Such a shame breaks could not have lasted forever. The last morning of my week break, I led Ira out of the Homestead's stable, waving off her fellow Trau neighbors farewell, walking through the cloister of arched walls and avoiding chipper, early-rising children readying for school on my way out.

My dad's bifocals flashed in my direction across the center gardens, where Yaeda-En tilled nearby. "Leaving already?"

"Yes, dad. I told you last night."

"Haha, you did, you did." He stepped over crops and farming supplies and toward me. "You also told me last night I'd get my money in the morning. I won fair and square."

"Oh, right," I recalled our match of gambling stones with a smirk. My hand searched into my purse, and upon feeling smooth surfaces, it pulled out a handful of silver coins minted straight from Cymeria, showcasing their brilliance. "Here you are."

Against those round eyeglasses of his, the monies reflected. Dad peeked over his shoulder to digging Yaeda-En then turned to me and closed my hand of valuables shut. "You won't be here for the memorial, so... My prize is hers." He pat my hand and fared me well with a hug.

After Dad released Ira from a hug, I made my way toward Yaeda-Ena and gave her my deepest sympathies, winning against her humble reluctance to accept her one-hundred silvers. To me, that should have had been enough to help her recover her wounds and afford a decent getaway to a safer place like Gerush for a week.

Ri-El made sure to wave me off too, telling me that she would continue to think about me and wait the situation out. Though, she seemed unsure of how long the wait would have been before a riot unfolded. The Vorda Stones' increased efficiency already made some of our muscles tense.

Hoping for the best, Ira and I started away from the Homestead, breezing through the long crops and past the tired farmers. That time, we voyaged a back route, avoiding the city and their parting gift of intense questioning. I still couldn't avoid that Dosonite missionary I saw the day of the Pre-Blackout incident, however. He asked me if I was convinced on my decision, which I most certainly was, and I wished him well.

On my way up toward the fence, my mind wandered to the time I saw a Tritausen yielding to a Vorda Sword and when Officer Rash neutralized Jorel. Then I thought, which I perceived as an exaggeration at the time, What's the point in having Shol powers anyway?

"Harper," Gondes saluted me as I passed through the city gates. "Leavin'?" After my admittance and his farewells, he added, "Oh, the High Commander ordered me to let the Tritausen go. Did ya know?"

"Yes, I knew," I sighted Gondes' and his partner's frosted faces. "Thank you for letting me know nonetheless." And I fared them well in hopes for their warmth outside and inside as they joked at my departure.

Along the shadowing gates, down the rustic path, and up the foggy mountains, I and my Trau reached a mountain peak for one final view down to the circular Cymel-Seson behind. Huffing with discomfort in her saddle, Ira started forward after I pet her, departing the Land of the Half-Moon. For several hours, except for a few lone travelers passing there and there, we proceeded in silence and isolation, growing comfortable in our positions. Ira, like growing into a new pair of sandals, grew into her new saddle with every plain and valley we crossed, leading us all the way back to a shining quilt of water wavering on the other side of mountain forests.

Several stone arches pointed upward with Vorda crests, releasing a violet essence around them to accompany Traudes' mighty moonlight and the Shol auroras above, supporting the brick road bridge we crossed, reaching deep into the Cymerian Sea that buried undiscovered mysteries beneath. We had crossed the border out of Morgaul, and in that moment of passage, I realized I forgot to visit my grandfather during the weekend. Now that we had advanced into the peninsula of Cymeria, turning back wasn't an option. I would have had to visit him some other time soon.

Alchemists held their stacked concoctions in place as Trau pulled their shaky carriages to and fro the wide streets. Noblemen doffed their hats to ladies flaunting their false modesty on eatery patios. Like I said before, Cymeria had its way of slaying shadows through its abundant Vorda radiance protecting every street corner with lamps, columns, and building edges. Even alleyways had enough light to expose suspicious activity within them, and loyal officers marched around in high-strung surveillance.

Mosaic bricks paved the roads of the conservative, square city, meandering up the rounded mountains where Mitsen temples, sandstone duplexes, historical landmarks towered on each stair level. Weary and tingling, my toes rested against Ira's struggling back as we immersed into Cymeria, the ancient and longstanding capital of Cymel, the City of Vorda.

It was no surprise it was the City of Vorda, for Vorda, Vorda, all the violet Vorda crystallized and decorated at almost every turn. Scientists considered Cymeria at one point to be one of the safest places to be if a Shol Blackout were to have happened, or if, as I knew best, well-practiced Shol users had an idea to use masses of Shol power at once, particularly against Blends. Too bad Cymerian residents wished to oust Blends from their city. While these resourceful elements did not bring Shol powers to extinction, its effectiveness would have required a city-full of Bond powers to reach such strength. Shol Elders born and raised in Shol manipulation together could have brought imminent damage, but even still, its effects would hot have reached outside the peninsula.

Wuh-pssh! A whip cracked somewhere down the streets, where indifferent Cymerians moved for their destinations despite the familiar noise and the deep weeping that echoed after it. That was a bellow none other than that of a distressed Tritausen. Frightened, Ira proceeded and huffed with caution, stepping ahead for the colonnade of arches where a silhouette of a whip cracked again.

"Auw!" A male Tritausen cried.

"Damn Beasts!" That grating insult conceived from Shol Officer Gorsin Inau, the Stone-faced Jester, who slapped his whip for the huddle of lying, neutralized Tritausen struggling to stand.

I tugged Ira's reins to a stop. "Officer!"

"Hmhm!" The Officer's face mellowed after cocking in my direction. "Justice, you're back!"

"I am! Neutralize and go. Don't punish them if they're not resisting!"

Defiant, he contemplated between the Tritausen and me. "And if I resist?" He knew what would have happened, given my motionless, response-less glare. He chose right not to resist, threatening his whip to the oppressed. "Humph! Get up! Up! This is your moment! C'mon! Up!" The rescued stumbled up in haste, exchanging a look of appreciation to me.

A light reprimand stopped the abusive Officer, so we went on ahead, and this time with my mutters on how senseless some Cymerians were. Gorson found small reasons to have the pleasure in punishing the Trituasen. Even if they did use illegal Shol powers, the public humiliation had no place, let alone the incessant whipping. Only resistance called for that. And based on how they suffered, and based on how much Vorda consumed the city, there was little possibility they used any powers.

Then again, what if they could have been a part of the Shol Elder lineage, too?

Above the winded trail, down the deep slopes, into the evergladed forests, and at the crest of the Great Caruah Range, we made our way down to a terracotta edifice, the Cymerian Justices Residences, at the epicenter of the valley, where much Tritausen stigma originated. Sloping lower, the long passageway drew a straight path to the pillared perimeter of the House's long, lawful nave, reflecting the violet, conical roof's light and symbolic masts marking its top. Forward we approached, across the gates and its watchful wardens after they examined my Seal of Justice and toward the inner stables of Cymel's cynosure.

Due to somatic damage after the Pre-Blackout incident a few days prior, my muscles twinged to the significant shift in Vorda exposure. Keeping my Bond power off my dad could have been the best option for his safety for now. I stationed Ira, who was quick to lie down before I could remove her saddle, and rewarded her with an Ooku mince treat, forsaking the need for a Bond in the meantime.

Reunited at the Justices Den, Justice Losse Egmen told me Justice Rari Laniu spread the word about my apprehension against the Shol Tribe, and High Commander Hardaran ordered the High Counsel by letter to keep quiet about it. The Counsel also kept quiet on Justice Nyce Girol's failed anti-Nodus 1718 petition.

Days of government silence over the weekend kicked off the next day's commoner tension. Based on several newspapers, concerned Blends rumored the Vorda Stones' power in Seson induced sickness among citizens. They, slaves or not, grew uneasy following the discovery of another deceased companion at the Seson Border. Without formal authority and formal answers on the Pre-Blackout incident, the subtle unease developed into public panic.

Gong! Gong! Midday the Residences' Great Gongs rang, such an odd timing signaling a high-priority meeting. So we Justices bookmarked our places on Nodi we were in the middle of reading and relocated to the Grand Hall downstairs where the King sat at his oath-engraved podium, which held a folded paper. Soon my heart raced as we settled in our seats in silence, I assuming it concerned my involvement with Jorel and the Shol Tribe.

"I have an announcement to make," the King murmured as his hands pulled the letter open. "This is from Dictator Glauss of Doson, sent to the High Counsel during the weekend while we weren't active." He observed a few Justices to his right exchanging worried faces among each other, then said, "It reads..."

Word after word the King read, and my mind failed to fathom its spontaneous, suspicious agenda. Apparently, Dictator Glauss requested permission for he and his Elites to visit Cymeria for a "casual gathering to celebrate the Caruah festivities," despite Nodus 1718's recent passing. In a matter of a weekend, Cymel went from no contact with Doson to a "casual" relationship.

"I believe we should seize this opportunity," the King folded up the read letter. "I know what you all are thinking, but if we don't do this, we can't protect Cymel-Seson from another siege. This is a perfect time to have our proposals ready." To this, some Justices chuckled while some, like me, pondered in silence. Many of us let our confused reaction lead our other emotions toward the King's wavering agenda.

"We're going to put Nodus 1718 on a special hiatus for this occasion. The public's gone awry since its passing anyway. Once the festivities end, we'll return to its regulation until the end of the Pure Season, as pledged."

The pledge broke with this new amendment, and it seemed Nyce's petition did not fail after all, in retrospect. I couldn't believe it, that waiting solved the issue, that Jorel predicted it in moment's time, the fact we Justices had to "drag along with his flow." I shuddered at the last thought. Just like that, a letter sizzled the bicker between me and Commander Anger trying to hide Jorel's existence to nothing. I wanted to drag myself down to confront the King, but I chose to wait, as I did for this to happen.

More news the King announced, such as a major budget cut in the communal Justice income to help prepare for an approaching debate on border security. The High Commander reported a siege forecast based on Dosonite secret agent activities, and Cymerian states like Gerush absorbed excessive amounts of government money to maintain border control. Meanwhile, the King added in that the issue of Tritausen slavery in the military came to the Mitsen Tritausen's attention and we would have to soon discuss with them about it. For a side note, he calculated new expenses for hosting a Caruah Feast specially for the Cymerian High Counsel and the Doson Office Society of Negotiation (D.O.S.O.N.).

By the end of the meeting, we had much to think about. Not only my mother desired to visit for the festivals, a move never made in years, but so did Dictator Glauss himself, a move never made in his reign. I had to choose between either of them, and it was hard to decide.

"Justice Celt-Sone," the King beckoned me. "Let's have a talk real quick."

Pulled out of deciding, I peered over at the King's distracting, nylon-woven crown and his dark robe dragging the floor. Fine whispers lowed to silence, and on my walk down the sloped aisle toward the King, I felt all nine Justices' eyes following me. Upon arriving I knelt and bowed my neck.

"At ease," he beckoned and watched me stand back up. "I want you to tell me about this situation with the Shol."

Concluding King Purday found out through the High Commander, I licked my lower lip then spoke. "Your Majesty, there was a Shol Tritausen who came to the Residences and told me the Shol Elders considered killing Tritausen Blends to receive Doson's attention. I let him leave at first in fear of Nodus 1718's protocol, but then I discovered him in Cymel-Seson and had him arrested. The High Commander ordered him free. Now that the Nodus has been canceled, the action is deemed unnecessary after all." Finished, I searched into his pale, minty eyes, growing hotter in fear despite the cold air. "That is all I have to say."

"Hmph," he swat his hand and departed from me. My sight followed his figure searching for friendly company with his favorite Justices, the conservatives, leaving me to grow even hotter in dismissed anger. Taking my hood closer to my cheek, I retreated out of the hall, passing Losse and Nyce, shaking my head to their questions on what happened. The King wasn't serious about it, so I should not have been, I thought.

It was definitely time for a walk with grandfather, so I made plans after settling into my room in the Justices' Den to meet with him the following day. It would have been a great opportunity to clear my mind, prepare for the debates, let alone the Caruah festivals, and catch up with his news.

As I moved for my bed to get in, a surreal, light force weighed my muscles tense for a split moment. In circumstances where other matters could have preoccupied my attention, I would not have been sharp enough to introspect. The chance combination of an isolated, still room gave me enough silence and focus to notice it. At first I thought it was the Vorda energies reacting to my body again, but when I moved for bed, a mist of floating, lustrous traces trailed me. "... What?" I observed the elements disappear.

Someone had Bonded to me.