Underneath Kell's fingers, the newspaper they bought was as cold as the coin they offered up in exchange for it. Though Zomir was far underground and the heart of it even further, the chill of Kepla festered in every place it could find.

"Busy today," Cyri mumbled as they boarded a trolley. The two found their seats in the center, where they warmed their feet by the furnace in the middle and settled as comfortably as they could into the wooden benches. Kell's back bristled with pain as they sat, and they dropped their bag onto their lap and wrapped their arms around it, huddling for warmth. For a time, they had removed their gloves to warm their hands by the little furnace, but the heat didn't last long.

Zomir was always cramped and crowded. It made sense for it to be that way; it had been built atop itself, layered like a thick sheet cake, with the icing in between being every pocket of magma that fueled the geothermal energy that kept the planet alive. A science lesson wouldn't sit well in Kell's mind, as they never had the brains for it; magma chambers filled the earth, and when the sun died, a massive machine was built near the center of the planet that could generate steam from magma. Now, it flowed through the ravine cities like a river, a blazing orange against the dark blue night.

Kell would never willingly go into the city. They were only here to aid Cyri, who somehow loved everything about Zomir; the hectic movement, the anonymity, everything a city had to offer. For someone who grew up a farmer's son, Cyri was taken by life in a city. To him, weaving through passersby and hopping on trolleys was a sport. To Kell, it was a nightmare.

Their head thrummed with a headache, still spinning from what they had seen in the hangar. Following Cyri street to street left them imagining the possibility of finding that wrench somewhere here. Behind a signpost, underneath food vendors, carried by someone passing by. Ghosts of wrenches and tools and machinery haunted the corners of their vision.

Cyri bent towards them as he adjusted himself. "Maybe we should buy you a nice new coat or something," he said as he leaned back into the bench. "You need to wear more than just a cloak in this weather."

They tugged their cloak higher up, feeling the chill on their cheeks melt and tingle underneath the fur. Though it was old and worn, it was all they needed, and nothing would replace it. They nestled their head on the bag and pulled it a little closer. Anger still simmered in their stomach, and it seemed Cyri had noticed. He opted to say nothing, thankfully, but the mere fact that he took notice drenched their flames with guilt.

"Why does Marvi need so much crap, anyway?" Kell asked, muffling their voice with the fur of their cloak.

Cyri shrugged. "Not my business, really."

"It is, though," they spoke too sharply. Their anger was not left at the hangar or behind false pretenses of kindness; instead, it lingered within their words and the bag in their arms, as heavy as lead.

He shot them a side-eye glance, smiling underneath his scarf and goggles. He tugged his ushanka hat further down his head. "You got me there. He asked me to get him some silks from Pasri, with them selling lots of textiles and all. But he needed pearls, and they're cheaper to get here than what Pasri sells. Closer to the sea. He told me he likes the Keplan varieties more than any of the synthetic stuff they make on Yona... or something like that. I tend to zone out when I talk to him, the old suck-up."

Kell nodded slowly, their focus split between their conversation and the fire quietly burning in the woodstove. That woodstove both powered the trolley and warmed its passengers. "He's a fashion designer, right? Or is he just a merchant?"

"Psh. Whenever he isn't serving the regent of Yona's every beck and call, he is," Cyri scoffed. "He's always working with her. He likes to call himself a merchant, but she's one of his only customers. At least he makes money off of it. More power to him, I suppose."

Yona was the farthest from the sun. Kell had only been there a few times with Cyri, and only to drop off shipments for Marvi. It was a boisterous planet, where festivity outshined necessity; only the rich lived there, partying all night and gambling their lives away. Cyri hated it there, and Kell did too. They didn't prefer any one planet in particular, but at least on Kepla, they had a decent living. If anything, they greatly preferred the open sea of space, but it was rare for them to see such a thing now.

Underneath the bag wrapped up in their lap were things that cost more than what Kell or Cyri would ever make in their lives. The regent of Yona was luxurious, they knew -- though gluttonous might be a better word. An old money kind of woman. If Keplan mythology was anything to go by, the Biryona family descended from the goddess of their namesake. They felt no bitterness from it; only apathy. Ritzy clothing wasn't in their line of interest. The money they could make off of it, on the other hand...

This is what Cyri would be transporting tomorrow instead of you, they thought resentfully, only to chide themself afterward on how rude it was to think of that. This shipment was good; he'd come back with a good lump sum of cash that would keep them both afloat for at least a few months, and maybe a few weeks beyond that if Kell played their cards right. Ritzy clothing was the only thing keeping them both under a roof right now. It made for a silver lining, even though their frustration still lingered in their stomach, and it proved to be a decent distraction. They shouldn't have lost their temper; but they did, and now every word Cyri said felt fake, padded with uncertainty. Even his laugh was anxious. He knew Kell was upset, and the vulnerability of it all dug an awful guilt within them.

Cyri nudged their elbow. "Don't fall asleep on me. We still have to get groceries."

Kell raised their head. They attempted a smile, but the yawn that slipped out of them was involuntary. Their breath fogged in the cold night air. "Sorry. I didn't... sleep much last night."

They were too excited by their flight to Pasri to sleep. Instead, after a few odd hours of laying in bed and drifting in and out of a dreamless haze, they had decided to get up and clean the hangar until everything sparkled, just to make the journey feel all the more special. And after that, they picked out their best outfit from the heap of clothes in their wardrobe, just to show how prepared they'd be the next morning. By the time they had finished, the black sun was rising, and they watched it from the roof of the hangar under a swathe of thick blankets, anticipating the day ahead. It seemed like such a waste of energy now.

"Mind if I read your newspaper?" Cyri asked, pointing down to the paper rolled up in their fist. They handled it his way, and he unfolded it silently. They didn't get newspapers up on the surface. Not many dared to venture out farther than about a mile from the ravines, and the hangar was much farther than that. Most of the time after they came to the city and bought a paper, they skimmed through the news and used it as kindling once finished. The news rarely caught Kell's interest, but they knew Cyri liked it. It made him feel more connected to the world.

Cyri grazed over the center article with vague interest. Something about an anniversary, Kell recalled, though they couldn't care less.

"Ten years now -- wow," Cyri mumbled. "Do you remember that?"

He held the paper out to them, and they leaned forward to read it. A photograph sat in the center of the page of a young girl. A smile sat uncomfortably on her face. Her long hair draped over her shoulders, the color turned white by the newspaper gradient. Underneath the title of the gazette, a bold line of words read

They did not recall. They knew it to be an important event, but their memories of it were not their own. They shuddered to think of why. Instead of their own tragedy, they thought of the one in the newspaper. If they could remember what Cyri had told them, it happened around the time he took them in. What they could recall of the girl was distant, barebones, a funeral shroud placed over her indistinguishable face; the heiress to the Keplan empire worked with a scientist, and they both disappeared. Dead and gone. No one could ever find either of them. In a way, Kell felt similarly that they had disappeared in the same way; there one second, gone the next, swallowed up by space. Only for Kell, they made it back out.

Their headache threatened the corners of their vision. Whenever they thought of it, it left them with a migraine. It was best, they decided, that they not think of it at all. Whatever it had been.

There were rumors about what happened to those two. Plenty of them. But Kell was not the conspiratory type, and they didn't quite care in the first place, anyways. They shrugged and leaned back in their seat, fiddling with a fold of the bag. They wouldn't pay heed to something so baseless as theories and gossip. Ari Keplari died, the scientist died with her, end of story. Kepla moved on.

"It's sad," Cyri mumbled. "I remember where I was when it happened... I was picking you up from school, I think. That was after your father... well. It was a scary day."

Kell scrunched their nose. They opted to ignore that comment. It was better to do so, or else they'd risk facing those memories -- or lack thereof. "Was that it? I don't even remember. Your guess is as good as mine."

They turned their head to the window, watching as Zomir drifted by. Spires of apartments and businesses crawled up the walls of the ravine, split apart by open tunnels. As the city grew, it seeped into the walls, infiltrating it like roots. What was visible, though, was a motley of color as vibrant and messy as a painter's palette: homes stacked up like bricks of blues, greens, and whites, with magma trickling in between, all hidden within the many tunnels that lurked behind the surface. Old bridges and train tracks threaded the great chasm between the walls.

It was meant to be a magnificent display, a show of power and innovation beyond all imaginings. But as they continued watching, they saw the people that lived in those cramped homes: all with tired eyes, all with coal-stained clothes. All withering under the sunless sky. Was Kell the same? Or did the surface keep them open, blooming, dancing under the starlight?

They liked to think of it that way, even if they knew they were wrong.

The trolley crossed over a bridge, occasionally tilting one way or the other as it passed. Kell closed their eyes and let the trolley rock them into a quiet lull, while Cyri and another passenger nearby rambled about the anniversary of Keplari's death.

"It happened so suddenly," he said. "I mean -- everyone loved her. She was a little shy, but isn't every kid the same way?"

The man he was speaking to tutted. "Well, yes, but... don't you remember that look in her eye? She was always so... bitter. Like she hated every second of her life. Do you think she killed herself?"

Cyri wouldn't react well to that. It was a ridiculous thing to say, frankly. Kell rolled their eyes beneath their closed eyelids, rested their head on the bag, and dreamt of the Wintertide.

"That's terrible to say. Why would you jump to such a conclusion?" Cyri said.

"It's only speculation, sir. Sad, sure, but a possibility nonetheless. Happens all the time."

"She worked with the good prophet, too, didn't she? Dr. Gara?" Another woman piped in from across the trolley. She readjusted her capelet to cover the baby in her arms as she spoke. "I thought she was his apprentice or something of the sort. How wonderful that must've been, to work with the man who saved Kepla!"

"Oh, yes, she did," the man responded, a sort of reminiscing in his voice. "It's so terrible. I do miss the good man. Where would we be without the cores? He really was a blessing from the goddess herself."

Kell peeked an eye open. Cyri was pressing his lips together, his scarf slipping downward. He stayed silent. His fingers tapped impatiently at the paper.

"They both went missing at the same time. We must have done something wrong if the goddesses decided to take both of them. Ah, but -- I don't doubt the goddesses! I pray they don't look upon me with any ill will!"

The man sneered. "Madam, please, they don't see you in such a way. Honestly, I'd be surprised if they see us at all anymore."

"Don't be heretical!" the woman shouted.

Cyri spoke up. "Miss, please --"

"It really makes you wonder how they died, though," the man interrupted. "Do you think it's like they said, that they merely went missing? Or do you think it's foul play? Like -- maybe a murder? What if someone killed both of them? I always wondered if it was an assassination of some sort."

The woman gasped. "Goodness, who?"

The question made the man scowl. He quirked his mustached lip in a snarl. "Maybe some lousy Jhonian," he muttered. "You know their type. So high and mighty, I'll tell you -- they were utterly bloodthirsty during the war! Now, I didn't fight, but I wouldn't be surprised if they --"

Cyri cleared his throat. They had struck a nerve, Kell knew -- because he came from Jhone. They studied his face as he pulled his scarf down further. "It was nothing more than an accident, and I think it's horrible that you're speculating about this on the anniversary of her death. Have some decency, for the goddesses' sake."

Kell grinned underneath the collar of their cloak. Cyri bristled in his seat, and after folding the newspaper up, he handed it back to Kell. It was a sore subject for Cyri. Really, it was a sore subject for anyone who was alive to remember it. But Cyri always took it closer to heart; he served as the Empress's personal pilot once, they remembered from what he had told them once. He had met Ari once. He threw away his life on Jhone to serve the greater good and what Kepla fought for.

People liked to put their trust in royalty; but then again, everyone grew tired of the divide between the world and its leaders. Kepla's people had long since surpassed that mark. Ari Keplari's death defined that line.

"At least we're almost home now," Kell mumbled, an attempt to quell Cyri's frustration. They dropped their voice lower. "This is why I hate Zomir. Nosy people."

Cyri chuckled. "You're just not built for city life. Then again, neither am I."

Smiling, Kell hoisted the bag further up from where it had been, slipping slowly out from their lap. The trolley passed parallel to an alleyway market. The smell of fresh-cooked street food kissed Kell; chestnuts and meats and roasted vegetables. The thrum of voices, carts, and trains was a lullaby of noise. The people of the alleyways filtered in and out, here and there, caring little for the world around them as they walked to work or home or restaurants and shops. They were immutable in their ways, and it made watching them feel akin to watching birds or bugs. Kell sighed as they people-watched. Though they much preferred the silence of the surface, sometimes the city had its charm.

In between a few skirted one figure that stood out, if only because Kell's gaze just happened to land on her. They almost glazed right over her, but she caught their attention as she threaded herself through the tapestry of passersby with an urgency evident in every moment. She looked almost typical, but not quite, and they could not help but stare as they tried to figure it out. A thick navy trench coat had been wrapped over her shoulders, held in place more like a blanket, and she gripped tightly to a headscarf that covered everything but her eyes. Whoever she was, she wasn't keen on being noticed, and this goal was already being accomplished, as few even noticed her, sparing Kell. In her hands she held some sort of gadget. It was small, rectangular, as if she was merely holding two small, thin dowsing rods. They squinted as they tried to get a better glimpse of it; whatever it was, the woman looked to it for guidance.

As she looked at it, the dowsing rods split apart, unfolding a screen from thin air. Kell's eyes widened. What kind of technology was that? She looked to it for guidance, the screen illuminating her covered face. She darted back and forth within the crowd, following an invisible path until she stopped at the edge of the street.

She looked up from the screen, and her gaze settled straight on Kell. Not Cyri, nor anyone else next to them. Just Kell, with a knowing and piercing stare. Her hand raised, and with a wide-eyed fear, she pointed straight at them.

The path cleared, only for a mere second. They scanned her. She stood with one hand frozen in accusation, while the other sat hovering over her pocket.

And in her pocket, hanging halfway out, was Kell's wrench.

"Not this station," Cyri told them as the trolley stopped, though they hadn't moved an inch to insinuate otherwise. They sat frozen, their eyes wide, a deer caught in the gaze of a predator. The interloper knew they had been watching. The trolley groaned into a lean as some stood to disembark, but Kell remained still, trapped in a staring match, their mind racing with question after question.

"Did you see that person?" they whispered. Cyri picked his head up and looked out towards the crowd.

"What person? Is it someone you know?" he asked, raising a hand to cover the gleam of the lightbulb above them from view. He wasn't very inconspicuous, and Kell almost hissed an order to put his hand down, but found their mouth too dry to speak. Their nerves buzzed with adrenaline, a current of electricity brimming within them.

A few passengers crossed in front of them, earning a scowl from Kell as they strained back and forth to try and find the woman amongst the crowd once more; but just as soon as they had found them, she was gone, lost within the wave of people.

Kell stood. Cyri placed a hand on their arm.

"Kid, you okay?"

As soon as they turned to face him, a jolt erupted from within the ravine. It was plunged into darkness.