Forti whirled around. A man in a suit was stepping down. She tread backwards into the tunnel, tugging her veil back over her face.

“Hey, what did I just say?”

When he got to the ground, she halted. He was difficult to inspect as the underpass’s only light sources were the bioluminescent mushrooms. The man was amused that Forti wasn’t questioning him and thought well of her vigilance.

“Be not afraid, Mir. Daetaer. I am Rongyae, an encomiur.”

Forti kept her face blank, but the odium rolled in her stomach. 

Encomiurs customarily wrote biographies of the deceased, indispensable to the living who were left behind, and sometimes with permission, they published the stories to earn money. An ancient, venerable trade, until a modern trend tarnished its integrity: taking creations the deceased had unfinished or never publicly produced to develop them into commodities for selling, sometimes at the behest of the relatives. 

The concept was initially spectacular, to make bygone wishes into reality, but its execution led to vultures picking at the dead for quick wealth schemes and mobbing funerals for any scraps. Forti read articles about particularly famous encomiurs. They either were successful authors or fruitful in prying an invention off a corpse. She didn’t think much of the rumors or comments until some were waiting for her and her family outside the hospital, pouncing on them to be Vasi’s encomiur and inquiring if the young girl had any remarkable ideas or projects. The latter was asked half-heartedly considering the age at which Vasi passed, but it didn’t hurt them to do so, whereas Forti thought she would erupt into hellfire, set brazen faces ablaze with bruises and black eyes until they couldn’t speak even the first syllable of her sister’s name. She understood this was their job. That was as far as she would pardon them.

“We already have one,” she responded.

“Ah, that’s too bad for me.” Rongyae didn’t move from the exit.

“Did you follow me here?” She asked.

“Yes.” Another silence ensued. She became restless, an urgency to go back to the funeral ringing in her head.

“I need to go back now.” She took a few steps forward, but Rongyae gave no indication of leaving. She was determined to brush past him if necessary and continued. 

Forti was a meter from the suited man when he spoke again.

“Do you know what’s down there?”

“No.”

“It’s the Zhunseban.” 

Forti walked faster. This place was forbidden. Access to the catacombs under the communal holy land of death was strictly for the upper echelons of the ordained, the Geth of the Pahthian modality. Bodies both newly buried and from centuries ago laid at peace, each somewhere in one of the hundred layers of sectioned earth generations of the Geth had dug. Although Vasi was not to be entombed but cremated, all farewell ceremonies are held in front of the meadow of the Zhunseban, which Forti was motivated to return to immediately.

“Aren’t you curious what a Zhunseban is like?” 

Forti veered around Rongyae. He trailed closely behind. Not wanting her back kept towards him, she hurried up the steps. 

“I guess you don’t have an adventurous spirit,” he quipped with a shrug.

“I adventure if I can handle the contingencies.” She bit her inner lip. She shouldn’t have said anything, but he spoke like he knew her based on a single choice, and three hours of sleep loosened her tongue. 

You don’t need to explain yourself. Don’t talk to him.

“Hmm, I suppose that’s wise. Or some could say you’re scared.” Why was he trying to rile her? What would he gain? An encomiur should be begging to be chosen, or was this a tactic? 

Escaping out the painting, she weaved through the mess, hand on the door.

“You know, we have a lot of paintings and compositions like this in Valor Academy.” 

Forti froze. Rongyae was scrutinizing the art with faux interest, hand on his chin like he was actively thinking. He looked older than her, but not yet an adult. He had a flat cap on, and his suit was crisp and tailored. 

“Mir. Daetaer, what do you think of this piece?”

His eyes were gold. He was not human, but Forti could not remember if shining yellow was suearius or icthyian. There was no tail, and his ears were rounded. 

He could be a fake. A crazy person, a con, a cheat. In the worst case, a dangerous individual. Or ValorA sent him as a condolence gift. He must be excellent at his job if the school recommended him. Yet why solely look for her? Why dispatch him here on this day? Their prestige doesn’t excuse their lack of courtesy or his arrogant behavior. 

“I think it’s lovely.” She left the room.

As Forti expected, Rongyae ran after her. In this open environment, she could shout and people would come, she could escape if he was harmful.

“Whoever painted it did a remarkable job,” she commented before he could remark about her exit.

“I agree.” He followed along.

“How do you feel about it, Mir. Rongyae?”

He was impressed by how smoothly she said his name. Not many could do so, even after hearing him say it, requiring repetition and polite probing to check whether they pronounced it correctly.

“I think it’s tragic. Two hearts ripped apart, reaching for each other but unable to grasp. Have you ever felt such love?” 

“Maybe.”

They went down a corridor. Gothic windows exhibited a large inner garden of maintained greenery. In a corner, under the shade of an overarching tree, monks sat on smooth rocks, chanting a sutra to ruminate and discuss later, their united voices a muted droning.

Forti meandered over to an alcove with a rounded bench, flush with light from a window directly across, and sat.

Rongyae broke the silence.

“Give me your analysis about the painting,” he said.

“Why?”

“I’m curious what you thought about when you saw it.”

To humor this person out of interest, or to deny out of mild spite for being ordered. Forti realized this was the most direct this elusive person had been, however, and decided to concede, because she had to figure out why he was here talking to her. She reflected on the painted woman and her lover’s grief-stricken expression. 

“The lady didn’t look like she was reaching out for him. Her open palm seemed more like she was telling the man not to follow after her. And the dragon was crying. If it were evil, wouldn’t it be happy to pull them apart?

“So to me, I found the narrative of the painting to be about a woman selflessly letting herself be grabbed by a lonely dragon. She might’ve loved the dragon more than the man, or she yielded herself to whoever was more pitiful, because she knew the other could take care of himself. Rather than lovers ripped apart, it felt more like… a lover’s sacrifice?”

Forti disliked how she ended her sentence with doubt after talking that much, but she couldn’t retract it. Repeating the phrase with an assured tone would be futile and clumsy in her opinion. 

Though she knew it shouldn’t bother her so much, an unusual unease creeped up her spine at the thought of showing any hesitancy to this sharply-dressed individual. Like dropping a mouse in front of a snake. 

Stop worrying over pointless things. Just don’t be daunted next time.

Rongyae simply hummed.

“What was it that made you think like that?”

“At first, the woman’s hand, but the longer I looked, I think it was more because of the dragon, for its tears.”

“Then if the dragon wasn’t crying, would you have thought differently?”

“Maybe.”

“What if it was crying to fool the audience into sympathizing with it?”

“Are you really an encomiur?” 

Rongyae was startled by the question, and then laughed. The pull of his lips and peek of his fangs reminded Forti of a fox, and she speculated he was of mixed-species.

“No, I lied.” He gave a teasing grin. “I’m here from Valor Academy to share with you that Vasibeth Daetaer stayed true to her morals throughout the entrance exam. I was one of the students injected in the practical to test applicants. Many were tempted to cheat and hurt others in hopes of advancing, but your sister was immune to it all, and for that, she got in.”

Forti swallowed hard. She asked for his id and he promptly handed it. The metal card had miniscule scratches from use. The credentials appeared legitimate with the blazing crest of the academy that didn’t scratch off, and Rongyae Geim’s photo was almost identical to his real profile, suave smile and all, just a little rounder and more youthful. She passed it back and leaned against the curved, stone wall with a sigh. 

Of course Vasi got in. The girl who dreamed of changing the world. Who jumped back up whenever life shoved her down. Who had her whole life ahead of her. She deserved to go to the greatest school in all the realms. That ValorA saw in Vasi what Forti did made her elated to the far reaches of the galaxy and back, and that Vasi would never get to know it herself pulverized Forti’s heart into dust. The double feeling was unkind. Rongyae glanced at the young woman beside him. It seemed she was trying to hold back her tears. He licked his lips.

“I’m sorry for your loss. It’s a loss for ValorA as well, as we do not intend to replace Vasibeth’s spot with anyone.”

Warm hands fell on Forti’s shoulders. She was displeased by the contact, but remained placid to watch his next actions. Rongyae had her turn to him, and although she wore the covering, he somehow found her eyes. She noticed there were flecks of grey dancing around his pupils.

“However, we believe you are qualified to enter ValorA in her stead.”

Forti stopped breathing.

“You just said no one would replace Vasi’s spot.”

“We are not replacing. We are offering a position for you.”

“No, thank you. That belongs to Vasi. Just because I’m her sister doesn’t mean I earned it. It’s not right.”

Rongyae looked at Forti in composed astonishment.

“That was a very fast rejection.”

“Just because it’s fast doesn’t mean I didn’t think it through.”

He let go of Forti. 

“This offer does not come from nowhere.” 

Forti surmised this must be why they were having this private discussion, why he sought for her. He was fortunate that she left the funeral. Or did he predict I would?  

Suspiciously, she asked, “What about my brother?”

“We won’t be extending the proposition to your brother.” Rongyae discerned the ire flaring behind Forti’s eyes, but waited for her inquiry to explain. She asked why in a deceptively calm tone.

“We already tested him. He is not what– Excuse me, not who we need. We need people like Vasibeth.” 

Forti was irked, because her brother was exceptional in his own way. However, before she could question Rongyae on what exactly about Vasi the school desired in their students, he jumped up. A spark shone in his eyes though the sun was behind him, and his grin transformed from crafty and clever to boyish and genuine. An uncontrollable vigor was rebounding inescapably inside him, and that aura surged through Forti like a static shock.

“Forti,” he called her name in a sincere cadence. “You refusing our offer means you are meant for ValorA.” He extended an open hand. 

“Haven’t you once dreamed of accomplishing great things? Isn’t that why when you were Vasibeth’s age, you tried for our school?” The statement hit like a dagger to the heart.

“We are very sorry for your loss. I’m sorry for your loss, but this offer is not a condolence or compensation. We truly believe you possess the quality that your dear sister had, and our school needs it now, more than ever.”

Something bloomed in Forti’s chest at Rongyae’s words. It resonated with his inviting hand. Her mind felt acute like a gliding arrow soaring towards a target, and the world’s clarity clattered around her like dropped silver spoons. This was just her, this person, and a chance. Her hand reached out.