Beyond the towering fence spanning the horizon lied Cymel-Seson. Each pound of Ira's tiring legs allowed the dark, jagged stones to twinkle brighter than the navy sky's dim stars above. One of my hands pulled Ira to follow the wrinkled passageway. My other hand pulled my hood over my ears aching from the cool breeze. It had been so long to feel the long, feathery weeds tickle my sandaled shoes, to smell the soily air of the city's productive farming, to feel right at home again. It had been a full season, a full two-hundred and sixteen days, too long to miss even the two guards forcing jokes and laughter to stay awake at the gate.

Ira's two front toes slid in the sand after I pulled her reins, coming to a stop with a yelp, startling the chuckling watchmen out of another joke.

"Good day men," I pulled back my hood for them to see my face. They frowned at me, but then the one on the right raised a finger, widening his eyes.

"Wait, Justi'e Celt-Sone? I-I-Is that you?"

I chuckled. "It is I. I'm here to visit for the next few days."

"Damn, I think I'm dreaming," the other one said. "Is it really you?"

"I just said it was me. Weren't you listening?"

They looked to each other, while Ira's large back puffed with her deep grunts. Her new saddle restrained her. I rubbed her neck with a smile to the guards looking back at me.

"Just in case," I reached into my bag and handed over a shining seal. "I have it right here since you all seem to be in denial." The seeming dreamer took the seal and turned it about in his fingers. The other stood over his shoulder then nodded.

"Yeah, that's it. Pure gold. Give it back to 'er." Thus, the holder returned the flashing seal, and I dropped it back into the bag.

"Man, it's nice to see you again, Justice," the empty-handed guard pressed his frosted hands. "Really. I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," I said. "You all seem to be having fun out here."

"Oh yeah, li' we always do," the right guy clicked the gate's rusted padlock hasp loose and pushed the gate open. The other snickered. "Just tryin' to stay awake."

"As always," I took Ira's reins. "Keep watching these doors." Waving me off, the two saluted us and resumed their banter.

My faint memories of them forced a titter out of me as I rubbed Ira's silk-black hairs. "After so many visits, I still don't even remember their names," I muttered. It almost felt wrong. So I decided to make it up to them as we moved higher into the territory, starting with our eyes on the line of cemented archways leading to the rocky borders.

We brought our tired bodies up the mountain ledge through the final archway. Circled in rings of frosty mountains and feathery trees lived a labyrinth of stone buildings of variant heights, resembling its craggy borders. Violet crowns up high on stacked stones glowed at scattered borders. It seemed the Vorda stones had not been active due to the recent Shol auroras at night. Once more I rubbed the Trau's rough neck, and the two of us leaned for the steep walkway and eased our way down down the deceitful and unstable rock road.

By the time we reached the bottom, I found myself hugging Ira's broad neck after several rocksliding slips and close falls. Another stone fence overshadowed us, save the burning violet torches lined toward the crimping rock gate ahead. The gate's top hemmed in rusted lettering: "Cymel-Seson: Land of the Half-Moon."

Early-morning chatter and trade bustled within. Even at that time of morning, a bridge state as Cymel-Seson had to remain alive at all times for Dosonites and Cymerians crossing between. The two of us strolled inside as strangers, steering clear of obstructing boxes and desperate business bazaars casted under ragged canopies. Dust upon sandy walls masked old cooks' game-scented ovens, distracting nose-sensitive Ira from stepping over rotting fruits and broken glass below. A bellow of smoke pushed in front of us, and I pulled my hood over my nose.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that, haha!" A scrawny cook revealed his yellowed teeth, waving the smoke. I moved my hood and nodded, causing him to study my face and frown. "Wait, aren't ya Jusice Celt-Sone?"

"It is I," I chuckled. "But please, let me get out of your — ."

"Justice? Hey!" The cook beckoned the commerce around. "Justice Celt-Sone is home, guys!" Young ladies broke away from their gossip and shopping. Hungry farmers turned to the announcement. Tired cheers uproared and dirty hands reached up for Ira and I. From warm greetings to demanding questions, the privileged Eltreisians and struggling Tritausen alike crowded up to us in the narrow rock alley.

Kraay! Ira yelped, and I pulled her reins while waving and smiling, squeezing by. The noise kept building as Ira's fear did. She shook all the way toward uninterested people browsing to theirselves, who most likely thought, like me, my coming should not had been an attention-brewing surprise every time.

"Justice! Justice!" What did you all decide on what to do about Doson?!" I hefty voice screamed.

My grip on the reins loosened. I remembered we Justices shouting at each other back at the Legislative Chamber, remembering the King's smirk, the oaths my servile mouth recited. With a determination to resist, I pulled my hood closer and tugged the Trau's neck again. After a few more stumbles and people running over for greets, we found a considerable pace over trash and around Tritausen Blend children poking at each other's webbed feet, down the long street of trade fronts.

Through one last arch, roads branched out to a row of stacked stone homes and large edifices rounded with clean-dressed Eltreisians strolling about them. Everyone seemed to be getting ready for the Caruah festivals. I turned Ira sharp to my right, shouldering broken pillars bound to fall. Devoutees to Mitsen Tritausen, the overseering Tritausen tribe of the Cymerian government, blocked the street with their groveling to silver idols. Finally, we made it to the distinguishing break between the dusted road to the sifting grasses at the edge of the city ring.

Weeds reached up the walls of sprinkled homes upon the vast, silver plain. Tritausen stooped over grains and harvested them into their worn sacks. Other people gulped down water from their rusted canisters and wiped their foreheads. Self-cranked machines tossed soil behind its rackety trail. Brushing weeds forced me to itch at my legs every so often as we traveled deeper into the cratered land.

Several isolated homes and tired farmers later, we made it to a bright, sandy building that loomed over the entire field. Frosted pillars and brick arches decorated its lawn; fire-lit windows revealed floating shadows within the sloped, stairstep walls. Ira grunted to familiar cries of Tritausen Beasts echoing from the mountain ranges afar.

"Easy now," I rubbed her tense neck again. "I'm still here. We're almost there." Inside the furthermost arch at the edge of the building in which we entered, a stable full of other yelping Trau held them to their poles. We went to the end pole, and I slipped off of her, taking a relieving stretch after sitting so long upon landing. "I'll be back to give you a treat. You worked so hard."

I pat her nose, and she yelped with the rest of her kind. At this, I nodded and departed the stable, meeting at the main hallway again. Two squealing Tritausen children scurried their long legs past me in their game of tag. A Tritausen maid glanced down at me with a basket hoisted atop her apron-covered hip, taking herself to a dark room. Here I was — the Cymel-Seson Enclave Homestead — my home.

Blends, or half-bloods, were generally people like me who were not full-blooded Eltreisian. That meant people could be half-Tritausen, half-Eltreisian like me, they could be half-Trau, half-Eltreisian, and so on.

By the way, when I mean "half," it does not mean that a person's parents are two different races. If any of a person's immediate family members were not full-blooded Eltreisian, then the child would carry the title as a Blend and had to to live in Cymel-Seson, as long as they wished to live in Cymel, that is. One family member could have had tainted someone's entire identity.

"Harper?" A familiar, gruff voice came over my shoulder. I turned, finding large bifocals covering the close face I recognized.

"Dad," I smiled. We reached for a hug, my hands resting on his greasy, deep brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. His large hands rubbed my back, and his wavy beard brushed my cheek.

"I didn't think you'd be here so soon," he said. We pulled away, exchanging warm smiles.

"Well, I'm here," I said.

"Yes, you are." He adjusted a band tied to the scuffed armor on his shoulders. "So, what are you here for? The festival isn't coming for another few weeks."

"For the military. Ensuring the safety of the Blends."

"Blends?" His thick brows pinched. "What's going on with us?"

"Just..." An image of the Shol Tritausen's deep glare returned to me. "... Just general safety. There's been some word that the Shol tribe is considering extreme measures to stop Glauss." Seeing dad look side-to-side, I pat his shoulder. "It's going to be taken care of. Don't worry." I pulled closer. "Just be sure to keep this to yourself. Need everyone to stay calm, including you."

We settled our growing angst over a dinner table surrounded with other residents of the Homestead, exchanging our recent affairs. Or, I should say that a majority of the conversation had to do with me. Children bombarded me with questions on how being a Justice was like as I tried to avoid them for another slice of pie. Elders gave their undesired opinions, criticizing "full-blooded dogs" after I offered small talk with them. My father passed out political jokes for each of us as he did when he distributed gambling stones for an after-dinner game. Even Ira got her share of the cook's so-called famous Ooku mince squares — shipped straight from Doson — for a treat, too.

"Hey," a woman's wide fangs cheesed at me after setting down a refilled bowl of rice. "So, what's the plans for Doson now?" That was Renava of Shol-Et, or Ri-El for short, a Shol Tritausen.

I studied her makeup-covered face then shook my head. "Well, that's one of the many ways I've heard the same questions all night."

"Oh," she flattened her lips. "I'm sorry. Wanna talk about something else?"

"It won't quench your curiousity if I do so, Ri-El. Might as well talk about it now, now that everyone's settled in." My father's bifocals glared in my direction further down the table. Other guests closed their mouths and opened their ears. Sleepy children held their shutting eyes open for this last message before bedtime.

"I'm sure the news already came out several days back, but to make it clear, our country is not allowed to intervene with Doson for the rest of the Pure Season." I set down my food tongs. "We're pulling back. And we as Justices aren't allowed to speak about it with hopes to change the decision or even encourage the people to do so. We already oathed. However, we can work toward a gradual, workaround appeal." Ri-El's slowing chews revealed her disappointment. The table silenced.

"Well, damn," a Blend picked for a bone between his teeth. "You all possibly can't be sitting here for long. Ya'll remember Eva-En? Nobody could find 'er today."

"She probably got captured," another added.

"Yeah, no lie," the bone-picker spat behind himself. "Pff! You all really need to get your priorities straight."

Tight blinks exposed my annoyance, denying such accusation that I also supported the Nodus' results. "Those of us who did vote for Cymel's intervention can still set up a petition, as I said. Eventually this decision will pay its price if nothing is done." Eaters agreed with mutters and nods. Ri-El still seemed distraught, excusing herself to the hallway.

"Any more questions?" I said. No one seemed to have any. We returned to our eating, and my dad went over to the gambling desk.

"So..." He lifted some gambling stones. "Anyone in the mood for another game?" With hesitation, some escaped the conversations starting back at square one to play with him. Some parents set off to tuck their children to bed. Others who remained at the table tried to fill their already filled stomachs. I forced a few more bites and failed to revive small talk, finding myself shortly after in the hall in search of Ri-El.