Hem caught up to the trio—Orin and the twins—just before they could change guides. The little Pyxen girl vanished with a single step, disappearing the moment she caught Orin staring at her instead of facing his furious boss, Hem Lock.
"Saved time means nothing if it can't be used elsewhere," said Hem.
"Oh, what, oh what shall we save time on next to cover this rant!" Orin sang, hopping away from Hem. "He shall never stop or be happy, for he has no purpose in life, unless it's about that time, when he gets to pick on a little kid and two big marshmallows."
"Hey!" The twins protested in unison. "We aren't as useless as marshmallows!"
"I'm running out of time. Better prove it before we get kicked off the case." Orin offered his stage to the twins.
"I'm going to solve this case," Hem declared, claiming the spotlight as he clenched his fist and glared at Orin with intent.
"Not according to your track record," Orin chuckled, waving a whisper leaf in Hem's face.
Hem snatches the leaf away. It detailed the three cases he'd failed to close—three cases where he had challenged the Queen and lost due to lack of evidence.
"Not when the Queen pulls the floor out from under you," Orin added, fanning himself with another whisper leaf—this one documenting Hem's feud with the Queen.
The third case, 'The Vanished Execution,' was tucked deep inside Orin's robes as it intrigued him the most. There was a point within it that urked Orin. It might even hold the clue to solve this case... If Orin worked alongside Hem.
"See? We weren't wasting time at all." He pulled out another. "Say... is there a way to push one's pandit to their death?"
The final comment snapped something within Hem, and he moved on instinct, his judgment clouded by fury.
In that flash of rage, before he snapped Orin in two, his guru's final lesson returned to him:
"We are short on time. The world needs you now," Miss Shreya once said to a younger Hem.
"So remember this, Hem. Hopefully, it will help when the time isn't right, when I'm not there to pick up the pieces...
"Until now, no one has been able to push you to the brink. That isn't your greatest strength, though.
"Because only when one finds their greatest weakness, can they rise beyond it to reach greatness.
" And when the moment comes... When the world finds a way to break you beyond recognition, pushes you to do something unthinkable, stop.
"For four seconds.
"Remember me.
"Recall this moment before you follow through with that overwhelming desire."
Moments ago, Orin had tried to extract a method to eliminate a Guru. He had no alternative motive in mind, or realized how much he rubbed Hem Lock the wrong way. Nor would he realize until someone drilled the basics of emotions into his thick head.
Hem blinked.
He had already moved, standing inches behind Orin, hand raised, prepared to end it.
Orin turned in search of Hem, only to find him looming behind him, frozen in place, hand suspended, eyes filled with unshed tears.
"Orin?" A voice broke the moment. "Orin Mystiq!"
Orin's eyes lit up with recognition. "Tell me later," he muttered, still oblivious of Hem's actions, assuming he had finally made Hem snap—and the Sentinel only stopped because of his age.
Orin patted Hem on the stomach as he walked past, greeting the familiar voice. "Yo, Val. Took you long!"
Valeri slapped Orin across the face, the force sending him sprawling to the ground.
"That's Mrs. Valeri, or Miss Guru to you, young man… oops, sorry, I thought a minute and a half must've passed for you." She lies to cover up the slap, giggling.
"Liar!" Orin mumbled with a swollen cheek, picking himself up. "Nicely played, Val—" He tried to recover, but somehow ran straight into the next slap.
"Take care of this piece of trash until I get back." Valeri handed an unconscious Orin over to Hysteria.
"What happened?" Orin asked after getting up in a daze.
"Don't worry," Hysteria said, brushing dirt from his shoulder. "Ma'am made sure to slap the lure away."
All Orin could remember was running toward a slap. Which made zero sense. "That seems... wrong."
Axel—the class bully—stepped up, cracking his knuckles. "Don't worry, Mystiq. I'll stay close—make sure no lure gets near."
"Makes sense." Orin nodded. "Without a brain, the lure will never find you."
The students' giggles fueled Axel's rage.
"Wait! I see the lure coming closer!" he growled, cracking his knuckles.
He slipped on a pair of ivory-bone gloves—the Ornyx crackling to life as it split and spread across his fists.
"Enor'es!"
With the chant, the bony glove expanded, elongating Axel's arm to twice its normal size.
"Come here!" He swiped through the air, sending a gust of wind that knocked Hysteria off balance.
As Hysteria tumbled into Orin's arms, Axel lunged forward.
His past encounters had taught him: to beat Orin, you had to tie him down. And who better to use as bait than Hysteria—the only one close to him?
"You're mine!" Axel declared, just before slipping and landing face-first.
"The kid has no reflexes," Orin sighed. "You alright?" he asked Hysteria.
She nodded, then turned to find Axel on the ground, while Orin hadn't moved a muscle.
"Since when did Axel have a tail?" A student's voice drew Hysteria's eyes to a wriggling shape.
The tail twitched, as though eyes were hidden inside its rounded, restless tip.
With a simple gesture—a twitch of his fingers—Orin summoned the tail. It detached itself from Axel's hip, slithered across the ground, and slid into Orin's pants.
"Since when did you have a tail?" Hysteria gaped.
"Not long," Orin said with a wink. "Also, keep this a secret. These mystics are almost extinct." He tried to sound convincing.
But Hysteria had an eidetic memory. She could list every mystica in Wanderlust—her memory banks were twice the size of Orin's vast Whiskeep, he claimed to have inside his rather small head. She didn't just know the active ones—she knew which were extinct, which were near-extinct, and which existed in abundance—all the important ones.
And Orin... Orin had one of the ten ancient mystica left in all of Wanderlust.
A mystical, the four kingdoms would go to war over.
A mystica they'd break rules for.
A mystica that could make Orin the richest person on the continent.
Too bad nothing could sway him even a millimeter into giving up his mystica.
Trading? That was an option no one would dare consider.
And if some genius ever did manage to figure Orin out, the kid wouldn't settle for anything less than two ancient mystica in return—
—which, in itself, was a stupid deal.
Hysteria stepped in to help Orin, and the class relented to her request within seconds—no mind-numbing questions, no debate, none of the exhausting arguments Orin usually had to stumble through.
"Wait! Why does she get what she wants?" Orin complained.
"Take the win, doofus," Elio muttered mid-yawn. "She's helping... ah." He slumped back down, forcing away the vital energy that wouldn't let him sleep.
"How is he even drowsy?" Orin asked their guide. "I thought that should be impossible here, isn't it!?"
"How did you come this deep into Ouroboros without knowing that?" the student guide replied, baffled.
"He has selective memory," Hysteria chuckled nervously, before quickly changing the subject. "No! But is Axel okay?" she asks Orin.
"Didn't his dumbness cushion the fall?" Orin walked over to Axel and gave him a poke. "Ouroboros to Axel. It's time you give yourself to Orin Mystiq," he intoned with a deep, theatrical voice. "Become his servant, forever. No questions asked..." He stood, raising his leg in a dramatic pose. "Oops, my leg slipped."
"At least say that after the kick," Elio mumbled from the floor, adjusting to a better sleeping position.
As Elio snuggled into the tiles, Axel rose groaning, one hand on his stomach. "How did I lose...?"
"Our first battle was a fluke," Orin declared. "The second—an untimely draw. The third? A complete and total victory. And that, my friend, is the beginning of a trend." He cracked his neck and strutted away.
Children outside Ouroboros are so messed up, the student guide thought, offering a silent prayer to Zee: to shape every Wanderer child, and thanking it profusely for keeping their kids sane.
How does she manage all of them? The guide glanced at Valeri with a newfound reverence.
Before this exchange, Valeri pulled Hem into a quiet corner—out of range of the impending chaos and, more importantly, out of Orin's line of sight.
She bowed deeply. Hem's anger vanished before she even reached the lowest point.
To counter the gesture, Hem dropped to the floor in a pleading posture. "Please…" he stopped her descent with a hand. "A Guru shouldn't bow this low to anyone."
"They should—when it's about their students," Valeri replied with a chuckle. "Please, rise." She placed a hand on Hem's shoulder and helped him to his feet, sneaking a glance toward Orin to ensure he hadn't seen. "Thank you… for looking after him." She completed her bow with a soft smile.
"I… really didn't do anything." Hem clenched his fists, looking away. "I almost—"
"—Almost isn't so bad," Valeri interrupted gently, her tone reassuring.
"You were watching?"
"I always am… when it comes to my students," she said, scratching the back of her head with a sheepish grin. "Don't be hard on yourself. That kid's blessed by Aurochs. He can push anyone past their breaking point." She forced out a chuckle, barely keeping her simmering anger beneath the surface. "Don't worry, though. Once I'm done with him… that'll become a blessing. I hope…"
Valeri spotted Axel winding up to punch Orin and stepped a bit closer to Hem. "Brace yourself for some wind," she warned with a faint grin. Then, more softly, "By the way… mind telling me what he said that pushed you that far? I promise I'll keep it a secret, also, it's very important information for me--for him! Ah..."
"I get it!" Hem interrupts. "I had a guru as well. Every minute encounter is important." He takes a quick glance at Orin. "Especially in such cases."
As the gust from Axel's missed punch blew Valeri's hair across Hem's face, he found himself smiling... imitating his guru's gentle smile. The memory wiped away the last of his anger, alongside his tears.
"Please," Hem said, with a flicker of dry humor returning. "Demand, if you must."
He gave her a brief but meaningful description of his bond with his Guru, Miss Shreya, and what Orin had said that finally shattered the last of his patience.
"Patience is a tricky trait," Valeri mused. "Too much of it can suppress the healthy release of emotions. If anything should be forbidden... It must be the depth at which a wanderer can hold patience."
The simplicity of her words disarmed Hem more than he expected, consoling him with understanding, not sympathy.
"Maybe a little context on Orin will help you tolerate his tantrums better," she added, lowering her voice and sneaking another glance toward the boy. "Unlike others—when he says he doesn't know something—he really doesn't. And more importantly… he doesn't care. Not in the usual way. Repeating things tends to send him into a spiral of defiance. He thinks he's 'focusing on what matters.' Later responses are cobbled together phrases—either to dodge, deflect, or insult. But show him a mystica... or build a topic around one?"
She gave Hem a meaningful look. "That's when you'll see the real Orin Mystiq... A true Mystward."
"Wow," Hem took a small step back, overwhelmed. "That's… a lot."
"Yeah… he's unnecessarily complicated," Valeri sighed, her upbeat demeanor dimming into something far sadder. "He's a Mystward. By choice. Or… I think it was. A choice no one was supposed to make—not after the word became what it is today. Not in a world full of wanderers like... You know! His mother wasn't there to hold them back, and his father… never offered him any guidance."
She went quiet for a moment before bowing again, deeper than before.
"I'm sorry if that's vague, but please, please don't bring up family around him. He's still learning how to grieve. Which is to say, instead of grieving, he swallows it whole. He lashes out. And afterward... he blames himself, ripping the guilt open and finding new ways to shove it deeper down."
Hem watched her with softening eyes, something inside him shifting.
"Being a Guru is hard," he whispered, the last threads of his anger unraveling into empathy. "Please… don't bow anymore."
Valeri straightened up, trying to hide the red tint in her eyes with a forced laugh. "Also, I might be responsible for desensitizing him to the word 'Guru.' So… don't take those jabs to heart. I'm one-hundred-percent sure he brought up 'that' scenario to see if he could get under my skin."
Hem's brows lifted. "Like… 'get you' as in… kill?"
Valeri twirled her thumbs sheepishly. "Kinda, the last resort I left him!"
"How does a Guru deal with not one, but so many devils?" Hem asked, more curious than critical. Just the thought of handling two Orins was enough to make him consider a life of crime, let alone twenty.
"Eh…" Valeri shrugged. "It only takes one moment to outweigh the effort. And I've got twenty moments to lean on." She smiled, and Hem believed it.
As they watched the kids' conflict slowly resolve itself, Hem sighed and prepared to return to the case. "If you'll excuse me—"
"Wait," Valeri stopped him one last time, a spark of mischief dancing in her eye. "Since Orin's on the case… you don't really 'need' a Specialist, right?"
"We're actually about to meet our resident Specialists," Hem replied, only slightly confused. "Why turn down help? Even if that help is…" He caught the slight twitch in Valeri's expression. "Right… It's fine. Why?" He raised a suspicious eyebrow.
"I overheard some… 'Mimado' fellow planning a cue on Orin," Valeri said casually, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. "So I sent him packing. Restricted his access to Ouroboros."
Before Hem could respond, she gave a cheeky wave and hopped off with a bright grin. "All the best with the case! You've got you, and Orin, after all—I'm positive you'll solve it."
Hem stared after her, suddenly reminded of the quiet power Gurus held. The remainder of Mimado's exclusion would no doubt linger in his mind for a long time.
"Found any damning evidence on my witch?" Orin's voice yanked Hem out of his daze. "This one might be way harder than the last—"
"Hey, kid," Hem cut in gently.
"Don't be rude, old timer! And here I thought we were bonding. Geez!"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You were born with that face, there's nothing you can do about—" Orin paused, clearly stopping himself mid-snark as he was about to insinuate Hem's parents.
Hem chuckled, catching on. "What made you grow up so fast?" he asked, his tone softer now.
Orin stared at him, suspicious of the shift, but didn't say anything. The sharp reply he had halfway through caught in his throat. He turned away, quieter than usual.
"Some have the luxury of time," Orin finally said, eyeing the twins fondly. "Some don't."
He clenched his fist tight—so tightly it trembled. Then slowly relaxed it, exhaling his anger and grief in one breath. "I'm sorry too," he added, dipping into a quick bow before the weight of the moment pulled him upright again.
"Why?" Hem poked, knowing exactly what he was doing.
"I don't know. That's what Wanderers do when someone else apologizes, right?"
"Yeah," Hem laughed.
"Don't be rude, old timer."
Hem ruffled Orin's hair, seeing him—seeing him—for the kid he still was beneath the sharp tongue. "We Wanderers might not be as fancy, powerful, or mystical as a mystica," Hem said thoughtfully. "But we're intriguing, determined… and we've got something stronger than a phoenix."
Orin smirked, not needing to ask what... until he realized. Hem's clear pronunciation of the forbidden mystica's name—spoken without a hint of fear or hesitation—snapped his attention toward Hem.
"Think about it," Hem said, a glint in his eye. "We did outlive a phoenix." He winked. "Look."
He pointed at the twins, who kept vanishing into the mist, only to be dragged back by an exhausted Pyxen. She retrieved one, only to lose sight of the other again.
"What does that look like?"
"A Pyxen about to commit murder," Orin said, deadpanned.
"That smile is hard to catch, I guess," Hem murmured.
Those words pushed Orin to look again, more closely this time. He scanned every detail of the unfolding scene between the trio. And just as Hem had said—or predicted, the Pyxen smiled when she finally got the twins together.
"That we are unnecessarily complicated," Orin muttered. "There's no point in pulling so much crap if all we ever contribute to is... ourselves." His voice lowered. "What about the bigger picture? The grander one? We barely fit into an 'okayish' version of the universe."
'A copier!' Hem noted inwardly, and replied, "Maybe," he shrugged with a mischievous grin that irritated Orin.
"What's so funny, old man?"
"Well... you missed the smile until the very end. What if there's 'another' crucial part you're missing?" Hem teased.
Orin froze, revisiting Hem's earlier words—his mind, for once, open to hear another Wanderer. Not as a rival. Not as an adult. But as someone who understood.
"Our trait," Orin murmured. "Stronger than that of a phoenix… the god among gods."
He thought deeper, turning the idea over in his mind. Then a startling realization hit him.
"How did the strongest god of rebirth go extinct?"
"Exactly." Hem patted him on the back with solemn pride, watching the wheels turn in Orin's mind.
Internally, Hem re-evaluated everything. This kid... he's something else. No wonder his Guru keeps such close watch. Any misstep, any wrong influence—like Mimado—and Orin could become a calamity. One that could swallow Wanderlust whole.
"What is our trait?" Orin asked, his eyes alight—not with defiance or ego this time, but with honest curiosity. A hunger for truth.
Hem had never seen such a look in Orin's eyes before—except when he spoke of mystics. He smiled, but didn't answer outright. The boy needed to earn this one.
"Think about it," Hem said, poking the kid's curious brain. "You only understand the value of what you seek… when you sacrifice something to find it."
Then he left Orin with a final riddle.
"In the cycle of mystica, where one god is always at the throat of another, for survival… why are they still together? Still one?"
As Orin turned that over, Valeri gathered the class for a final goodbye. She gave Hem a nod—simple, unspoken, but carrying every word she didn't need to say.
Hem nodded back.
They were in good hands. For now.
"How did you get here?" Hysteria asked, forcing Orin to shelve his current mental puzzle. "Did that date of yours bring you here? You do realize that's illegal, right?"
The class stirred up into another verbal skirmish, all jabs and jokes—no mystics flung this time. Only Axel's sharp comment tugged Orin back into the real world.
"Who are those three oddballs?"
"Hem's a Sentinel," someone offered, "the other two—"
"—twins?" the class echoed in unison, fascinated.
"—dumb. Oh yeah. Forgot that part. And alike!" Said Orin.
"How could you?" Axel gasped. "They're right in front of you—all the time!"
Orin frowned, turning to Axel. He tried applying that elusive 'Wanderer trait' Hem spoke of—viewing Axel through more than just annoyance. In seconds, Orin explored all the angles, all the moments.
Their first fight.
The insults, standoffs, and then... the day Orin had almost been beaten to a pulp by a gang of delinquents he'd publicly called out. If it weren't for that first sparring match with Axel, he would've crumbled. Axel had unknowingly prepared him, toughened him.
Orin almost said it. Almost. That mythical chant that brought everyone together: sorry.
"I got this strong because of you," Orin said instead, eyes glinting. "In a… subconsequential way. Keep slacking off," he smirked, "and I might just get out of your reach."
"It's an improvement," Hem murmured, lightly clasping his head. "I guess."
"Don't let the lure get to you before I do, Mystiq," Axel warned, raising a closed fist.
"Unlike that empty socket above yours, I've got a brain in mine," Orin said, bumping his fist—and immediately turned away, laughter bubbling out of him like something half-mad, half-liberated wanderer.
"Doesn't he realize that means he'll definitely be lured?" Devi whispered, watching him go.
"He's too busy belittling to realize," Elio said, making a pillow out of dirt. "Need more soft sand... oh, maybe clay!"
"Aren't you friends?" Devi blinked at him.
"Still doesn't change the fact." Elio shrugged.
"But… doesn't friendship mean helping one another grow? Change? Realize?" she asked—only to find Elio already dozing off, testing his new invention—a mud pillow.
"No wonder you're friends," she muttered.
"You'll figure it out," Elio mumbled, giving her a sleepy thumbs-up—his signature escape hatch—before slipping into his usual, myth-proof slumber.
No mountain, no mystica, no drama could keep Elio from his naps.
After leaving the classmates behind, the group entered a bustling spirit shop in search of the ray driver. The place was packed. Customers leaned into booths glowing with subtle enchantments, and the air buzzed with soft laughter and perfume-laced illusions. Even without sipping a drop, the enchantment of Ouroboros's mood soaked into their bones.
The default atmosphere here wasn't simple ambiance—it was infused. A spell woven into the walls, into the scent, into the silence between clinks of glass.
Whether you wanted it or not, feeling something was part of the experience when you are inside such a tavern.
"What's that creepy thing on your face?" Hem squints at Orin.
"I think I'm smiling. Don't ask why."
Of course. Hem studied him. A kid, buzzed for the first time. Controlling the effects takes finesse.
"Wait outside. This might get—"
Slap—Orin strikes himself!
"There. Back to normal." Orin, face flat, strolled past Hem like nothing happened.
Navigating a Spirit Shop under the influence of Ouroboros was no small feat. The entire place was enchanted to echo the collective emotions of its patrons. With every group radiating a different mood, the shop fractured into emotional zones, and each section forced that feeling onto whoever passed through.
Orin and the twins didn't stand a chance.
They cried together. Apologized. Planned a government coup. Laughed like lunatics. Danced in perfect harmony.
Hem somehow walked through it all like a man in a raincoat under a monsoon. Unaffected. Utterly over it.
"We'll get nowhere at this rate," Hem grumbled.
"I have a solution," Orin announced—eyes glazed with buzz. He approached the anarchists in the corner. "Listen closely. Here's the plan—"
Hem grabbed him by the collar, yanked him back. "First, solve my problem."
"I got an Orphus for that too." Orin hiccupped. "VINNY…!" he shouted, spinning in place.
The Spirit Shop fell dead silent.
Dozens of heads turned toward the boy stumbling around, pointing like a prophet with a broken compass.
"I can hear them," he whispered. "They're speaking to me…"
Hem sighed.
"They say… someone with a Glidane will get rich today!"
The shop erupted. Every 'Ray Driver' raised their hand like they'd won the lottery.
"Now all we have to do," Hem said, placing a hand on Orin's spinning head, "is find Mr. Conteur among them. Good job."
"GET THEM!" Orin screamed.
And then—
Chaos.
People climbed tables, flipped chairs. Ornyxes flared to life like fireworks in a cave. The hopeful trampled the hesitant. The hesitant tripped over the desperate. The desperate ran in circles. And in the center of it all: Orin, spinning.
Enforcers on standby rushed in. It took them an hour to tame the crowd, longer to start the investigation. Damage? Substantial. Confusion? Complete.
To make things worse, Terrance heard the name 'Hem' and strolled in, cold and proper, pulled rank without blinking, and overtook the local Sentinel's jurisdiction. Within minutes, Hem's team was detained.
Hem didn't lose it right away. He waited. He watched. Then—"We can never solve the case now. Thanks!"
"We don't know if that was his goal," Orin tried weakly.
"We do." Hem's voice was sharp. "I believe your crap when it comes to mystica. That's your world. Trust me when it comes to Wanderers—" He leaned closer, furious. "—and our inconsequential screw-ups."
Instead of brooding over the consequences of his recklessness, Orin scanned the room like a hawk. He interrupted Hem's inevitable lecture with a single, determined line: "I can fix this."
He pointed across the room at a woman, then sprinted off in the opposite direction.
Hem blinked. "What—" He stopped himself. This was Orin. No time for logic.
Without a word, Hem followed through, cutting across the chaos, flashing his Sentinel badge, and snatching what looked like a single fingernail that was actually a mystica.
"Official business!" he declared as he snatched it from the stunned woman.
"How's my mystica gonna help that mess?" she yelled after him.
By the time Hem returned, Orin was already at the Spirit Shop's Z'board, palm pressed on the shimmering Mother Orb. A brief chant slipped from his lips, and the An'z on the board—its memory threads and stored records—vanished.
"Catch!" Hem tossed the nail.
"Only one?"
"That one cost me everything."
"Counting integrity as 'everything' is a bit much, don't you think?"
"Shut up and do... whatever this is!"
Orin hopped onto a table, reaching the Z'board's center. He raised his voice over the buzz.
"Does everybody remember my voice?" he called. "Drag that memory forward. Remember who started all this."
He took a dramatic bow.
"Not what I had in mind," Hem groaned.
"Shh..." Orin hushed him.
He waited. Let the silence bite. Then, he dragged the fingernail mystica across the board in a sharp screech.
The sound cut through the air like a banshee's cry. The entire room flinched. Their expressions warped—memories cracking, and confusion overtaking their place.
And just like that, the narrative changed. No one remembered the immortal moment. All paths of blame led to some drunken, fictional lunacy.
"How... did you do that?" Hem asked, watching Terrance spiral in real time.
Orin shrugged, eyes locked on the shifting confusion in the crowd. "Interesting. When multiple memories connect to the same corrupted thread... they remember both."
"What are you mumbling, kid?"
"Nothing. Just... something I picked up."
From a Guru, no doubt, Hem thought, but didn't say aloud.
Terrance, red-faced and sputtering, tried to regain control—but Hem stepped in, overruling him with official precedence. Orin, the twins, and a disoriented Mr. Conteur followed as they exited into the mist.
"I already told the other Sentinels everything," Conteur whined.
Hem tossed him a Joul. The moment the coin hit his palm, his buzz vanished, clarity flooding back.
"Mind repeating—with excruciating detail?" Asked Hem.
"Of course, sir." Conteur straightened. "I'm much obliged to serve our Queen."
Orin nudged the twins. "What just happened?"
"We... don't know," they whispered, eyes wide.
Conteur continued, voice clear, steady.
"I remember it like it was today. The mist was thicker than usual. The lure—stronger. I didn't want to get pulled in. So I bought myself this."
He held up his wrist. A strange bracelet—lightning bolts flickering across a dial encased in a ring—hummed with a soft glow against his skin.
"These little Ornyxes are pricey," Conteur said, lifting his wrist to show the crackling bracelet again, "but not more than my life, you see..."
"Get back to the story," Hem cut in, without even looking at him.
"It is relevant, sir…" Conteur insisted, bowing his head. "For I wish Ouroboros had taken me before I became the carrier of death that day."
"Describe Jefferson's features," Hem ordered.
"A hefty man... tall and round, with an air of command. Not much stands out from his clothes, but—his hat."
"You don't remember the outfit, but remember the hat?" Hem asked, one brow rising.
"All black," Conteur explained. "Nothing to see there. But the hat... it was a finer shade of black. Practically new. I had my eye on one just like it, but couldn't afford it, you see—"
"Interesting," Hem murmured. "Go on."
"And his eyes, sir. I'll never forget those. Like they could see the future."
That snapped Orin out of his trance. The words 'eyes' and 'future' lit him up. He nearly clambered up Conteur's coat. "Were they anything like Aurochs' eyes?" he asked, staring deep into Conteur's soul.
"Don't answer that," Hem said, dragging Orin back by the collar and tossing him to the twins. "Stay behind. Stay quiet."
"Continue," he said to Conteur.
"He told me things no one could know... and things that might happen. Stuff I hadn't even told my friends."
"Standard Oracle fare," one of the twins muttered.
"My last instruction was for all three of you," Hem snapped without turning.
"When I kept asking for more," Conteur continued, "he asked for privacy—even on the ride."
"A private carriage," Hem guessed.
Conteur nodded. "He said he wanted to be alone. Not just from me, but from the world."
Hem paused, then smiled to himself. "Not a mystic... A good Sentinel."
"Sir... are you an Oracle too?" Conteur asked, baffled.
"No," Hem smirked. "I simply pay attention."
He turned and started walking away.
"Wait—why are we leaving already?" Orin called, catching up.
"Jefferson never got in that carriage," Hem said. "He switched places with someone who looked like him. Someone who didn't know they were signing their death warrant."
"And you got all that from...?"
"He was chatty at first," Hem said, "eager to show off. But then he demanded isolation. That means he either knew what was coming or knew what needed to happen."
"Does anyone ever get their deductions?" Orin asked the twins.
"No!" they said in sync.
"He's also... rarely wrong," one of them added.
"Except..."
"We get it," Hem growled.
"Except for the three times the Queen pulled some... 'Hem strings'?" Orin finished. "Is she pulling some in this case, too?"
Hem gave no reply at first, walking away in silence.
"Once you eliminate the improbabilities, you find the truth," he said at last.
"And one's truth is another's dream," Orin muttered. "Can you stop quoting stuff and explain?"
Hem glanced at Orin, the kid's nonchalant gaze making him relent and reply. "Jefferson opened with curiosity-bait—he flaunted what he saw. That's what most Wanderers want. The illusion of knowing what comes next."
He stopped and looked at Orin with a frown. "Normal Wanderers," he clarified.
"No offense taken," Orin said, hands up. "I'm the same way."
"Same," the twins echoed.
"So he draws Conteur into conversation, leads him on long enough to make him think it was his idea to give Jefferson privacy," Hem explained. "Improbable that a Wanderer would show off, only to later shun attention? Not if you're an Oracle. They don't see the future—they plan for it. Everyone keeps confusing the two."
"Still feels complicated," Orin said, skeptical. "Why not ask for privacy without all that unnecessary drama?"
"Because he planned to switch places with someone," Hem replied. "He needed a quiet ride from a chatty Ray driver who'd think it was his fault for being pushed away. That's how you create a trail that shows you were in two places at once."
"He came back to kill his wife and the other guy?"
"That other guy," Hem said dryly, "was the late Mrs. Hope's lover."
"Ugh. Gross." Orin gagged. "Still too complicated."
"Divorce is complicated," Hem said. "And expensive. Based on the financial statements, Jefferson would've lost everything. He'd have to start over from scratch. Broke."
"Let me guess," Orin sneered. "A few bank statements told you all that?"
"In short, yes. Not the numbers—the patterns. Depositor names. Investment types. Even the frequency of transactions." Hem glanced at him. "Anyone's innermost desires can be traced through what they spend."
"We read Sir Hem's 'Science of Deduction' scripts," the twins piped up.
"In that, sir says all criminals make mistakes," Jorek pushed away Jorik, wanting to contribute more.
"And that a Sentinel's job is to spot them," Jorik pushed back, wanting the same.
Orin rolled his eyes. "But what if a criminal reads Hem's work and uses it to throw him off?"
That stopped Hem cold.
The twins glanced at each other.
A long pause. Something unsolved flickered in Hem's eyes.
"…Wow," Orin added with a smirk. "For a guy 'so' smart—you're 'so' dumb. And for someone who sees the future, Jefferson? Also dumb."
"Why do you think that?" Hem asked, setting the past aside.
"His plan's flawed. And maybe—maybe keeping…" Hem stammered, almost slipping into forbidden territory. "…the–the…"
"I get it," Orin cut in, his tone flat. "Let's stick to the case. Save emotions for a day I care."
"Done," Hem cleared his throat. "I was getting to this: Jefferson married the wrong woman. Didn't realize it, or refused to. Everything after that? Classic spiral."
"Wouldn't a divorce have solved it?" Orin asked.
"Simple question. Simple answer." Hem allowed himself a smile. "Love is blind. Messy. And dangerous enough to make a man kill."
"Agreed," the twins said, like a chorus.
Orin hated that. He was about to ask more—he wanted to ask more. About Wanderers. About their 'most unique trait,' Hem mentioned. But something in the twins' eager nodding rubbed him the wrong way. It was proof that they, whom he considered simpletons, understood, and he didn't! So he obviates the question he wanted to ask, taking a detour instead.
"Why do they always talk in sync?" he muttered, throwing daggers. "I swear, we've established they share a single brain cell... split in half."
The roasting continued, nonstop, until they circled back to the crime scene.
———<>||<>——— Next Page ———<>||<>———