Focused before me on the wood cabinet's texture swirling like shaded watercolors, my eyes traced a web of notched carvings up for the ceiling, amazed at the burning fire's captivity within its polished frame. Not only the heat's containment kept the place warm at all walls from the cold Pure Season outside, but its artful design stole the middle of hexagonal space, only one of the many works inside that would have captivated visitors.

Right when a ray of violet light lined as I peeked my Vorda Sword from my hip scabbard, ensuring its charge despite the Bond on me, shuffling footsteps echoed nearby.

"Yeah, they'relookingintoit," a shriveled pitter-patter voice called from one of the six doors.

"What was that?" I called back, sheathing my sword.

"I said, 'Yeah, they're looking into it.' I just hope this is what they really want. Can't please a Cymerian whenthey'realwaysworking." My Grandfather Goun, known as a rather fast talker than his own good, lost his enunciation. Thankfully, my father didn't inherit his father's Cymerian-recessive trait of a speaking bullet, because if that were the case, the Celt-Sones would have been known as the misunderstood unknowns. Still, Grandfather Goun's stream of speech came in handy when his projects for the Cymerian Civil Management came as fast. Plus, to him, slow speech wasted time, a luxury an old man like him did not have much of.

"You ready?" His shriveled posture came into view beside me. "Remember, if you have to work, I'd rather you do that than waste time on me."

"It's not a waste being with you, grandfather." Indeed, there was no time to waste. A few strides to the back door and a few reminders to prioritize my responsibilities took us outside, starting our normal hike up the Great Caruah Ranges. Our feet sank in the fertile soils, our frosted, pointy noses burned in the chilling altitudes, slender tree trunks shot high above us. Beetles flapped their shaley wings and lit the purpling woods that covered the dusking, Shol-beaming skies on our way up the steep slope, taking each fresh breath to absorb the beauties of nature.

To my left, my slender, slouched grandfather shuffled his way up the mushes, his few wrinkles capturing a few shadows in his face. In his muddy eyes were a few glints of the beetles' luminant flights nearby, and his tight lips would have deceived anyone to think he had a reserved personality. Inside his aged countenance was a youthful, idealistic Cymerian committed to his work as a carpenter. Daily he had natural inspiration from his very backyard. Just like Commander Desonne, the touch of nature touched his life like a fire he could contain in wood.

I always liked going on walks with Grandfather Goun. Not only he always had a new story to tell, but sometimes random revelations interrupted my stream of thought and solved some of my overthought problems. A carefree break from a normal routine, a time to rest, encouraged time to think without judgement or hastiness.

Keeping my hood closer to my cold ears, I wondered if the blanket I threw on Ira before I left Grandfather's house would have helped her bear standing out in the cold. It would have been better to have her stay in the warm house, but Grandfather Goun didn't like the idea of having a Trau frightened by the slightest noise roaming inside his house, which was full of mechanical moving models that were sure to scare her.

Grandfather Goun also didn't like the idea, as an idealistic Cymerian, to be called "Papa" or "Pops" or "Granddad." Several times in the past when I called my dad "Dad" in front of him, Grandfather Goun shuddered every time. He made it clear to me that I was to call him "Grandfather" and his soulmate "Grandmother," as it fitted proper culture.

"You know," my grandfather kept balance with his hands in his pockets, "She's working to become an Elder now."

I winced at him, pulled out of thought. "Who now?"

"Abone."

I thought of my grandmother, the carrier of my Tritausen heritage. "Oh, is she? The Counsel didn't tell us."

"Mmhm," he nodded. "That'swhatshe'sdoingnow."

I half snorted, not understanding the last part he said. In the middle of it, though, I realized how clear his announcement came out, how disappointed his voice sounded. Abone wasn't just anyone to my grandfather. She was a full-blooded Mitsen Tritausen raised in slavery to the Cymerians up until she met Grandfather Goun, who bought her instead and freed her immediately after. In short time, the two grew romantic with each other, sharing their passion for carpentry and nature, and they also had two Blended children, my father Doy and Neita.

They also shared a dislike for the racial persecution they received, and for a while, they did what they could to endure it. Grandfather Goun's career suffered and his social acceptance plummeted, and Abone grew guilty for what price their love had and decided to break away from him and her children all of a sudden, only breaking my grandfather's heart more. She thought that leaving could have improved the life of her soulmate and her children, despite Neita being sick often. While she meant well, her abandonment left my father and aunt with endless questions about their identity as half-Cymerian, half-Mitsen Tritausen, how to fit into the prejudiced Cymerian society. So, to hear that my grandmother planned to become a Mitsen Elder, to specialize in law over the Cymerians who casted off her love for my grandfather, amazed me.

Crumbling rocks to our left captured our attention for a brief moment, clattering down an elevated ledge. At first, I thought it to be the cause of a scurrying animal, but the heavy stepping cued something heavier sifting past the shadowed trunks. Staring into the space, we found two Cymerian women in draping silk jumpsuits huddling against each other like birds on their stroll above.

"Yep, those savages are trying to start some army again," one scoffed. "I hope the Vorda stings some sense into them."

"Pew! Pew, pew!" The other imitated a Shol user, waving her hands like an over-taught magician. "Oh no, how could this be? The Shol Elders' power is divine! We shall be defeated!"

"Hahaha!" Their chirpy laughs insinuated my annoyance for their chap mockery. Not much could have been done, though — they had the free right to express themselves. Letting their conversation die off with echoing distance, we returned to our walk and thoughts. Perhaps the Counsel did not tell us about Abone because of her relation to me, a so-called savage to the girls.

Swallows' trills resonated the air, and purpling, lustrous shimmers glowed upon tireless backs of coal-skinned rocks upon the fertile floors. No mammal or reptile crawled in sight. The Pure Season had a devastating effect on wildlife, and though we walked in Morgaul, a city that bordered Cymel, the Vorda's power in Cymel spanned far.

Like anything else, exposure to Vorda required balance for better health, and we Blends were no different from the animals. While the pain dulled over time, my muscles still ached from the still active Bond set on me the night before, reacting to the Vorda around. I attempted to make connections, assuming it was Dad who put the Bond back on me after releasing him during the Pre-Shol Blackout some days back. At the same time, a part of me told me it was Jorel again. Either way, earlier that morning I lied to Officer Gorsin about practicing my Shol powers, so whoever it was, they were in the clear.

"I miss her," Grandfather Goun spoke with longing. "I'm sure she wouldn't want to be back with me again, but still..."

Moving my eyes up for the mountain peak we approached, I said, "We don't really know for sure. Even if she wouldn't right now, maybe it's for the best. It seems she has new priorities now and so do you." Commander Jokester's comic line on the Seson Border came back to me, encouraging me to add, "Maybe there will be a time when she may come back to you again, when she has what she wants figured out. Based on my past conversations with her, she may have built borders around herself but now sees that lawmaking can help her tear those down."

In that moment, my own conclusion brought me to another: civil responsibilities built walls, not literal segregation and abandonment. This, I thought, would have solved the border security problem highlighted for the next debate. Involvement in society despite societal differences built the distinction we wanted, not isolation and discrimination. Once again, a walk with Grandfather Goun put half of the pieces together.

Still, the other half of the solution did not have resolve. I didn't feel as though I comforted Grandfather enough, as distinguished in his even-toned voice.

"Maybe," the old man's feet crunched, and then he huffed. "I think about her a little too much sometimes. I wonder if she's doing okay or if the Mitsen are treating her well."

"They might be. She's studying to become an Elder still, but your worries are understandable. Situations have been tight lately with the Shol and all... Being concerned for her brings you closer, but there could be a chance she wouldn't want you to w—."

A large figure zipped down the left ledge again with rocks rattling down. There, a struggling being stooped his tall, upper body and scrambled to get back onto the ledge with his kicking, long legs. Making out the pale skin, the worn sandals, the silver hair — I realized it was Jorel propping himself back up and glancing back at us, starting off for a dash through the woods. As suspected, we had an eavesdropper.

Two choices came to mind: Commander Hardaran's aggressive order to never deal with Jorel again, to ignore my curiosity and continue bonding with my grandfather, or a demand for the truth to these recurrent invasions of privacy.

"Excuse me for a moment," I made my decision. "I'll be right back."

"Whereyougoing?"

"I have to deal with someone briefly. If you can stay right he—."

"Okayokaygo," he hasted his waving hand. Like I said, he didn't like to waste any time.

Nodding back, I started to a run, drawing my Vorda Sword and threw my hands upon the rough stones, pulling my way up them with a glimpse of Jorel's blurred form speeding through the clustered trunks. At the top, my feet landed and charged me forward on the rustling leaves, and my eyes shut out obstacles around, preparing me for the long-awaited pounce on this persistent Tritausen.