in on him. "I never stopped believing you, you know."

Karkat shouted and the Mother Grub stirred, releasing a sound something like purring. "Vriska I am not in the mood right now—"

"No seriously," she said, smiling. "You look exactly like him, nubby horns and all. When was he around, two thousand years ago? I'm pretty sure any wigglers he might have had would've been hatched this century."

Karkat laughed at her ridiculousness. She couldn't think he was that stupid. She looked sincere enough, but he'd already learned she was a good actress. "Fine, don't believe me," she sniffed and shut her eye again.

Dave awoke to the sound of ticking the next morning in an unfamiliar room feeling as if Equius had been tap-dancing on his head. The room appeared to be made out of hundreds of interlocking pieces of metal, each moving in tandem towards some unknowable goal. Soft red light was streaming in through the window on the opposite end of the room from his bed. He stood, looking out the window, to behold a gargantuan structure of spinning black metal rising out of a lake of fire, the entire thing a single mechanism upon which someone had had the bright idea to build a settlement. Little red things slithered hither and thither, ducking in and around the gigantic pieces of the mechanism as if they had memorized its patterns so perfectly that they knew they had nothing to fear. "Shit," he said. "I've died and gone to Hell." Off in the distance, similar, though much, much smaller hellish engines spun their machinations, connected to the center of Pandemonium with great steel bridges. One of them gave a sudden great lurch and the entire neighborhood shifted several hundred feet. He realized Hell was a gigantic clock.

Eridan burst through the door looking excited. "Dave you're up!"

"And that just confirms my theory," Dave noted.

"Huh? Wait, who cares. C'mon, we're going!"

"Where? Heaven? Good move, I don't think I like Hell much. Too bright," he said, shielding his eyes.

Eridan gawked at him. "Are you kidding me? You don't remember last night at all? We're in Lohac!"

A series of fuzzy images came to Dave's mind. Eridan getting slapped by every sentient being in the tavern, including Dave, and clearly enjoying it. Equius shacking up with a pair of identical bluebloods. And Dave himself talking to a lovely Libra in red for a length of time.

"What is best in life?" she'd asked, suppressing a giggle.

Dave had taken a drink. "I don't know. Whatever this is I guess." The troll frowned. And then she'd ordered him another.

"You expected me to say something like 'to see my enemies driven before me and hear the lamentations of their women'? We're warriors not barbarians," he said, belching loudly. "We like the finer things in life. Like this thing. Does this have apples in it? I love apples."

The Libra had nodded. "I guess that makes sense, though I kinda still wish you were some noble savage type. So, what do you do?"

"I'm captain of the Knights of Derse." He drained his cup. She filled it again.

"You seem pretty young. How did you manage it?"

"I killed the previous captain."

"Badass."

She had kept questioning him, always friendly and just a little mocking to keep him on his toes, filling his cup as soon as it was empty. Somehow, he'd started talking about his father. He and Rose had been born right after the war with New Alternia, which Derse had lost. In the settlement there had been an exchange of hostages, the youngest son in exchange for some high-blood or other. A cruel joke; the Empress would send someone to sit on the throne some day, and a Dersite prince would go live in her palace for the time it took him to drown. In a very un-Derselike display of compassion, Dave's older brother had volunteered himself, insisting that Dave's existence be kept a secret.

Dave had told the troll girl in a drunken stupor that his own children would not go unacknowledged.

"How is that going to happen if you don't get married?"

That fucking devil woman had tricked him into accepting the quest.

A little later, Dave and Eridan made their way through the marketplace, dodging the thrusting pistons and grinding gears, and of course, the crocodiles. The diminutive reptiles alone of all the beast-men had kept their independence from either Prospit or Derse, all because of their diabolical homeland. In large part it was because of the city's unassailability. On the other hand, their resistance to the heat of the lava allowed them to dredge the lake of fire for its valuables, bringing up hoards of gems and buckets of molten gold. Despite the fact that the creatures could barely count to four, Lohac was one of the wealthiest nations on the planet.

"It's not even fucking fair," Eridan muttered, glancing at a pair of lizards nakking their little hearts out and taking a huge swig of water. Dave rolled his eyes. The troll drank like….a fish.

By the time they met up with Equius, Dave was drenched in sweat and Eridan was half-dead. "How did you even get as far as the hotel man?" Dave asked. "Come to think of it, is this really just the next day? How did we get here so fast?" Eridan shrugged.

"I believe I can answer that," said Equius. Surprisingly enough his sweat level was about normal. Dave had thought the big troll would have melted by now. Instead, he had his arms around the two identical blue-blooded girls from the previous (?) night. They were wearing metallic colored makeup and silver powder in their hair, marking them as prostitutes. Dave was unsure if he should tell him or not. "We flew on dragon-back."

Dave considered this for a while. "We must have hit the bottle harder than I thought," he concluded.

Equius shook his head. "It's true! Your companion from last night gave us a ride on her lusus, as well as this." One of the girls produced a sheaf of papers, handing one to Dave, one to Equius, and one to Eridan. Maps. Dave sighed. At least he knew where to look for Jade's fabulous present that he was suddenly intent on giving.

It was a common slur that Dersites were ghosts. Well, all stereotypes have some basis in reality. Rose was certainly pretty, thought John, but he'd be damned if she wasn't the whitest creature on Earth. Her hair was like silver, her skin nearly translucent, and her lilac eyes could probably be seen for miles around. "Good evening John. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise. You wanna go outside or something?" he said with his most charming smile.

"I'd rather not," she said with a frown.

"I'm sure." The first day, he had played her his harpsichord. To his surprise, she asked to accompany him on her violin. He was excited at the prospect, but she just didn't seem to be able to follow. It's not that she lacked skill, but it was like there was some deep melancholy in the way she played that simply did not mesh with his own method. Well, at least she appreciated music.

A thought occurred. "Maybe you should lead," he said. She nodded, as if she had expected it, and began to play a mournful dirge. He followed along, letting the sadness into him for the duration of the song.

She suddenly stopped. "It seems you can find the beauty in sadness. To be honest I was hoping you'd be as unable to play my song as I was unable to play yours."

John shrugged with a reassuring smile. "Music is music. And you weren't that bad!" He thought a moment. "Maybe the music is just different in Derse. You could study some Prospitian tunes; that might help."

Rose shook her head, snickering. "That was a piece of my own composition. Real Dersite music is very lively John, and not nearly as complex as yours. It's all about being able to jump in at any point in the song because it could be your last. Marching songs, drinking songs, fighting songs—oh Lord the fighting songs."

John scratched his head. "Do you mean….songs you sing while fighting?"

Rose nodded. "My foster-brothers really enjoy those, particularly since they're always sparring." They talked about their music and their families long into the night.

John was unsure he could ever love his future bride, but he decided that he could certainly like her. On the second day, he took her to the organ room. The instrument had been built into the palace, its hundred pipes snaking around the huge two-storey chamber, connecting every corner of the room to the gargantuan console up on a balcony, like the arteries connecting the heart to every part of the body. Rose thought the pipes were made of brass but John assured her that they were purest gold. "And the keys are all red-gold for black and white-gold for white, with blue-gold for the pedals."

"You don't expect me to believe that?" Rose asked, shaking her head. "There were marvels of iron and amethyst in Derse, of course, but all but a few of them were sold off or repurposed centuries ago. How could anyone have resisted melting this whole thing down for so long?"

John shrugged. "We're a younger kingdom than yours. Maybe we're just saving it for some hard times."

Rose sighed at his naiveté. "There just can't be that much gold in this city!"

John nodded. "And what's Derse built from again?"

"Purple marble, the very compliment to your yellow," she said. "We have a great deal of amethyst as well, but we don't build with it! We have a few busts at most—"

"I don't believe it," John said. "There's no such stone as purple marble, and no gem could be big enough to carve even a bust."

Rose blinked. Clearly, the rumors he'd heard about Derse were true; they thought he was an idiot. "And if it was real gold," she said, ignoring him, "wouldn't it be damaged by the heat of the furnace?"

John laughed. "Yeah, if it used a furnace." There was a large slot underneath the console, like the end of a very thick pipe. He strode up to it, wiped his hands together and breathed into it. The Heir of legend could bisect a planet with his deific Breath, or so they said. John's little puff of blue was hardly worth anything compared to that, but it could still pressurize an organ for an hour or two. The instrument groaned to life, and he ascended the spiral staircase to the console.

"No, John," Rose said hesitantly, "you can't actually play that monstrosity! It has, what, seven manuals? And how many pi—?"

Rose cut off as the room filled with sound. She didn't understand. This thing was built for him, for every Royal Heir who wielded the Breath. It was a sign of who he was, put there by God or whoever had built this city to inform him that his place was here. Sure, it was a struggle to play; he rarely did so because of how much actual physical effort was required to control so many different sounds. An organ was really dozens of instruments put together; several harpsichords and clavichords, a legion of recorders, an army of clarinets, controlled by a single person at once. You needed both hands, and both feet. Of course, an Heir's duty was not easy. When he was king, he would need to give every part of himself to rule. He wished he could explain it, but he figured he'd just show her.

Of course he could fucking play it.

On the third day Rose finally met Jade. The other girl had been avoiding her since the disastrous admittance of the Dersite party into the city, but John finally cornered her at the firing range. Jade was even better than Eridan, cranking her rifle within seconds and destroying an entire flock of flying targets. Of course, back in Derse they used real birds—

"Why'd you bring her here John?" Jade snapped.

"Because you're being rude," John said in the same flippant manner he said everything. "What happened the other day had nothing to do with her. Circumstances just aligned to show us that the Ascendant Regent is a prick. Rose is no more at fault than Karkat was."

"Sir Karkat!" Jade affirmed, swinging her rifle in a wide arc. Rose took a step back. She knew that these were not her foster-brothers, who were liable to burn down half a city when they were 'just fooling around', just as she knew how this conversation would end, but instinct was hard to avoid.

"I never called him Sir though," John said. "Why should I start now?"

"You are showing a complete lack of respect. He's a hero—" John touched the bridge of her glasses and she became cross-eyed. Jade made a choking sound and stepped back. Giggling, she said, "No John, you can't just do something silly and distract me like you always do. What about that girl huh? Don't you even care about what they did to her?" John developed a wistful look.

Ah, yes. Allegedly the disturbance had been the result of a kidnapper trying to seduce John away or some such, and by his reaction that night, he had developed feelings for her. Rose had watched from afar as the royal siblings stormed out of the front gates to make their instantly famous proclamation. John had been a terrible sight, blazing blue light leaking out of him so he seemed wreathed in ghostly fire, clothes moving as if whipped by a gale although there was no wind at all. He had blown the gates open and his voice could be heard across the entire city. And he thought his powers were menial! He was a god among men, and that night he had terrified Rose, even though she had known all the way from Derse that he was a gentle soul.

He poked his sister between the eyes again. "You win this round," she said, giving him a begrudging hug.

"C'mon, we're gonna go start a band."

The harpsichord again; it was probably the only wooden object in the palace aside from Jade's guitar, and even then both were made of some yellow wood. John led them in a stirring rendition of some Dersite song, a chaotic tune that would not have been out of place in a carnival. It was called 'Harlequin' and John was absolutely in love with it. Rose met Jade's eyes and couldn't help but smile. Though an hour ago the girl had hated Rose, with this single exchange of glances she could tell they were now friends. John's true power seemed to be to forge connections between people. In Derse they said that he was a fool, and even here the people muttered that he didn't have it in him to rule. But he would be a great king someday, with much trial and hardship to temper him. She had seen it.

Later, Rose met the palace Seer, Terezi. It was….interesting. "Let's have a Seer off!" the troll had shouted. "Anything you predict, I'll predict better. I'll predict anything better than you!"

Rose sighed. "You see causes, I see effects. A confrontation between us would prove nothing. Also, stop trying to force a musical number."

Terezi pouted. "You're no fun. How do you like the prince?"

Rose shook her head. "He's wonderful. I hate it."

The troll cackled. "What? What's wrong with you?" Dare Rose talk to her? In Derse Seers were bound to confidentiality. Would she go to the royal sibling with her concerns? No, she wouldn't tell, and yes, Rose would dare.

Rose beckoned her into an unused room. It was full of stacked furniture, and everything was coated with a thin film of dust, except for the tea-set full of piping hot Earl Grey, with a pitcher of milk and a bowl of sliced lemons to the side. She rolled her eyes as Terezi sang to herself, "yes I can, yes I can, yes I can!"

Rose hated playing games with other seers. "Please stop, you're going to win."

"Ah," said Terezi, "but there is no fun in simply knowing, I have to prove it!" She sat down and poured their cups. "Lemon or lemon?"

"Let's cut the bullshit Terezi," said Rose, assuming a regal posture on her chair. "We both know exactly how this is going to play out. First you're going to tell me about myself."

Terezi pointed at her and winked. "You're mother is a raging alcoholic because she was engaged to be married to a man who is so fantastically gay that he's gone all the way back around to being masculine and the poor creature actually went ahead and fell in love with the man who could never possibly love her back. You resent her but you also pity her and strive to be her exact opposite, acting cold, ruthless and logical in all things, except of course, for that silly human emotion called love." She adjusted her sunglasses. "Now you get to speak. This next part is too good."

Rose bit her lip. She'd been hoping the troll would just want to overwhelm her with her foreknowledge, but apparently she wanted a show. "Kanaya is the priestess at our chapel. I don't follow the Sufferer of course, and I would constantly get into theological arguments with her because I am a belligerent bitch. I would pick apart her arguments piece by piece and she would dissemble with insubstantial discourses on the nature of faith and love and would always try to work in some really awkward sarcasm and it was adorable and I love her. I told her one day and I thought she would be angry at me for some idiotic reason, but she just kissed me full on the mouth right there in the presence of her god, and I felt it." Rose stifled a sob.

Terezi flashed all of her very sharp teeth, leaning back in her chair. "And now you think you're betraying your lady love by liking John at all." Rose barked a laugh. "Huh?" she said, startled.

Rose wiped her eyes and became composed again. "If only it were that simple. Terezi, something horrible is going to happen because of my actions towards that girl. Now, you're going to wave your hand dismissively and make a disparaging remark about my race." In a near perfect imitation of Terezi's voice, she said, "'You humans are so hung up on your sexuality! You should all just get laid, like collectively, as a species,' or some such." Rose squeezed some lemon into her tea and took a sip, calming her nerves. "But you'd only be feigning ignorance of my problem. I knew I would find myself liking John. I think I could have grown to love him, given a few years. But it's happening far too soon for my liking. Something terrible is going to happen to him, and this is just first sign." She downed her tea, wishing it were something stronger.

Terezi made a face. "Boys!" she declared dramatically.

"Men," Rose muttered.

On the first weekend, John insisted on taking her out into the city. Jade had wanted to come, but that would have been a terrible idea. "Actually," Rose had said, "I think I would like to spend some time alone with my future husband." Both of the royal siblings had looked perturbed at the thought. "I'm not that bad, am I John?"

"Not at all," he'd said, looking a bit nervous. "Let's go." Always the gentleman, he'd offered his arm and she took it, and they walked off toward the carriages together. They took a mounted tour of Prospit, and she saw its many glittering marvels. The plan was nearly identical to Derse, down to the number of spires on every shop, but everything here seemed just that much grander. Maybe that really was gold decorating those spires, roofing those buildings, coating those gargoyles. That or really good brass. If Rose had been the one to name the city, she would have called it A Study in Yellow, for every possible shade of it was represented somewhere.

As she marveled at the glorious magnificence of the city, she wondered why it hadn't fallen in beauty like Derse had. Why was nobody trying to exploit this? Was it simply the fact that the people of Prospit were, as a whole, simply more naïve? Perhaps it was the weight of fifteen hundred years of history that made the Dersites cynical, while the young upstart Prospitians could afford their optimism. Maybe for its first few hundred years Derse had been just as grand.

It suddenly hit her. The dwellers in the darkness and their constant whispering. Their absence had become like the buzzing of white noise in her ears, and she had tuned it out. Maybe they had led to the degradation of her city.

"What's it like?" John asked suddenly. "Living on the edge of the world?"

Rose laughed, not knowing what else to do. "What do you think it's like?"

"Well, what could it be?" He took some time to think. "A big huge chasm, maybe. Yeah, you can look down it and see forever. You can see the stars that float along the underside of the world, stars no one but you guys can see. Just an amazing view of what lies beyond the Earth."

"That would be wonderful," Rose smirked. "But it's not like that at all. You don't see what's beyond, because there isn't anything. A formless shadow as far as the eye can see, and the knowledge that this is it, and there is nothing else beyond." Lilac eyes gazed into blue. "The world doesn't end. It just stops."

On sudden impulse, she hugged him. "Thank you John."

"I didn't do any—" He was cut off by a flash of purple light as their carriage exploded.

Author's Note: No, this isn't taking the easy way out. Exploding monarchs just makes everything worse. Am I….Am I evil?
I really like describing pretty things, or so I discovered writing this chapter. Also developing domed characters.
The trollish language is basically a bunch of jokes about the development of the English language that only I would find funny. The words that Vriska says in all caps are the names of Daedric letters spelled backwards in proud Homestuck tradition.