The waitress dropped two steaming bowls onto the table with a smile.

  Nico peered into his dish, squinting. “…What is this made of?”

  Across from him, Zhou had already started eating. "I mean, I can't see," he said mildly, "but you ordered soup with sourdough."

  "Thanks." Nico stirred the broth. "So are we eating mana, since the city's a rift?"

  Zhou ignored the question while he chewed, then tilted his head, casting a shadow over the veil on his eyes. “Describe mine to me.”

  “It looks like curry with rice.”

  “Alright. That’s what I ordered.” Zhou kept eating.

  Nico narrowed his eyes. “What’s your endgame here?”

  “It tastes like shredded lettuce.” Zhou slid the bowl toward him.

  “….” Nico stared at it.

  Hadn’t they been super cautious about not eating in a previous rift? Whatever.

  The rice crunched, crisp like shredded greens while the flavor was a plain, watery nothing.

  “Yeah,” Nico muttered. “That’s… accurate. So is this even safe to eat? How does this work?”

  Zhou sat back, one arm draped over the chair. “I don’t care right now. I feel like shit.”

  They’d agreed to sit for a meal, an illusion of comfort to buy time to think. He hadn’t expected either of them to actually eat the “food,” but since they were already here, he tore off a piece of bread, dipped it into the soup, and tried again.

  Nico slid his dish toward him. “You might like mine more.”

  Zhou leaned forward, resting his cheek on one hand with a sigh. He dunked the bread and took a bite without avoiding the piece Nico had already eaten; chewed, then dunked again. The second time he dropped it onto the plate with a dull rattle and let his arms hang loose while he stared at the ceiling.

  “Hot dog water,” he said flatly.

  Again, Nico tried the bread himself. His eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, you’re right!”

  “I did not enjoy yours more.”

  “Didn’t think you would.”

  Zhou laughed as he threw up a middle finger. Nico smiled sweetly in return, which the sage couldn’t see.

  * * *

  The city moved at an unhurried pace. They took routes that wound along the roots, gardens and courtyards on either side alive with chatter. Serifs and Virids rested beneath the willow’s shade while Ori glided overhead, calling to friends to share food and laughter. A Serif child brushed past, palm gliding over an inscribed railing; the pattern hummed under his hand and lit a faint line ahead of his steps.

  Zhou followed the textured walkway, fingertips also brushing the inlaid inscriptions that vibrated softly at his touch. Nico stayed close, watching how naturally the sage used both guides to find his way. He’d grown bolder with his staring now that Zhou’s eyes were veiled. The glaze that once appeared only in sunlight had settled into a visible haze, washing his irises to a pale lilac.

  “…How’re your eyes?” he asked quietly.

  “Mmm. The city’s not too hard to navigate.” Zhou’s fingers pressed on the wall, sensing the hum beneath the stone.

  “Will they stay in the second stage?” Nico pressed.

  Veiled eyes progressed by stages: peripheral clouding at first, full blindness by the fourth.

  “Ah. That’s right, you figured out my mana capacity is reduced for a Sage.”

  Nico’s tail flicked in quiet irritation.

  “Giving the silent treatment to someone who can’t see?” Zhou teased.

  “I’m waiting for you to answer.”

  “Isn’t it rude to pry into someone’s health?”

  “I’m okay with being rude.”

  Zhou’s eyes curved with his smile. “Then start with what you know.”

  “…You showed me everything I know about you.”

  Displeased, Zhou stepped off the textured path and reached blindly out in front of him until he found Nico’s shirt with his fingers. Nico blinked, part incredulous, more confused, as the sage tugged on the fabric.

  “I’m feeling tired,” Zhou said, voice softened, gaze angled toward the ground as if suddenly shy. “Let’s sit somewhere shaded.”

  The blur of amethyst was faint beneath the veil as he lifted his lashes, still holding onto Nico. His ear flicked. Was the sage begging? He looked down at the hand on his shirt. Was he supposed to leave it there? Wasn’t this the second time Zhou tried to hold hands with plausible deniability?

  With a sigh, he took Zhou’s hand and guided it up to his arm, leaving his elbow out while tucking his other hand into a pocket. Zhou linked on naturally, a small laugh slipping out. At least he couldn’t see how red Nico’s ears had gotten. Zhou was annoying enough that Nico almost forgot he was in bad shape. And backlash… Kai had gone on about it, half-drunk on the floor, saying he’d hate it when he saw it. The thought came chased by guilt for feeling irritated at someone clearly pushing through it.

  To make up for it, he picked up Zhou’s earlier thread. “You showed me your aether elemental at the observatory, so I assumed you were part Serif.”

  They reached a small plaza beside one of the willow’s roots, where benches curved under falling leaves. Zhou sank down beside him but didn’t let go, still linked to his arm, humming for him to continue.

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  “You manage your mana carefully, like when you healed.” He paused to filter through what else he could bare to admit. “…The veil on your eyes became more obvious when we entered the city. So you’ve gone through depletion before.”

  Zhou tipped his head back with a theatrical sigh. “Ah, I was being so closely watched.”

  “…You voluntarily did all those things in front of me,” Nico muttered, ears flicking.

  Zhou laughed under his breath, a quiet, pleased sound that felt like he was basking in Nico’s guilt.

  “Okay, your turn to talk,” Nico said, leaning back against the bench as he sighed and unlinked their arms.

  Zhou folded his hands behind his head. “My grandmother had gem horns and eyes. Hard to say if she was a Serif whose mana grew Arcanite traits, or just an Arcanite.”

  “What about your horns?” Nico asked, eyes flicking up to the amethyst curve beneath Zhou’s hair.

  Serifs changed with the mana they absorbed. In this rift, they mirrored the Ori and Virid, growing feathers at their necks and sprouting flora through their hair. According to the rough consensus of several hour-long video essays, it had something to do with the inorganic composition of their spines. Their spinal cords were made of carbon filaments that resonated with mana, forming the basis of their aether affinity. When exposed to an abundance of similar manaprints, the spinal marrow shifted from producing blood to filament, weaving outward into vestigial growths. (Sources not found.)

  “Mmm.” Zhou continued, ignoring the question. “Until recently I thought she used one of those endemic inscription scripts the Gemfolk in the quarries had. Quite a few were lost to standardization.” He leaned back, eyes half-lidded toward the sky.

  “The observatory was your first time seeing the script out of context?”

  “Nothing gets past you, huh?” Zhou laughed softly.

  “Don’t make fun of me for listening.”

  Zhou’s hand brushed along the tree root beside them, the veiled amethyst of his eyes faintly pulsing to its rhythm. The mana here was dense enough that even Nico could feel its calm, so much that it lulled him peacefully to sleep earlier.

  “What do you think Aster did to the Serifs of Tulen?”

  Nico coughed, startled by how Zhou released the question with no attempt at a transition.

  He deflected, “You start this time.”

  “Don’t feel like it.” Zhou swatted away the deflection.

  A slow internal scream built in Nico’s head.

  For centuries, Serif blood had been rumored to contain restorative power: a few drops to heal, a vial to regenerate. Assimilation was forced onto the diaspora for survival, vanishing quietly into other lineages. With Aster’s hand still buried deep in Tellur’s governance and the complete absence of Serif civilization today, the answer wasn’t hard to guess.

  He exhaled, outmaneuvered by an ancient being, and leaned into diplomacy. “I wasn’t aware how deep Aster’s involvement went.”

  “Yeah, the guy’s a huge asshole.”

  “So I’ve heard you say.”

  “And you always will. I hate him.” Zhou’s laugh came easy, but an edge stayed beneath it.

  With a quiet sigh, Nico rose and tugged lightly at the sage’s sleeve. “Let’s keep walking. I saw something interesting.”

  Zhou hummed as he stood. Not letting the tug go unnoticed, he caught Nico’s arm again, linking on naturally. Another small scream echoed in the fox’s head. It was strange to humor someone a century old who could instigate and dodge a conversation about genocide in quick succession.

  Also, wasn’t Zhou too old to be acting cutesy? Then again, Nico did think elderly people were cute— which led him to wonder if Zhou even counted as elderly. The silver hair didn’t help. It looked less like age and more like someone who saw a few greys and decided to fully commit to the aesthetic at the salon. He glanced down at the arm looped through his, debating whether they’d become close, or if he was falling for century-old hot guy tactics again.

  The path wound upward from the roots, sloping into carved stairs of wood and steel that curved along the trunk. Overhead, bridges and walkways threaded between massive limbs, carrying the sound of conversation through leaves that bristled with the wind. As Nico guided him upward, Zhou’s grip stayed firm; his free hand brushed the tree’s surface, crystalline horns faintly aglow with the glyphs lining it. At the upper terraces, the wood gave way to open platforms wrapped in ornamented steel. Lanterns hung from Ori perches, swaying beside wind chimes that sang across the canopy.

  On the platform, Nico leaned into the railing and looked down at the city layered up the trunk. Zhou tilted his head toward the sound, the breeze catching strands of silver hair. The veil over his eyes caught the light, thin enough to glimmer pastel lilac, opaque enough to keep the view from him. He stared in his perceived direction of the city for a long moment.

  “I did want to see it,” he finally said, voice half-lost to the wind, unlinking their arms to rest his elbows on the railing.

  Nico kept his eyes on the walkways below, following the paths of people weaving through the branches. Each one of them went about a day in their life, unaware of what the rift had made them rewrite. Yet every one of them had already witnessed the scene play to its end.

  When they disappeared, was anyone left to bear witness for them?

  He took his eyes off the memory and looked at Zhou beside him, the light touching his tan skin with warmth. He had once wanted to ask Zhou what he was here for.

  “Have you been looking for this place?” Nico asked.

  Zhou’s eyes stayed forward, fixed on the horizon he could barely see. His reply came slow, but simple. “I think so.”

  “For how long?”

  “Mmm, maybe my entire life?” Zhou said, almost flippantly, shrugging as he leaned his cheek into his hand.

  The fox’s tail swayed low as his eyes lingered on the portion of a city that the rift had saved for them. The willow leaves bristled with the wind, a few drifting down between them.

  “I’ve never experienced a rift like this before,” Nico said, plucking a leaf from his hair. “It’s… detailed,”

  Zhou tilted his head as he hummed. Even with his sight half-clouded, his horns and eyes both shimmered with the mana that pulsed through the steel and bark, making it feel like the city breathed with the tree.

  “Why? Does it feel like a core truth of the world or something?” Zhou mused, half-smiling.

  “You tell me. I’ve never been in a Soul Rift before.”

  “Ah, mine was boring,” the Sage said easily. “With all mana nullified, I just broke the soul core apart with my hands.” He tapped his chin, his smile reaching his eyes.

  Nico gave an airy laugh. “That’s… the opposite of a core truth.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize we were being truthful.” Zhou laughed. “In that case, I’ve never been in one either.” Zhou pushed himself back with hands gripping the railing, stretching his arms as he balanced.

  “… How did you do it with your mana nullified?”

  He had an idea of how it was done, especially as they looked over the city of Serifs, but it seemed like a good time to keep the sage talking.

  “You really like being indirect about things.”

  …Or not.

  “I’m matching your energy,” Nico huffed.

  It was impressive, how the Sage’s audacity still occasionally caught him off guard.

  Amused, Zhou leaned closer. “They didn’t know I was part Serif back then either.”

  Nico’s ears twitched as he considered leaning away. “Then why did you show me your aether elemental?”

  Zhou tilted his head and reached his hand out. Nico’s ear reflexively batted at it, fur grazing the hand as it plucked a leaf from his ashen hair.

  “…” The fox tilted his ears as the hand withdrew. The veil over Zhou’s eyes had thinned, their amethyst glow returning.

  “It was mostly backlash, I was spared from mana depletion,” Zhou said cheekily, still resting against the rail. “The veil doesn’t stay permanently in that case.”

  Nico swiftly turned back toward the horizon, ears a shade pinker. He had been blatantly staring at the sage ever since taking his eyes off the city.

  “…But you’ve had the first stage over your eyes since we met.”

  “Ah, I’m being so closely watched~”

  “…Why are you like this—”

  Nico’s ears flinched. That was supposed to stay an internal thought.

  Zhou laughed, voice easy. “It’s fun with you,” vague as usual about what he was replying to.

  The wind shifted, carrying more leaves across the platform. A few caught in Nico’s hair; others brushed against the railing and vanished into the light below. He expressedly noticed that none tangled in Zhou’s. Nico exhaled, resigned, and started toward the stairs—this time without tugging the sage’s sleeve first.

  maybe there was more to him than being hot...

  shout-out to my friend's hot dog water cocktail experience