No matter how hard she tried, Kaylee couldn’t look away from the casket. The black box, lustrous in spite of the overcast sky, drew her eyes like a magnet again and again. Its allure managed to draw in other gazes — from friends and family well in the distance — but none stood as close, and none seemed as transfixed. Not even the parents — though to her dismay, they focused more on taking counsel and shedding tears.

She wondered when the caretakers would show up and lower the casket into its grave. They would have to lift it from its verdant pedestal — after they brushed aside every last petal of the flowers that shrouded it, of course. She didn’t doubt their expertise, and in some ways even welcomed it; the blanket of gray clouds overhead sapped the cemetery of nearly all its color. If the mourners needed to see some semblance of life, they had come to the wrong place.

Kaylee stood her ground regardless, even if the cemetery sapped her colors in kind. The green in her eyes remained muted and downcast, half-shrouded in shade. On any other day she would have called that shaggy, messy bob of a hairstyle blonde — but in that moment she wouldn’t have blamed anyone for thinking a fourteen-year-old had gone gray, much less notice the reddish tint. She looked paler than usual, which made her tiny, fairy-like body seem ready to snap in half. Only the dark hues of her outfit — black dress, black tights, black shoes, and black jacket — made any gains from the graves’ gloom.

She kept her hands clasped in front of her, but she crossed her arms tight as a cold wind splashed over her. Though she stayed warm, she paid more mind to the cemetery air; between the chilled humidity and the rumble in the distance, she knew she would need an umbrella soon. A part of her regretted not bringing one, as she felt a droplet fall onto her button of a nose.

“You’re still out here, huh?”

Kaylee jumped at the sound, but quickly found her nerve and spun around. Sure enough, her friends approached her with waving hands and weakened smiles. Shelly tried her hardest to keep a peppy pace, with steps that set her curly hair in motion. Despite her lanky stride, June followed at a slower rate, but an even one in tune with her serene visage.

Shelly aimed a thumb at a distant building, where crowds of visitors began to file in. “I would’ve figured that you’d make a beeline for the dining room,” she said as she widened her smile. “You look like you could use a ton of comfort food.”

“Do I?” Kaylee asked. She ran her eyes over her form, but quickly looked up at Shelly and put on a smile of her own. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to look so down — but don’t worry about me. I’m not gonna cry or anything.” She stroked a cheek with one finger and forced out a giggle. “You don’t mind if I skip out on a meal here, do you? I’m not all that hungry. Plus, you know the way I eat; it really wouldn’t fit the mood.”

“You’re skipping out on a meal? You really are out of it.”

“Sorry. I’m super-sorry.”

Shelly shrugged. “You’ve got every right to be out of it. So don’t feel like you have to strain yourself just to be cheery.” She gave Kaylee a thumbs-up. “You can double-down on the cheer to make up for it, anytime.”

Kaylee nodded rapidly. “Don’t worry. I will.”

June stepped past Kaylee and Shelly to stare at the casket. “Maybe I’m missing something here. That happens a lot. But, uh, how exactly did Zack die?” Shelly sped past Kaylee and elbowed June in the arm. “Hey, how about showing a little sensitivity here? You know, at this funeral?” She narrowed her eyes. “Besides, you know what he did,” she said in a hush.

Kaylee nodded, and pressed her lips tight.

June nodded in turn. “I get that much. But how did it happen, exactly?” She pointed at the portrait set in front of the casket — at the picture of a chubby, bristly-haired boy, but one that wore a grin as wide as his face would allow. “Or maybe I should be asking why it happened.”

Shelly backed off and ran a hand through her hair. “You should’ve started with that,” she said with a groan.

“It’s fine, though,” said Kaylee. “It’s not like his family has given the full story on how it happened. And even if they did, it’s not like we’re the only ones here wondering why.”

“Kaylee’s got a point. Plus, this is usually how it goes, isn’t it?” Shelly crossed her arms and frowned. “This is a tragedy, no question, but it’s not the only one of its kind. The survivors are always left wondering why — what the warning signs were, and what they could’ve done differently. It sucks, but it’s the truth.” “That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.”

“Well, I did just say it sucks.” Shelly turned toward Kaylee. “You ran into him the most, didn’t you? Did he really seem like the kind of guy that would — you know?” Kaylee shook her head slowly. “I didn’t see a lot of him, since he’s — I mean, he was a senior. But he was always so cheerful, and cracked jokes all the time. And he helped out plenty of freshmen like me get used to high school.”

“So I guess that’s a no, then?”

“Uh-huh. That’s definitely a no.”

June turned back to the casket. “There are a lot of lessons we could take away from this, though. So we’d really be letting him down if we forgot. Don’t you agree?”

“I do. Zack would’ve wanted us to keep smiling — so that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

“Oh. Can I join you, then?”

"Mum, why is the sky purple? It was red in the summer..."

"Honey, uhm... Well, they say the sky used to be blue, but the bad Old Ones turned it red. Now the scientists say that this is going away, and one day the sky will be blue again."

The kid was silent for a while. Looking at boy's expression of heavy pondering, Murad Darzi couldn't help an amused smile, although thankfully he managed to hold the chuckle back. At last, the boy, sitting in his mother's lap in the almost-empty Underground train, said, with all seriousness of a five-year-old:

"I don't wanna blue sky. Blue is ugly."

Murad gave up and chuckled - not just him, anyway, the few passagners who'd heard the exchange also covered their mouths, their eyes glowing with amusement. The boy's mother rolled her eyes with a smile and decisively took the kid off her knees.

"Alright, let's go. We're getting off in just a moment."

Indeed, after a few second the train emerged from the darkness and slowed down with a hiss, going along the round-walled station.

"BBC Square", the speaker in the ceiling said in a feminine voice as the door opened soundlessly. Murad instinctively raised his head, but his eyes were quick to jump from the speaker to the green Lesser Seal glowing and spinning slowly next to it, one of many that powered the train. Murad's head went back down, returning to observing the world behind the window.

It was still early in the morning, although thankfully past the rush hour, and the brightly-lit station was mostly filled with students, tourists and people giving away leaflets. Behind them, some beginner adept of the Greater Seal was showing off with tricks of light and levitation. A small crowd had formed around him, mostly some kids on a school trip, oohing and aahing as he summoned the Seal and created Drawn illusions. Murad winced, remembering his own holiday training, and then blinked, realizing that a strange silence had fallen behind his back. Careful and mildly worried, he looked over his shoulder and froze.

A pair of palithids approached the train, leaning over a large map, glancing at the train, then at the map again. Murad held his breath, as did a few other people, but to his misfortune, the palithids finally decided that this was their train and entered, stopping by the door barely a metre from Murad. The man grabbed the rail over his head strongly enough for his hand to pale and swallowed, thankful that the two Secondborn didn't pay him the slightest attention. They're not scary, they're not scary, don't be afraid, don't be afraid of them... When the train started to move again, Murad tried to return to the e-book in his hands, but couldn't turn his eyes away from the palithids.

"Next station: New Buckingham."

They were dressed quite innocently, both in jeans, one in a Hawaiian shirt, the other in a T-shirt of some metal band. They looked as if someone had put an octopus on human's neck, tentacles to the front. The one in metal T-shirt had reddish skin and a ton of black tattoos, while the Hawaii shirt one was gray-skinned and only with tiny spirals under his bead-like, gleaming eyes. Shoeless, showing their massive, three-fingered feet, they were holding a map - tourist plan of London, in French - in hands with thick, blunted claws. They were discussing it passionately, pointing at it and gesticulating with their tentacles. Murad held his breath, hoping to the Master of Seals that they wouldn't ask for his help.

The first time she saw him, he was just a black shape against the blazing sun, tall and dark with his long coat fluttering lightly in a wind that seemed almost designed to help people like him make good first impressions. The dramatic introduction he was undoubtedly aiming for was unfortunately ruined, mostly by the fact that the first time she saw him in all his carefully-planned, silhouetted glory, he was doubled over with laughter. And snorting. Loudly.

He later defended his actions, saying that the first time he saw her she was just a dirty brown shape wedged in a ditch in the middle of a desert. She looked pretty pathetic, so he knew he shouldn't laugh, but she had also managed to land in the one part of a very long ditch that had a fallen cactus in it. He didn't care how roughed-up you were, stuff like that was just funny. The rock the dirty shape hurled in his direction was, however, not funny at all (and the rock hurled at him years later for trying to defend his actions was just petty).

"Do you mind?" Asked the silhouette, bending down and extending a hand out to the dusty human(oid. Probably. In this place, you could never be sure) "I wear glasses, you know."

She glared at him, but took the hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Did I hit them?"

"No."

"Damn." After doing a quick check to make sure all her body parts were still present and more or less in the right positions, she turned her attention to the man she was probably going to have to call her "rescuer".

She was pleased to discover that he looked nowhere near as impressive as he had been trying to look. He was tall, sure, and dark too (Though it was difficult to tell if that was his natural skin colour, a well-developed tan or just bad lighting), but that was all he really had going for him. A thick mass of unruly black curls sat on top of his head while equally thick glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His impressive height, she noticed, was mostly due his long, awkward legs which, coupled with his skinny build and spindly arms, made him appear less tall and more lanky. And while his clothes were skilfully made and fitted him well, they were also obnoxiously bright. His long coat was bright green, for goodness sake. He didn't actually look all that bad and, as she later decided, his odd appearance had its own charms, but a first impression is a first impression, and when somebody's first impression of you is that you're the type to laugh at people in ditches, you're lucky if they don't just label you a total git and move on.

"Not to interrupt your meditation, but you sat on a cactus. You probably want to do something about that."

Having been returned to Earth (or wherever she was), she checked her back. Yes, there were indeed cactus needles there. Great. She started to glare at him as she picked them out, but caught herself in time. She was a smallish woman in distress, and judging from his attempt at an entrance he was the type who liked dramatics. Why not give him some? Silently thanking the dust for getting up her nose and making her eyes water, she let out a sniffle.

"W-Where am I?" She whimpered, trying her best to look frightened. Her knight in gaudy armour cocked his head to the side. "I-I was just...just with Mummy and..." She sniffled. "I'm so scaaared!" Going for broke, she threw her arms around the puzzled man, burying her head in his chest. And her hand in his pocket. He stumbled backwards slightly in surprise, then returned her embrace before gently removing her from his chest.

"Hey, now..." He smiled softly. "Relax, you're gonna be fine. You just did a little dimension hop. Happens all the time." Hooking an arm around hers, he started to lead her down a dusty road. "There's this little town not far from here. How about I take you there, explain what happened, and they'll take good care of you. So don't you worry, you're in good hands."

Still simpering away, she giggled and leaned against him a little harder. He stumbled slightly, then chuckled and tugged her a little closer. She knew these types, they were just waiting for a damsel in distress to save and sweep off her feet. This particular knight seemed a little odd, sure, but he was saying all the right things and had obviously practiced walking arm in arm because he had it perfect. He was holding her so well, she couldn't even feel her wallet pressing into her whenever her hip "accidentally" bumped into him.

Wait.

She stopped and (because he didn't seem to want to let her arm go) awkwardly used her free hand to check her pocket.

Oh damn.

Her lack of wallet-related discomfort wasn't due to any lady-escorting skill on his part. No, her lack of wallet-related discomfort, it turned out, was due to her lack of wallet.

Dropping all pretence, she wrenched her arm free and stepped back. The man crossed his arms and looked at her with an infuriatingly amused expression. "Yes, milady?" He chuckled.

She put her hands on her hips and scowled. "Give it a rest, creep. And gimmie my wallet back!"

Another chuckle. Jerk. "Ladies first."

Her jaw dropped in shock. "Wh...What!? How did you...Nobody ever notices!"

He shrugged. "Well, you did throw a rock at me. Pretty good indicator you're not as wholesome as you appear. Also...I did have some insider information." He smiled. "See, you just did a dimension hop, and I'm pretty sure you know what I'm talking about."

She nodded grumpily. "Maybe."

Dimension hopping. Still a secret in most places, but that was mostly because the act of finding out about dimension hopping was pretty much always intimately connected to the act of dimension hopping itself. As in, they were one and the same. It was a one-way trip, so nobody had ever come back to tell the story. Witnesses who tried to tell the story were usually met with gentle smiles and futures filled with clipboards and soft white walls. Or futures filled with appearances in trashy magazines, either way your credibility took a hit.

"Ah! The famed Grand Trunk Road, a 2500 km stretch of asphalt that snakes its way from Chittagong in Bangladesh to Kabul in Pakistan. It is one of India’s most heavily trafficked and vital blood vessels. It has existed since the time of the Maurya Empire and has survived centuries of civilians, soldiers and vehicles marching on it."

"Yes, yes I’ve heard that a million times… move on already." The boy said while sighing deeply into his laptop screen.

"What’s the matter?" his father asked while sitting at the wheel.

"It’s this stupid game. Sherlock Holmes is apparently investigating a murder case in India and Watson goes on and on about this road they are travelling. His speech is at the beginning of this case and every time you fail it repeats same cut scene and same damn speech every single time and you can’t skip it!" the fourteen year old said exasperated.

"You know if it’s bothering you that much, why are you even … HOLY SHIT!!" the father exclaimed as he turned the wheel of the sedan as hard as he possibly could, a white van streaked past with a metallic screech barely missing the other car.

The sedan made a harsh stop, skidding along the ground leaving black tire marks on the asphalt. The van however is not as lucky as it toppled and made a full roll before coming to a stop on the road. The sedan’s driver gripped the wheel tightly as if fearing the car would explode the instant he let go. Taking time to compose himself, he moved the car some distance towards the now crashed van.

"Stay in the car, I’m calling the police." The now terrified young boy’s father ordered sternly as he stepped out of the car.

Despite his instincts telling him otherwise he moved closer to the crash while fearing what he might see. What he found was the stomach churning sight of a man sticking partway through the windshield with his head lying in a pool of blood. Almost immediately he covered his face with a napkin and turned away while dialing a number to the nearest police station.

A few hours later, the father was being questioned by a couple of police officers while a third is retching as he tries to examine the crash. The young boy who only moments before was engrossed with his game peeks out of the sedan window trying to catch a glimpse of the bodies, in particular the driver who had since been zipped into a body bag.

The third officer began to pull the door open and caught a most disturbing view. The interior of the van had been ripped apart, the seats were torn to shreds and there were visible tears in the floor and ceiling. Among the wreckage were two bodies mangled in one corner with arms and legs twisted in all the wrong ways. And at the far end of the van, was a young girl of barely fourteen years shivering and sobbing with her arms around her legs with her back pressed against the rear door.

The portly and middle aged officer extended his hand but she shook her head in response. He called his partners for help and the three managed to pry open the rear door which startled the girl. She tumbled out and fearfully crawled away before managing to stand up such that the light from the jeep illuminated her frame, looking rather frail in comparison to the police officers. Their expressions were a mix of fear and horror upon seeing the soiled shirt sticking to her skin and the dried blood on her scrawny arms.

One of the officers immediately took the shirt from his khaki uniform to cover her up but the girl ran as he approached. Another, the youngest of the three, a dark haired and fresh faced man gave chase and managed to catch up to her managing to grab her shoulder. He was promptly rewarded with a broken hand as the girl nimbly turned and twisted it the wrong way. He howled in pain and crumpled to the floor while without missing a beat the girl ran off again nearly disappearing into the darkness.

The portly one came huffing to the rescue of his injured partner while the third with the shirt still in his hand ran after the assailant ordering her to stop. A few moments later he found her, collapsed from exhaustion and immediately covered her up.

"Please, let me go. Please." She pleaded into the ground only partially lucid.

"I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Arjun, I’m a cop and I’m here to help you." He said using his best fatherly voice.

Another couple of hours and a few miles away, the three officers from the crash site were now sitting in the police superintendent’s office at the Indirapuram Police Station in the Ghaziabad district on the edges of the Delhi state border.

The office was like any other government office in the third world, accessorized with the customary Indian flag on the teakwood desk and a portrait of Mahatma Gandhi behind the chief’s chair. Upon the chair was a stern looking dark skinned man with a generous gray mustache. With a gruff clearing of his throat he steepled his fingers on the table and provided his understanding of the events.

"Interesting, the girl was most likely picked up by potential kidnappers or rapists, a struggle ensued during which she supposedly managed to kill them and judging by what you describe their bodies were crushed but the girl got off without a scratch. Then she broke officer Vishal’s hand when you tried to apprehend her but Inspector Arjun here managed to talk her down after which you took her to the hospital. Again no injuries on her person. Finally you brought her here for questioning. Is that it?"

“I believe this belongs to your order.” The girl’s slender fingers gracefully opened a periwinkle blue cloth.

Gerard leaned in and squinted at the tear shaped scarlet diamond pendant she presented. Then his heart skipped, his eyebrows rose. It was Adora’s Tear! Adora’s Tear was in his temple!

In his decade as a priest of Yewel, he had included the pendants in his sermons many times. Their origin as Adora’s crystallized tears, how their indestructibility served as an irreplaceable symbol of non-violence, how The Osion Purge stole five of the thirty – he covered it all and more. But never did he think he’d see one! Yet there it was, held out by the girl who had introduced herself as Athena Whitwick.

Athena displayed the opposite of what the pendant owners usually did. Instead of a fancy suit or dress, she draped herself in a pair of robin’s egg blue jeans, a loose fitting long sleeved tulip pink top, and shell white sneakers. Instead of a glossy cut, her caramel strands drooped down her shoulders. Instead of bearing anything fashionable, she wore thick frames.

Why did someone like her have Adora’s Tear anyway?

“It’s a family heirloom,” Athena answered, as if having sensed his thoughts. “My aunt passed it to me months ago. I just learned it’s true worth thanks to that mess with Narcissa Richmond and The Grandmaster of Theft. I’ve no idea how my aunt got it, but whatever. It belongs here.”

“We’ll have to get it verified to prove it is the real thing.” If it was a fake, she wouldn’t be the first to try and deceive the church. “If it is, there’s a 500,000 crown reward-”

She pushed the necklace into his hand. Her face spread into a smile. “I don’t care about the money. Righting an injustice is a reward in and of itself.”

Gerard’s mouth dropped open. Didn’t care about the money? Righting an injustice is a reward in and of itself? Just who was she?

“Thank you…” He clinched the dense stone. “You know, its people like you who make me confident that humanity will eventually achieve Yewel’s dream.”

“I doubt that,” she murmured as she turned her back to him. “I’m…not someone your sect would want anything to do with.”

He blinked. What could have been so bad? She must have been being hard on herself. Anybody who would just give Adora’s Tear over couldn’t be too bad. Even if she had messed up, that didn’t restrict her future. As Contrasts between The Sage and The Fool read, life is filled with mistakes. We are not yet great beings like Yewel. Even so, we each – even the unrighteous – contain the potential for the right path and can find our way down it.

“There’s nobody that we won’t welcome.” He placed his free hand on her shoulder. “If there’s something you’ve done or plan to do which troubles you, the church is here for you if you want to confess.”

“…Is it true that if there is something that someone wishes to get off their chest, The Followers are not just willing to be there for them, you promise absolute confidentiality about anything shared?”

“Yes, it’s true. We won’t betray your secrets. And I’m happy to lend my ear.”

“I…” She dropped her head and sighed. “I’m really, really, really sorry, but can I have a moment?”

“Take all the time you need.”

Athena took a seat, clasped her hands around her head, and stared at the tiles. After a minute of contemplation, she said, “There is something I’d like to discuss, but is it alright if we do this elsewhere? And in a few days from now?”

“Sure. But we’ll need to register the meeting in our system and perform a background check first, just to be safe. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, that’s no problem at all.”

She acquired a piece of paper from a nearby table, jotted down a number, and handed it over. “Contact me when you’re ready.”

Three days passed after Athena exited the church, during which Gerard turned over Adora’s Tear to their high priest, who contacted their headquarters outside of The Empire. The HQ inspected the pendant, confirmed its authenticity, and whisked it off to their main temple, where it joined the others. After that, they hired a service outside of their church to inspect Athena Whitwick. She passed every test. Gerard contacted her without any worries and they made a deal to meet at Acquiro’s very own Maleperduis. When the night came, Gerard pulled on dark blue jeans, buttoned up a light blue checkered shirt, laced up his boots, and drove his truck to the city.

Upon arrival, a storm of chatter struck his ear while an assortment of colognes, spices, and beer assaulted his nostrils. People of all sorts packed the building; some huddled around the counter – where an attractive male bartender performed stunts – while others seated themselves in front of the televisions mounted on the wall and dined. Gerard traversed between the occupied booths, skimming each for Athena Whitwick. She waited in none.

“Are you Gerard Turner?” a frosty voice asked.

Gerard swung around to a suit clad man who bore light bronze skin, gray eyes, and crow black hair which he had neatly combed back. A pair of aviator sunglasses atop his forehead capped off his appearance.

“Um, yes I am. And you are?”

“Here to escort you. Miss Athena is waiting in the VIP room.” The man pointed towards a carpeted stairway. “You first.”

“I didn’t do it.”

The walls of the cold grey cell had long since stopped closing in on her from all directions. She had no breath to give; all that remained was an echo. The bars were frigid. She grasped at them, not because she wanted to remove them, but because frigid was the only sensation left to her. Frigid. Like Tony Lay.

“I didn’t do it.”

The sound of her voice was tinny and hoarse, as if she were some lifeless automaton. Perhaps she believed she was one. Instinctively, she looked at the back of her wrist, but she only saw the sleeve of her orange jumper. There was nothing left that was her own. Even her innocence was worthless now.

“I didn’t do it.”

Her cellmate glanced hungrily at her neck. She kept pacing. She was oblivious to the world right now. Turnabout is fair play, after all. The guard walking by showed annoyance at this repeated sentiment. In sooth, it was fairly unbelievable. Unfortunately, just because something is unbelievable doesn’t mean it cannot be so. For example, at that moment, Sylvia Wren did not pine for the world outside. She pined for the police interrogation room. That interrogation was the last time anything she said was of consequence, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that her present predicament, however out of her control, could have been prevented if she had done something differently then.

When she walked into the room, the first thing she noticed was the smell. It smelled of fear, a smell that had seeped into the walls inextricably over the years. Sylvia didn’t know how she knew the smell of fear; perhaps it was instinctual, a priori knowledge. She just knew that fear was the smell.

At the other end of the table was a scowl, and the scowl was attached to a face. It was the face of authority and of justice. It was the face of a police interrogator who knew with absolute certainty something that was absolutely false.

But such reminiscences are futile, for the present is like a well-tuned wristwatch. It just keeps ticking until, one day, due to entropic decay, it doesn’t anymore, and just because you’re not looking at it doesn’t mean it’s not progressing. And if it does, then you probably have either a defective watch or a time machine. Sylvia did not have either at the moment, and in fact did not know of the existence of time machines. Even if she did, she would not have had access to one, so that knowledge would not console her. All she had was her innocence. Well, she pondered, innocence was the wrong word. Innocence is when you haven’t been proven guilty. All she had was the knowledge that her inevitable guilt was unwarranted.

“I didn’t do it.”

Brave words for a woman who couldn’t do much of anything. The other woman flexed her hands but then evidently decided against whatever she had planned to do. The guard walked by without interaction. Sylvia Wren finished her track across one wall of the bleak prison cell and turned around again. Three things, then. She had her innocence, she had motility, and she had her mantra. Three would be enough for now.

The fourth is opportunity.

A crowd CHANTS. It starts out quiet. Distant. But soon it gets loud. Booming, even.

CUT IN:

EXT. MEDIEVAL STADIUM - DAY

Two KNIGHTS bash and swing at each other with their swords. The crowd cheers as one of the knights gets the upper hand.

Behind the knights is a huge grandstand, overshadowed by an even bigger castle. In the stands, a crowd roars as the two knights duke it out.

And there, in the middle of the stands, sit a few nobles: the elderly KING ALBRECHT, the spindly PRINCESS AGNES, and MAXIMILIAN RITTER — an armored, bearded, but aging knight.

Albrecht claps in glee as the two knights battle it out below.

ALBRECHT: Yes! Ha-ha! Oh, I love a good tournament. Don't you, Max?

MAX: Of course, sire! It's fun for the people to see their knights in action. And it's good to see that the kingdom will be in good hands when I'm gone.

ALBRECHT: Oh, now don't talk like that! You still have plenty of life ahead of you!

MAX: Sire, I'm getting old. I wouldn't be able to take on these knights anymore.

ALBRECHT: Nonsense! Tell me, Max. What are the commandments I gave you when you were knighted?

MAX (Reciting, again): Love my country, respect the weak, stand strong against my enemies. Fight the evildoer. Stay truthful. Stay generous. Stay a champion against injustice.

ALBRECHT: And where does that say you have to be young?

AGNES: But father, if a knight is to fight evil and stand strong against his enemies, shouldn't he also be fit for combat? Doesn't he have to be young?

Max pauses for a moment to hear the Announcer.

ANNOUNCER (VO): And Torgen Finster wins again!

Down in the ring, a burly knight in black armor raises his sword in victory beside a slimmer knight, who lies on the ground. Meanwhile, King Albrecht waves a hand at Agnes's question.

ALBRECHT: Details, details! In this coming age, ingenuity will be just as important as brute strength.

AGNES: But Max, here, has only—

Max stands up and bows to the king and prince.

MAX: Sire, Princess Agnes, your debate skills are impeccable. Now if you two will excuse me, I have to take a walk.

Max picks up his helmet and tucks it under his arm. Then he walks down from the stands and into the—

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS

Where Max sees a beer stall. He goes to it, picks up a frothy tankard, and carries it away as he sips it.

As he walks along, several people wave at Max, calling his name and giving him praise. He waves back. His blue-trimmed armor gleams in the sunlight.

He makes his way past a couple of men. One holds a piece of paper.

PAPER GUY 1: Look at this! Printed words. What's gonna happen to the monks who copy the books by hand?

PAPER GUY 2: They'll find other things to do. This, my friend, is the way of the future!

Max rolls his eyes, knowing the second man is wrong. He continues to walk along the edge of the square, but stops as he hears a girl SCREAM.

High alert. Max stops, backpedals a little, then looks into an

EXT. ALLEYWAY

Where he sees a scared GIRL who struggles as a gang of THUGS drag her along.

THUG 1: Aw, come on little girl. Don't be like that.

THUG 2: You'll see! The mines are a great place to grow up. Lots of friends, good food—

THUG 3: Decent food.

THUG 2: Fine. Decent food. Your dad won't miss you one bit.

They pull the girl to a dark-and-rickety doorway.

GIRL: No! NO! Let me go!

Max lets out a heavy sigh, slouches, sets his tankard on a crate, then his helmet. He straightens up and rolls his neck.

The thugs struggle to push the girl in the door until a sword blade appears under Thug 1's neck. Thug 2 turns around.

THUG 2: Max Ritter!

THUG 3: What are you talking about? It's too soon for—

Thug 3 turns around too, and sees Max. He gulps.

MAX: That girl says she's not interested. So unless you want me to cut off your hands, you better let her go.

Thug 1 looks to Thugs 2 and 3 for help. Max sends them a challenging glare. A tense moment.

Thug 1 throws the girl to the ground, breaking free from Max's hold.

THUG 1: Y'know what, boys? She's probably not strong enough. Come on, let's go watch the arena.

The thugs walk off down the alley, then break into a run. Thug 3 trips over a crate, gets up, casts a backward glance at Max, and runs off again.

Max sheathes his sword with a satisfied smirk. He turns to walk out of the alley.

The girl grabs the wall for balance as she stands up.

GIRL: Thank you, Max Ritter.

Max, with his silhouette bordered by the fairgrounds, speaks over his shoulder:

MAX: Go home, little girl.

He picks up his tankard and helmet and trudges off.

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS

The girl pokes her head out of the alley and watches Max leave. Two men in dark cloaks also watch Max, glaring as he passes them. One nods to the other.

Max walks along the merchant stalls and food vendors, all hawking their wares, and a little smile grows on him as he soaks in the atmosphere.

People continue to greet him and praise him as he passes by.

One day, doesn't matter which, 14-year-old Nico was forced by his friends to watch Inside Out. He had never heard of it before, or seen any trailers, and he definitely didn’t know anything that could have prepared him for the upcoming shock... The young boy didn't even suspect what those ninety-three minutes would do to him, that a period as long as a football match could change an entire life... The Emotions inside his head did know that, however…

As Nico made himself comfortable in his seat, he heard something. Almost like…a voice. He looked around for whoever had spoken, but couldn't find anyone. He shook his head. Perhaps it had just been another mistake on his ears´ side, but he wasn't sure. Those goddamn things loved to screw with him anyways.

Shhh, he doesn't have to know!

There it was again! The boy turned around, expecting to see...who? One of the bullies who had tormented him for the last couple of years? A silly little kid? Or perhaps a really bad prankster who couldn't keep his secrets? Turned out, there was no one. He pressed his hands against his ears, trying to shut out the noise, but he might have as well left them open, for the voice had gone. To where was still a mystery for him. Though it wouldn't take him long to find out. After what seemed like forever, the screen lit up with an advertisement. It was the typical ad stuff, our van is awesome, you are not, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. He rolled his eyes at it, disappointed. How could anyone make such a bad advertisement? The next one came, and he rolled his eyes at it, too. But this time, he caught himself. Not because the ad was any good (because it wasn’t) but because, simply, it had been such a long time since he had rolled his eyes... As advertisements kept going on and on (and on, dammit), he started feeling...weird. Like something big was coming, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on what, specifically. It could have been the unexpected start of his singing career, or a real-life action film, or perhaps he’d just fall asleep on someone and then realize it was the President of the United States or something. As the lights finally shut off, he looked beside him. Empty. He looked to the other side. Also empty. Perfect. He thought. Wait...this isn’t probably it. He didn’t know anything about it, but he was pretty sure that Inside Out wasn’t about a volcano’s singing career. Still, it was one of the Pixar shorts, and that meant he would remember it. Even if it was for its obviously-coming use of the Power of Love. As Riley’s Joy finally appeared onscreen, Nico felt something strange. A sense of...familiarity washed over him, like he’d already seen this film and was just waiting for the conclusion, like a long-awaited sequel. However, he wasn’t the only one feeling that way... Inside his mind, five little energy beings were also waiting...waiting for the perfect moment to kick their plan into action. A moment they knew, somehow, was coming.

Time passed. Scenes went by. As he watched it, Nico’s usually-logical analysis of the film went down the toilet as it did unexpected thing after another, until...

<<I´m sorry! Riley needs to be happy! >> said the movie´s Joy. A split second later, Nico´s Emotions looked at each other. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. -I´ll get the keys- said Sadness, opening a small locker to her right. She was not sure this could work…unless something special happened. Their plan would only work if they let her in charge for once. Else, there would be another delusion and the cycle would restart… A couple of seconds later, she returned with five keys. Each was pretty similar to a one of Nico’s home keys, save that their handles had different colors, one for each Emotion. They walked closer to the Console. It had two levers and six buttons, four of them used to recall memory orbs. It was completely covered with Gloom. They took positions in the following manner: Joy in front of the Console, Anger at her right, Sadness in front of him with Fear aside her, facing Disgust. They inserted their keys on small holes in the sides of the Console and turned them. A single red button appeared between the levers, the blackness around it vanishing. It read "RESET". -Do we watch it together?-asked Joy -Together- everyone replied. -Till the end- completed Sadness, looking at her shimmering companion. They both knew what was going to happen next, having put together the clues the film had given that only they could understand. They all grouped in front of the Console, joined hands, and waited for something shocking enough that even their host would jump. Something they knew was coming. -Guys...are you sure we want to go along with this?-Fear said, his voice trembling. -Yes Fear.-Everyone else said. -Don’t chicken out on me, pal.-Anger said, though even he was also afraid. -It’s just that...I don’t know what will happen, guys. With all this Reset business, it might go all wrong, and...I just don’t want to die! -Hey Fear, calm down a sec. You know we’ll be back in no time.-Joy answered. She couldn’t blame him, though. Heck, even she was also afraid. After all, it was still technically suicide. But anything to wipe Gloom from the Console, anything to finally retake control and not be limited to just the intercom… -See, if you don’t want to, you won’t have to push the button, Fear. Which brings me to...who will push it?- Disgust asked, clearly not wanting to do so herself. -I...I’ll do it. Calm down, Fear. We will be fine. I promise. A promise won’t matter much if we are all dead, Joy. Fear thought, but he said… -Yeah...yeah. Thank you, Joy. -No need to, Fear.- She said, turning towards the screen again.When the film´s Joy fell into the Memory Dump, the "real" Joy, who had been leaning on the side of the Console, balled her fingers into a fist and hit the RESET button with all her strength, cringing and looking away, trying to brace for the upcoming pain... The Mind World vanished, along with the five Emotions.

[A sun hangs motionless in the sky. Clouds of yellow. A crescent comet moon.

[and the clouds are pink.

[Fis LELFE, an elderly winged dragon,

[Sisa Lelfe runs into the castle as Lelfe stays behind, watching the tsunami hit, smiling. The waves hit as the planes fly through.

[As the waves recede, Lelfe and a chunk of the castle are gone.

Cut back to the Sun setting over the ocean.

[A fire burns on a grill. Zoom out to show AUTUMN (18), a chubby vixen, watching the light like a movie.