The birds are changing.

Forti watched someone nearly kick a pigeon’s head. 

The bird flapped away at the last minute whereas the stranger was unaware of what they were about to do, frustratingly occupied by a phone call. 

When a person approached or a bus came gliding down, the pigeons, sparrows, and sterlings no longer scattered. They only evade right when they’re about to be struck or crushed under.

 Anyone living in the city would tell you this was normal. It used to be the same for Forti until she saw a tourist “shoo” a pigeon and it didn’t startle. Usually, the bird should flinch or walk away, respond with at least an iota of awareness, but it didn’t do anything as if there was nothing done, or no one there. And then she realized, this was not normal.

For a couple times within a month, she tried the same to any bird she encountered, waving her arms like she would at a surprise party. Nothing worked. They all maintained their distance and jumped when Forti was too close, and she was almost convinced that the pigeon with the tourist must’ve been a strange outlier. 

But on her seventh attempt, the sterlings did not move. 

She crouched down. They didn’t strut aside. She lifted a finger, mere centimeters from a beak. It didn’t care. Then she tried to pet one, and a flurry of feathers filled her vision. 

They flew off. 

Did anyone else know what she knew? She discovered the source behind the phenomenon based on her observations, and saw it again, huddled within a grounded flock, glaringly obvious as if it desired to be noticed. 

White head, brown neck, and brown-speckled-on-white wings. Among the rabble of street birds, the creature looked out of place, for its raised head and billowy chest bestowed it a regal impression. It was a bird for palace grounds rather than city pavement. With a simple search, the internet said they were pigeons of a different color. 

Forti didn’t believe that. They came from nowhere, and now they were everywhere. She called them deer doves.

Deer doves are very pretty, thought Forti aimlessly. She pulled her scarf up over her lips and burrowed her hand back into her jacket. How were they doing that? Are they invasive? Where did they come from? An intrusive idea said they came from World 3. No, don’t think like that. She chastised herself, but then again, maybe she should practice pretending to think like that. A bloodthirst for otherness was the ticket to getting in where she needed to go, and it helped her ignore the chill saturating through her jeans. The thermoregulation in them broke somehow, but she was wracked with schoolwork and believed there was still time before the cold fully roosted in Solpolis. 

As a consequence of underestimating wind speeds and misjudging the seemingly small difference from yesterday’s temperature, nature harassed Forti mercilessly. Her legs felt like ice blocks, and the frost creeped up to her stomach through her pants. She learned her lesson as she did every winter.

Not every bird stayed still when a threat appeared, like the lone sparrow Forti was nearing. It was already safely away from her, yet it disappeared, somewhere underneath the sky that looked like static, swarming with soaring vehicles zipping from all cardinal directions. There remained an ample number of normal, wary birds. 

But the trait is spreading. 

She briskly crossed the street.

What if they don’t escape until it’s too late? I haven’t seen one get hit or stepped on yet, but maybe it’s already happening. What if they get lazier and lazier? The birds are in danger–

A bike barreled down in front of Forti, halting all thought. Pedestrians sent glares after the cyclist for speeding at a red light. The other riders on bicycles, scooters, boards, skates, and blades who waited patiently did the same. Forti was stunned, and her eyes trailed instinctively after the retreating figure, but then she moved on. She had to immerse herself into her role.

Every single bird will be within an inch of their lives. There will be dead birds everywhere. The deer doves are pests! They’re trying to kill our birds!

She smiled, humored by the idea. Maybe they did come from world 3. They should go back to where they came from, not causing a mess here and making all the animals strange.

Forti turned around a corner and entered an eerily empty street, but it was an old, stone church that wiped her delight clean. 

The headquarters for the Solpolis chapter of Sempirege boldly stood at a pitiful height, tucked between a doorway into a drive-in tower and an old, retro hair salon that occupied the lowest and cheapest floor of another drive-in tower. It was like a stump between trees, looking the worst on its quiet, lonely street. Medieval. Abandoned. Unlike the glorious basilicas and cathedrals that dotted Solpolis. To complete it, the eight-pointed star cross of Pahth was perched at its peak. 

In their pockets, Forti’s hands balled into fists. Steeling herself to approach her destination, she pulled the strap of her messenger bag from her shoulder over her head so it crossed her torso. She checked that its flap was closed, fingers flitting over its two magnetic buttons. When she glanced down, her heart thumped through her chest. 

Glass doors slid automatically open, and warm air rushed out to greet Forti. She enjoyed how it ruffled her hair and seeped into her clothes. 

At the white prism counter positioned in the bare lobby, deeper within the space than it should be, sat a smiling human boy who looked about the same age as her. His cheeks pushed his eyes into black slits and his hair was combed and gelled neatly. She walked in front of him, put on a neutral smile, and he spoke in a friendly tenor.

“Hello, welcome to Sempirege. How may I help you?”

“Hi, I’m here to meet Rula Bargel.” She replied in a matching, bright tone.

His cheeks dropped momentarily and Forti saw the slight dark of his eyes, but they disappeared as quickly.

“Do you have an appointment with Mir. Bargel? What is your name?” 

“I don’t have an appointment, but I’m interested in joining Sempirege.” 

The boy’s eyes seemed to squint into thinner lines from his growing smile.

“That’s wonderful! You don’t need Mir. Bargel to sign up. Here. This is our form, you just need to tap your phone and that’s it! Easy.” He pulled out from underneath the desk a tablet, and after a password and a tap of an app, he slid it to Forti. 

“We’re actually having a congregation today. Once you’re finished, you can join us in the main hall.”

Forti looked down at the blinking request to tap a phone or valid ID card.

“Do you have a form I could write or type instead? I didn’t bring my phone.”

The boy was unmoving, but Forti’s gaze was equally unwavering. Slowly, he pulled the tablet back to himself, tapped the screen a couple times, and handed it back, a smile fixed on his face the entire time.

Forti filled in as much as she wanted, and when she handed it back, the boy, still grinning, looked at the many blank boxes. She didn’t even fill out a last name. No address, no contact information, but Forti saw his line of sight linger in the School or Work section. Of course it would. She goes to Valor Academy.

“Mir. Forti, why do you wish to see Mir. Bargel?”

“I can only discuss that matter with Mir. Bargel.”

Seconds passed, and Forti observed the gears turning in the boy’s head. Her own whirred like an oiled machine, preparing for the ensuing contention.

“I’m sorry, but you need to fill in the form if you wish to join Sempirege.” He pushed the tablet back towards her. 

“What specifically do you need me to fill out?”

With a minimal downward tilt of his head, the boy gazed at the form, which was upside down from his point of view.

He pointed as he spoke. “You need to fill out your full name, your birthday, your gender, contact information like phone number or email, your home or mailing address, nationality, ethnicity, marital status, health issues, “ he scrolled down the form. “And in School or Work, you need to tell us your level and if applicable, your specialization, and what future endeavors you’re planning. And if you’re undergoing an internship, that also needs to be included under Work.”

“So what exactly should I fill in to be admitted?”

“All of it.”

His smile looked a little more pointed than before and it pricked Forti’s temper. She kept her composure. 

Forti knew her form was quite bare, but she refused to relent, to give her identity to an extremist group. It was too much of a compliment to call Sempirege an institution. 

But she needed to see Rula Bargel. 

She took a small breath, and compromised by putting one of her faux emails. When he still didn’t move from his upright posture, she let out a meek smile and softened her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t feel comfortable putting out a lot of my information,” she said, gently. “I’m interested in joining, really, and I agree with the values Sempirege has, but it can be… dangerous for me. I’m just a little nervous about filling out so much.” 

She could see confusion in his grin. Then he processed her words and she watched sympathy wash over, diffusing the enmity into harmless steam. Forti pushed on. 

“I wanted to see Mir. Bargel because I saw online that she's the leader of the chapter in Solpolis, and so I thought it would be safer if I joined under her supervision. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but my school isn’t fond of its students having affiliations to Sempirege. I disagree with that but if I say that or if they found out I’m even doing this, I could get expelled. But it’s what I believe in, and I’m not going to compromise my values just because my school is afraid of doing the right thing.”

Forti had him. He was back to the first state Forti saw him in when she first entered, but there was now compassion in his smile.

“Mir. Forti, I completely understand,” the boy said comfortingly. “It’s unfortunate that a renowned university like ValorA became what it is. I can’t even imagine how scared you must’ve been in ValorA when it’s just crawling with them. You don’t have to worry anymore Forti. You have a place here and you’re not alone.”

The boy pulled out an office phone from under the table and dialed. 

“… Mir. Bargel? There’s a person who wishes to join our chapter… She says she wants to meet you… She said she would feel safer if you registered her in… She goes to ValorA… Yes… Will do.”

He tucked the phone and tablet back into the desk and stood up.

“Please follow me. I’ll take you to Mir. Bargel.”

Forti and the boy rounded the wall that stood behind his seat. Double doors were propped open and they walked into a dark hallway that narrowed to a single, closed door at the end. Forti kept at a distance, ready to run if needed, and took off her scarf to throw it at the boy’s face although saddened by the possibility. It was a very high quality scarf made in Dandemy out of silk and wool. Her parents bought it as a gift for getting into ValorA, but they would want her to value her life over a piece of fabric any day. The boy knocked on the door.

“It’s me.”

When it opened, a large, burly, human man in a black, open-collar shirt eyed them like they were trespassing. Forti followed closely behind the smiling boy, stuffing her scarf into her bag. 

Why does Sempirege have a bouncer?

When she looked up, her question was answered. 

The nave was blindingly white. Numerous gleaming pillars rose symmetrically from the sides and bent near the high ceiling into points, enclosing all the sparkling, glass pews in a rib cage. A large, pristine star cross was suspended above the wide dais at the opposite end. Marble sculptures of angels and religious beings flanked its sides and hovered over it. There were no windows in this vacant hall, but light illuminated every space. Not a single shadow or spot of darkness stained its purity. 

“It seems the congregation has ended. You can always come to our next one though,” said the boy. Forti simply nodded, examining the place with awe and incredulity, as she knew she would never willingly step in here again.

Outside the rib bone columns to the right was a walkway and a line of rooms, and through the glass doors and walls of each room were people, old and older. They were having meetings with bibles open on white tables, animatedly chatting and laughing. Only the last room had small children obediently sitting around a low, round table with their own books, listening to the single adult who had their knees bent almost to their chest for squatting on a kiddy chair. The kids looked up at the passerbys and recognized the grinning boy. They waved enthusiastically and he responded in kind. They noticed Forti and she waved shyly with a small smile. They didn’t wave back.

Before the pair entered the white door at the end of the long stretch of white carpet, Forti examined to her left the floating cross, catching the flashes of wire. It was carved with intricate designs that reminded Forti of leaves, petals, and roots, but their meanings were lost on her. She admired the artistry of the angels. They each had different faces but dawned the same peaceful, magnanimous expression, and their outstretched arms to the cross also extended outwards to the empty audience. 

How much did this all cost? It wasn’t her first thought – first she wondered who created the beautiful sculptures, then who the architect or designer for the interior was, if the angels were based on real people, and where someone could purchase glass benches – but the price of everything was the most compelling. It dimmed the glory of this miraculous place, and her pupils dilated slightly. 

If this place were as honest as it was brilliant, the glass, the walls, the white would be encrusted in dried blood, mud tears, and black carbon. 

The boy opened the white entrance, revealing a poorly-lit, spiral stairway that belonged in a dungeon. Forti hadn’t prayed in a long time, not since she was a little girl, but she fabricated a short, insincere prayer at that instance as a momentary talisman. To her relief, the boy climbed up the stairs instead of descending into what looked like a gaping maw.

At the end of the stairs, on the second floor, past a hallway of rustic wooden doors, the boy knocked at the largest and oldest one. Forti admired the ornate metal hinges, large and curled like vines.

“Mir. Bargel, I brought her,” said the boy.

“Come in,” a sharp muffled voice rang. No barrier could hide its scratch like cat nails on a chalkboard.