Caer Sidi housed many buildings that towered over the others, either by their size, their mishmash of colors, or how out of time they felt beside the rest. Among them was the Clover Arena, a colosseum made from green and yellow bricks, divided on the inside into four open-air locations, separated by stone pillars. Each area was supposed to be a place of relaxation, where the Firbolgs could enjoy some leisure time away from the stress of civilized living. 

The visitors, unwillingly, divided them into sectors for all kinds of activities, the two most popular being filled with lunch tables, food stands, and open dance floors. The second was identical, except it also had open bars, where groups would hang out to drink various beverages. The Caer Sidians knew them exclusively as the “Picnic Leaf” and the “Tipsy Paradise”.

While sectors three and four lagged in the number of daily guests, they overcame that deficit with the most loyal base of recurring visitors. Many of them started to consider themselves people with either a bottomless amount of gut or a complete lack of it to return there day by day. Tens of painters, designers, singers, and writers mushed together in the open arenas to practice in front of thousands of onlookers. While their neighbors trained in small fields, crafting their bodies, gadgets, or anything else that required a good hammering or a sharp scissor cut.

… 

Arim thought to bring Lian and Ogda through the nicer part first, as a small bumper before the ride. They showed them the areas filled with Firbolgs, sharing a meal and a laugh, where friends split the sides of one another and then embraced in a dance. 

-” Oh my, it’s quite lively here”, remarked a giddy Lian, whose face brightened seeing the party atmosphere in the place. Then the instruments changed and her head stopped in place. Lian's ears perked and they listened closely, tuning out everything else. At first, her fingers snapped in tandem with the fiddle, then her hands slowly clapped with each drum beat.

-” Lian, are you ok?”, asked Ogda, a bit concerned. For him, the place was a bit too lively, but thought he could “stand” the music at least. Seeing her enjoying it, though, filled him with a drop of dread. “Does..does she not have a musical ear?”

Arim tucked half of his face deep inside his collar, trying to hide it from the crowd, but whenever someone called out to him, he tried to be polite and wave back. Zinc, on the other hand, was chirping to the tune, and when he saw the girl doing the same, he jumped from Arim’s hand on her shoulder, transforming into a small, mechanical reptile. He pointed her towards some spoons, and the amnesiac understood what her purpose in this world was.

She took two of them and started to bang one another, quickly learning the rhythm of the drums. When the fiddle came, she stopped, listened to the cords, and followed them with a childfull smile on her face. Another flicker of her past came to her in the middle of her performance. Her hands were small, and they were holding spoons and banging them just like now, while humans were dancing around an open fire. Then another set of clings drew her attention to her left, catching another pair of even smaller hands, clumsy trying to imitate her. Then the music stopped and she remembered; “ My family…”

…

The teenager and her guide arrived in the third sector, dodging pencils, pens and flying sparks, friendly shouts and taunts. The “Real Arena”, as some called it, was where critics and artists embodied the same fiery beast. If you were a newcomer, you stood near the pillars; it was an unwritten rule to help them avoid getting crushed by the harsh tones of stressed-out artisans, who would call out anything they considered a mistake. 

Firbolg artist-” Why are you using bolts for that statue, you moron?! Nails, my sister from another mother, use the damn nails!”

Firbolg sculptor-” Ah shove it, you half-baked painter! I didn’t smack you over the head when you used the red chalk even though I knew it wouldn’t mix well with the rest! I have my way of doing it, and you have your system!”

Tommen -'' Hey guys, let’s calm down, we all have a system, no need to be so aggressive”. Among the rowdy artists was a young human, small in stature and a large build around his waist. His facial features made him look much older than he was though, as his brow-braided beard was almost reaching his stomach, while his hair had long since passed it. Among his peers, his looks didn’t help him stand out, but his equipment certainly did. A type of parchment was floating in front of him, tilting and following at the command of his left hand, while his right one was penciling a portrait.

??? -” Shut the hell up Tommen and check your line work, you went over the angle on the left side”, shouted from the back another Firbolg painter. The boy glanced at the mistake, and after making a surprised “Ah”, he nicely thanked his critique. “ NO PROBLEM!”, the Firbolg replied.

Just then, though, the familiar voice of Brigid caught his attention and greeted her with a soft smile.

Tommen -“ It’s so nice to see you around these parts. Welcome, welcome.  And who is this little kin of mine that is with you?” The boy's relaxed voice confused the girl for a moment, but a second later she took it as an insult, completely the opposite understanding Tommen wanted to convey.

Maci -” Small? I’m the biggest player in my team, you puffy bear! My kicks brought us tens of goals and I can prove it immediately if you want!”

Brigid then put her palm over her mouth and pushed the girl's cap over her eyes. “This is Maci Decelle, and she is under my supervision for now. Listen, you told me that you and Giol want to try the ritual again, right?”

Tommen -” Yeah, we are still trying to find out why it’s not working for us…Wait, did you say Decelle?”

Maci -” Qui, je suis français, qu’est-ce que c’est pour toi?”, replied the teen angrily before being muted again by Brigit's palm.

Tommen glanced at the girl, then back at Brigid, and saw how she motioned him to cut it. “Right. Anyways, if you’re looking for Giol, he’s in the Crafts Spiral, working on the ritual space… are you two also planning on making a pact?”

-” Of course we are!” shouted a muffled Maci, after which Brigid let her free from the shackles of her hand. 

Tommen -” Brigid, is this ok?” asked with concern the nordic illustrator, who was ignoring the rowdy teen. “I mean…”, he wanted to ask a more direct question, but didn’t know how to hide it from Maci.

Brigit -”  Yes. I already talked this over with everyone, and even convinced Perren. And besides, who wouldn’t want to be partners with this ball of energy? She and I will make a great team, ok?”

While not entirely convinced, Tommen gave up on arguing with her and started packing his gear. “ Eh, c’est comma ca. Let’s see if Giol is done. If we’re lucky, we’ll meet up with Arim and his guests before the whole shebang.” Maci groaned at the man’s attempt of butchering the French, but moved on, in fear of another muzzle. 

Brigit-” Wait, more people? Awesome, if we’re lucky we’ll see another pact today! I’m more excited now. C’mon Maci, let’s go!”

….

-” Heellou?”, asked a honey-toned voice, followed by a small knock on a semi-open door. Krass stuck part of his head to check the unkempt room, looking for a person and preferably, a response. None was given, but still, that didn’t mean that the room was empty.

For the past four months since he took on the reins of the Platinum Union by his lonesome self, its leader found out that the ins and outs of dealing with all the paperwork wasn’t a walk in the park. The numbers went up and down when they should have been equal, notations differed from file to file, and learning how to read different handwriting should be a mandatory course in schools. The other members noticed his mood changes from one day to another, along with his eye bags. 

-” Should I wake him? Hmmm, has he just fallen asleep or is he just passed out?” While none of the options were healthy for the sleepy leader, Krass was happy enough knowing that he got some shut eyes. He slowly backed out to the door, until a sudden slapping sound made him quickly turn around to see that the leader accidentally smacked himself over the face with a tome in his hand.

??? -” Who’s there?”, yelled the deep sleeper with half a mouth.

-” Masso…are you ok? It’s me, Krass…Did you have a nice nap?”

Masso -” Who? Show yorslf!” He then grabbed a glass of water from a nearby table and splashed himself half-awake, enough for him to wiggle his awakened hand on the floor, looking for something. Which was some sort of lantern, with tubes pointing in four directions, which could open and close with an individual switch. And the light it emitted was much stronger than expected, as Krass’s eyes found out when they got blinded by it.

….

Krass -” It’s good to see you sleeping, uhm… should I call you Leader now or how does this go?”

Masso -” Just keep it to my name. It still weirds me out to hear you guys call me leader. What about you, do you want me to call you Captain now that you have led a few missions?”

Krass -” YES! Oh, it’s exhilarating, especially since I can boss Blitz around. Seeing his annoyed face after all the years of him being a little pranking bast…” Krass then stopped, noticing Masso’s face contorting into a mask of worry and concern. “ Sorry…old grudges die hard and all. But I do promise to smother them…in time”.

-” Right…” replied Masso with half a mouth. “Next problem I need is you two bickering. Maybe another time, sure, but not now. So, regarding the hunt, give me the details after I hear your opinion on it. Was it the black water?”

The room’s dark atmosphere got pitchier than when it was unlit. Both of their postures were tense, with Krass crossing his arms tight to his chest, trying to find the right phrase to not raise alarms, but he knew he couldn’t.

Krass - “ Yes.”, he replied shortly. “ Don’t know if the reports for the other attacks are 100% correct, and the cocoon we retried is unbroken, but I do think it’s the same substance that wiped out Brigid’s village so many years ago. “