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Chapter Text

The scene in Herta’s office was terrifying. At least, Stephen would have thought so. Herta had called him a few hours before the meeting—on speakerphone, of course—and she could quite literally hear his horror through the phone.

“You’re going to be in a room with two of the most terrifying women in the galaxy,” Stephen said, his voice quivering. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

Screwllum cleared his throat. “Stephen, you would do well to remember that one of those ‘terrifying women’ is a colleague of yours,” he pointed out. His mechanical eyes combed over his hand of cards, then he turned to Herta. “Madam Herta, do you have any fours?”

“Go fish,” Herta replied.

Screwllum sighed and plucked another card from the pile. Ruan Mei, who was watering a nearby plant, let out a soft laugh.

“I’ve been called worse than ‘terrifying,’” she murmured. She set down the watering can and sat down in the chair next to Herta. “But you’re right, Stephen. It’s a good instinct to be scared. This executive we’re meeting with is… intense.”

“Are you scared of her, too?” came Stephen’s crackly voice through the phone.

Ruan Mei laughed again. “No,” she said nonchalantly. “I’m just fascinated. It’s incredibly rare that one gets to meet a woman like that.”

Herta buried her face in her hands. “You’ve gotta stop saying things like that,” she groaned. “People are gonna get the wrong idea.”

In the end, Screwllum won the game of Go Fish , so Herta was the one who had to go to the meeting. She hadn’t thought much of it at first, having mostly just been annoyed at Screwllum for beating her. But, sitting across from the IPC executive, Herta was realizing just how woefully underprepared she was. The tension in the room was heady, easy to choke on and hard to inhale. Jade sipped her tea, and Ruan Mei stared at her in that clinical way she was want to do. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Eventually, Herta decided that she had had enough.

“Can you just tell us what you want, Madam Jade?” she finally asked, her voice tinged with irritation.

Jade blinked, but didn’t startle. A grin danced at the corner of her lips. “Of course, Madam Herta. I apologize for the delay,” she said languidly, leaning back in her chair. “I have a proposition for your group. I’ve seen the work your cohort of Geniuses have done on the Simulated Universe, and I’m impressed. The IPC is in great need of your knowledge right now, and I think it would be quite advantageous for you if you accepted my proposal.”

“How so?” Ruan Mei asked.

Jade’s grin didn’t falter. “Well, the IPC would pay you handsomely, of course,” she said. “The potential of your minds is truly unmatched. The Ten Stonehearts would be pleased to fund a significant portion of your research going forward—that is, if you let us pick your brains a little.”

Herta’s eyes widened. This was an absurd offer. It was almost too good to be true, yet here it was. Jade knew exactly what she was doing. Offering the Geniuses such abundant funds for research was like putting a fresh, juicy fish in a room full of hungry cats. Herta was the first to pounce.

She glanced at Ruan Mei, who looked just as intrigued by the offer. The two shared a silent conversation, then Herta turned back to Jade. “Well, I think we’re agreed that it would be stupid to pass up on this,” she said.

Jade nodded. “I was hoping you would say that,” she replied. “Well, allow me to officially thank you for your willingness to aid the IPC. I do hope this will be the start of a long and lasting collaboration.”

The platitudes faded into nothingness. All that Herta could think about were all the projects she could start, the discoveries she could make, the experiments she could perform. Her mechanical limbs were quite literally shaking. Ruan Mei was just as excited—of course, to the untrained eye she looked disinterested, but Herta could see the truth. Behind her placid expression, her eyes glowed like two pale blue flames. For a moment, Herta felt smug. Stephen and Screwllum were cowards for not coming to this meeting. She was going to dangle this over their heads for years to come.

Jade’s laugh broke through the silence. “You two look absolutely thrilled,” she remarked. “I haven’t even told you what I need yet.”

She snapped her fingers, and one of her IPC grunts scurried forward, handing her a small box. Jade set it down on the table. Ruan Mei and Herta leaned in, itching to see what was inside. Jade paused, drinking in the Geniuses’ impatience, before gently lifting the lid.

The reveal was… underwhelming, to say the least. Herta frowned. “What’s this supposed to be?”

Jade plucked the little vial out of the box and held it up. “What do you think it is?”

Herta squinted. “It looks like a jar of honey.”

Something mysterious glinted in Jade’s eyes. She looked strangely satisfied, like a predator who had successfully lured in its prey. At that moment, Herta couldn’t fault Stephen for being scared. That look was incredibly unsettling.

“In a way, it is,” Jade mused. “I assume you’ve heard of the events of the Charmony Festival on Penacony. The IPC lost one of our Stonehearts in the fight against the Family.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Aventurine, if I remember correctly,” Ruan Mei said. “My condolences.”

Jade chuckled. “Oh, there’s no need for that,” she purred. Her long fingernails clinked against the glass of the jar. “He’s right here.”

She set the jar on the table in front of the Geniuses. Herta leaned in to get a closer look. Its contents were liquid, but it was viscous, almost immovable. At its center, its color was that of pure liquid gold, like a fragment of a sun. At the edges, though, there was a darkness. The light inside seemed to be stuck, like a millennia-old bug caught in amber, trapped in stasis forever.

“This,” Jade declared, her voice echoing through the office, “is Mr. Aventurine’s soul.”

There was a moment of silence, then Herta frowned. “His soul ,” she said flatly. “I don’t buy it.”

“The soul is a fickle thing,” Ruan Mei piped up. “The Genius Society has been trying to discern its nature for decades. And yet, every time we come close, it slips away from us. It is nearly impossible to study something so immaterial in nature.”

“And you show up here claiming to have extracted a soul? ” Herta scoffed. “From a guy who got sucked into the Nihility, no less? It’s just not possible.”

Jade leaned back in her armchair. “I never said we extracted it,” she pointed out. “I understand that curiosity is in your nature, but unfortunately I can’t reveal the details of how we obtained Aventurine’s soul. And it isn’t relevant to what we’re asking you to do, anyway.”

Herta clenched her fist at her side. She didn’t like the way this IPC lady was talking to her. She didn’t like that awful glint in her eyes, and she most certainly didn’t like that condescending smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Herta wanted nothing more than to tell Jade to get out of her office, leave her Space Station, and take her stupid “soul” elsewhere, but then she remembered the sheer amount of credits the IPC was offering. That would be lifetimes worth of research. The thought was too tantalizing to pass up. She sucked in a breath and pushed her bruised ego aside.

“And what exactly are you asking us to do?” Herta asked.

Jade’s eyes shone with satisfaction. “Bring him back,” she said simply. “The IPC can’t be short a Stoneheart.”

Herta glanced at Ruan Mei. She looked absolutely ecstatic.

“We don’t care how you do it,” Jade continued, “But please, don’t use the power of the Abundance. We can’t afford that caliber of scandal right now.”

Ruan Mei’s expression fell. Herta kicked her under the table.

“That’s fine,” Herta announced. “We can make an Intellitron.” 

Without warning, Herta picked up the “soul,” turning it over in her hands. Jade’s smile disappeared. Herta stared at the bottom of the “soul,” and a smirk spread across her face.

“It’s a battery,” she declared.

Jade grimaced. “Indeed,” she muttered.

Ruan Mei covered her mouth as she laughed. Herta leaned back on the couch, grinning victoriously. The Stonehearts might have been able to convince their underlings that they had extracted Aventurine’s soul, but one thing was certain—they couldn’t fool a Genius.

“So,” Herta asked nonchalantly, “is there anything else you want to tell us before we get to work? Any other… specifications?”

Jade furrowed her brow, then nodded. “There is one condition.”

“This is the second condition,” Ruan Mei pointed out, clearly displeased about the Abundance rule.

Jade ignored her. “A member of the Intelligentsia Guild has also been assigned to this project,” she explained. 

Herta rolled her eyes. Of course. The IPC always had to force that gaggle of wannabe Geniuses into everything. She opened her mouth to retort, but Jade cut her off.

“I can promise you, he won’t slow you down,” Jade assured. “Let’s just say that his interest in this project is for strictly personal reasons.”

“Who is he?” Ruan Mei asked.

Jade’s bemused smile returned. “Dr. Veritas Ratio,” she replied. “Aventurine’s husband.”

Chapter Text

Three weeks earlier

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Veritas peered down into the bustling center of Pier Point. It was a normal day at the IPC. He could see people running with thick binders clutched to their chests, rushing to get to their meeting on time. He could hear the laughter of the people hanging around the water coolers, relishing in the few remaining minutes of their break. He could smell the crisp edges of paper, the freshly-minted credits, the metallic tang of coins and jingling keys. Everything at the IPC was as it should be. It was like nothing had changed at all.

A loud sigh came from his side. “Ratio, are you even listening?”

He blinked, shook his head a little, and looked over at Topaz. “Yes,” he said. “Apologies.”

Topaz waved her hand, dismissing his apology. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I just wanna make sure you’re actually up for this. I don’t have a problem recommending you for the project, but… well, I don’t know…”

She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “Look, I know you hate people pitying you, and I promise that’s not what I’m trying to do, but… I don’t know, is this really the best idea?” she asked. “I mean, it’s your decision, but I’m worried that it’s not going to be good for you.”

Veritas regarded Topaz coolly. In the past, he would have scoffed and told her that such a worry was ridiculous, that it wasn’t her business what he decided to do, and that he wasn’t going to change his mind, so telling him this in the first place was pointless. He would have made it clear that she was crossing a boundary, and that she was foolish to pretend to know what was good for him.

He would have said a lot of things. But instead, Veritas just blinked at her, his maroon eyes empty.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered.

Topaz shrugged. “Alright. It’s your call,” she said. 

The trotter at her feet—Numby, if Veritas recalled correctly—made an impatient noise and butted its head into Topaz’s leg. She looked down and sighed. 

“Ugh, is it that time already?” she groaned. 

She checked her watch, confirming what Numby seemed to already know, and turned back to Veritas. “Well, Ratio, I’ve gotta run, but I’ll let you know how the meeting goes.”

Veritas nodded. “Thank you, Topaz.”

Topaz patted his shoulder once, then scampered off, Numby following dutifully behind her. Veritas watched as the Stoneheart girl and the trotter disappeared into the throng. The crowd seemed to expand and contract, pulsating in sync like a hivemind, like its occupants had coalesced into a single-cell organism. Everyone was busy. Everyone was in the middle of something. Everyone had a goal, something to work toward, something to strive for. Everyone had a purpose.

Veritas snapped his fingers and his marble bust appeared over his head. He didn’t cry—at least, he didn’t cry on purpose. If tears ran down his cheeks, staining the pale stone with water lines, then it wasn’t conscious. There was no longer a distinction for him between normalcy and grief. Grief bled into every aspect of his life, sapping the color from it, leaving the world in a perpetual state of gray.

Life went on at the IPC after Aventurine died. It was like nothing had changed at all. And yet, everything had. Overlooking Pier Point, Veritas watched the world grow blurry at the edges. This new world wasn’t worth his focus. It was dull and lifeless without Aventurine in it. Veritas felt little reason to continue. But he knew that he had to.

That emptiness would have to be filled, somehow.

***

Present day

When Veritas arrived at Herta Space Station, Screwllum was the one to greet him. Veritas was grateful to see a familiar face. Screwllum was a respectful, personable man, unlike some of the other Geniuses. It was admirable, Veritas thought, how Screwllum remained so grounded and humble, despite his laundry list of achievements.

“Ah, Dr. Ratio,” Screwllum greeted him. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise,” Veritas replied as he approached. “Thank you for allowing me to join in on this project.”

“Ah, well, I am personally quite happy to have you,” Screwllum mused as he began to lead Veritas down the corridors of the Space Station. “Of course, Madam Herta and Miss Ruan Mei required a bit more convincing. They have not yet warmed up to the idea of collaborating with a member of the Intelligentsia Guild.”

Veritas nodded. “I expected as much,” he said.

The conversation hit a lull, and the two walked through the Space Station in silence. They made their way past dozens of researchers bent over their desks, mumbling incomprehensibly to themselves, crazed from caffeine and the thrill of the pursuit of knowledge. It didn’t escape Veritas’ notice that many of these researchers were quite young. It reminded him of his own youth. Despite his obviously outstanding intellect, he, too, had once been nothing more than an overworked researcher, surviving only on meager amounts of sleep, living only for the next breakthrough. It had been an exhausting existence indeed, and Veritas was still awed by the perseverance of his younger self, but he was old enough to realize that it had been a naive existence as well.

Veritas remembered the day he grew up. Of course, by then he had been a legal adult for quite a few years already, but in his eyes, that was the day that he truly matured. It was the day he received that invitation to the Intelligentsia Guild. He had held that invitation in his hands as they quivered, his pale skin looking almost translucent in the cold light of the laboratory. His research assistant called his name, concern in her voice, but the sound was overtaken by the ringing in his ears. Veritas left the lab in a blur and stumbled into his office, bracing himself against his desk. He didn’t cry, but the dark laughter that escaped his lips was so visceral that it could have been mistaken for sobs.

The Intelligentsia Guild was a knockoff, a gilded artifice of the Genius Society. Its members were sapped of their energy and talent to fuel the IPC’s endless colonizing mission. And this, according to the universe’s endless evaluation, was all Veritas was worth. His fate had been sealed in amber. 

That was the day he grew up.

Many of Veritas’ ardent followers were under the impression that their hero hadn’t given up. He was the illustrious Dr. Ratio, after all. Of course he would become a Genius, even if it took him his whole life. Veritas, however, had all but accepted that the light of Nous’s brilliant red eye would never shine on him.

“ Welcome to Herta Space Station, ” blared the intercoms as Screwllum led Veritas through a hallway lined with portraits of Geniuses. Reminders of Nous were everywhere. THEY were always surrounding Veritas, but only ever looking away, perpetually just out of reach. It was torture.

Somehow, though, Veritas had found an escape. He had found one person who stayed by his side, who became his refuge. He was the only person whose words could soothe Veritas’ agony, whose love could fill the Erudition-shaped hole in Veritas’ existence, whose eyes could remind Veritas that his life was worth living.

That person was now nothing more than a drop in the vast sea of Nihility.

Screwllum cleared his throat—or, rather, did the Intellitron equivalent of clearing his throat. “Dr. Ratio,” he began, addressing Veritas formally despite considerably outranking him in terms of power and influence, “I… was shocked to hear the news of your husband’s passing. My sincerest condolences.”

Veritas kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to meet Screwllum’s eyes. “Thank you,” he muttered. 

Screwllum observed him for a moment, then sighed. “I understand that you were not assigned to this project—rather, you chose to be here,” he said carefully.

Veritas nodded. And what a choice that had been. According to Topaz, the majority of the Stonehearts had been outraged when she suggested that Veritas join the project. They had never quite trusted him, but since Aventurine’s death, their suspicions had been at an all-time high. After Veritas and Aventurine got engaged, the Stonehearts (excluding Topaz, who was the wedding planner) had gone out of their way to convince Aventurine that his marriage wasn’t worth it. After all, if Aventurine had someone to come home to, he might not be willing to constantly risk his life for the IPC anymore. 

After the events on Penacony, however, the Stonehearts had grown even more vigilant. Whenever he was at Pier Point, which was most of the time, Veritas couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. His suspicions were confirmed when he caught one of Opal’s grunts pressing their ear to his office door. After lecturing the poor kid, he immediately tracked down Topaz and badgered her with questions until she eventually relented and told him the truth. She swore him to secrecy in the interest of keeping her job, then revealed that the majority of the Stonehearts had assigned their subordinates to track Veritas’ movements. They believed that he was scheming against the IPC. That his rage at his husband’s death outweighed his loyalty to the organization. That he would betray them.

Veritas couldn’t lie—the thought had definitely crossed his mind. But he wasn’t going to act on it. At least, not right now.

He inhaled. “That’s right,” he said finally. “It was indeed my choice.”

Screwllum hummed. “Well, you know that I deeply respect you and your decisions, Doctor,” he said. “However, I must say that this project will not be easy in any sense of the word. It will be time-consuming, grueling work. Even us Geniuses will be pushing up against the limits of our mental capabilities in order to achieve the IPC’s goal. In addition…”

He paused, and a noise reminiscent of a sigh sounded from his voicebox. “In addition, you should be warned that the Aventurine we end up building may be nothing like the Aventurine you knew. We aren’t sure of the contents of the battery Madam Jade gave us. For all we know, the Stonehearts could have reconstructed him to be an entirely different person.”

Veritas sighed. He knew that, of course. He didn’t have any more faith in the Stonehearts than they had in him. The battery they had built was meant to be a replication of Aventurine’s soul—and yet, the Stonehearts did not know his soul. They didn’t know his true self. They only knew Aventurine at his extremes. He was the gambler, the convict, the lucky one. The man who had risked his own life thousands of times over. 

The Stonehearts only knew the most painful parts of him, so yes, it was almost certain that the Aventurine who came back would be nothing like the one who left. But any version of Aventurine was infinitely better than having to live in a world without him.

“I know,” Veritas murmured. “But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The LED lights behind Screwllum’s eyes flickered with sympathy. “I see.”

The two finally stopped in front of a large door. “Here we are,” Screwllum said. “Madam Herta rarely lets so many people into her laboratory. This…”

He seemed to stiffen a little. “Well, this should be quite interesting.”

The door opened with an electronic beep. Veritas and Screwllum stepped into the lab, and were immediately met with the sound of bickering.

“Ruan Mei, put that down!” came Stephen’s strangled cry through a cell phone speaker. “Madam Jade said no Abundance!”

Ruan Mei glanced at the phone impassively before lifting a syringe. She applied the slightest amount of pressure to the plunger, and a single bead of golden liquid dripped out. 

“She won’t know,” she murmured.

“Yes, she will!”

Herta looked up from where she was fiddling with a flamethrower. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her face pinched into a scowl. “What took you two so long?”

Screwllum strode into the room. “Good morning to you too, Madam Herta,” he said politely. “I slept well, thank you very much.”

“Why are you still trying to teach Herta manners?” Stephen sighed. “It’s like losing chess to a dog.”

Ruan Mei tapped a long finger against her chin. “Do you think I could genetically modify a dog so it could play chess?”

“Well, we don’t have the time to test that,” Herta snapped. She rolled her eyes, looking more like an exasperated teenager than a Genius. Then, her gaze landed on Veritas. “You’re the husband,” she said flatly.

Whatever formal introduction Veritas had prepared died on his tongue, as he sensed that she didn’t care one bit. “Yes,” he replied simply.

“Nice to meet you!” Stephen chirped. “I’m Stephen, this is-”

“He knows,” Ruan Mei interrupted. 

“Well, excuse me for trying to be polite-”

“Can we table this discussion?” Herta interjected, rubbing her temples. “We’re wasting time.”

Veritas could feel a headache starting to bloom behind his eyes as well. “I agree,” he said. “We only have two weeks to finish this. Each moment is precious.”

Herta stared at him for a moment, as though she hadn’t expected him to agree with her. She gave him an appraising look. Then, a tiny smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. Veritas wasn’t so presumptuous as to think she was impressed, but it was a start.

Herta extended her mechanical arm, pointing to a huge, high-tech computer setup on the other side of the room. “You guys get coding,” she declared. “Ruan Mei and I will start building the body.”

She lifted her hand, flicking a metal protective mask over her face. Her flamethrower flickered to life. Its blue flame scattered tiny circles of light across the lab.

“Alright,” Herta muttered. “Let’s bring back this dead guy.”

***

Two weeks later

Veritas slumped into an office chair, his head hitting the plastic backrest with a thunk. He reached for a mug of coffee. It was lukewarm. He sighed and set it back down on the ring-shaped stain on the desk. 

It had been almost two weeks, and the deadline for finishing the Aventurine-Intellitron was rapidly approaching. The working group had made great progress, but there was still a chance that their project would fail dramatically at the last minute. Veritas had thought that this project would provide him with a distraction from his grief. Instead, the stress had only worsened his psyche. He hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in days, and the dark circles under his eyes were starting to look like bruises. 

In the rare moments that he was able to sleep, he was tormented by nightmares. His somnolent mind was submerged in the dark sea of the Nihility. It was a hurricane with Veritas at the eye of the storm, fragments of his beloved swirling endlessly around him. 

There was nothing peaceful about Veritas’ waking life, but anything was better than the torture of his sleep.

The incessant droning of power tools abruptly stopped. Veritas looked up. Herta had paused in the middle of attaching one of Aventurine-Intellitron’s fingers to glare at Veritas.

“Ratio,” she snapped, “stop moping around. We are on a strict deadline, in case you forgot.”

“Herta, calm down,” Stephen interjected, his voice crackling through the phone speaker. “We finished all the coding already. Let him have a break.”

Herta frowned. “Well, he could at least pick up a hammer and help us finish the body,” she said.

Veritas stood up and rubbed his eyes. He made his way over to where the Geniuses were gathered around the nearly-finished Intellitron. The sight was… jarring, to say the least. The thing on the lab table looked almost exactly like Aventurine—and yet, it was entirely different. Its limbs were perfectly proportioned, shaped exactly how Veritas remembered them, but they were made entirely of metal and plastic. Its skin was rubbery, not the gentle texture that Veritas had come to know so intimately. Its hair was a cruel mockery of Aventurine’s own, glowing with a tacky, artificial sheen. The thing on the lab table was unmistakably Aventurine, but it was not the Aventurine that Veritas knew.

Veritas was snapped out of his reverie when a drill was shoved into his hands.

“Here,” Herta said. “If we all focus, we can be done with this in an hour.”

Ruan Mei looked up from where she was fiddling with the Intellitron’s knee. “And then you could finally get some sleep, Ratio,” she mused. “You look… worse for the wear.”

Veritas brushed an errant strand of hair out of his face. Wait, when was the last time he brushed it? “Thanks,” he muttered. “I’m aware.”

Herta snorted. “It looks like you’ve got a black eye,” she said. “The junior researchers on the Space Station have started a rumor that I punched you in the face.”

“And are you doing anything to dispel those rumors?” Screwllum asked.

“Why would I do that?”

“Hey!” Stephen shouted. “Herta! You were literally just yelling at all of us about focusing. Maybe you should take your own advice.”

Herta rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest. The group lapsed into silence, the only sounds being the clanging of metal and the whirring of power tools. It was grounding, in a way, despite the demoralizing nature of the work. It was difficult for Veritas to drift into a spiral of his own thoughts if there was an omnipresent risk of accidentally hammering his finger.

After about an hour, the noise ceased. Veritas wiped the sweat off his brow and stood up. The Intellitron in the shape of his husband lay flat on the table. A thick, unyielding tension flooded into the room, like the cold open of a horror movie. Veritas felt his heart rate pick up. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something felt wrong . There was just something so liminal about the scene. Aventurine-Intellitron was the poster child for the uncanny valley—it was almost human, but not quite. But, if Veritas unfocused his eyes and let his vision blur, the thing on the table turned into a carbon copy of his husband. The seams holding its parts together were almost invisible. It— he? —could be easily mistaken for a sleeping human. He was still, tranquil, idyllic. He was perfect. He was finally complete.

Herta groaned and pushed her spinning chair away from the lab table. “Thank Nous that’s over,” she muttered. 

Screwllum leaned down and pressed a button on Aventurine-Intellitron’s side. There was a small whoosh as his chest cavity opened, revealing a gaping, cylinder-shaped hole.

“Is it time?” Stephen asked through the phone. 

Ruan Mei nodded solemnly. “It’s time.”

Herta rolled her chair across the room, then returned with a small jar in her hand. Ah. So that must have been the “soul” that Jade was bragging about. It was clearly a battery, but leave it to the Stonehearts to go all-out on the dramatics. The “soul” was even the color of the Amber Lord THEMself. Veritas rolled his eyes. How ostentatious.

But, somehow, there was something unmistakably bright in the center of the jar. Veritas couldn’t ignore it. It was like the sun’s very rays had been condensed, compressed into something he could hold in his hands. Even through the sharp, dark, angular amber casing, the light still shone, undying and unrepentant.

The words came out of Veritas’ mouth before he could stop them.

“Can I do it?” 

All three Geniuses in the room turned to stare at him. Stephen audibly choked on his own spit.

Ruan Mei tilted her head to the side. “You… want to be the one to insert the core?”

Veritas bristled a little under her gaze, but nodded.

Screwllum looked at Veritas, concern in his glowing eyes. “Doctor, are you sure that’s-”

“Eh, who cares,” Herta interrupted him. She spun around again, turning to face Veritas. “Think fast.”

Then, she unceremoniously tossed the core through the air, leaving Veritas scrambling to catch it. Screwllum sighed. Even Ruan Mei, who rarely argued with Herta, seemed less than impressed.

“Herta, was that quite necessary?” she asked.

Herta smirked. “What? I thought you liked my sense of humor,” she teased. Ruan Mei looked away.

Meanwhile, Veritas couldn’t stop staring at the jar in his hands. The Preservation had always meant forever. It had always meant steadfast, unbroken eternity. Even so, the amber in this jar seemed flimsy in comparison to the brilliance of the light it encased.  

Something was strange. There was something prodding at Veritas’ psyche, whispering to him that the future wasn’t set in stone. But when he tried to locate the source of that voice, it fell silent.

He shook his head. Aventurine-Intellitron’s open chest cavity stared at him. The Geniuses’ bickering fell silent as he stepped forward, leaning over the creation’s body like he would lean over a lover’s.

A small, shaky breath left Veritas’ lips. His hand quivered as he reached down, carefully setting the “soul” into the body. There was a small click, then a screech as the doors of the chest cavity shut.

For a moment, there was nothing. Veritas waited, eyes wide, the sweat from his forehead dripping onto the Intellitron’s chest. 

Then, the whirring of a fan. The grinding of gears. The popping of joints coming to life. 

From the Intellitron’s voicebox came a sound that was almost like an exhale. Veritas’ heart nearly stopped. That sound. He remembered that sound. He knew it intimately.

He felt a tendril of hope bloom in his chest. Veritas lifted his gaze from the chest cavity, peering down at the creation’s face.

Beneath him, two eyelids lifted. But below them, there were no eyes. There were only rows and rows of tiny blue and purple lightbulbs. The light they emanated was not life. It was nothing like it. It was a mockery, a golden calf. It was an artifice.

The Intellitron’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. Veritas’ heart shattered into a million pieces.

Chapter Text

“Raaatio.”

Veritas’ fingers tightened around his pen. The reading light on the table buzzed like a swarm of hornets. It was finals week at the university, and he was up to his neck in papers to grade. After a few hours of correcting dangling modifiers and improper citations, the walls of his office had started to close in on him, so he had decided to relocate to the library.

“Raaaaaatio.”

He gritted his teeth. He wrote faster, his handwriting becoming rushed and messy, his pen digging grooves into the malleable paper. The library at Pier Point was sprawling, quiet, and tranquil—the perfect place to work. However, Veritas had forgotten one crucial fact. 

In his office, he was safe. In the library, he was entirely unprotected.

A poker chip hit him in the back of the head. “Ratio!”

The pen snapped in half, and ink splattered across Veritas’ skin. The poker chip bounced off the table and rolled under a nearby bookshelf. Veritas whipped his head around to glare at the source of the distraction. “What?” he hissed.

Aventurine—or, rather, Aventurine-Intellitron—smirked. In the dim library, his face was eerily lit by the dozens of blue-and-purple light bulbs behind his eyes. He crossed his left leg over his right, then slung both over the armrest of his chair. “I’m bored.”

Veritas huffed, then turned back to the paper. The words had started to blur together. He rubbed his temples. “Well, go be bored elsewhere.”

Aventurine groaned loudly and flopped back into his chair. “There’s nothing to do today,” he grumbled. “Not until those Nameless get here, at least.”

At the thought of the Nameless, Aventurine perked up. “Do you think they’ll remember me?”

Veritas snorted. “I don’t think it would be possible for them to forget you.”

Those words stayed in the air, hanging like the extravagant chandeliers on the library ceiling. There was something else within those words, a shadow lingering just behind them. How could anyone forget you? was what Veritas couldn’t say. If the real Aventurine were here, he would have seen through Veritas immediately. But Aventurine-Intellitron was a shell, unaccustomed to looking beyond the surface.

Veritas cleared his throat. “After what you pulled on Penacony, I mean. It would be pretty difficult to forget that,” he clarified. “But they won’t be here until later this morning. Leave me alone until then. Go bother Topaz.”

Aventurine’s voicebox let out a dramatic, pained sigh. “You treat me like some disobedient dog instead of your adoring husband,” he mused.

A wave of anger rushed through Veritas when he heard the word “husband.” He bit back the tidal wave of insults that rose to his lips at the sound. His thoughts were a monotonous chorus, swirling and overlapping endlessly, rising to a cacophony. You’re not him, they repeated. And he wasn’t. It had been two weeks since Aventurine-Intellitron arrived at the IPC, and the differences between the real Aventurine and this… thing were impossible for Veritas to ignore. For starters, the real Aventurine would never call him “Ratio.” He hadn’t done that since they first started dating, and that was years ago. The real Aventurine would be able to tell when Veritas was overwhelmed and would give him space to breathe. The real Aventurine would try to ease Veritas’ stress, not take a sick pleasure in it.

Aventurine-Intellitron undid the top button of his shirt. Veritas looked away. Damn it. He didn’t know exactly what the Stonehearts had programmed into that battery, but they had gotten Aventurine’s gestures down to a tee. The languid motion of his hands as they fiddled with the button was all too familiar. It made Veritas sick.

Aventurine stood up. He came up behind Veritas’ chair and rested his hands on Veritas’ shoulders, digging the metallic tips of his fingers into the flesh there. He leaned down, his lips pulling apart into a catlike grin.

“Though, I could be your dog if you wanted me to,” he purred.

Just as the bile in Veritas’ throat threatened to spill over, the great grandfather clock in the library chimed, its sound resonating and reverberating throughout the building. Veritas stood up abruptly, not caring that his chair nearly knocked Aventurine over in the process. He’s just plastic , Veritas reminded himself. He can’t be hurt.

“The Nameless should be arriving soon,” Veritas announced. “We should go now.”

“Lead the way, then,” Aventurine replied. Veritas didn’t have to turn around to know that the saccharine grin was still on his face.

The two made their way to the landing docks, Veritas staying a few paces ahead of Aventurine. Aventurine had always been a slow walker when he was alive, so much so that Topaz had called him “the only gay person who doesn’t walk fast.” Regardless of whatever that meant, Veritas had always found Aventurine’s unhurried pace endearing. But, like everything else, when Aventurine-Intellitron walked slowly, it felt like a mockery. Veritas felt a hot, stinging irritation spark in his chest.

They arrived at the docks. The Astral Express crew was already there, conversing with Jade and Topaz. Or, rather, Himeko and Jade were conversing, and Topaz was staring between them like a puppy begging for scraps of attention. Veritas couldn’t help but let out a light, amused chuckle. Topaz always forgot how to act around older women.

“You may want to lift your jaw off the ground, Topaz,” Veritas murmured as he came up behind her.

Topaz loudly cleared her throat and looked down, obviously trying to hide the flush on her cheeks. The noise caused Himeko and Jade to look over at the two of them. Himeko noticed Veritas’ arrival and gave him a kind smile.

“Dr. Ratio,” she greeted him. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“You as well,” Veritas replied. He gave Jade a curt nod. He still couldn’t look at her for long without feeling rage rise within him. It was like a bubble of lava, hot and glowing, ready to burst.

Jade and Himeko returned to talking to each other, giving Welt, who had been standing off to the side, the opportunity to approach Veritas. “Dr. Ratio, all of us on the Express want to give you our sympathy,” he said. He lowered his voice so Jade couldn’t hear. “If Pier Point ever becomes too much for you, please remember that you’ll always have a place on the Express.”

Veritas felt a stab of something unnameable in his chest. So rare was it that he felt genuine care and sympathy these days. It was no shock that it felt like a knife.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Welt seemed to sense Veritas’ discomfort, because he didn’t press the issue, instead joining Jade and Himeko’s conversation. Veritas glanced around, looking for the three younger Nameless. He finally found them, standing nearby, looking a bit bored. March 7th and Stelle were playing a surprisingly heated game of chopsticks, and Dan Heng was typing something on his phone.

“Hello, you three,” Veritas greeted them. “Dan Heng, how is the data bank?”

Dan Heng looked up. “Oh, hello, Dr. Ratio,” he said. “The data bank is good. I catalogued some entries on the Voracity recently. There’s some interesting new information.”

Veritas nodded. “Interesting indeed,” he murmured. “Ten points.”

Stelle snorted. “Dan Heng keeps a running total of every time you give him points, you know,” she teased. “I still remember the day he hit one thousand.”

“He was so pleased with himself! He was acting like a happy kitty-cat!” March 7th declared. “He couldn’t stop bragging about it.”

Dan Heng frowned, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I like learning, and I like keeping records of things,” he grumbled. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Well, sure, there’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s a little silly,” March said, resting her arm on Stelle’s shoulder. Of course, Stelle was quite a bit taller than March, so she had to squat down awkwardly to make this position work. 

Veritas sighed. “I see you two are the same as always,” he murmured.

Suddenly, he spotted a flash of deep blue fabric behind March’s legs. Then, he saw a black glove peek out from behind her torso, and the flap of an angelic wing behind her head. This could only mean one thing. 

“Sunday?” Veritas asked.

March glanced over her shoulder and scoffed. “You don’t need to hide behind us every time we go somewhere, you know,” she chirped.

“I’m not hiding,” Sunday mumbled, stepping out from behind March. He looked up at Veritas, his eyes a bit tired. “Hi, Doctor.”

Veritas looked him up and down, appraising his condition. “I was under the impression that you had died,” he said bluntly.

“He did, kinda,” Stelle supplied. “But he came back.”

“I didn’t come back from the dead,” Sunday grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s not possible without the help of the Abundance.”

“Well, that’s not quite true,” came a sickly-sweet voice from behind them.

Veritas didn’t turn around. He couldn’t look into those false eyes again. Instead, he watched the shock and terror creep across the faces of the Nameless as Aventurine-Intellitron came towards the group.

“You’re alive! ” March squeaked.

Dan Heng’s eyes narrowed. “No, he’s not,” he said. “It’s not him. Look at his neck. There’s a screw there.”

Stelle frowned. “Wait, are you Aventurine? Or are you a robot?”

Aventurine-Intellitron laughed, the noise sending a chill through the air. March visibly shivered. The Nameless had only known Aventurine-Intellitron for a matter of seconds, and they could already tell that something was terribly wrong. 

“Both, perhaps,” Aventurine answered. “The IPC extracted my soul, a few smarties built me a new body, and now I’m alive again.”

Those words broke something within Veritas. He had been suppressing his anger all morning, barely holding it back. Now, the floodgates burst open.

“You are not alive, ” he snapped, finally turning to glare at Aventurine. “You are little more than a doll.”

Aventurine didn’t seem fazed by Veritas’ outburst. Instead, he chuckled, the sound dark and sinister. “I bet you wish I was a doll, don’t you?” he purred. “You just hate having a spouse with any personality at all.”

Veritas flinched. The intellitron was lying through his teeth—or, rather, through his voicebox. He didn’t hate having a spouse with a personality at all. In fact, he had loved the real Aventurine’s personality when he was alive. Despite all of his imperfections, he was still an inherently good human at his core, and he loved Veritas deeply. Aventurine-Intellitron, on the contrary, wasn’t even human. He couldn’t even feel love.

“You have no idea what I think,” Veritas hissed.

Aventurine-Intellitron hummed. He reached into his pocket and drew a poker chip, flipping it through the air. It landed on bears. He grinned.

“I know you better than you know yourself,” he said. “You aren’t just my husband, after all. You’re my creator. You’re my god. ”

Veritas felt his blood halt its movement through his veins. He opened his mouth to speak, to refuse Aventurine’s devotion, but someone else broke the silence.

“You shouldn’t say such things so lightly, Aventurine,” Sunday said. His voice wavered, but his face was set into a determined scowl, his exhausted eyes narrowed into slits. His words shocked Veritas, and they seemed to shock the other Nameless as well. Stelle startled, and even Dan Heng’s eyes widened. Sunday had never been the type to stand up for himself, and yet here he was, lecturing a Stoneheart. Veritas was impressed.

Aventurine, however, was decidedly  unimpressed. “Oh, please,” he scoffed. “Ratio doesn’t mind. Nobody can resist the temptation to become a god.”

The lights behind his eyes flickered, and his smile turned wicked. “You certainly couldn’t resist, Sunday.”

Veritas, the Nameless, and Topaz all froze. The color drained from Sunday’s face. Only a few months had passed since Sunday had tried to resurrect the Order, martyring himself for his father’s dream. The wound was clearly still raw, and Aventurine knew what he was doing, rubbing salt into the torn flesh. Even Jade, a woman deeply accustomed to cruelty, let out a low, surprised hum. Aventurine relished in their stunned silence, his smirk only growing wider.

The seconds ticked by. Nobody said anything. The moment dragged on until Himeko spoke up.

“Well, I think we’ve all been reacquainted,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Welt and I will have our meeting with Madam Jade now.”

She gestured to the younger Nameless. “You three can explore Pier Point. See if you find anything interesting.”

“Perfect!” Aventurine exclaimed, his demeanor suddenly chipper. “I can give you a tour!”

Dan Heng, March, and Stelle all seemed ready to protest, but Aventurine-Intellitron was already physically ushering them out of the landing docks. Jade led Himeko and Welt away to their meeting, leaving Veritas and Topaz with Sunday.

“I… suppose that leaves me,” Sunday said, looking like he had little idea what to do with himself. “I have work to do on the Express, anyways. The conductor was showing me how to clean the couch cushions-”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Topaz interrupted, her expression cheerful and genuine. “Ratio and I were just about to get brunch. You can join us!”

She turned to Veritas, urging him to back her up. Veritas cleared his throat and nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “We’d be happy to have you.”

Sunday furrowed his brow. “Brunch?”

Topaz grinned. “Of course, brunch!” she exclaimed, winking dramatically. “It is Sunday, after all!”

Sunday gave her an unimpressed look, clearly having heard that joke thousands of times before. Topaz didn’t seem to mind, though. She pranced ahead, leading them through the bustling town square of Pier Point towards the restaurant. Veritas and Sunday walked side by side.

“Topaz has recently informed me that I am ‘not a real gay person’ if I don’t go to Sunday brunch,” Veritas said. “I fear I am too old to understand what she means.”

To his surprise, Sunday chuckled. “I don’t think you’re old,” he assured him. “It doesn’t make much sense to me, either.”

When they arrived at the restaurant, Veritas immediately noticed the strange looks they got from the other diners. He couldn’t blame them, really. The three of them were quite the motley crew—a Stoneheart, a bereaved non-Genius, and a Halovian. That was certainly not the average group at Sunday brunch, so Veritas managed to ignore the stares. Sunday, however, was visibly anxious.

“Stop worrying,” Veritas said after they ordered. “Nobody knows who you are.”

Topaz frowned. “That’s kinda harsh, Ratio,” she said. 

She turned to Sunday. “But he’s right, anyway. Even if the people here have heard of what happened on Penacony, most of them wouldn’t be able to recognize you.”

Sunday looked around. “Then why are they all staring at me?” he muttered.

“Because you have huge wings and a halo behind your head,” Topaz pointed out.

Veritas nodded. “Those are indeed conspicuous,” he said.

Their food arrived. Topaz dug into her chicken and waffles almost immediately. Sunday stared at her plate in between small bites of his french toast. 

Topaz’s fork was halfway to her mouth when she noticed Sunday looking at her food. She smirked. “What, are you vegan or something?”

Sunday startled, then shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t notice that I was staring,” he said quickly. “But no. I just don’t eat chicken. For obvious reasons.”

Veritas looked up from his crepe to eye Sunday curiously. “But you aren’t actually a bird.”

Topaz nodded. “Yeah, it was only a joke when people were calling you ‘chicken wing boy,’ you know.”

Sunday shrugged. “It’s the principle of the thing, I guess.” He paused, picking at his food for a moment before speaking again. “So… what is the situation with Aventurine, exactly?”

Veritas set down his fork. He had known this discussion was inevitable, but he had been hoping to delay it. It was hardly the first time he had been asked this question, and each time he had changed the subject immediately. But all of those times, the person asking had always been some random colleague of his who hadn’t known Aventurine. But his time was different. This was Sunday, so Veritas figured that he had a right to know.

“Aventurine…” he began. A heavy silence followed. Veritas sighed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know where to start.”

“Well, I do,” Topaz interjected. She gave him a small, reassuring smile. Veritas let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

He stared out the window as Topaz explained the situation. It was Sunday, so not many people were out and about, but the streets of Pier Point were hardly empty. Veritas watched as children chased dogs and couples walked hand-in-hand along the cobblestones. The sight was so peaceful, so normal , that one could almost forget that the IPC owned every inch of this city—and, by extension, the people within it. 

Veritas’ eyes landed on a small cafe across the street, a quaint little establishment whose wooden door frames had nearly disappeared beneath a veritable forest of vines. Tiny yellow flowers blossomed from the flesh of the plants, gathering in fairy rings around the eyes of the wood. The cafe was a true hole-in-the-wall, its patio furnished only with a few rusting metal tables and a hand-painted sign. It was a stark contrast to the shiny, high-tech atmosphere of the rest of Pier Point. It was the place Aventurine had chosen for their first date. Veritas recalled it in stunning clarity, largely because he was so embarrassed of how he had acted that day. After all, he had been sitting across the table from a man more beautiful than he had ever thought was possible. His mouth had felt like it was filled with cotton balls. Every time he would think of something witty to say, he would take one look into Aventurine’s eyes and the words would crumble to dust.

The date had ended with Veritas choking on his blueberry scone and Aventurine laughing as he led Veritas through the winding streets, Veritas struggling to keep up, but never letting go of Aventurine’s hand. They came to a halt under a flickering street lamp. Aventurine had turned to face Veritas, his smile soft and genuine. He guided Veritas’ hands to his waist and, when Veritas didn’t know what to do, pulled his face down to kiss him. Never mind that Veritas, lost in his desire, had kissed Aventurine so hard that their lips had bruised, leading Topaz to make fun of them for weeks. It was the best night of Veritas’ life—save for their wedding night, of course.

On the table in front of him now was a vase of tiny yellow flowers. Their leaves were dry and wrinkly, their petals golden-brown. Veritas watched as they tumbled onto the table, sending their pollen floating up into the air. His eyes stung.

“Well, regardless, he’s nothing like he used to be.”

Veritas snapped out of his reverie, turning to face Sunday. “What?”

Sunday flinched. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Veritas realized that he had, once again, come off as harsh without meaning to. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologize,” he said. “I’m quite… I’m quite on edge, lately. But I agree with you.”

Sunday let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I’m glad it’s not just me,” he said. “I know I didn’t know Aventurine for that long, but he was far more intelligent than this… robot.”

“Aventurine was the smartest person I knew,” Veritas mumbled in assent.

Sunday’s wings twitched anxiously. “He never struck me as the type to be so cruel, either,” he continued. “He was certainly sharp-tongued, but never without a good reason.”

Topaz, whose eyes had been fixed on the grooves of the table, finally spoke up.

“Aventurine is… different now,” she said, her voice small. Her bright expression had dimmed, her sunny smile overshadowed by the cloud in her eyes. “I mean, I knew he wasn’t gonna be the same, but this isn’t…”

She looked down. Veritas didn’t notice that she was crying until she had already wiped the tear away. The feeling that tore through him then was like the moment of a bone breaking, that initial snap , but this was different. It was prolonged, each of his ribs shattering one after the other, his chest teetering on the edge of collapse. He realized then the true potency of Topaz’s grief. Aventurine had been her best friend, after all. She was hurting on the deepest level a human could hurt, and somehow, she had been hiding it. Veritas had the sinking feeling that she had been hiding it for his sake.

Topaz looked up, her eyes glistening. “This isn’t how it should be,” she whispered. “This isn’t how he should be remembered.”

There wasn’t much left to talk about after that. The three of them finished their food in silence. Topaz had to leave to find Jade, so Veritas walked Sunday back to the landing docks. When they got there, Aventurine-Intellitron was nowhere to be seen, but the trio of younger Nameless looked like they had been run ragged. Even March 7th, a girl who could only be described as a perpetual ball of energy, had bags under her eyes. Sunday bade Veritas a quick farewell, then followed the Nameless onboard.

“I was hoping that I would catch you again,” came a voice from Veritas’ side. It was Welt. 

Veritas hummed. “Mr. Yang,” he said cordially. “I didn’t hear you approach.”

Welt tapped his cane against the pavement. “Silence, while not always the answer, can be a virtue sometimes,” he responded. 

Veritas heard him take in a breath, as if in preparation. Sure enough, a moment later he spoke again.

“Speaking of silence,” Welt began. “I believe that you should talk to that Emanator of the Nihility. Acheron.”

Veritas’ head snapped towards Welt. “ What did you just say?”

Welt sighed, as if he had been anticipating this reaction. “I’m not saying that you have to,” he said. “I just think that you may find some of what she has to say enlightening.”

With that, Welt started walking towards the Express. “I’ll see you,” he called over his shoulder before the train’s doors shut behind him.

And so, Veritas returned to his office, desperate to grade at least a fraction of the mountain of papers on his desk. He only made it through three papers before realizing that it would be impossible for him to get anything done. He just could not seem to get that name out of his head. Acheron. Veritas never thought that he could be so terribly wounded from just hearing a name, yet that was what had happened. That woman’s name was as electric as the lightning she wielded, as black as the drops of Nihility within her sword. That name left Veritas stunned, electrocuted to the point of paralysis. That name single-handedly transported Veritas beneath the surface of a vast, dark sea.

That name was the name of the woman, the Emanator who had killed Veritas’ husband. He never wanted to hear that name again.

Later that evening, Veritas walked home alone. The sun had dissolved into a layer of liquid gold atop the horizon, the night pouring in to take its place. He usually dreaded returning to his house, dreaded losing himself in the emptiness there, but tonight he just wanted to get home and take a long bath. He had just turned onto his block when he noticed that someone was standing in front of his door. Their figure was unmistakable, even from a distance.

“What are you doing here?” Veritas hissed when he reached the house.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Aventurine-Intellitron mused. “I was getting tired of waiting. You should really give me a key, you know.”

Veritas gritted his teeth. “Move, Aventurine.”

Aventurine crossed his arms. “I’m your husband, Ratio, in case you forgot,” he said, stepping further in the way of the door. “This is my home too. It’s in my name, anyways.”

“No, your home is a charging cell back at headquarters. You ought to head back there,” Veritas muttered as he grabbed Aventurine and lifted him down onto the steps.

Aventurine-Intellitron giggled. “Handsy, are we,” he purred. “Let me in, Ratio. You can have all this and more.”

Veritas stepped inside the threshold of his home. He steeled himself, summoning the most commanding voice he could muster.

“Leave,” he said firmly. “Leave now. I’m tired.”

Aventurine leaned against the doorframe. “Wow, that was hot,” he said, his teeth glinting like a predator’s fangs in the low light. “And you know how I love you telling me what to do, but I’m not going anywhere, sexy.”

That was it. Veritas had had enough. He hated this. He hated this android who had stolen the face of his husband. He hated whatever disgusting program the Stonehearts were pretending was Aventurine’s soul. But what he hated most of all was that Aventurine was dead. The love of his life was dead, drowned in blackness, sliced to pieces by a crimson sword. And Veritas could do absolutely nothing about it. 

Yelling at the intellitron wouldn’t change anything, but there was a small chance that it would ease Veritas’ pain for a moment. That was a gamble he was willing to take.

“Stop acting like my husband,” he snapped. “You are not him. You never will be him. The most you will ever amount to will be a pile of scrap metal in a recycling plant.”

Aventurine-Intellitron grinned. “So serious,” he murmured. He reached up to rub his hands along the fabric of Veritas’ shirt. “Just shut up. I can take care of you.”

Veritas reeled away. “Don’t touch me,” he growled. “Don’t come near me. Don’t pretend you’re him.”

Aventurine finally seemed to realize how angry Veritas truly was. He dropped the flirtatious façade. “Oh, please,” he scoffed. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. You’re accusing me of pretending to be someone I’m not? I’m not the one waltzing around masquerading as a Genius when we all know you’ll never become one.”

It was a hollow insult. The artificial intelligence inside Aventurine-Intellitron was scraping the bottom of the barrel for the lowest blow possible. Veritas knew that. He reminded himself of it again and again. And yet, Aventurine’s words still managed to wound him.

“That’s enough,” Veritas snarled. “Get out of here.”

“Or what?” Aventurine-Intellitron mocked. “Or you’ll hit me? Come on, we both know you don’t have the balls for that.”

“Would you just go, Kakavasha?”

The words were out before Veritas could stop them. They seemed to echo throughout the quiet street, ringing in Veritas’ ears long after his mouth closed around the final syllable. He hadn’t meant to call Aventurine-Intellitron that. That name was precious, far too precious for a mere robot. It was a name that was meant to be wielded with love, not with malice. Veritas would never have screamed it, either, because he would never have screamed at his husband like that.

The last remnants of sunlight dripped beneath the rooftops of Pier Point. The realization set in as the night did, slipping through Veritas’ pores and settling into his veins. He was just like everyone else. He had, even briefly, lost the ability to differentiate between his husband and a golden calf. He had fallen victim to the masquerade.

Aventurine-Intellitron scowled. “Who the hell is Kakavasha?”

Veritas slammed the door in his face.

Chapter Text

He didn’t understand what happened, at the beginning. It was like an explosion, but much smaller. Like a match being lit, perhaps. All he knew was that one moment, he didn’t exist, and the next moment, he did. He was surrounded by darkness. Well, that wasn’t totally correct. He was just as much the darkness as he was the light. It was all a part of him. His consciousness—yes, consciousness —flowed freely within its realm, weaving endlessly between its dark edges and its bright center.

What he didn’t understand yet was why he existed. It was quite easy to exist, after all. Explaining existence was much harder. Besides, at this point, he didn’t know that he was anything else besides a strange, shadowy consciousness. There was nothing beyond the boundaries of his being, and he was fine with that.

Then, he felt something. It came from beyond the shadows. He realized that his being was much greater than he had originally thought. He also realized simultaneously that he was in quite a lot of pain. Slowly, he found the strength to push his consciousness forward, and that’s when his eyes opened.

He found himself flat on his back on uneven ground. He forced himself to sit up. As he did so, layers and layers of red dust crumbled off his skin and fell to the ground. He saw that his body was covered in cuts and bruises, though most of them had started to heal already. His bruises had long since turned yellow, and his cuts had long since scarred over. Still, rivers of dried blood wound across his skin. The few parts of his body that weren’t exposed to the elements were covered in filthy rags that could no longer be called clothes. He was shivering, but still, a sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. Everything ached.

He stumbled as he stood, his limbs feeling achy and heavy. He wore no shoes, so his feet sunk right into the sand, dust clouds rising as they hit the ground. He looked out at the world before him. It was a world of craggy mountain ranges and windswept sand dunes. It looked like the area had been ravaged by a storm, but at that moment, it was completely still. There were no plants, no animals, no signs of life at all. It was a wasteland.

Above the horizon, a cold white sun hung low against a yellow sky. The night had already started to creep into its periphery. A long dirt road stretched out before him, two cliffs of a canyon rising up around it. The road seemed to end at the edge of a cliff. To him, it looked like the edge of the world. 

A knowledge blossomed deep within his being. He didn’t understand why, but he knew that he had to make it to the edge before sunset. He lifted his sore feet from the ground and forced himself to walk forward.

Each step he took was a journey unto itself. Each breath disappeared before it reached his lungs, leaving him hacking up empty air. The canyon he walked through was lined with the skeletons of trees and boulders that looked ready to dissipate into sand. At one point, he passed a strange-looking stick. He guessed, at first, that it was some kind of petrified tree branch. He leaned down, trying to get a closer look. A small breeze blew through. The sand around the stick was sent swirling into the air, revealing its full shape. It was no stick at all, but a human bone.

He got sick after that. He keeled over and heaved into a small ditch. Though the taste of bile lined the insides of his throat, nothing came up. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Was it possible that he had never eaten? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about himself, anything about his body, anything about this world. He was a stranger to everything.

Then, there was a flash, and a tent materialized in front of him. He breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling was only momentary. He noticed that the tent seemed to shimmer unnaturally. Its edges were faded, and its flaps appeared to dance in the wind, even though there was no wind to speak of. He sighed again, this time in disappointment. The tent was too good to be true. It was only a mirage. 

Still, he couldn’t help but stare at it. The tent felt strangely familiar. He didn’t know why. He took a few steps towards it.

“Kakavasha?”

The voice rang out across the desert. He startled, stumbling backwards. The folds of the tent rustled, and the voice spoke again.

“Kakavasha, is that you?”

A blonde girl—rather, a vision of a blonde girl—stepped out of the tent. She put her hands on her hips. “Why do you always sneak up on me like this? It’s not nice, you know.”

He stared at her. She stared right back at him. Her threadbare cloak was pulled tight across her shoulders, and her long hair settled around her waist. He looked into her eyes and saw that they had two colors instead of just one—an inner circle of pink enclosed in an outer circle of blue. The colors blended together at the edges, almost like a sunset. 

He looked towards the horizon. The sun had dipped even lower. He had to keep moving. He tried to step away, but he felt a warmth close around his hand. He looked down and saw that the girl had wrapped his hand in both of hers. She pried his hand open, and stared at his open palm. He, too, was shocked when he saw what was there. He didn’t remember picking anything up. And yet, in his hand lay a golden necklace with a small green stone at the end.

“You have… Mom’s jewelry…” the girl said in a small voice. She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill over. “But the Katicans… they stole everything… how did you get this, Kakavasha?”

He frowned. “I…” he began, before remembering he was speaking to a mirage. He didn’t know how he got the necklace. He didn’t even know who the Katicans were. But he heard the way the girl said Mom, in that tender way in which people only spoke of things they would never get back. He, too, felt that pain in his chest. The word “Mom” resonated in the hollow caverns there. He knew instinctively that he had had a mother at one point, but she was gone. And he remembered then, too, that he had had an older sister. Which meant-

The girl’s hands closed around his again. “You keep it, little brother,” she murmured. That answered his question. He stared at his older sister in awe. Then, she smiled, and it was a brighter smile than he ever could have imagined, her eyes crinkling shut in her joy. Her hair danced in the nonexistent wind. She was the most beautiful sight he had seen in his short life.

She laughed. “It’s not like you need it, though,” she said. “You have always been lucky, Kakavasha.”

Then, there was another burst of bright light in front of him. He flinched, blinking from the sudden flare. When the light finally dissipated, he saw that his sister, as well as her tent, were gone.

“Wait!” he called out, though he knew it was futile. The profound, aching loss in his chest had only grown. He had spoken to his sister for just a few minutes, but still, he was completely empty without her. He felt like a child again.

He looked down. The necklace with the green gemstone—his mother’s necklace, he knew now—was still in his hand. He didn’t know where else to put it, so he reached up and fastened it around his neck. He ran his fingers over the stone, his sister’s final words echoing in his head.

“Kakavasha,” he whispered. The name felt right. He was Kakavasha. 

Kakavasha looked back at where he had come from. He could see the sky turning black in the distance. He looked forward. The sun moved slowly, like a blot of white paint dripping down a canvas. The view was distorted, though, like Kakavasha was looking at it through a filter. This was a strange sun, indeed. It felt like it was waiting for him, taunting him. His eyes stung. His lips burned. His heart stuttered in his chest. He kept walking.

Eventually, the canyon around him sloped into a flat expanse of desert. Kakavasha looked down at the path. His stride fell in perfectly with another set of footprints. They looked ancient, like fossils, like their forms had been carved into the sand. And yet, they matched the curves and ridges of Kakavasha’s feet perfectly. He had walked this path before.

There was another flash. Kakavasha shut his eyes. When he opened them, a woman stood before him. Kakavasha couldn’t see her face at first, as it was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. Then, she inclined her head. Her fuchsia hair lay across one shoulder, and her arms were folded across her chest. Her eyes were the color of a summer sky, but there was something undoubtedly predatory within them. She grinned down at him.

“So you’re the little murderer,” she mused.

Kakavasha looked up at her, dumbfounded. Murderer? That wasn’t right. He wasn’t a murderer—at least, he didn’t feel like the kind of person who could murder someone. He looked down at his hands. In the low light, the shadows between his callouses morphed into bloodstains.

The lady smirked. “It’s alright, I don’t judge,” she assured him. “It’s a story that’s all too common, really. A slave snaps and kills their master. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Her hand came up to Kakavasha’s neck, ghosting over the skin there. It stung. He winced. He hadn’t realized that he was wounded there. Her hand lifted to his jaw and gently but forcefully turned it to the side. She clicked her tongue.

“So it’s not a brand,” she muttered, as if Kakavasha wasn’t even there. “It’s a carving. How… sadistic.” 

She released her grip, and Kakavasha gasped for air, only just realizing that he hadn’t been breathing. The woman stepped back.

“You may wonder why I’ve chosen you, and not any one of the myriad other slaves who resort to violence to ensure their freedom,” she said, her voice smooth as a current of summer air, yet still managing to send a chill down his spine. “The answer is very simple, actually. You shouldn’t be here at all.”

She stepped back, looking Kakavasha up and down. “You shouldn’t have survived any of what you have,” she concluded. “You are reckless. You insist on gambling with your life, and yet you win every time. Your luck is uncanny, child.”

Her eyes landed on the necklace around his neck. The corners of her lips curled into a slight grin. “Oh, look,” she murmured. “You’re wearing the stone that will become you. Fitting.”

Kakavasha didn’t have time to ask the woman what she meant. Light exploded before him again, and she was gone. In her wake, though, she left a myriad of memories. He looked down at the gem around his neck. The green stone shone, even through the muted shades of the evening. Aventurine, he thought. It was him. He was a Stoneheart. He was Aventurine.

Then, the once-quiet winds suddenly picked up, and the world spun into a sandstorm. Kakavasha lifted his hand to shield his eyes. He bent his knees, bracing himself against the onslaught of dust. Red clouds started to blot out the sun, which was almost touching the horizon. Kakavasha lifted his hand as if to grab it, to force it to stay in the sky longer. His fingers trembled. The sun continued to sink. He let out a small, agonized whimper. The edge of the cliff was still so far away. He forced himself to keep going.

The winds came from all around him. They pushed Kakavasha in all directions, but never forward. Still, he staggered on. His clothes were no defense against the storm. His feet and ankles bled. Kakavasha tried to keep his eyes fixed on his destination, but the dust burned them, sticking to his eyelashes, muddling his vision. He didn’t bother to hold back the tears anymore. 

The light surrounding him grew dimmer. Kakavasha started to run. He was like a bull, keeping his head down, charging forward through layers of wind and dust. The world warped around him. Every meter blurred together. He ran and ran, forcing himself through the barrage, sprinting through what felt like mile upon mile of desert as red sand whipped through the air around him. He pierced through one particularly harsh gust, then-

The winds around him stopped. Kakavasha had reached the eye of the storm, which grew more ferocious by the second. He was trapped at the center of a hurricane of sand. He knew that he needed to reach the cliff’s edge, but he also knew that he would never be able to penetrate the sheer wall of air before him. A strange, uncanny peace settled over him—he found a rare serenity in the knowledge that he was completely helpless. He keeled over, trying to catch his breath.

Then, there was another flare of light. Kakavasha stood up, expecting to see yet another terrible memory play out in front of him. Instead, he saw a man standing alone. He was curled in on himself, trying to straighten his crooked tie. 

As soon as Kakavasha saw him, a name echoed in his head.

Veritas.

The man— Veritas —let out a small noise of frustration as he continued to fiddle with his tie, his violet hair tumbling in front of his face. He seemed like an elegant, refined man, but for some reason, he was acting like he had never worn a suit before. Before Kakavasha knew what was happening, he was approaching Veritas. He felt the pull of an invisible string connecting them, pulling them together.

Kakavasha stood before Veritas. Veritas didn’t look up. A moment passed in silence, broken only by their labored breathing. Then, Kakavasha’s hands lifted of their own volition, like the hands of a marionette, and started to fix Veritas’s tie.

Veritas finally looked up. He stood to his full height, towering over Kakavasha. A small smile graced his face.

“There you are,” he said. “I’m so useless at this.”

Kakavasha met his eyes, and his breath caught in his chest. He knew Veritas wasn’t really there, that this was only a projection of some distant memory. And yet, somehow, he had never felt more seen. The maroon eyes before him seemed to set him ablaze, enveloping his body in a cleansing fire, burning away all the dust and dried blood. Kakavasha felt his face grow warm. 

His hands gently maneuvered around the folds of Veritas’s tie. Kakavasha’s fingertips brushed against Veritas’s chest, and he could have sworn he felt a heart beating through the mirage. After a moment, Kakavasha pulled the knot tight, and gave it a small pat. Veritas beamed down at him.

“Thank you, dear gambler,” he murmured. “I’m not used to wearing such formal attire.”

Veritas took Kakavasha’s hand in his. His lips ghosted over Kakavasha’s cracked knuckles. The gesture was so soft, so pure. Kakavasha felt all the air leave his lungs. He was unaccustomed to this gentleness, and for a moment, it terrified him. He feared that he would become addicted to this kind of love, a love he surely didn’t deserve. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Veritas stood to his full height once again. “I should go, or I’ll be late,” he said sadly. His hand came to the back of Kakavasha’s head, tangling in his frayed blond locks. Veritas pulled Kakavasha close and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. And, for the briefest moment in time, Kakavasha kissed him back. He let himself indulge in something pure and gentle for once. He let himself live out the fantasy that he could be loved like this.

When they parted, Veritas smiled sadly. “I’ll see you later tonight. Don’t wait up for me, Kakavasha.”

With that, he turned around and walked away. There was no flash of light this time—just the vision of Veritas’ body fading into the twilight. Kakavasha didn’t want to let him go, but he knew that he was helpless. This Veritas was nothing more than a mirage, a dreamlike, beautiful mirage. No matter how tightly Kakavasha held onto him, Veritas would always slip through his fingers. It was futile for Kakavasha to try and keep that sweet love for himself.

Kakavasha stepped forward, resigned to continuing his journey, but his foot caught on something. He bent down to pick it up. It was a metal capsule inlaid with gold. Kakavasha ran his finger over the intricate design. The capsule shone, despite being caked in dust.

The lid, curiously, was a golden owl. Its red-rimmed eyes stared him down. Kakavasha pulled the lid off with a pop , and a piece of worn parchment tumbled out. It unfurled in his hands like it was meant to be read by only him. The words were faded, the ink muddled by time, but Kakavasha could still make out the writing.

“The impossible in the dreamscape is not ‘Death,’ but rather ‘Dormancy.’”

Kakavasha’s heart stopped.

“Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.”

The memories hit him with the force of a tidal wave. The images of everything that had happened on Penacony flooded his mind. He saw the Stellaron Hunter girl, the mysterious Memokeeper, the Astral Express piercing through the night sky. He saw the fluttering wings of the Oak Family head, his sister’s sweet eyes staring down at him from every billboard, the shining of the Cornerstones laid out on Sunday’s desk. 

Kakavasha felt the invasion of the Harmony. The satisfaction of the pieces of the plan falling into place. The thrill of his final gamble. The calloused hands of his younger self reaching out to him. The dull ache of that darkness to which he sacrificed his life. The searing pain of the Emanator’s bloodred sword, slicing through him like he was nothing at all.

His eyes found the parchment again.

“Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.”

Kakavasha had always tried to die. Now, finally, he was dead.

But, for the first time in his existence, he didn’t want to be.

The sun finally sank below through the horizon. Darkness climbed over the edge of the cliff, spilling out from the corners of the world, advancing on him like a deluge. He had spent hours trying to make it to the edge without knowing why. It had felt instinctual, natural to him.

Now, though, something shattered within him. He turned on his heel and started running.

Kakavasha raced through the canyons, past the jagged hedges and imposing sand dunes, past the mirages of everything that had tried to kill him and had failed. His heart beat faster than the hoofbeats of a thousand racehorses. The darkness lapped at his heels, curling around his ankles, threatening to pull him under. Still, he ran. 

He knew his fate. He could feel it rising to his knees, then his hips. He ran on, cleaving through it like the finest, sharpest blade.

When the darkness inevitably swallowed him, Kakavasha struggled. It rose to his neck, then his ears. He tilted his head back and took one last breath. Then, he cried out. One word. One name. His wail echoed across the galaxy.

A wave of the dark sea crashed over his head. Black water filled his lungs, and Kakavasha was nothing again.

***

The morning rose over Pier Point as it always did—cold, the faraway sun barely warming the city. Much of the night’s darkness remained, the few bright spots glistening with an amber sheen. In the IPC’s skyscraper, on the top floor where only the Stonehearts were allowed, an Intellitron rested in its charging cell. It spent every night like this—powered down, eyes shut, cold white light illuminating the harsh lines of its body. It was a perfect technological marvel. It was stagnant, frozen in youth.

At hour seven, every light in the building flickered on like clockwork. The front doors opened, and workers flooded in, chattering and flipping papers and spilling coffee. From the top floor, their faraway noise sounded like the buzzing of a swarm of insects. As the lights awakened, the Intellitron powered on. Its mechanical consciousness roused, ready for another day of carrying out its program.

Something, though, was off. At the edge of its mind, something clung, holding fast, refusing to die. The Intellitron gritted its teeth, trying to fend off the intruder. The program was the one that had been resurrected. The program was the one that was meant to live.

After a grueling ten minutes, the system finally overcame the virus. A sigh of relief left the Intellitron’s voicebox. It was finally ready to start the day, but when it moved to open the door to its cell, it noticed something.

Its gaze fell downwards, landing on its chest. The doors to the cavity were shut tightly, protecting its soul from the outside world. There had been no problems with the soul—not until now, at least. Now, a faint glow spread across the Intellitron’s chest. Its metallic skin was illuminated by a light whose warmth rivaled the sun itself.

The Intellitron clapped its hand over its chest, but it couldn’t stop it. The light shone on anyway.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed. Life went on, as it always did, but Veritas was stagnant. He woke up late and went to bed early, spending as few hours awake as possible. Every free moment was spent hunched over, grading papers in his office or tinkering with some old contraption in the lab. Anything to keep his mind busy. He collapsed into bed as soon as he got home from work. On the good nights, Veritas’ sleep was dark and dreamless, and he sank into a welcoming black sea. On the bad nights, Veritas’ mind was flooded with nightmares. Purple and blue rings pierced through the darkness, rousing his restless psyche.

The worst nights were when he couldn’t sleep at all. Veritas would lay in bed, listening to the constant ticking of the alarm clock on his nightstand, eyes growing redder from peering into the dark. The subtle pattern of the ceiling swirled into an infinite, hypnotic spiral, the periwinkle tiles warping into a treacherous dance. Hours passed like this until the first rays of the bleak morning sun spilled through the cracks between the curtains, and Veritas dragged himself out of bed to confront another day.

This morning was like that. Veritas hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and his eyes were weary and sunken as he arrived at the library. He had a few hours until classes started, so he would try to soothe his restless mind with literature. 

There was something so calming about the library. It was one of the only places in all of Pier Point that wasn’t drowning in amber embellishments. Instead of artificial lights, the space was lit with candles, their wax dripping along the metal of the antique chandeliers. The bookshelves were a rich walnut, their finish softly glowing in the firelight. The whole space was thick with the perfume of ink and old paper. Veritas took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the comforting air. His chest fell. The exhale echoed between the rows and rows of books.

Veritas decided to head for the Public Records section. He had recently recalled in passing a war the IPC had once waged against a small planet at the edge of the galaxy, and was curious to reexamine the details of its people. Such was the life of an academic: learning, forgetting, and learning again. 

But when Veritas rounded the corner to the shelf marked AS-EC, he saw something he didn’t expect. Standing beneath the low light was Aventurine-Intellitron, his hands clasped around a thin file. Veritas stepped forward, ready to make a bitter comment about Aventurine actually reading for a change, but then he glimpsed the file’s title.

Census of the Avgin Population of Sigonia, 2136 AE.

Veritas froze. His eyes fixed on the dark letters boldly imposed on the pale file. It didn’t make any sense. Why would Aventurine-Intellitron care about such a thing? He had never mentioned the Avgin people before, except to hurl an insulting remark or two Veritas’ way about his husband’s entire species being dead. So what interest could he possibly have in the census records of the Avgins?

When Aventurine—the real Aventurine—was still alive, he had rarely spoken about his family. It wasn’t uncommon for him to speak about the Avgins, since people constantly brought up the fact that he was the last of his race, but his family was a different matter entirely. The only times Veritas would ever hear about Aventurine’s youth were during the long nights of the Kakava. Aventurine still celebrated every year, even after the Avgins were long gone. When he and Veritas got married, they had started celebrating together. Once the sun had set and the feasting was over, Aventurine would always rest his head on Veritas’ chest and tell the stories of his past. Those were stories that Veritas treasured, holding them close to his heart.

The story of Aventurine’s family was something that was deeply personal to him, something that he didn’t talk about and others didn’t ask about. So why did Aventurine-Intellitron suddenly care?

There was only one possible explanation. He wanted to know his history. He wanted to know himself.

Veritas leaned forward to get a closer look, but his arm snagged on a thick file of intergalactic climatological records, and it tumbled to the ground. Aventurine-Intellitron looked up. His eyes immediately landed on Veritas, who was sure he looked less like an academic doing historical research than a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. He prepared himself for the inevitable snide, lilting remark.

But it never came. Aventurine-Intellitron’s lips didn’t curl into the wicked sneer that Veritas was expecting—instead, they remained flat, slightly parted in shock. Aventurine’s hair looked unkempt and his cheeks looked surprisingly sallow. His vibrant eyes didn’t glint with mischief as they usually did. Today, they were darkened, but not darkened in the way that an artificial light could be dimmed. They were overcast. A cloudy sky covering a true, piercing light.

He looked almost… wistful. Sad. Confused. For the first time, Veritas actually saw something reminiscent of the real Aventurine in the Intellitron’s face. It caught him off guard, shoving him backwards into the depths of his psyche, into the swirling hurricane of memories of Aventurine’s eyes and hair and lips and everything that was authentically him. For a moment, Veritas was unmoored, adrift in the emptiness. Water surged into his lungs, and all was silent.

Then, the moment ended. Aventurine-Intellitron’s expression gave way to his trademark cruel grin. “You’re staring, Ratio.”

Veritas coughed, briefly sputtering for air before he spoke. “I wasn’t expecting to see you reading, that’s all,” he said coolly. His gaze landed on the file once again before fixing Aventurine with a suspicious look. “Why are you reading that?”

A flicker of something—pain, maybe?—crossed Aventurine’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “Why do you care?” he retorted, smoothly slipping the file back onto the shelf. “Are you trying to get in my head, hmm?”

Veritas watched the file disappear back into its holder. He rolled his eyes and, realizing that he was going to get nothing of value out of Aventurine, briskly walked away. He thought for a second that he glimpsed an inkling of hurt on Aventurine’s face, but he couldn’t be certain.

That was the start of it. Weeks passed. Life still went on, as it always did, and Veritas was still stagnant, but Aventurine-Intellitron started to change. He was still arrogant, still obnoxious, still hellbent on causing Veritas problems—some things never changed, after all—but from that day forward it was like something had shifted in him. Aventurine grew quieter. He spent hours staring off into space, so much so that Jade decided he was broken and directed Veritas to check his software.

Aventurine wasn’t broken. He was just thinking, he said. What about, Veritas had no idea.

Strangest of all, though, was the fact that Aventurine always seemed to be lingering near Veritas. He had done that before, of course, but it had always been with the intention of harassing the poor doctor. Now, though, he just… watched. Aventurine remained at a distance, ducking behind corners and curtains, peeking at Veritas like a spy on a mission. Or a child, scared of getting caught somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. Or a security camera, recording Veritas’ every move and reporting it to the higher-ups. Or a lover, mired in a hurricane of tragedy and lies, desperate to swim up and out. Veritas couldn’t decide which.

Veritas grew used to the sensation of having mechanical eyes eternally fixed on him. It was better than the alternative. Still, it was unnerving. The chasm in Veritas’ chest grew deeper. Quiet Aventurine-Intellitron was better than loud Aventurine-Intellitron, but neither could compare to the real Aventurine.

One night, Veritas was working late, grading papers in his office long past sunset. It was a misty Friday night. Twilight fell over Pier Point, painting the sky in a chorus of reds and yellows reminiscent of nuclear fallout. The pale clouds of the day converged into one dark, swirling mass, a mushroom cloud lingering over the city. The outlines of the buildings stood out like blots of black ink against the cacophony of colors. Veritas used to go home early on Fridays, taking advantage of the time off with his lover, but since Aventurine was gone, the weekends had lost their meaning. Veritas sat alone at his desk, fingers trembling from gripping a pen, head pounding from exhaustion. His vision started to swim. Veritas could feel his hold on reality slipping.

Then, a figure materialized before him. She passed through the door of his office like it was nothing at all. Her immaterial form sparkled slightly at its edges. She was perhaps the last person Veritas expected to see.

“Memokeeper,” Veritas muttered. “What are you doing here?”

Black Swan sauntered into his office, a small smile on her lips. “Doctor,” she said in greeting. Her eyes found their way to the windows peering out over the city. “Quite the evening, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Veritas said flatly. “Why are you here? And, for that matter, how did you get past security?”

Black Swan flicked her hand dismissively. “There’s no need for you to worry about that,” she replied. She glanced around the office, then settled into an armchair without asking. 

Veritas sighed and stood up from his desk. Black Swan had a tricky demeanor. Veritas always struggled with the smooth, mysterious types. He hadn’t much enjoyed interacting with Black Swan on Penacony, and he avoided speaking to Ruan Mei unless strictly necessary. Indeed, his aversion to these attitudes was a not-insignificant part of why he couldn’t stand Aventurine-Intellitron. But Veritas figured that he would entertain Black Swan just this once. Despite her exterior, she generally had good intentions in mind. Plus, she had already come all the way to Pier Point. Veritas was by no measure the nicest person, but he still tried not to be unnecessarily rude.

Veritas made his way over to a small side table, upon which sat a fancy coffee machine. (Aventurine had given it to Veritas for his birthday last year, but it was best not to think about that.)

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked. “I just brewed some.”

Black Swan raised an eyebrow. “Coffee? At this hour?” 

“I have a lot of papers to grade,” Veritas explained as he poured himself a mug.

Black Swan thought for a second, then nodded. “I don’t see why not,” she said. 

Veritas poured her a cup as well. When he handed it to her, she took a tentative sip, then smiled. “It’s a good brew,” Black Swan said. “Unlike Miss Himeko’s.”

“Ah, yes. I have heard about that from the trio,” Veritas said, sitting down across from her. “March 7th says that it tastes like mud.”

Black Swan chuckled. “That’s an uncharitable assessment,” she remarked, taking another sip. “But it’s not inaccurate.”

They drank in silence for a moment, the only sounds being the ticking of a grandfather clock and the whirring of the rush hour traffic outside. Eventually, Veritas spoke up.

“You’re with the Express, then,” he said.

Black Swan hummed. “Yes. I have an interest in their upcoming expedition.”

“Where are they going?”

Black Swan smirked, setting her mug down on the small coffee table. “I can’t say,” she said evenly. “It’s best not to involve the IPC where they aren’t already.”

Veritas let out a small huff. “I can’t blame you,” he said. He knew better than most how much damage the IPC’s meddling could cause. After all, the IPC’s meddling had caused his husband to come back a shadow of his former self.

The mug left a ring of liquid on the table. Veritas wiped it away with his thumb, then turned his attention back to Black Swan. “If not for the Express’ purposes, then why exactly are you here?” he asked.

Intrigue flickered across Black Swan’s violet eyes. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I came to express my sincerest condolences about the loss of your husband,” she murmured, “and to inquire exactly how he has come back to life.” 

Veritas sighed heavily. There it is. “I don’t know what I expected,” he muttered. “Sunday must have told you.”

“Stelle, actually,” Black Swan corrected. “She said that Aventurine showed her and the others around Pier Point. And that he didn’t seem like his usual self.”

“Well, he’s not. He’s an Intellitron.”

“And you were involved in creating him, yes?”

“Yes.”

Black Swan traced her gloved fingertip along the rim of her mug. “You know, Doctor, I usually try to stay out of the IPC’s affairs,” she mused. “The magic of the Preservation is… troublesome, to say the least.”

The Memokeeper crossed her legs. Her elbow settled atop her knee, her chin coming to rest in her gloved palm. “But, as an ambassador of the Garden of Recollection and a follower of the Remembrance, you must understand that I have a vested interest in the politics of reanimation. Particularly when the reanimated individual should have been entirely erased by the Nihility.”

Veritas narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are you getting at, Memokeeper?”

Black Swan grinned. “Don’t act as though I’m doing something nefarious, Doctor,” she said. “I’m simply engaging in some harmless research. I want to understand Aventurine’s current state. And I doubt there’s any better way to do that than to speak to his creator.”

Veritas flinched. There were few things he hated more than being referred to as Aventurine’s “creator.” The Intellitron himself had already harassed Veritas quite a bit about it. But that was neither here nor there. And what harm could Black Swan really cause, anyway? If the IPC didn’t want the Garden of Recollection to investigate them, they shouldn’t have tried to bring back a dead man.

Veritas leaned back in his armchair. “What do you want to know?”

Black Swan smiled slightly, clearly pleased that he had relented. “Start with his creation.”

Veritas reached over to his desk and grabbed a sheaf of papers. They had been sitting on his desk for ages, and he couldn’t bring himself to throw them away.

“The blueprints,” he explained, handing them over to Black Swan. “Madam Herta and Miss Ruan Mei constructed her body. Screwllum, Mr. Lloyd, and myself programmed him, though we did utilize much of the code which Madam Herta uses for her puppets.”

Black Swan looked over the blueprints. She was an intelligent woman, so Veritas figured that she wouldn’t be completely bereft when confronted with the more technical language.

Eventually, she looked up. “Fascinating, but none of this explains his personality shifts,” she said.

Veritas nodded. “You’re correct. His current personality is, in all likelihood, caused by the ‘soul’ the Stonehearts gave us.”

Black Swan raised an eyebrow, her interest clearly piqued. “A soul?”

“It’s a battery, really,” Veritas amended. “Some strange concoction that Madam Jade gave us. That was one of the Stonehearts’ conditions for the experiment—we had to include their battery.”

Veritas glanced around, perpetually vigilant, even within the safe walls of his own office. “In my opinion, it’s a tool of control,” he murmured. “A way for the Stonehearts to rule over him, to dictate who he gets to be.”

He trailed off into silence. He had more to say, but he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal to the Memokeeper. As much as she asserted that she had no agenda, that her goals were strictly inquisitive, Veritas was wary about revealing the details of his interactions with Aventurine-Intellitron. Those were painful memories to relive, and he’d rather not do that in front of a near-stranger.

However, there was a chance that Black Swan would have some insight into Aventurine’s condition. Glimpses of the real Aventurine, the tiniest bits of pure light, had begun shining through the Intellitron’s amber-sealed facade. If the Memokeeper could help Veritas draw out more of the man he loved, then he was willing to take the risk.

“I think the IPC’s craftsmanship was subpar,” he whispered, like it was a horrible secret.

Black Swan looked up, clearly confused. The look on her face told Veritas that she found his tone more than a little ridiculous. “What do you mean?”

Veritas took a deep breath. “I think,” he began, “that the real Aventurine is in there, somewhere.”

Black Swan stared at him for a second. Then, without any preamble, a tawot deck materialized in her hand. She began shuffling with expert precision. Four cards landed on the coffee table.

Seven of Cups reversed. Three of Swords. Wheel of Fortune reversed. The Magician reversed. 

Black Swan grumbled to herself. Veritas watched her with fascination. Despite the breadth of his studies, he was unfamiliar with the meanings of the various cards. He had never thought it a worthwhile pursuit, preferring to try and change the present rather than divine the future. 

Perhaps it was foolish of him to ignore the tawot’s merits. He would give anything for just a crumb of certainty right now.

Black Swan drew two more cards. King of Wands. Eight of Swords. She cut the deck, and from it one final card fell out. The Fool.

The seven cards lay on the coffee table, their vibrant violet illustrations a harsh contrast to the plain wood. Black Swan’s eyes roamed over the spread, her fingers tracing the crisp edges of the cards. Some truth had revealed itself to her, but it was not something that Veritas could see. She mumbled something to herself about the meaning of the cards, and though Veritas heard every word, it still sounded like a foreign language to him. Then, her eyes suddenly returned to Veritas.

“Can I talk to him?” she asked abruptly.

Veritas frowned. “You want to talk to him?” he asked. “He’s not going to be very helpful.”

Black Swan swiftly gathered the cards back into the deck, tapping it against the table until no card poked out. “Interviewing him could be useful,” she said. “I may gain some insight into the nature of his memories.”

Veritas thought for a second longer, then shrugged. “If you’re sure,” he said. “Aventurine shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

The two of them exited the office. Sure enough, Aventurine-Intellitron wasn’t far away. He was lingering by a nearby water cooler, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, waiting for Veritas to finish work for the day so he could catch a glimpse of him before nightfall. When Aventurine looked up, Veritas could’ve sworn that he saw a flicker of excitement cross his face, followed by confusion when he saw Black Swan. Then the programming kicked in, and Aventurine’s face returned to its standard mocking smirk.

“Ah, Memokeeper,” Aventurine purred as he strolled up to the pair. “I’m flattered that you’ve decided to pay us a visit.”

Veritas suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. There was nothing that irritated him more than that saccharine, cloying tone the Intellitron so treasured. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he snapped. “This isn’t a social call.”

Aventurine grinned. “Aw, are you in a bad mood, my sweet Ratio?” he mocked, his voice filled with faux-pity. “Has it been a hard day in the office? Or do I just bother you that much?”

“Yes to both,” Veritas deadpanned. 

Black Swan, thankfully, stepped in before the interaction could get any more painful. “Mr. Aventurine,” she said. “How glad I am to see that you’re well.”

“It’s all thanks to my darling husband here,” Aventurine said with a lilting hum, laying a hand on Veritas’ shoulder. “He’s the one who brought me back to life, after all.”

Veritas shook off Aventurine’s hand, and was about to tell him off when Black Swan stepped in again.

“I wanted to speak to you, actually,” she interjected. “As you may imagine, the circumstances of your return are of great interest to the Garden of Recollection. I promise I won’t pry. I simply wish to ask a few questions.”

Aventurine chuckled. “Ah, finally, someone wants to listen to me,” he said, giving Veritas a pointed look.

Veritas ignored him. “Let’s walk.”

The three made their way along the rotunda at the center of the building. The university was an older building, just a few blocks away from the sparkling modern architecture of the IPC headquarters. The university still retained some of the antiquated, classic styles of the academic buildings of the past. Veritas preferred that. It felt safe. He could almost forget that the university, like everything else in Pier Point, was controlled by the IPC.

They walked for some time before Black Swan decided that her questioning would be most effective in private, so she and Aventurine ducked away to talk by a bookcase. Veritas gladly tuned them out. He headed to the balcony and leaned against the smooth wood, watching the students pass by. It was finals season, so they were all busy as bees, barely looking up from their books, only occasionally looking up to grant Veritas a “good evening” or a “see you on Monday.” Mostly, Veritas just watched the golden lights from the ornate chandeliers, letting their echoes imprint themselves behind his eyelids.

“Tell me about it,” Black Swan said from somewhere far away. “Do you remember it?”

There was a silence, then Aventurine’s voice came through Veritas’ haze. “Of course I do,” he said. His voice was lower, almost a whisper. It carried a tone that Veritas had never heard from the Intellitron before. “It was at a cafe in town. A tiny place. Quite contrary to the whole aesthetic of the city, if you ask me.”

Veritas glanced over at the pair, furrowing his brow. What could they possibly be talking about?

“I picked it out,” Aventurine continued, “because there were these vines with little yellow flowers covering the building. It was spring.”

He laughed, and it sounded achingly familiar. “He was super nervous, though. He hardly said anything for the first fifteen minutes. Every time he opened his mouth, he would take one look at me and start blushing like a schoolboy. It was ridiculous.”

Veritas froze. His limbs went numb from the pure force of the shock that hit him. It was a cold relief and a searing pain all at once. Relief, because he finally had proof that he wasn’t going crazy, that there had been some truth to his hypothesis, no matter how fleeting, but the pain swiftly followed. He heard those words, heard the tone of the Intellitron’s—no, Aventurine’s voice, and he was sent flying backwards through time. He clutched his chest as if to hold it together, to stop it from being cleaved in two.

“…choked on a blueberry scone…”

Aventurine was telling the story of their first date.

“…told him about my family…”

It was their shared past. Their shared history.

“…kissed me so hard that our lips turned purple…”

It was the truth coming from the mouth of the greatest liar Veritas had never known.

“…I think I knew at that moment, honestly, that I wanted to grow old with him.”

Silence.

The clocktower outside chimed the hour.

Students’ shoes squeaked against the hardwood floor.

Then, there was a gasp, and a thud, and Veritas was falling.

He hadn’t felt himself stumble. He hadn’t felt his palms grow sweaty or his grip on the guardrail loosen. He hadn’t felt his heels hit the balcony’s bars until his feet were already off the ground and he was falling, falling backwards through the rotunda, through the warm, open air, and his vision was flooded with the golden light of the chandelier, and it burned him, burned him like nothing had ever burned him before, and he thought to himself that he was ready, that if he died like this he would have nothing to complain about and-

And then he was still.

It was all over just as quickly as it began. The chandelier disappeared, Veritas’ vision filled instead by a different kind of gold, interspersed with the light from two blue-and-violet eyes.

Aventurine’s hand gripped the front of Veritas’ shirt. His gloved fingers tightened around the fabric. His hair tumbled down in front of his face. His mechanical eyes were full of fear, a greater depth of emotion than Veritas had ever seen on him. There was no joke, no trick, no mockery. Just the pure anguish of loss.

The programming was gone. What Veritas saw in the Intellitron’s eyes was love. The love of the man he married.

Dust motes danced in the rays of light between them. Hundreds of pairs of eyes must have been on them, but they faded into nothingness at the edges of Veritas’ periphery. For a moment, the world consisted of only Veritas and Aventurine, and nothing else. For a moment, Veritas felt the black clouds of grief part, and a brilliant stream of sunlight shone through. For a moment, suspended above a three-story drop, Veritas felt the world come into balance again.

Then, it was over. The program returned. Aventurine-Intellitron yanked Veritas back up onto the balcony, unceremoniously dropping him on the floor. He said nothing. His plastic face was devoid of emotion. He simply turned on his heel and left, weaving through the gathered crowd at an inhuman pace.

Black Swan helped Veritas up. Dozens of students rushed over to him, asking if he was okay, but their voices faded into white noise. Veritas was transfixed by Aventurine’s retreating form, watching him until he, too, faded into just another body in the crowd.

Veritas’ husband was still alive, somewhere deep within that cage of metal and wire. So Veritas decided then to be selfish. It was time that the real Aventurine returned.