The morning sky above Aquaunia was a brilliant, cloudless blue. A flock of children soared on the updrafts with their yellow glider wings snapping in the wind.

  "Heads up!"

  A soccer ball plummeted from the zenith.

  Lil Sinbad banked hard to the left. He released the handle of his glider stick for a split second and whipped his body around.

  THWACK!

  His tail lashed out like a whip and struck the ball, sending it rocketing back up toward a boy named Kenta.

  "Hey! That's cheating!" Kenta shouted as he fumbled to catch the ball. "You used your tail!"

  Sinbad grinned as he regained his grip on the glider. "It's attached to my butt! It's part of my body! That's not cheating, that's skill!"

  "Skill my foot," another girl laughed, diving past him. "Hey, Sinbad, how much did your grandpa pay for that Tail Imprint? It looks expensive."

  Sinbad snickered. "That's a trade secret. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

  "Liar," Kenta called out. "I bet your sister gave it to you for free. Everyone knows Mishane is the best Imprinter on the island. She probably experiments on you."

  "Yeah!" another boy chimed in. "Maybe we should ask her for a discount. I want a tail too!"

  Sinbad’s expression darkened playfully. "Don't even think about it. Big Sis is busy. You disturb her, and I'll cut your glider strings."

  "Okay, okay! Sheesh!"

  They returned to their game. laughter echoed down the hillside.

  ...

  Atop a grassy knoll overlooking the valley, Zareth sat cross-legged. He watched the children play, but his mind was focused inward.

  He closed his eye and regulated his breathing. In, out. In, out. He tried to reach for that familiar warmth in his core, the spark of his Gospel.

  Nothing.

  It was like reaching for a phantom limb. The connection to his Gospel Rhythm was severed. It felt walled off, muffled by layers of spiritual cotton.

  Zareth realized.

  'The Imprints. Mishane’s bandages and the eyepatch. They don't just suppress the mutation; they suppress the Gospel itself. Without it, I'm just an ordinary man with a deformed arm.'

  "Foolish subject!"

  The voice of Ignivaros boomed in his skull, shattering his concentration.

  "That is why we told you to let us out! Why sit here plucking grass when you could be a god? Let us burn every blade of grass on this hill! Let us remind the world of our heat!"

  "Indeed," Borealeth was slithering through his thoughts. "How long do you wish to endure such weakness? We are potent. We are vast. Release me this instant!"

  Ignivaros tempted. "We could fly. We don't need boats or portals. With our flames, we could cross the Weather Veil in an hour. We could return to the mainland and feast on the flesh of kings! Why rot in this backwater shithole?"

  Borealeth whispered. "Do not be a coward. Peel back the seal. Just a little. Let us breathe."

  Zareth’s hand trembled. The logic was seductive. He was a warrior, stripped of his weapon. He felt naked. Vulnerable.

  'What if I...'

  Slowly, his hand drifted up to his face. His fingers brushed the leather strap of the eyepatch.

  'Just for a second. To feel the power again.'

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  "Zareth."

  A soft voice spoke from behind him.

  Zareth flinched. His hand snapped down to his side.

  He turned. Luv Mishane Logwater stood a few feet away, holding a basket. Her eyelids were closed, her face serene.

  She said gently, "If you want to remove your eyepatch, you should do so in a secure place. Not here in the open, where there are farmers and children nearby."

  Zareth stared at her. The wind rustled her skirt, but she stood perfectly still.

  "How did you know?" Zareth asked. "I thought you were..."

  "Blind?" she finished for him. A small smile touched her lips. "I am. But even though I have no eyes, Grace allows me to tap into Prophetic Sight."

  Zareth felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.

  "Prophetic Sight?"

  He knew that term. It was a rare, high-level ability. The Sensory Nuns of the Convent used it to predict catastrophe. It required years of grueling training and immense spiritual power.

  ‘How can this woman from a secluded island use Prophetic Sight. Is she joking, or is she perhaps a…’

  Mishane laughed softly. "I know what you are thinking, Zareth. But I’m not affiliated with the Convent. I’ve never even been off this island. What I know of the mainland, I heard from my parents."

  "Oh," Zareth muttered, feeling foolish.

  "Is Prophetic Sight that rare on the mainland?" she asked innocently.

  "It is. Wars are fought over people who possess it. I heard it was quite taxing on the mind. How can you use it so casually?”

  "I see. Well, I’m not using it actively at the moment. But earlier, while I was packing lunch, I saw a vision. I saw what would occur had you removed the eyepatch right now."

  "And what happened?" Zareth asked curiously.

  Mishane’s cheeks flushed pink. She fiddled with the handle of her basket.

  "It was... intense. You were battling dark forces within you. It looked painful. Fire and ash consuming the hill. But I also saw that you can endure it. Your spirit is strong."

  She paused. "I saw glimpses of your past, too. While I was taking care of you."

  Zareth stiffened. "You peered into my past?"

  "Don't get upset," she said quickly. "I didn't see much. Just flashes."

  "What did you see?" Zareth demanded.

  "Umm... You were bound in chains. Somewhere dark, cold. You were being tortured by a hunchbacked man with mismatched eyes."

  Zareth relaxed slightly. 'Vanderznak. That's recent history. So she hasn't seen the deeper sins. Or maybe she is lying.'

  He sighed. 'This is why Priests avoid Sensory Nuns. They have no respect for privacy.'

  Sensing his unease, Mishane extended a hand toward him.

  "Come with me. You look like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. I know a surefire way to relieve stress."

  Zareth gulped. He looked at her kind face, the curve of her neck, and the roundness of her chest.

  'Could she be talking about... that?'

  His heart rate picked up. 'Well, Stinger did say she needed a husband. Maybe she's more forward than she looks.'

  He took her hand. "Lead the way."

  ...

  Twenty minutes later, Zareth’s romantic fantasies had evaporated entirely.

  SQUELCH.

  He stood knee-deep in muddy water. The hem of his trousers was soaked. He held a bucket of green rice shoots in his good arm.

  "Isn't this fun?"

  Luv Mishane stood beside him, bent over at the waist. She thrust a seedling into the mud with expert precision. She smiled as the wind blew hair across her face.

  "The wind keeps us cool, and the feeling of nourishing the earth... it is very comforting, don't you think?"

  Zareth stared at a frog sitting on a lily pad. The frog stared back, judging him.

  Zareth grumbled. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind. But I said I'd repay your kindness. So here I am."

  Mishane paused and tilted her head toward him. "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"

  Zareth coughed. "Nothing. Just... less mud."

  He changed the topic and bent over to plant a shoot.

  'Never in a million years did I expect to become a rice farmer in the middle of nowhere. Is this my life now?'

  He thrust a plant into the muck.

  'But... isn't this the retirement I wanted? Far away from the Convent. No politics. No Archbishops breathing down my neck.'

  He looked at the peaceful valley.

  'And no Tumors.'

  That thought triggered a realization.

  'Wait. Even on remote islands, Tumors infest. They are drawn to human populations like moths to a flame. This island has thousands of people. Yet I haven't seen a single Anti-Tumor Array. No warding towers. No defensive walls.'

  He straightened up and wiped sweat from his brow.

  "Mishane… About Tumors. Do you get many attacks here?"

  Mishane didn't stop planting. "Tumors? Oh, you mean the corrupted beasts that possesses mankind? No, they aren't an issue here."

  "Not an issue?" Zareth pressed. "How? Do you have a Convent branch here?"

  "No," she said simply. "We have the protection of the Goddess Aquarius. As long as she watches over us, we don't have to worry. In all my life, we have never had a Tumor attack on the island. The only monsters we face are the ones in the sea."

  Zareth narrowed his eye.

  'How can that be? An island this size, completely untouched? That sounds too good to be true. No god is that benevolent. Or that efficient.'

  Suspicion gnawed at him. Was there something else keeping the Tumors away? Or was the "Goddess" something more tangible?

  "Mishane, this Goddess Aquarius... is she—"

  "Zareth!"

  Mishane spun around. She pointed at the row he had just planted.

  "Look at that! It's crooked! And you planted them too deep! They will rot before they root!"

  ‘What? But how can she tell?’ Zareth was puzzled.

  She stomped over to him, splashing water. She grabbed his hand and repositioned his fingers on a seedling.

  "Like this! Gentle pressure. You are nurturing life, not strangling an enemy!"

  Zareth felt his face heat up. Here he was, the "Ash-Bearer," a man who had slaughtered Dreadnoughts, being scolded like a schoolboy for bad gardening.

  "I lived many years without planting rice. Give me a break."

  "Then today is a good day to learn," she smiled, patting his hand. "Now, again. With feeling."

  Zareth sighed and thrust his hand back into the mud.

  'Retired indeed.'