"By the way," Jorel worked his hands hard, "If you didn't know, it was the Elders who attempted to induce the Shol Blackout earlier. I'm sorry you almost had to go through it again. It is a rough situation to endure."

A sure promise to have him arrested came to mind. That time, it was not Doson's research that induced that pre-Blackout. Even if he said he did not agree with the Elders, he admitted to spying on me to help the Elders out with no hesitation, accessing my most intimate secrets. That's probably why when I showed up with the Officers...

"You all wanted me to see it personally, didn't you?" I said. "All this time there were no accidents until I talked to you." My nose tingled and itched. Before I could reach my hand up — Achoo! — I sneezed.

Slabbing the dough into the pot, he turned to my nose-wiping. "The Elders have their reasons in using you for a last resort. As I said, you are the only Blend in Cymerian order right now, and you have the power to give the Tritausen a voice in Cymel."

"The Mitsen are Cymel's voice," I barked. "Not me. If anything, the King is the one the Misten listen to more."

Admitted to silence, he tilted his head and turned back to the pot, kneading the dough again. "They have to."

"The Mitsen don't have to. They're over us. We're not supposed to be over them." He must have been familiar with Cymerian history too, for he remained quiet and let the working dough do the talking. It was a real struggle for real power on both sides.

I still did not feel we were hitting the meat, or the dough, rather, of the conversation. We worked around it, and I made sure to press for answers, but I still wasn't hearing the —

"If you arrest me, it won't solve the problem," Jorel said. "The Shol Officers are already looking for me to neutralize my powers since the Elders threw me here the other day. The Elders will still be in hiding, planning their final resort against the Dosonites. They probably couldn't care less if I were imprisoned or not." He lifted the pot, gave the dough a few flips, and put it into the oven. "The only thing we can do now is hope and wait."

"Wait?" I said. "For what?

"For all of it to play out."

There was no way I wanted to do that, not after all I came from to get there. But still, "I swore to the Ki—."

"The King will join in eventually," his straight eyes glared. "He already sees the people's complaints and will work to compromise with them, even if it means breaking the law he makes." He stepped over to and stopped in front of me. "And, as always, you will have no choice but to drag along with his flow."

An insulted grunt escaped my throat, and my head cocked. "What makes you say that?"

He tilted his head, most likely observing my irritation. Looking deeper into my eyes, he said, "I can see the future, Justice."

I shook my head. A part of me wanted to believe him, since I knew how strong Shol powers could have been, but another part of me knew that the Shol Tritausen used this recurrent excuse throughout history to start a Shol War.

I said, "As much as I would want to stop the Elders, I cannot without consent of the King, whether a seer tells me he will change his mind. I want to stop Doson from what they're doing, too. I do. But I can do only so much on my own, and to allow Seson to start a commotion would get me into serious trouble. Now that the High Counsel knows about you, maybe you can talk to them, but know I would get in trouble for supporting you, even. It's considered 'expression pertaining to or from' Doson."

My mind wandered on if the King chose to put limits on his contact with Doson because of how the Mitsen desired to limit contact with the Shol, questioning the extent of his monarchical will. Even being in the High Counsel made one oblivious to some deep-rooted secrets only Queen Gaid would know.

"I'm sorry, Jorel," I said. "I told you before what I'll tell you now: if I support you, I can pay the price. I planned to submit a Nodus against you after we talked in fact, and if I continue supporting you, allowing you to get away with your threats, then I could even be executed for inaction if the situation gets any worse than it did today."

Blinking hard and searching the ground, the Tritausen moved his lips about. I honestly didn't know what he was thinking, even when he said, "Even this... even this won't be enough."

"It won't, because I don't plan to fulfill a false prophecy." I started past him. "I am going to have you arrested, Jorel." Stopping at the door, I listened to the patty sizzle in the oven. He worked hard to be honest with me, and I wanted to welcome his courtesy, but I had to do my duty. "Thank you for telling me the truth."

I could feel him standing there, staring at me as I walked out of the room. Achoo! I sneezed once more, relieved to get some fresher air down the hall. Brisking down the stairs, my feet toppled over each other for balance and I caught myself often against the railing. Since night took its full form by now, more people slept in their haphazard places about the first floor where I landed.

Outside the shelter door, I searched for familiar faces among strolling passers lit on the torch walls. Children bumbled with their arguing parents, and Tritausen Blends heaped crops upon their broad backs. Across the line of pillars fronting the shelter, I searched for the one that I stationed Ira at, but every one of them were free to be their crumbling selves. Not even her reins were left.

"Ira?" Forward I stepped, searching the entire walkway for her dark body, yet none returned in sight. "Ira!" I joined the brick road of strollers and focused down each end.

Awraaa! A Tritausen's howl superseded the sounds of trade somewhere afar off in the mountains. It was that time of night. They probably startled Ira, outside of attracting curious children's attention and seeing unfamiliar faces around. She had run off. That foolish Trau. Right when I needed her, she had the fear to run but the courage to be free. Someone must have released her, too. I made sure to tie a good knot on the reins.

"Damn it," I muttered, accepting I had to find an Officer by foot. In these trading spaces, finding an Officer was no problem. It was the thought that Jorel could have run off by then that bothered me. I rushed down, searching for a familiar face among the merchants and sweet-smelling food, my new sandals contributing no disturbance.

Innocent faces flashed in my skimming eyes, from laughing mothers to devout Dosonites. None of them seemed to match. But then one of the guard keepers of Cymel-Seson's gate caught my eye among the masses. Though he was not a Shol Officer, he would have had to do. He appeared to sample a handful of Ooku mince, and shouldering my way over to him, I called out to him. "Hey! Hey!" But I couldn't even remember his name. Now was the time to learn.

As expected, unwanted people responded to my vague attention. I reassured over and over, "I'm sorry, not you. Please get his attention," I would point, and they would do their best to help. He must have been hard of hearing, for he still enjoyed the mince with peaceful conversation with the chef.

"Get him!" I hurried closer, trying to get his neighbors' attention. Successful. The merchant who once minded his own business tapped the gate keeper, and he directed the gatekeeper's eyes to me.

"Hey!" I waved.

"Justice!" He approached. "What're ya doing here?"

"I need someone arrested. I don't have my Vorda Sword or restrainers with me." I knew deep down I never wanted to carry a Vorda Sword around, for it would have been contradictory for a Blend like me to punish my own kind. In addition, it would have negative effects on my body over time.

"Oh okay," he took a hand to his hip-sheathed Sword. "Where is 'e?" He must have assumed he was a male, and his assumption was right.

"The Shelter." I led him through the bustling, often making sure he followed along, all the way back to the shelter. "His name's Jorel, and he already used Shol here. He hasn't been neutralized yet." The gatekeeper went past me and into the shelter doors, pulling out the Sword with its glowing, amethyst trail.

I walked him up to the hall where Jorel's room was, but I forgot which door he was in. All I remembered was that the door had a purple marking. "Damn," I said.

"What is it?" The Gate Officer said.

"I can't remember where he resides."

"It's alright. The Sword'll sense him out if he's used Shol recently." He went ahead of me down the hall, waiting for the Sword to glow brighter. I had forgotten about such feature. Those Vorda Swords were becoming more and more advanced, only needing Shol Traces to detect an owner not neutralized yet. Its advancements would not stop there.

We reached that same, rusted up door when the Sword glowed brighter. "Here?" He said.

"Let's check." For some reason, I still wasn't sure. I had rushed out of the room so fast that I forgot to keep track of my surroundings.

Bang! Bang! Knocking on the door, the gatekeeper yelled, "Open up! This is the Cymerian Protective Department, Gate Officer Gondes Rash!" He glanced back at me. "What's his name again?"

"Jorel," I said to Gondes — duly noting his name.

"Open the door, Jorel!" Officer Rash banged the door again. "Is he even in there?"

"There's no lock."

"Okay. I'm entering now, Jorel!" He pushed the lock-less door open, keeping his sword first in case of an attack, and I followed behind him, trying to see over his spiky hair. There Jorel was, sitting on his bed with his cooked patty in hand. He must have been thinking over what had happened. I did rush out of there too soon, with enough honest information to have a good case against Jorel.

Achoo! That sneeze came out of nowhere, I thought, wiping at my itchy nose. Gondes flinched, about to turn his sword for me, but kept his eyes on Jorel, who remained on the bed with his eyes on me. He seemed very calm despite Gondes' clear fear.

"Don't ya move!" Gondes pointed his Sword at Jorel. "You're bein' arrested for the use of Shol out of your rights! Jorel! Are ya a full Tritausen!"

Jorel kept his eyes on me, his hands still.

"Jorel! Speak or I will hit ya!"

"I am," he eyed the man, "A Shol Tritaus—." Shink! A glowing line of amethyst swiped past me and at Jorel. Gondes had struck Jorel anyway.

"Gaaack!" Jorel collapsed to the ground, silver blood running from his chest, he landing upon the splatting, unfinished patty. My eyes widened, strained to see Jorel's snowy skin pulse the neutralizing, amethyst glow.

"Don't ya use Shol here any more!" Gondes pointed his Sword. "You're under arrest!" He reached down for the now limp, moaning Tritausen and attached Vorda restraints to his wrists and ankles. Watching helpless Jorel curl up made my hapless stomach turn in knots. How could I have done this to him? He only wanted to talk, and I used that to contribute to the Cymerian stereotype, a place of deceit.

In no time, I battered my conscience, justifying my guilty action for my duty to prevent a disaster, to hope for the High Counsel's reconsideration on Nodus 1718. Besides, if Jorel were more careful, his gift of foresight should have seen that I would have had him arrested for his eerie motive. He might as well have Broken me from his Bond by now.

"Gondes," I lowered beside him, noticing his fearful shaking up close. "I'll go get some more help."

"A-Alright," he kept groaning Jorel down.

Up and out I brisked from the room, searching for more help. No one, not even myself, could trust a Shol Tritausen.