Narrator M: Here in the archway-covered plaza, crisscrossed by splinters of edgeless, textureless bedrock, the remaining members of the Ship’s crew – plus Steve – stand gathered around a glowing underfold princess. 

[A quivering synth melody.]

Narrator S: Her blue-green-pink bioluminescence glitters weakly against the ultrablack stone of the city. 

Narrator X: In the sky high above, backlit by stark sunlight, the small, distant chevron of the Ship is barely visible, its sharp edges glinting as it slowly turns in the sunlight, like a suncatcher prism in a kitchen window. 

M: Except this prism is a spooky moonrock ship, and the kitchen window in this example is a far-distant fold blob. 

S: Not long after they landed in the dark city, weeks ago now, they watched the Ship sorta bloop into a blob, and it has stayed there, like a speck of glitter in a droplet of dark honey. 

X: Backlit by the sun in a cosmos otherwise devoid of stars, they’ve been quietly watching that chevron shape slowly moving through the blob belt, orbiting the sun, cushioned in its own bubble of fold.

M: Cleophee is in a state. She is excited, and nervous, and happy to be the center of attention in this way, but is also kind of an emotional wreck?

S: (Cleo) “Oh, oh no, wait, I just thought of something – what if this brings the Sentinel?” 

X: Merlin tries to calm her. 

M: (Merlin) “It would already be here if that were the case. Just stay away from those Fount pits as always, and I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” 

X: Steve is bouncing excitedly on his froggy legs. (Steve) “Remember, Cleophee, all of us are tearrors in our own way, and yet the Sentinel leaves all of us alone. Whatever the Sentinel’s purpose is, it does not seem to be to hunt down each and every spark of light in this cosmos.” 

S: (Cleo) “Right, right. Okay. There’s probably no need to make a fuss – is there?? Oh, I would hate to get everyone’s hopes up only to dash them! I don’t know if this is anything. I don’t feel any different. This is, this is interesting and all, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything… Does it?” 

M: (Merlin) “That’s what we need to find out, Cleophee. This is the only new thing that has happened in… weeks?” 

X: He shoots an accusatory glare at Felix, who, in this case, refuses to confirm or deny. 

M: (Merlin) “I think it’s worth examining. We have been looking for direction, and your lights do seem directional now.”

X: Steve is watching all of this with fascination, dim lights pulsing in his headsack as his amorphous fold pupil coalesces in Cleo’s direction. (Steve) “Remind me, Cleophee, what is normal for you? How did your, uh, bioluminescence behave, for example, before you came to this cosmos?” 

S: (Cleo) “It didn’t behave any way. It was just there!” 

X: (Dot) “It could be difficult to see it in bright environments, but it was always there,” says the Granddaughter. “The light was always glowing, always twinkling, in Cleophee’s freckles and in her hair, in the darkness.” 

(Steve) “I see. So this directional sort of behavior we’re seeing now, that’s new for you?” 

S: (Cleo) “Mm-hmm.”

M: (Merlin) “Well, very good. Let’s start with some basic observations. Cleo, would you be so kind as to turn around slowly?” 

S: Cleo carefully sets her bulging Omelet-pupa-backpack aside – 

X: Eugh. 

S: – and Merlin directs Cleo through a few experiments: 

M: turning on the spot, walking a few paces back and forth, jogging in place. 

S: The lights swim through her body as though magnetized to some external point, her freckles brightening and dimming like a sparse constellation, always facing consistently in one direction.

M: (Merlin) “What might happen if you were to, say, do a cartwheel, Cleophee?” 

S: (Cleo) “Oh, uh, sure thing.” 

X: And Cleo leaps into the air, executing a perfect cartwheel with practiced ease and flawless gymnastic precision. 

S: Even the low gravity slow-mo doesn’t explain everything. She does it in a way that suggests she has maybe done a lot of cartwheels in her life.

M: It’s kind of cool.

X: Everett raises an eyebrow, and Dot is just staring. 

S: Lo and behold, the lights track in the same direction through the low-grav cartwheel. It’s definitely pointing up over thataway somewhere. 

M: (Merlin) “Hmm. When you’re standing normally, the lights are more concentrated in your upper body, so let us posit that wherever they are pointing, it is located far enough away that it is ‘up’ relative to our current position.”

X: He gestures his mechanical arm broadly in a sweeping motion at the vast inner curvature of the cosmos’s spherical city walls, which arc up and over their heads. 

M: (Merlin) “Everett, uh, maybe when we return to the Stagecoach, perhaps you could focus your echo-feedbacking on that region. See if there’s anything different about that area.”

X: Everett shrugs noncommittally. (Everett) “Sure,” she says simply. She is watching all these proceedings with a cautious hollow-eyed wariness, arms crossed within her oversized red bomber jacket. 

S: Not a lot of room for new hope in her heart these days. 

M: (Merlin) “Well, Cleo, whatever it is you’re pointing to, it does seem to be quite a ways off. I will say: be careful following lights to things. In the moments preceding the encasement exchange with the Bocular Man, I believe I was observing my own thoughts flaring to life, and I – along with my inner Fold, I suppose – pursued them. But I certainly wasn’t intending to end up as a Bocular Man. We should attempt to confirm what Cleo’s lights are pointing at before we go chasing them. We have limited resources and limited time. Are they pointing towards something good? Warning of something bad? Is it a minor biological phenomena that means nothing at all? Dot, is there anything you can do?” 

X: Uh! Dot starts. They’ve just been, uh, staring at Cleophee with their prescription glasses. They’re just enjoying the sight, the prescription sight, of Cleo, normally. That’s fine. Not staring for any other reasons. (Dot) “Uh… me?” 

M: (Merlin) “Yes, you. Under other circumstances, we’d go to a Mother if we had a question about this. Barring that, a medical doctor. Since we have, uh, neither, anymore, you’re the closest we’ve got.” 

X: Cleo’s dim lights reflect off of Dot’s heart-shaped lenses. They know that what Merlin is saying is true. They are the closest thing the crew has to a Mother now, and that’s kind of the problem. They shake their head. (Dot) “If you are looking for some kind of… divination, I’m sorry, but that is not the kind of thing that they teach Daughters.”

S: Tzila steps forward. (Tzila) “Hey, uh. This might be kind of a long shot, you can take it or leave it, but, um… Speaking of divination, I have something that might help.”

[An enigmatic guitar riff]

M: Tzila brings out a drawstring pouch made of old, soft leather. 

S: She opens it up and gazes into its contents, a lot of complicated emotions playing across her face. 

X: (Tzila) “So, this was handed down to me. It’s for… answering questions. Oh, and uh, here, this is part of it too.” 

S: She takes off her earring, a little dangling bird skull, and adds it to the pouch’s contents.

M: Cleo peers inside. She sees a collection of mismatched trinkets, charms, odds and ends. 

S: Some of the objects definitely have that divination-y vibe: bones, crystals, etcetera. And some definitely don’t – like, there’s an old bottle cap in there. 

M: A clothespin.

X: A frayed segment of wire.

S: A sablepeach pit.

M: A scrap of an old bandana.

X: Dot is looking over Cleo’s glowing shoulder. (Dot) “So, this is for casting?” 

M: Tzila nods. 

S: (Tzila) “Right, exactly. Now, I don’t claim to have divinatory abilities myself, but this set has been used before by people that definitely did. These objects are special. Sometimes they help me think through stuff. Maybe you could… I don’t know, cast them. See what happens.” 

X: Cleo raises her eyebrows.

S: (Cleo) “Me?” 

X: (Tzila) “Yeah, why not? You’re the one we’re trying to figure out, right?” 

S: Cleo looks to Dot for confirmation. Dot shrugs. 

X: (Dot) “You might as well try. The Mothers do suggest that objects that have been used over and over again for ceremonial purposes may develop a certain insight of their own. I don’t have any better ideas, I’m afraid. Even if Mother Artifice were here, even if there were Motherly things he could do to help, he would probably just tell you that the answer lies within yourself and it is up to you to find it.” 

M: Everyone watches as Cleo accepts the leather pouch that Tzila is proffering to her, light-speckled hands trembling slightly.

X: Even the skeptics, the science-minded individuals – Merlin, Felix, kinda sorta Everett – are quiet now, curious to see how this will play out. 

S: (Cleo) “S-so, I just… pour them out on the ground?” 

X: Tzila nods. (Tzila) “Maybe stick a hand in there first, stir ‘em around a little bit. I think it’s important that you actually touch them. But just be careful. They could go flying in this weird gravity, and I would prefer not to lose any pieces. Though that actually, that might tell us something interesting. Probably. Maybe. I don’t really know.” 

M: Cleo reaches into the bag then, tentatively rummaging through the odd collection of items. 

S: (Cleo) “I’m nervous. What if I do it wrong?

X: (Dot) “It is normal to feel this way, Cleo. It is all right.” 

S: Cleo glances at Dot, giving a weak but grateful smile. Then, she tips the bag and lets the pieces fall. In the low gravity, they tumble gently downward as though in slow motion, spinning through the air, knocking softly against one another, bouncing on the void-black ground.

M: It takes many long moments for them to fall completely still, long enough that everyone has ample time to observe their extraordinarily unlikely trajectory. 

X: Like iron shavings falling into alignment in a magnetic field, the pieces come to rest on the ground in a strangely perfect linear formation. 

S: The bird skull earring. 

X: A pebbly petrified black egg. 

M: A quartz point. 

S: A coin, a button, 

X: a speckled bean, a snail shell, 

M: a tiny cocktail fork, and every single other item from the pouch – 

S: all tidily lined up in a row like beads on a string, all pointing the same way as Cleo’s lights. 

X: Huh. Weird. 

M: Everyone is watching intently. Felix can’t even roll his eyes.

S: Tzila gives a soft little snort of laughter and shakes her head, as though scoffing affectionately at the predictable habits of an old friend. 

M: (Merlin) “That’s interesting. One test is hardly a reliable sample size, though. You’d better do it again.” 

X: (Tzila) “No, leave it alone, Merlin. This is not a science experiment.” Tzila squats down next to Cleo. “So, what do you think? And try not to second-guess yourself. Gut instincts are best here.” 

S: Cleo is staring, transfixed but uncertain. 

M: Dot, on Cleo’s other side, prompts gently, 

X: (Dot) “There is nothing you need to do. Release control. Trust what rises to the surface.” 

S: Cleo tries to think – no, not that. Maybe she should do as Dot once suggested and NOT think. She tries it, and it is once again literally impossible. 

X: So impossible, in fact, that Dot was never even really doing it. 

S: So she tries the next-best thing. As long as her mind is an unstoppable parade of thoughts, she tries to watch the parade without getting swept up in it. It’s hard. It’s like trying to sit peacefully at the Guilemoth breakfast table when everyone is in the middle of a big fight. She wants to be the answer to everyone’s problems. She’s always wanted that. More than wanted it – it feels like it’s her responsibility, her apology for taking up space somewhere she’s not really needed. Everyone around her is hurting so much. She wasn’t the only one who lost her spark after coming here, so all she wants is for the reappearance of her old light to help them somehow. 

But what if it doesn’t? What if it’s just pretty and useless? What if she just disappoints everyone again? Why should her bioluminescence mean anything now when it never did before? 

Unless it did mean something before.

As she gazes at the tidy row of objects lined up at her feet, bathed in the dim multicolored flutter of light emanating from her, she starts to feel her thoughts falling into a similar pattern, one right after the other, like smooth stepping stones creating a path across a creek. Try as she might, there is one thing she cannot get out of her mind, and whether it’s a hope, a fear, wishful thinking, or literal magic, it doesn’t seem to matter. It IS what is rising to the surface. Its resonance grows until it fills her entire mind, and suddenly, just like putting on glasses for the first time, she can see what was always there.

(Cleo) “Oh.” Cleo’s breath is a little shaky, her eyes a little watery. “I know what it means.” Her lights give a little flare, a momentary surge of brightness, as if to confirm. “My lights point the way home. Maybe they always did. I just never realized it because I had never actually left home before, not this definition of home. Home is… our entire cosmos.” 

M: (Merlin) “Are you sure, Cleo? How do you know?” 

S: (Cleo) “I know. I know. Maybe I could have known sooner, but it never even occurred to me to ask myself the question before now. I thought I didn’t have a gift, but I do. I have a Fold gift. My lights point the way toward our cosmos. I’m like a compass!”

X: (Steve) “Mm-mm!” Steve makes a delighted sound, his pedipalps fluttering. “Ah. And just as if you had spent your entire life at the magnetic pole of your planet, you might think your compass didn’t work. You would have to leave the pole before the compass’s utility became clear. Yes, hm!” 

M: Everyone else is visibly confused by what Steve means by “planet” and “magnetic pole” and what the heck that has to do with compasses. He flaps his skinny forehands impatiently. 

X: (Steve) “Oh, never mind. This is wonderful news, Cleophee! One more step toward escaping this awful place together.” 

S: But does everyone actually believe this? It’s the kind of thing that they might have interrogated more thoroughly in the past. 

X: But they have been lost, stuck, stranded. 

M: And here, Cleo is radiating surety. 

S: The objects from Tzila’s divination pouch are lined up on the ground in a way that seems too perfect for coincidence. 

X: And most importantly, everyone wants to believe that what Cleo says is true, because if it is not… then they have nothing else. 

M: This is their first taste of hope in so long, and no one is willing to give it up. 

X: (Everett) “Well, what do we do next?” Everett asks. “There’s no need to keep mapping, right? We were looking for something that would help us, and well, now we’ve found it. Maybe this is our heading.” 

M: Merlin nods. (Merlin) “Yes, IF we can follow it without getting murdered by the Sentinel, and IF it leads us to some way home, we THEN need to repeat whatever spooky big magic Mother Artifice did to let us cross safely from one cosmos to another.” 

X: Felix raises a hand, 

S: scowling. (Felix) “So, wait. What does this mean exactly? Those suck-holes seem to be the only ways out of here, so are Cleo’s lights pointing towards a particular one of those? If we jump into it, will we end up back in our cosmos?” 

X: (Steve) “No, not unless you’re able to do what I did,” Steve says, bobbling along in low gravity. “Otherwise, you will be profoundly obliterated as your entire being reverts back into fold and is dispersed among the numberless conduits of the megacosmos.”

S: (Felix) “Right, but assuming we figure that part out. Those holes ARE the only way to get outta here, right?”

X: (Steve) “Mmm, I don’t think it’s as simple as that. The paths between cosmoses are branching and numerous, I do believe. Where you end up has as much to do with the Fold’s whims as it does with the bedrock’s paraphysical layout. I believe any one of these apertures could potentially bring you to any cosmos, but some are probably more direct routes than others.” 

S: (Felix) “Okay, well, are we gonna go check it out, then?” 

X: Tzila chimes in, (Tzila) “Yes, I think we have to, but before we do anything else, we desperately need fresh supplies. We don’t have what we need for a whole ‘nother trek around the cosmos to follow Cleo’s lights. So, at this point, can we go back to the Ship? Restock on food, water, bocs?”

M: (Merlin) “Yes!” Merlin perks up a little, gesticulating with a jerky slowness that’s increasingly uncomfortable for the crew to watch. “I hate to be a broken record, but I am dying. I would like to formally second the plan to return to the Ship in order to use its resources to not die.”

X: Tzila nods emphatically. (Tzila) “Yeah, we gotta get you some fresh bocs, Merlin, ASAP. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. But for the rest of us… I mean, in order to use any of the Ship’s doors to get into food stores, we’re gonna have to activate the Foldlight. Not to mention, if we wanna fly the Ship anywhere…” 

S: There’s a somber silence from all gathered.

M: A silent crew in a silent city. 

X: (Everett) “If using the Foldlight means we have to deal with the Sentinel, then let’s fucking deal with it.” 

S: Everett has a strange gleam in her eye, a simmering restless energy that hasn’t had anywhere to go, until now. 

X: (Everett) “We can hide and creep around this cosmos all we want until we die of starvation or old age, but if we want to do anything to get out, we need to use the Foldlight. So let’s do what we need to do, and when the Sentinel comes for us, we fucking shoot it. The Ship has two giant laser cannons. Let’s use ’em.”

M: She looks stone-cold resolved. 

X: (Everett) “It’s time to kill the Sentinel.”