Symon was allowed to spend the night at Aniso’s after informing him his father wouldn’t be back until morning. He was given the bottom hammock while Aniso crawled into the top one hanging from the ceiling. However, sleep would not come easy for him. Every time he drifted away he’d be bombarded with nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat. He kept seeing visions of his family, but twisted and full of hatred. They felt like more than just dreams. He was remembering something. 

The final time he’d wake from a particularly bad nightmare that made his back sting, and his hands shake. Symon awoke from the nightmare in a panic. He stifled a yell so as to not wake the host who was so kind as to let him stay there. In the silence and dark of that tiny cabin, he stared as his eyes adjusted. He had no idea what time it was, and he could barely make out the forms of furniture in the room through the oppressive darkness. All he could think about was the stone in the grotto. He knew it was familiar. He knew it had the answer to what was going on, why he was here, why he was a bug. He slipped out of the hammock and headed out of the cabin in a rush, but not without accidently waking Aniso, who just barely caught him leaving.

Symon stormed out into the cold night, breath heavy but determined as he made his way to the Grotto. At the entrance, two stocky ant women were posted on the other side of the entrance, intending to guard it, but had both fallen asleep in the late hours, making it possible to sneak past them without raising suspicion. Inside the tree, all of the candles and lanterns that once lit the inside of the tree had been put out for the night, and the only thing illuminating the grand center of the tree were the glowing mushrooms that crept from the bottom of the stone. It was tall and intimidating from up close. Its magical energy pulsed slowly, giving Symon chills. He slowly reached out his hand, and could feel the tickle of magic on his skin as he nearly made contact with its surface.

“Symon!”

He was stopped by a harsh whisper, He turned to find Aniso behind him. He’d followed behind, concerned about where Symon could possibly be going this late at night.

“What are you doing?” He continued. “Remember what happened yesterday?”

“I have to, Aniso.” Symon stood his ground. “It’s the only lead I have to what happened to me. I have to remember!” 

Aniso ran towards him, “Wait-!”

“Please. tell me what happened to me.” He whispered to himself as he pressed his hand against the cold surface of the rock. As soon as he did, he felt locked in place by a powerful force. In an instant, it was as if all of his energy, his essence, was being pulled into the stone. A red aura engulfed both him and the stone, and suddenly his mind was flooded with memories.

❇❇❇❇

Symon awoke from a nap to a loud ringing that faded into the rattling of wheels on tracks, and the chatter of people outside. He found himself in the street car he was taking to work. It was early in the morning, the sun was just barely peeking over the tops of the buildings, drenched in dawn hues. The streets were just filling in with the morning commuters making their way out on foot. 

He must've dozed off. He pulled his watch from his pocket to make sure he wasn't late. Only five minutes had passed. He was lucky, considering he'd stayed up far later the previous night than he was supposed to. He had gotten quite invested in one of his recent projects, a miniature diorama of his favorite tea shop. Working with small wire and balsa wood had put him in a deep concentration, and before he knew it, it was 3 am, and his kerosene lamp was almost out.

He was used to running on a few hours of sleep. Night time was the only time he really had to himself, where he wasn't either working or tending to his family affairs. Usually he is pretty lucky, as a merchant, he traveled a lot especially by streetcar and train, which left him ample time to doze off between stops.  Though a risky behavior, more than a couple times he’s found himself missing his stop after being invested in a particular dream.

After waking he readjusted himself in his seat and fixed his glasses and adjusted the decorative chains.  He turned his gaze out the window. They were just passing over the river that flowed from the mountain. The bridge sat nicely at the top of the hill where you could see the river flow through the city of Minau and out into the ocean that reflected the coral hue of the sky.

“I always love taking trips in the morning,” The elderly woman next to him said. “Those who sleep in late miss out on lovely views like this.”

Symon fidgeted with the latch on his bag awkwardly. He wasn’t expecting this stranger to strike up conversation like this. This is why he hated getting on crowded street cars. The risk of having to have a conversation with another human was already too great. 

“Go long enough without sleep and its beauty begins to wear out, I suppose.” He replied.

The old woman gave him a displeased look. “Well, that’s quite the negative attitude to have.”

Was he negative? He didn’t mean to be negative.

“I’m just speaking from experience, I suppose.” He retorted. “I’m more of a night owl than a morning person.”

“Daylight is such a terrible thing to waste. Don’t think I didn’t see you sleeping the whole ride. You are far too young to be sleeping the day away. Save that for when you’re old, like me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he dismissed. Frankly, he already felt tired every day from his job, at least when he’s old, he might be able to retire. All mornings did was drag him out of the comfort of bed and remind him he had another nine hours of a job which he --in all honesty-- hated with a passion.

On the other side of the bridge he’d entered the townhouse district. A cramped neighborhood he’d been to a number of times before. It tended to be either young bachelors or the elderly that lived out here and when he wasn’t in his shop, he was out here looking at the latest estate sale. What the elderly tend to have a lot of is old, dusty antiques lying about, and that was his specialty.  In fact was precisely what he was out here to do today. 

The bell tolled for the townhouse district drop off, and Symon made his way off the streetcar, stretching his arms out with a yawn. It would still be a walk before he arrived at a cramped apartment in the middle of the neighborhood. The doors were wide open with people walking in and out of it. He was not the only person looking at this place.

Loitering by the steps was a rather burly looking man. He had a thick mustache that obscured his mouth, and hair up and down his arms, but none on his head. It was his boss who was waiting for him. He leaned lazily between the wall and the stoop, cocking a glance at the people coming in and out of the home as he puffed on a cigar. The ill-fitting suit he wore presented a man of much higher class than the man he knew his boss to be.

“Good morning, Raja” Symon greeted professionally as he pulled his satchel over his shoulder. “This sale in particular is quite busier than I expected.” 

“This guy's family declared him dead last week, seems to be some well known scholar of sorts.” He said bluntly, taking another drag from his cigar and blowing the smoke down wind of Symon.

Symon coughed and moved his head out of the way, instead turning his gaze towards the people bustling in and out of his house, many of them scholars and upper class folk who look absolutely scandalized to be caught walking around in such a commoner neighborhood. 

“Dr. Garrison Anderson, yes?” Symon clarified. “I’ve heard a bit about him. An entomologist who hailed from the Europan isle. He’d traveled all over the world.”

“Just to look at bugs.” Raja scoffed. “You read the obituary too huh?”

Symon shook his head. “Actually I heard about him long before now. I’ve actually read many of his books. When I heard about his disappearance I was quite surprised to find out who it was, and I felt compelled to look at his recent publication.”

Raja raised a brow. “You have that much free time?”

“Heaven’s no. I just fell down a rabbit hole, I suppose.” Symon admitted. “I just found the story interesting. The way he talks about arthropods really changes your perspective on them. He’d such made great strides in his field, and then disappeared for nearly a decade. Such a compelling mystery.”

“Heard a bunch of his stuff was found washed ashore recently and that’s when they called off the search. The poor sap must’ve gotten shipwrecked out there.”

“How dreadful…” Symon mumbled to himself, expression unchanging. “I hope his family is handling it alright.”

“Well they were quick to pawn off all of his stuff. The man was  a bit of a hoarder. We ought to find something interesting in his collection." He finished off his cigar and flicked the remains in the general direction of the trash can, but still missed it by a good few inches. He pushed himself off the wall with a grunt and headed inside the building, with Symon following close behind.

Dr. Anderson's house was cluttered with valuable relics and artifacts from various locations around the world all hastily placed to and fro about his house, clearly never expecting guests to come in. The only items that truly had a proper home were a few of the more fragile items that sat in glass cases, and the fine art hung up on the wall. Everything else had a thick layer of dust on it. The house had gone untouched for years before today.

The man had clearly done a lot of traveling in his life, and enjoyed bringing home cultural mementos of all the places he had been. Symon wondered why such a wealthy foreigner like him would ever make his home in a tiny little peninsula like Bituin. 

“He really does have quite the impressive collection, I wouldn’t mind having some of it for my personal collection.” Symon noted, as he stared at the absolute treasure trove of antiques that could use the touch of his restoration skills. Some of them only needed a bit of cleaning, maybe a fresh coat of paint, and they’d be back to their lustrous beauty again.

“Stay focused Symon.” Raja scolded. “We’ve got a budget to keep in mind.”

“R-right.” Symon stepped away from the antiques only to notice a door with a small metal placard on it that read ‘Entomology Room’. 

“That must be where he did his research.” He mumbled to himself.

Raja turned to see the door and his face twisted in disgust. “Eugh-! I don’t even want to think about what’s in there. I can only hope it’s all dead, that's for sure…”

“I wonder if there’s anything interesting in there.” Symon said, with his interest now piqued.

Raja grumbled. “You can look around if you feel so inclined to do so, but you won’t catch me dead in there. Bugs make my skin crawl.”

“I’ll at least check to see if there’s anything of value in there.”

“If you insist. I’ll be in the gallery, without the spiders.” And with that he waddled his way into the main room. 

Symon opened the door into the entomology room. Inside was a messy collection of insect specimens littering the tables and desks. Old enclosures and cages lay empty and dust covered from abandonment, the creatures inside now dried, decaying shells, meanwhile the walls of pinned butterflies and beetles remain preserved in their original beauty. The desks held stacks of books about various different species, and journals full of diligently written notes. 

On the wall behind the main desks was a large world map, with images of certain species pinned in different locations. From the islands of Showa, to the cold tundra Veilkaya, across the Eurasis Stretch and all over the Commonwealth. The professor was a well traveled man. Many of them have had big green Xs marked down on them, all except for one island off the coast of Bituin. 

Nawala Island.