RE:COSMO
The First 30 pages
Note from Author: COSMO was my first completed long-term writing project. A story told across thousands of drawings, posters, notes in the margins of homework assignments. After starting the story two or three times, at the age of 15, I wrote a 200-page script for the epic RPG I wanted it to become. A simple story of a powerless boy, by love and friendship, growing in power to defeat the undead emperor, along the way fighting dozens of deities and critters corrupted by the shadows looming over the land. I grew my skills in writing, music, art and modelling all for the goal of ultimately adapting Cosmo, giving it the form it was always meant to have. But going to school for game design disillusioned me. It's a project that was always doomed to be bigger than me. And now, in 2026, I still cling onto it's characters, still revere the ambitions I had, even as they and the story they were trying to tell, fell behind any standards of quality or storytelling I now hold myself to. It's funny, actually. The new Tomodachi Life is actually what brought me back. The realization a self-insert for who I was like Cosmo would have been trans, and that the world she's fighting against is a twisted version of her own ideals. It's a depth the text itself never had that now felt critical to draw out. There was a chance to save Cosmo, and that chance was breathing new life into the characters and waiting patiently if the fate they were strung along by is truly how the story was meant to go. Thus, after slimming the story of it's gameisms, erasing all but the settings and souls that occupied it, I now write a new Cosmo. A novel in form, it no longer bears unenviable ambitions. It's a retelling from the ground up, not a simple rewrite, atop which it's occupants can finally find peace.
(This is an early draft of something I'll be seeking to publish.)
I. A Fracture in the Cosmos
A boy sits on the silver shoals of an archipelago far beyond all known shores. Cosmo, alone and wistful, is lost before the endless seas he has spent all his life learning from. Even as the trials of life mount, at least this remains constant, still carries him onward with vigour and calm.
Before him, twin sailboats cut raucously through the golden fabric stitched atop the visage by the afternoon sun. He shutters at each jut and crashing of the waves, curls tightly into himself against the caress of tempests. Nature’s verve and the breeze’s gentle touch fill him with not but a cruel ache. He’s pining to be real again, to be vindicated by the strokes of invisible hands. Yet, there is only he and the earth, and he is no presence at all. He presses his hand against the pocket of his vibrant red tee, embracing its warm glow. He opens it up, staring at the aqua gemstone within. Every twinkle the strength and will of he and dozens before him.
Deltopia Isles house the fortunate escapees of history and conquest. These lands of pagan shelter sit cradled at the heart of an eternal storm. Cosmo is one of tens of thousands to which these islands give life, yet one of very few with the unfortunate grace of power. For many years, the isles were home to the six pagan guardians, a testament to their creations and command in shaping nature to their creative will. Yet, with their minds expended, it wasn’t until the miraculous arrival of humanity that they could share in the act of creation. Each guardian graced only one of these earliest arrivals with fragments of their might, not as rulers, but as arbiters to this new synthesis of wills. The powers they were gifted let them reimagine nature in service of itself and in harmony with life. One of these six mighty blessings is currently copulating with Cosmo’s pocket-lint.
Pendant wielding is tragically by inheritance, where one must decide themself how to responsibly serve rather than leverage it for prestige. It’s a job like any other. The Guardians thought this would prevent competition for merit, barring it from the power-hungry by nature of the tragedy tied to inheritance. There’s bound to be bad apples in any system, right? But given only one pendant has ever been rescinded, the system has a pretty good streak. To wield is to serve the lives of all species of islanders until death. To wield is to channel the will of collective change through one’s body and mind, to become it and to shape it into form. To wield is to carry the legacy and prestige of dozens of esteemed men and women. These truths were ingrained in Cosmo from birth, and now, face-to-face with history, he feels gravely indifferent.
Any premature inheritance is doomed to be hollow, but Cosmo feels exceptionally weak. Since coming to wield the illustrious will of the winds, he has done nothing but fade into the patterns and rhythms he’s known his whole life for the answer to what he had before. As the waves crash, the lush path home remains, as do the cobbled paths between his schools, neighbours, jobsites. Yet Cosmo bears a power over the world he never had to consider prior, a power he’s sickened by. The thought of becoming the man his father was, the lessons and reassurance of the other wielders, fill him with a deep aching dread. The possibility of willing a mere tempest feels like a cruel assertion. There is no role for Cosmo that isn’t in the shadow and memory of the revered Derek Tempesta. This is not how the story was supposed to be written. No story should ever feature Cosmo, let alone lead with him. History is not penned for those in the shadows of men. He rolls the pendant around in his palm, his mind and eyes vacantly escaping into its glints. This indestructible stone is the shackle of his ancestors, as it will be his.
“Well well, good afternoon, Sir Cos.” A girl in overalls with pale orange hair stands valiantly over him. “Ain’t you three lucky, crashing your skiffs into each other. Know what Big Al was doing all weekend? Smelling Volta’s pits while she picked up and corrected all his poor wiring. I mean, can you believe the balls on the guy? Let’s dump all our occupational hazards on his student researchers.”
“Glad you made it, Alice.”
“Glad I made it too! Glad I at least get something before end-of-term coursework bites my tits off.” The two, along with those aboard the skiffs, Miles and Isaac, have been tight-knit since childhood. Born to well-known families, they are all university-age now, travelling inseparably each along their own vocational tracks. Alice, for one, is an engineer.
“Would you just look at those bastards go out there, man! Praise be to thee, Cozzie, you sexy deacon of the breeze, for these luscious, luscious waves.” She lifts her cuffs up and runs to the shoreline. “Yo, Miles! Bring it back in! I’ve earned next!” Alice strips down to her underwear and, without a second thought as to her clothes, dives into the sea. Cosmo watches the scene intently with a certain clean joy in his stomach. Seeing Alice happy makes him happy, simple as, right?. She is a much freer soul than he, always guided by a certain laxness in chasing what she felt in the moment. There’s something about Alice, that by mere proxy, Cosmo’s heart bubbles to life.
Miles dives off the skiff as Alice tries to grab at his ankles. He floats on his back, placidly guided by the shoreline waves. As his back runs against the pale sands, he rises to his feet, well-groomed even while foiled by a coat of sea-salt. The setting sun forms an aureole around his dark, wet skin as he saunters over to Cosmo. “ Whatever degree you were involved in that rocking ride, I commend it, C-Boy.” Miles plops down next to him. “You gotta follow her in, right? With these waves, you gotta. Isaac’s probably getting tired, you know? Go blow him off.”
“Don’t underestimate a junior boatsmith!” Cosmo impersonates Isaac with concerning accuracy. “No, it’s fine, Miles. Really. I like doing what I can for you guys. It’s more calming than all that. Just enjoy yourselves!” Cosmo beams as he hands Miles a towel. Miles is wrong about the breeze, of course, but that hardly warrants saying. It’s been nearly two months now with no improvement in his control.
“Don’t always gotta shoulder the burden… but glad you’re filling into it.” Miles, still wet and shirtless, hugs Cosmo.
"Gah!"
“Oh, but we love you big-time and just wanna see you smile! Go on, screw the rest of us over! We’ll still be here cheering!” Miles backs off, but rests his hand on Cosmo’s arm. He softens a little, gaze still drowning in the sea. “At least I will. The first few times maybe. No promises that cute face of yours’d carry you past that.” Ugh, why can’t he return the laugh? So damn lucky and still trapped in his own pathetic little problems. Cosmo leans into Miles’ side to comfort himself. A few minutes pass.
“Er, hate to ruin the moment, but check your 8 o’clock.” Miles looks smugly over Cosmo’s shoulder. “Now who could that snooty girl in pink be, thinking she can stage a photoshoot right here and not say hello first? Keeping her distance ‘cus she knows you and I’ll make her look bad. Wanna go humble her?”
“Go ahead. Gotta stay here keeping the winds blowing.”
“Word. Be right back. Promise.” Miles runs over to former classmate and popular local model, Candyfloss and her photographer. She’s radiantly overdressed for someone kneeling in a patch of crab-grass, a point Miles will no doubt give her shit over.
So Cosmo’s tale as a wielder begins in apathy and dishonesty. At nineteen, he wears his life sentence, the punctuation to his private life. Didn’t get the chance to grow up or “man up” beforehand. So he bides his time with friends he can no longer share the experience with. That and endless training and scholarship for what it means to serve his fellow islanders. Nova’s a scholar right? Maybe it’s okay for a wielder to just lose themself to knowledge. But the guilt of postponement by his own selfish feelings makes him want the secrets unlocked suddenly and all at once.
Cosmo crawls forward to pick up Alice’s abandoned overalls, sparing them from a brutal snuffing by the rising tide. He dusts them off before folding them in his lap, hand-ironing the denim. An oil-stained rag hung from one of the pockets, which Cosmo gently tucked back in. The smell of grease and brine cuts acridly through the tangs of Alice’s body odor. He lifts the overalls closer. It’s the nose, foremost, that lulls Cosmo back into his memories. The innocent sleepovers, the hugs of welcome and goodbye, the sense of being at home all channeled through little particles in the breeze. He’s got many homes.
Shit. What is he doing? He looks up to Alice, still gnashing carefree across the grinning waves, donning an electric expression. Miles and Candy, meanwhile, are reading each other's style choices with shouting blows. Isaac, too, completely absorbed in the spumes of mist. Isaac and Cosmo used to get mixed up as kids. Brunettes with shoulder-length waves, both light-skinned, though Isaac’s work has kept him tan. Isaac’s also always been the taller and more sharply-made of the two. It should be a favourable comparison, but Cosmo’s never got it. Neither really saw the resemblance. Either way, they’re quite opposite people.
He runs his fingertips over the bulge of the pendant before holding his hands intently before him, tries to place his trust in this devourer of lives. Professor Nova’s many mantras of advice pass through him. An esteemed biologist and one of the other six wielders, he’s offered him rigorous, yet cool-headed tutelage. “Make your body a conduit... Do not assert... Start by presuming its shape… Become yourself the airs that brush against you and motivate them... Free yourself of the little desires and read the calling of your surroundings… Will the winds come in whatever form they may.” Repeat until failure stops.
A spurt of hot air jets weakly around him, displacing a meager scoop of sand. Hmph. That’s really where he’s at? Cosmo tries again, focusing, feeling, embracing all the hot-button words and koans, full-heartedly wishing to birth a tailwind. Another flimsy burst of air. Ugh. An impotent display for no one's eyes and shame but his own. He takes the pendant out of his shirt pocket, clenching his fist painfully around the gemstone before pummeling it into the sand. He feels a tap on his shoulder.
It’s Candy, a truth conveyed by perfume alone, looming over him with her ornamental grin. “Well, well! What a show, Cos! You are star material, girl! Drama given flesh. That sand? Shaken to its core and feeling positively sedimental. She’s wishing she were still a crab shell after such a nasty scare.” Candy restlessly taps her cheek. “You know, I have the perfect use for you just as you are. You’d be a wonderful hair dryer. How about I’ll call you right after my shower tomorrow~ Just you wait. Candy goes for an all-new do, and you’ll be able to point to every headline in Luminis and say ‘*gasp* That was me!’”
Candy… resists responding to. To even try is to meet the acerbic fury of a professional in holding the spotlight. She’s so enthralling one doesn’t feel the inevitable headache creep up as she steals the air away. She pops a lollipop in her mouth and looks sideways. Sticks to a steady diet of empty calories. Sugar is the secret to manifesting a saccharine feminine soul, after all~.
“I’ll consider the offer.”
“Oh no! Where did your rapport go, C-man? You’re supposed to catch my drift and glide it to stardom! ‘I’ll consider the offer’ like you ain’t got a night of moping ahead of you.”
Candy pauses, seeming to acknowledge Cosmo isn’t in the mood. “Sorry, too far? In full sincerity, though? Jealous~. Been really getting into these books Nova dug up that’re apparently from some abandoned village of pendantless mages?? The woods are full of ancient crazies. Shit got too real when I guess they accidentally burned their village down with, like, faux guardian magic? Eek, so excited to grind out that business and cook your powers alive. Hot witches are in heavy demand this season, babe. Know any real competitors besides, ugh, Almonde?”
“Alice’s sister count? Y’know, Ms. Giada?”
“Yes. YES. Ugh. English Teacher chic is such an impending threat! No, but know what could be? You. Dual-wielding the elements, one in each hand. Perfect eyeliner. Jaw dropping at the possibilities. We’re talking a fire tornado in the shape of your face.”
“Maybe one day. Curious where Nova even found those tomes. Thought the mage village was still just speculation.”
“You know the old guy’s pendant power is all searchy-findy. I’m sure the old perv could sniff out *anything* with those creepy flower tentacles.” Candy scoffs, biting down on her lollipop. She fishes out a second one from her swollen jacket pockets.
“That’s not right. He keeps to himself.”
“Yeah, to himself and whatever harem he’s got in that abandoned building he lives in. Celibate sages have, like, gotta be the most bottled-up people alive.”
“Whatever you say. Did you, um, wanna go out there too?”
“Uh, no. I don’t do ocean. Whole thing’s a melange of peepee and poopoo. You would like that though, me riding half-mast for all of Luminis to see? Unfortunate to your boy brain, but I ain’t as crass as Alice! I’m a lady, and ladies don’t keep the whole town up-to-the-minute on… on, what underwear colour is that? Tell me, Cos!”
"I'm-
That’s right, everyone! Boxers~!” Cosmo rises to his feet dizzily, meeting Candy’s gaze.
“Why’s it matter anyway?”
“Gee, I didn’t mean no offense! Just a girl’s gotta leave some stuff to the imagination, y’know?” Cosmo rubs his eyes as Candy stares wryly at the water. “He, on the other hand, can show as much as he wants. Take notes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ugh, give me some slack! I’m in a tense spot! I got the second hottest girl in town willing to photograph me, right? But now the noble Miles Celestia is eating away golden hour flirting with the bitch! He doesn’t even like women, right? Get your bestie on a leash! He’s all confused and it’s jacking my style too!”
Cosmo waves over at Miles for a saving grace to this conversation. Miles wastes no time in running over. He pushes Candy to the side and puts his hand under Cosmo’s chin, inspecting his face with ironic fear. “Whew. Patient is clear of any sugar-based radiation. You’re good to go, soldier.”
Candy snorts. “Y’all are so weird. Later.”
“See ya! Oh, and you might wanna readjust that lens!” Miles laughs to himself. Ready to get going? My bro’s probably gonna be looking for me soon. Wouldn’t mind walking home together if you’re done here.”
“Y-yeah, thanks. Ready when you are.”
Miles’ brother, Cel, is another of the six pendant wielders. Besides the two of them and Nova, the only other pendant-wielder in Luminis is actually Alice’s sister, Aurora. Professor Giada. Runs the city’s archives and history curriculum. A big part of the three’s friendship came from how intertwined their families were. As for Isaac and Candy, they came from relative wealth. All lived in the shadows of their parents, their entire households both famed and haunted by their pendants and inventions.
As for the other two wielders, Solaris and Selene, they had a nasty split from Luminis not long before Cosmo was born. Founded a second city on the northernmost isle. Probably has its own set of principles, but with how little the two cities communicate, information is sparse.
Barring the sound of sandals slapping the dirt, Miles and Cosmo head home in silence. They follow the lush, scenic path parallel to the shore. The brick and glass silhouettes of downtown loom over the hills to their right.
“Say, Cosmo, I wanna press you on something. Answer however.”
“What’ve I got to hide? Shoot.”
“I know we’ve had this convo before, but you know, feelings, bodies, minds change, and I know this whole thing with your Dad’s taken a toll on you. And this is serious! No stress or judgement.”
“Miles… just say it.”
“I, well, I don’t know. The way you’ve been, it’s been reminding me. How I was before I could… put to words the type of person I was. Every day, it was like something was just not clicking into place, y’know? Something bigger than all the grief outside of us.”
“You’re asking if I’m gay again?”
Miles smirks “Whatever term you wanna use. I know it sounds like some silly thing, but-” Cosmo sighs. He felt very comfortable around Miles, but his thinly-veiled interest was something Cosmo assumed to be what he meant. “I don’t mean it transactionally. I just see myself in you, man. That your soul ain’t free. I don’t know. Candy and I watched the whole wind thing and I felt really bad letting her give you shit about it. I have been trying to feel it out through my own lens. Think how to get past-”
“I don’t know. Your concern means a lot. Just.. I’m not worth all that.” Cosmo looks sheepishly towards the city of Luminis. “Feels pretty cut and dry that I… regret not spending time with him.”
“Well that’s a different answer than last time’s “well, girls probably!”” Miles dorkily points his finger to the sky, causing Cosmo to crack up. “So I guess we’re making some progress.”
“I meant- I don’t know as in- well, I mean- I’m pretty sure I do like girls! To be clear! Not really sure if… if love is-”
“Was just a joke. No need to unpack your whole sexual identity right here, right now. You’ll know love when you feel it. Just… laying the thought out there, cus it’s about more than just love. Let the idea float until- bam! All those pent-up butterflies in your stomach erupt into an awesome zephyr as your buddies (myself included) weep in joy at the light of your romance!”
“I know love! I’ve, well I’ve definitely had people make my insides feel… soft? People I’ve felt happy at the chance of growing closer to.” Miles nods for him to keep going. “I mean isn’t love, like, moving closer to one another? I dunno I guess I don’t see how any of this is any different from how I am with you or Candy or, or Alice.” Cosmo feels weak after letting himself confess that much, like he’s excised, in rare sincerity, a truth of his worldview.
“You’ll know it when you feel it. Or maybe you’re just into a lot of people, haha. Just talked to Cel last night about the whole middle phase and he thought conjuring’s just not the same with a storm brewing in your heart. Weather pun probably intended.” Cel bears the will of weather, able to manipulate clouds, rain and storms. “Made me think of you.”
“Well, you know, it’s still pretty new, even if it might feel like forever for you. Just every day, I just wake up and realize I’m still not past it.”
“Yeah. I feel you. Not sure you remember how I was, but it never really gets better. Things eventually settle, little by little, as life goes on. It’s all less… immediately bad.”
“Just feels like that day will never come without me finally doing something to escape the shadow of… of how it was.”
Miles looks wistfully at the sun. “How it was, huh? Maybe you just need someone to get you there, give life a new purpose, right? Cel’s the best brother one could’ve asked for in the situation. Flawed as anyone but he went the distance for me. It… it meant something more than grief.” The rest of the walk vanishes into a motley of soothing exchange until they arrive at Cosmo’s front door.
“Goodnight. Love you, Miles.”
“Love you too. And write down your dream tonight!”
II. The Legionnaire’s Crisis
Marcel jerks up, head pounding with blood, torn through by biting nausea and paranoia. Lucid visions of stained dull walls and stalking silhouettes fade slowly into the heavy fuzz of darkness as the needles in his brain cease to writhe. Just a dream again, Cel. His dreams pick away bites of him, devouring his spirits. Even when alert, he’s haunted by the intrusion of memories, of possibility, remixing those years of his twenties buried in the realm between to account for every missed tragedy. He struggles to discern which is which in these moments, has to recall all his darkest points as a chant to sink back into slumber. And sometimes, as now, he drinks. Gazing into the darkness of his bedroom, he fixates on how the cones of his eyes buzz around, how little his vision serves him. Darkness shares in the visual language of The Static, after all. The realm which he unwittingly served.
Parting from Marcel for a moment more, there is one crucial tale, fundamental to the Isles Deltopia, but so often overlooked. There once was a seventh wielder: an inventor by the name of Vuoto Auspicio. Both a hermit and the brilliant forefather of the robotic arts, he was gifted by the guardians with the will of worlds. With such a pendant, one could bend matter, narrow the space between spaces and allow the refugees rapid movement between the sites of natural beauty. It was the lynch-pin of the guardian’s gifts, a means of connecting all other blessings. It was little more than an auxiliary power, not anchored to any specific guardian. Yet, as the network grew, Vuoto carving thousands of hallways through this metaspace, it began to seem less transitional and more a world of its own.
After personally exploiting the space to hoard, traffic and experiment against the conduct and approval of the other islanders, the pendant was, for the first and only time ever, rescinded and destroyed by the guardians. Not long after, Vuoto banished himself into his own creation in search of his own source of strength, never to return.
Through today, that metaspace still stands, rotting without upkeep into an inky, ever-distorting and stretching expanse. Its halls are quilted with a heavy, vague fog as its use-case becomes less certain. The islands are more divided than ever, less travelled, so bemoan the elders.
The space between has earned several nicknames: The Static, The Badlands, The Between. Many of the original tears made by Vuoto still litter the island, connecting key locales across the archipelago. Any traveller voyaging along the unweeded veins, the paths blooming from themselves, chances an encounter with one of Vuoto’s abandoned experiments, so history believes them to be. The Pyrals (named for their smoky, undead appearance) are unnatural creatures of fluid, metallic forms that oft take the shape of a scribble or another living creature. They travel The Static in roaming hordes; digging, haunting, chasing the tears.
It is by such threats that even the utopic Deltopian isles require, at any time, a small squadron of islanders to fend off these beasts. Hundreds of years on, and the undead ambition of one dangerous man hangs as an inextinguishable spectre beneath their life. Vuoto, all islanders know, cannot be allowed to resurge.
Marcel was a willing participant in this civil sacrifice, serving several years before the distance he put between himself and his life before really started to affect him. In pursuit of independence, he let his young adulthood be swallowed; the formative years of his brother Miles and the final years of his wielder grandmother. It is a tale not unlike that of young Cosmo, yet Marcel is of a more certain soul.
That’s what he tells himself, that he learned his lesson. Understands now that connection is all that’s worth chasing in life. That time is precious. He’s wasted no time in making himself a social pillar of the island, making himself the wielder his grandmother was from utmost guilt. Over the last decade, he gets so used to externalizing that when he finds himself back in these positions… alone at the dead of night with false Pyrals in his peripheral…
It’s not just that tonight. He’s woken from his lull by a dull crash down the hall. Stand to attention, soldier! Threats have entered guarded parameters. Arms at ready… good! Cel scoops an emptied bottle from the foot of his armchair, rolls his shoulders and takes a couple practice swings. Miles must’ve heard too. He knows what to do, but the boy isn’t as procedural. Move out. Cel’s body refuses, frumpy and feeble under the night’s toll.
Cel isn’t an alcoholic. It doesn’t devour his every waking thought like some people. He simply treats himself after a long day, tires himself out with a bit of self-prescribing. Admittedly, he’ll use generous doses on nights where Miles is out and all’s quiet in town. Most standard at-home hobbies were too… introspective for him.
He buttons his shirt, slips on his vest and creeps out in the hall, readily sporting his whisky slugger. Footsteps tore down the stairs on the opposite end of the hall. Miles must be ahead of him. We ain’t boxing ghosts, in that case. Something happened.
"Miles!"
Cel barrels down the hall, inevitably shoulder-checking the wall atop the stairs. Shit, pray there’s no damage to either party. Cel’s a big guy, after all. A good 190 centimeters with the retained physique of his time in the service.
He takes more caution in descending the stairs, though quickly realizes haste is the only option. A form indistinguishable from the shadows looms in the center of the room, Miles’ silhouette standing hauntingly before it, staring into it’s abyss. Is… this a dream? What is he looking at? He swears an eye eerily glosses whatever form consumes the hearth of his home. Something stands between him and his brother.
“Miles! Holy shit, Miles! Look at me, man! Can you-”
Cel freezes. No, no, no. He knows what this is. Some delusion that The Static has creeped into his most intimate space. Some Pyral from his memory. This is exactly the type of thing his therapist harangues him over. Yelling will only make the problem worse, scare the real Miles. Damn it, how could he trust his vision so readily like this? Maybe he really does need to stop drinking to do something about the hallucinations. He turns away, scared that Miles is judging him. Imagine being forced to endure a madman through the bond of blood. Of course he knew he’d helped helped rear a considerate man, but-
“Cel… ernnggh… get help. We can’t-” Miles writhes awfully, scratches at the floor, though it gives him no leverage. Hey, Miles? It’s a dream, right? “We can’t fight this…. whatever it is.”
Silhouettes of hands rise from the floor, whirling and cocooning Miles in a veil of darkness. Even if it is, this rage is real. He has to fight it, to back up his deepest-held beliefs. Cel dons his pendant, wrapping his hands in gauntlets of emerald lightning. Resist the delusion, Cel. Grab it by the neck. He curls his hands and charges the peering net of shadows, but the darkness has grown too deep, too encompassing.
At the snap of its own fingers, the darkness resumes its usual form. Miles is lost to the whispers of the night, and Cel can do nothing but collapse. He lay alone in the center of the den, a deeply stupid man who tried to box shadows. He’d have laughed at himself if he hadn’t fallen asleep on the spot. Whatever fire the dream lit in his soul was snuffed out as he faced his own shame. Just sleep, Cel. Miles will shake you awake in the morning. Everything’s just peachy.
Unbeknownst to Cel until morning struck, he was the sole witness to a campaign of terror that ravaged Luminis en-masse, catapulting the city onto the path of war. Miles, several of his classmates and dozens of pillar civilians now nothing but a crater in the morale and daily goings of the city. Not all hope was lost, Cel. You know that kingdom well.
III. At Boiling Point
Alice rose bright and early on a new day only to find herself hanging in a tree. Not in the gruesome sense some may envision, but somehow she’d gotten her overall loops hitched onto a sturdy branch somewhere along Luminis’ coastline.
“Oh fuck this,” she muttered, curious how she slept so soundly with her pants so painfully hiked up. No miserable sap in her life could’ve conducted such a prank. Too elaborate for Isaac or her sibling Tori’s dickery. With a groaning swing, she hooks her legs around the base of the branch and shimmies further out until there was enough slack to free herself. Inevitably, the branch snapped anyway, Lady Gravity pounding her down onto the rather unpliant sand. Alice grumbles, her ribs aching and mouth foul. This isn’t right. She needs to cool off, shoot the shit with some unsuspecting dork. There’s gotta be some justice in the world. She pats herself down, scopes out her surroundings. Casa de Cosmo seems the closest spot to borrow an ear to complain to.
✭ ✩ ✭ ✩ ✭
Outside his window, she threw her shoe at the glass. A gentle knock to get her buddy stirring. Doors are for chumps. Alas, no dice. This ain’t your sophomore snoozer. Got the damn duke of dreams in earshot. Second shoe. Thunk. No bed-headed face peeking up to offer a concerning amount of credence for what most would politely call obnoxious behaviour. Fortunately, the second blow caused a slight outward swing. Engineers like Alice call that an opportunity. Finagling a bit of “rope” and a couple of “hoists”, she scales the log wall, still aching horribly may I add, and takes a graceful pose sitting into the window sill right above Cosmo’s bed.
He whispering something? She leans in. Something, something “luvyanomattur… yarily… mmm”. Sweet nonsense. Unfortunately for whatever beautiful dream he is in the midst of, Alice is banged in the back of the head by the window pane’s cruel recompense. She somersaults forward onto Cosmo’s legs. And at last, the beast stirs.
“Er, sup, Cozzie! Fine morning to you! Can I getcha a cawffee, honey~?”
“Huh? Why’s -” He starts breathing quite rapidly.
“Whoa, buddy! You alright there? It ain’t what it looks like!”
“Oh, um, real Alice? Yeah, just had a real, uh… real vivid dream and…” Cosmo trails off, rubbing his eyes.
“Was I in it? Acting all wicked? That why you got all flustered?”
“No, no. How did you-” His eyes gaze up to the unshuttered window “Ah. Hope you didn’t freak mom out.”
“Cassandra knows me from every angle. She’s a respected collaborator.” Alice sits up and wipes her forehead with her neckscarf. “Weirdest thing happened this morning, C. Had to run right over.” She cracks her back.
“Weirder than this?”
“It ain’t a competition, boss. Woke up in a tree nearby. Busted my ass trying to get down.”
“Is your ass alright?”
“Personal details. You’re ignoring the bigger picture. Some profound force of petulance must’ve dragged me halfway across Luminis. The mole-people are onto me, dude. They know I know.” Alice, in truth, was rather terrified that anything could so radically toy with her against her awareness. “They were in your dreams too, I bet. Holding you under. You’d’ve slept forever, man.”
“What’s with you and mole-people?” The words of one who’s been compromised. They’re all across the written history of the island, yet it’s been decades since they were last reported. Schemers. Rotten schemers enacting their blind will. She will not be swayed from her subterranean scapegoat by a knave.
“You just don’t get it, man.”
The lovely Cassandra knocklessly enters the room. “Get dressed. The mayor called a full-town meeting. And, uh, Good Morning, Alice? I didn’t see you come in.”
“Mrs. T. Stocking any treats? Had a real rough go this morning.”
“What I said to Cosmo unfortunately pertains just as much to you.”
“Sick…”
Cosmo slumps out of bed and shoves himself in his closet to change. “I don’t really wanna go if it’s just another vanity thing or clean-up project. Know anything else?”
“Marcel was the one who told me. Called at dawn to say that Miles went missing.” Alice’s body instinctively kicks up, patting herself clean. She can’t know that. Why would she say that? Cel couldn’t think that? She nearly knocks over Cassandra as she rests her hand on the wall trying to come back to herself.
“You can’t be joking, can you? W-what else?”
“I don’t know, Alice, I’m sorry. He… seemed uncertain even saying it. He’s never called me that scared before. And, um…” she seems to be struggling to get the words out. “There were others missing, he heard. Said it’s what let him believe it, so I’m… I’m glad you too are safe.” A lady like her doesn’t deserve any more loss.
✭ ✩ ✭ ✩ ✭
The political furor in the town hall lobby would be glorious on any other occasion; active, energized citizens ready to seize the reins of power from that frumpy toad. Mayor Estrello is a painfully rejected figurehead installed by the last generation of pendant-wielders to mediate the public-facing paper-pushing and grievances towards the misuse or underuse of power. As the torch was passed over the last decade to Cosmo, Cel and Aurora, opportunists and liberal conservatives saw this new guard as a much weaker group who’d put the island on the path to decline. Some older folk migrated north to Solaris and Selene’s defector colony while others started questioning the use of pendants at all now that Luminis is an established bastion. All this annoying politics stuff gave the worst man everyone knows the gall and leeway to chase his own private ambitions for the future of Luminis. Face lifts, tech grants, lotta purely aesthetic stuff.
“Good people! At ease! At ease! Be orderly! Eek!” The mayor ducked behind his podium as a shoe flew past his head. From a girl with a penchant for such behaviour? None can say, no evidence will attest to such. “Gu- Ah! Cosmo, my boy! And Cel, too! My strong-willed knights! Soothe these people for me! This is no condition for me to share my speech!”
“No, man, fuck you! I ain’t gonna let you get up there to finish telling me that Miles just wandered off!” Cel’s voice dominates the cacophony. “I saw him get pulled into the static! Not just gonna let you be cute about this. We need a course of action.”
Aurora raises herself up onto Cel’s shoulders. “We’re not going to tolerate you as a leader if you have the gall to suggest this is a prank. These are our neighbours. My finest students. My sister.”
Er, she’s talking about you, Alice. Her stomach coils with guilt. She’s compelled to slip away, let her sister care about something important for once. Cassandra, you summer angel! Don’t tap me on the back! Whatever. Got to see a sliver of emotion. Alice sneaks forward and taps on Aurora’s shoulder. She perhaps scooped up a shoe off the floor, but purely because it was a tripping hazard.
“Alice! What the stars! Where were you?”
“I don’t know, I just- woke up on the other side of town?”
“What could that possibly even mean? I’m really not in the mood to be tested. It’s bad enough Dad disappeared.”
“Shit… I wasn’t trying to-”
“You and Tori don’t leave home after dark without my approval. I’ll put the house on lockdown and find a way to deal with this myself. I will not have Pyrals tear my family apart.” After their mother’s passing, Aurora became the de facto head of household, usurping their admitted sloth of a father for the crown. Her other sibling Tori is, in generous terms, a stay-at-home artist. Active in the nightlife scene. They’ll find a work-around together. They can fend for themselves.
Meanwhile, the rest of the crowd erupts with their own accusations of teetering relevance: “I bet it was those Northern Islanders. We must bring Solaris to justice for shattering the wielder council! Reassign his pendant!”
“The problem is our leaders are weak! Everyone else thinks we Luminitians can be taken advantage of. Ain’t that right?”
“Like the wielder council ever did anything. We need firmer protection. Stronger wills that’ll use every ounce of the guardian's blessings.”
"Screw the Guardians too!"
In mere moments, all relevant powers were ruled insufficient in trouncing their fears. Action demands those unburdened by apathy. The zeitgeist hurled towards immediate war against this abstract affront.
One might call this bad, an unsalvagable anger that can only be reacted or responded to. The vox populi in need of a good engineer to deconstruct, assess and plan. Alas, as Alice scans the room, absent of Miles, Candy, Isaac and dozens of other members of her daily life, she let’s her blood boil. It’s only just to revolt against conditions where no good life is valued. It’s funny even; centuries of harmony able to be torn apart by a dog-ass figurehead and the same shadowy machinations that lodged her up a tree.
At the crescendo of their fury, the old-guard rogue, Professor Nova enters the lobby, sowing silence in his wake. Some twenty-something woman with messy burgundy hair and a labcoat trots behind him, stack of papers wedged under her arm. Some brown-nosing geek trying to earn the title of doctor with something impractical, surely. As her judgements cross her mind, the woman glares at Alice narrow-eyed. Tough crowd!
Nova rose to claim the Mayor’s podium, pardoning the lesser man to scurry off. What a circus. “My good friends, let us not so readily jump to awful conclusions. As always, we must behave with good faith towards our fellow man if ever we may overcome this. As citizens, I do agree we must unify our strength, our senses and our wit to seek out our neighbours, friends and family. To act brash in the face of crisis is only to forestall a proper search.” Nova paused, a rather harsh cough taking him. “With the aid of my Will of Tethering and the research of my associate Nebula here…” The woman gives a quick nod. “...I believe we shall all find clarity as to this incident within a matter of days. As citizens, I implore your patience. I know it’s difficult, but try to do your own work and keep your hope alive until then. All our resources and greatest minds have dropped everything to pursue leads. That is all. I won’t waste a minute longer.”
Professor Nova’s speech is met with a mixture of solidarity and dissatisfaction, skewing one way or the other roughly off how old a person is. Souls who feel they’ve seen behind the curtain ain’t so ready to be swayed yet. Let the noxious, groundless arguments commence. Alice feels above it all and tries to check out, though Cosmo taps on her shoulder before she get’s the chance.
[STILL BEING EDITED.]