“Do you know how to play that?” I ask as he tightens some of the steely strings. He doesn’t answer, but begins to run his fingers over the instrument. The sound is poignant and sweet. Strings of paper hearts are cut from the sound to float up to the stars. Shivers move down my shoulders. It doesn’t take long for the hypnotic strains of the music, the haze from the alcohol, and the dancing heat of the fire to conspire and make me drowsy.
My breathing slows. I exhale a curl of cold air from my lungs as my fingers turn arctic and clutch the arms of the chair. Unwillingly, my consciousness leaves my body.
I don’t know where I am when I come to rest from my flash-forward through time. I don’t even know what I’m seeing right away. Looking around, I’m in the middle of a beautiful park at dusk. A wild group of unaccompanied young boys about twelve or thirteen floans old fly by me on boards that resemble snowboards. The decks of these devices hover above the walkway while flame-blue light shines beneath them. Rounding a tall lamppost at the end of the path, they shoot back around, as if they’ve turned on a berm. It’s really the force of air beneath the board that flips them back in my direction.
The baby-faced one in front has shoulder-length brown hair and wears a tall, licorice-black hat. His canary-yellow jacket flaps in the wind as he nears me. He has the best smile—infectious. As he passes, I’m able to see the word flipcart embossed on the deck of his board. My mouth drops open. It’s such an “aha” moment for me that I turn and follow them along the park path that cuts through the trees.
Ahead, there’s a lake where a few people have gathered with their children to race authentic-looking toy boats. I pause here while the flipcart riders keep going. An older gentleman stands over a leather bag for a long moment. The boy beside him is maybe five or six floans old. The child waits with shining anticipation. “Are you going to let me steer it this time, Grandsire?” he asks.
The older man hefts the object from the bag, revealing a Viking-like ship with a carved wooden dragon figurehead. He shakes the dragon’s fangs at the boy as he roars at him. The boy squeals in delight. The older man laughs and straightens. “Do you think you can keep it from crashing into the shore?” he asks his companion.
“Yes!” The exuberance of the answer brings a smile to the man’s face.
Together, they place the boat in the water. The canvases of the sails billow, looking lavender instead of white in the dusk-colored twilight. The older man crouches down and holds out the boat’s controller for the boy to take. Two sandy-brown heads lean close together as the boy guides the vengeful dragonhead away from the shore. I watch it, captivated by the rippling wake that turns the black surface of the water white.
The low hum of aircraft causes the water to tremble. Usually, the noise is not this pronounced—it must be a low-flying craft. First one black-winged drone, and then two more come into view, casting predatory shadows over the boats floating on the surface of the water. They move toward the horizon, where the city lights have the appearance of a carnival’s midway.
The drones frighten the boy; he drops the controller and turns to the shelter of the older man’s arms. “Tut, there’s nothing to be afraid of! Those are our sentinels. They patrol the sky to make sure we’re safe.”
“Why do they do that?”
“So no one can hurt us.”
“Why would someone want to hurt us?”
“Remember when I taught you about the five Houses of Ethar?” he asks the boy with a cautious smile.
“Yes.”
He straightens the boy’s green surge jacket. “Well, it has been decided that we only need four Houses.”
The boy’s brow wrinkles. “Who decided that?”
“Well, we did. Along with our allies in Alameeda.”
The boy frowns. “What House doesn’t get to stay?”
“The House of Rafe,” the man replies with no hint of remorse.
“What’s going to happen to it?” the boy asks as he rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
“You don’t have to be concerned about that—they’re way over in Rafe and we’re here in Wurthem. They probably don’t even know where Kalafin is.”
The boy’s eyes lift to the man’s. “But won’t they be sad?”
“Not for long,” the man says as he picks up the controller from the ground and hands it back to the boy with a smile.
The drones continue over the water until they disappear into the lights of the city. Then the wind pulls forward in a strange way, but only for a moment. The sky lights up. A bright light changes dusk to day. Two more brilliant flashes follow it. The older man makes a choking sound as he tries to shield the boy from the light by turning them away from it. His terror-filled eyes are nearly white as he holds the boy’s face against his chest. From the horizon, a tremendous rattle and roar shakes everyone nearby to the ground. Behind them, out across the water near the city, a fireball rolls outward, taking on the shape of a ring of stampeding flame-horses. The dust they kick up mushrooms into the sky. Fire sweeps over the water with a thunderous hissing sound. The man and the boy ignite, but the fire is so hot that it quickly reduces them to ash. Flames strike me, but instead of catching fire, I tumble backward in a rush of time.
I can’t seem to take a breath at first after I catapult back into my body. My lungs feel burned, and I wheeze. The fire near me snaps. Kyon has stopped playing music. I’m on his lap and he’s holding me. He strokes my hair while my forehead rests against his neck. His skin is warm against mine. I shiver and my teeth chatter a little. Kyon rubs my arm, trying to warm me up. I lift my head for a second, looking around. Everything else is the same. The fire still burns brightly and it’s still dark.
“You’re back,” Kyon says gently.
“How long was I away?” My voice is feeble and thick, as if I’ve been screaming for hours. I’m disoriented.
“Not long. You never stopped breathing, which is an improvement.”
I rest my forehead against his neck once more. It’s less awkward than looking into his eyes. “Everything is so broken,” I mutter. I feel like sobbing, but there’s no way I’ll ever cry in front of Kyon.
“What’s broken?” Kyon asks in a soothing tone.
“Me. Us. Everyone on this sucky planet!”
“Broken things can be fixed,” he replies.
“There’s a reason that everything I’m seeing is broken.”
“Is the future that upsetting? What happens?” When I don’t answer him, he sighs. “I can’t fix anything if you won’t tell me what happens.”
“You can’t fix this! It’s beyond your control.”
“Nothing is beyond my control,” he replies arrogantly.
“You can stop bombs?”
“Where?”
“Kalafin.”
“House of Wurthem,” we say in unison.
Kyon’s tone takes on a thoughtful air. “When?”
“Now,” I whisper.
“How bad?”
“Kalafin is gone.”
“The Brothers didn’t order it,” he says assuredly. “They wouldn’t try to bring down Wurthem yet. They still need them to tame the other Houses, especially Comantre.”