Dantella Uthuryar's room was an oasis of velvet and shadows in a world of stone and neon.
The walls, lined with a dark-red fabric so dense it seemed to absorb light, created an atmosphere that did not belong to Orthid. There were no machines. No neon. Just candles, and the smell of lavender, and the silence that was not imposed, but chosen.
Dantella Uthuryar sat in an armchair of dark wood, her hands resting on the arms, her eyes fixed on the dancing flame of a candle. The dress she wore was simple, a black that did not reflect light, and her dark-brown, almost black hair fell over her shoulders in perfect waves.
In her right hand, she held a mask.
It was pink—a pale pink, almost white, with rabbit ears that rose above the forehead. The mask's eyes were two black slits, and the snout, a small protrusion of polished porcelain. Dantella looked at it for a long time before putting it on.
The face, which had once resembled Luna Lunos, disappeared behind the rabbit.
"Call Psarya," she said, her voice muffled by the mask but still distinct. "Tell her the leader needs her."
The maid, a gray-haired woman with a white porcelain mask, bowed and left.
Dantella was alone.
Her eyes, behind the slits of the rabbit mask, fixed on the void. She thought of Ethan. Of the purple-haired boy who had arrived in Orthid full of tears and hope. Of the blood that ran through his veins—the blood of Ethanarius, the blood that could undo time, that could bring the dead back, that could destroy everything if used the wrong way.
"He is going to lose himself," Dantella murmured to herself. "He is going to lose what he is. Because of that masked man's selfish motives."
She knew Ether. Not personally, not intimately, but she knew him as one knows a storm. She knew what he was capable of when he wanted something. She knew he would not hesitate to use Ethan for his own ends.
The door opened.
The woman who entered wore no mask. It was a deliberate choice, a gesture of trust that Dantella appreciated. Her face was pale, almost translucent, as if her skin were made of fine porcelain. Her hair, short and silver, fell over her forehead, and her eyes—three eyes, arranged in a triangle on her face—were a blue so pale they looked white.
Ohryar, the Psarya.
The third eye, in the center of her forehead, was closed. But Dantella knew that when it opened, reality would change.
"Leader," Ohryar said, her voice soft, like the murmur of running water. "You summoned me."
"Sit down," Dantella replied, pointing to the chair in front of her. "I need you. I need everyone."
Ohryar sat down. Her hands, pale and thin, rested on her lap.
"Are you going to start the meeting?"
"I am."
Ohryar closed her eyes. All three of them. Her body, which had been tense, relaxed as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Dantella also closed her eyes. Her body, which had been sitting in the velvet armchair, now was still, empty, like a cicada shell.
The maid, who had remained by the door, closed it slowly and stood guard.
Dantella's body, motionless, did not breathe.
+-+
The plain was infinite and green, dotted with small blue flowers that glowed with their own light. The sky, a blue so clear it seemed unreal, had no clouds. There was no sun. Just the light, soft and constant, that came from all sides and from none.
Dantella opened her eyes and smiled.
The white table, enormous, rose in the center of the plain. It was so large it looked like an altar, and the twelve white chairs surrounding it looked small, almost fragile, as if made of bone. The grassy floor, soft and cool, stretched in all directions, as far as the eye could see.
Dantella walked to the table, her bare feet sinking slightly into the grass. She sat in the chair that awaited her—the central one, the one with a small pink rabbit engraved on the backrest.
Ohryar, the Psarya, sat beside her. Her three eyes were open, and the third, in the center of her forehead, glowed with a blue light.
"Bring the others," Dantella said.
Ohryar nodded. The third eye closed. It opened. Her body, motionless, seemed to tremble slightly, as if being shaken by an invisible current.
The others began to arrive.
First, the Lion.
The black mask, with sculpted metal manes, covered his face. His hair, short and thick, was one-third black and the rest yellow—not golden like Zirinos's, but a pale yellow, almost sickly. His voice, when he spoke, was young and thin, like that of a royal boy who had never been contradicted.
"Another meeting, leader?" he asked, sitting down with a brusque gesture. "You know I have things to do. My father won't wait forever."
"Sit down and listen," Dantella replied, her voice calm. "What I'm about to say is more important than anything your father might want."
The Lion grumbled but sat down.
Then, the Gazelle.
The white mask, with thin, elegant horns, covered her face but did not hide her body—a tall, slender body, with perfect curves, dressed in a black fabric that shone like silk. Her hair, also black, fell over her shoulders like a cascade of ink. Her voice, when she spoke, was warm and velvety, like a lover's whisper.
"Little rabbit master," she said, sitting down with a fluid movement. "It's been so long since you last summoned me."
"Shut up and listen," Dantella replied, unruffled. "Everyone is going to listen."
The Gazelle tilted her head but said nothing more.
Then, the Pig.
The pink mask, with a prominent snout and drooping ears, covered his face. His body, short and fat, wore a vibrant pink suit and tie, almost offensive to the eyes. His hair, light red, was carefully combed, and his hands, fat and ringed, rested on the table.
"The Gazelle is right," he said, his voice hoarse, like a heavy smoker's. "You haven't summoned us for months. We thought you had given up."
"I didn't give up," Dantella replied. "I was waiting for the right moment. And it has come."
The Pig didn't reply. He just sat down, his eyes, behind the mask, fixed on Dantella.
The others arrived gradually. The Wolf, the Eagle, the Serpent, the Raven, the Bear, the Horse, the Fish—each with their mask, their hair, their unique presence. Each occupied a white chair, and the table, which had once been empty, was now full.
Eleven, besides Dantella. One was missing, but that one never came. Dantella didn't expect him to.
"Leader," said the Lion, his voice impatient. "What's so important that you summoned all of us?"
Dantella took a while to respond. Her eyes, behind the rabbit mask, scanned the assembly.
"Ether has found the Ethanarius blood," she said, finally.
The silence was absolute. The plain, which had once been serene, seemed to freeze.
"What?" The Gazelle was the first to speak, her voice trembling slightly. "The blood of Ethanarius? It still exists?"
"It exists," Dantella replied. "And Ether has it. He found the last descendant. A boy named Ethan."
"And how do you know that?" asked the Wolf, his black mask tilted. "How do you know it's true?"
"Because I saw him," Dantella replied. "Because I felt the blood burn when I touched him."
The Pig let out a sigh. His fat, ringed hands trembled slightly.
"Then Ether's plan..." he began.
"Ether's plan," Dantella interrupted, "is to use the Ethanarius blood to break a law of reality without a reality relic or a reality break."
The silence returned. Heavier, denser.
"He's insane," said the Lion, his voice low. "Breaking a law of reality without a relic... that's suicide. For him and for everyone around him."
"Insane or desperate," Dantella replied. "The difference is subtle. And, in this case, irrelevant. What matters is that he's going to do it. And when he does, the world will suffer."
The Gazelle leaned forward. Her eyes, behind the horned mask, fixed on Dantella.
"And Zirinos?" she asked. "The prince of Z? Where is he?"
"In Endomyar," Dantella replied. "Or what's left of it. He destroyed the world. Or, at least, part of it. Where exactly he is, I don't know. But he's alive. The universe hasn't eliminated him yet."
"We need to find him," said the Raven, his black mask with a silver beak. "We need to make sure he stays alive."
"Why?" asked the Bear, his voice thick, hoarse. "If he destroyed a world, why would we protect a monster?"
"Because if he dies," Dantella replied, "the universe will eliminate all of us. The blood of Z is the only thing keeping reality stable. If he falls, the universe will try to fill the void with something else. And that something will be the death of all of us."
The Pig trembled. His fat, ringed hands gripped the edge of the table.
"My daughter," he murmured, his voice low. "My daughter was in Z. She was sold to Zérias Malos. Zirinos's cousin. When Zirinos was there to celebrate his cousin's birthday, my daughter... disappeared. No one knows where she is. Not even I."
No one answered. They just looked at him, in silence.
The Pig raised his head. The pink mask, with the prominent snout, looked sad.
"I want to find her," he said. "I want to ask Zirinos if he knows anything. I want revenge. And I want my daughter back."
"Your daughter," Dantella said, her voice soft, "is one of many. But if Zirinos dies, all daughters will die. All sons. Everyone you love. The universe does not forgive."
The Pig didn't answer. He just lowered his head.
The Gazelle broke the silence:
"And Ether? What exactly does he want to do?"
Dantella took a while to respond.
"He wants to bring someone back," she said. "Someone he lost. Someone who shouldn't have died. And he's willing to destroy everything to achieve it."
"Who?" asked the Serpent, her green mask with ruby eyes.
"I don't know," Dantella replied. "But I know he's going to use the Ethanarius blood to enter the domain of death. And when he does, the world will tremble."
The Lion slammed his hand on the table.
"Then we have to stop him," he said. "Before he does something we can't take back."
"We can't stop him," Dantella replied. "Unless we have help."
"What kind of help?"
Dantella took a while to respond. Her eyes, behind the rabbit mask, scanned the assembly.
"We need Eternyures," she said, finally. "We need someone who can face Ether on equal footing."
"Eternyures?" The Eagle, her golden mask with a silver beak, tilted her head. "Where are we going to find Eternyures willing to fight the brother of Rhinorius?"
"Exactly," Dantella replied. "We need Rhinorius Sturk."
The silence that followed was heavier than any other. The members of the table, who had once been tense, were now rigid, like salt statues.
"Rhinorius Sturk?" repeated the Wolf, his voice trembling. "The destroyer of the first world? The man who killed gods? That Rhinorius Sturk?"
"The same," Dantella replied. "Ether's brother. The only one who can stop him."
"That's madness," said the Bear, his voice thick. "Rhinorius is more dangerous than Ether. If we call him, he might destroy us all."
"Perhaps," Dantella replied. "But if we don't call him, Ether will destroy us all. It's a choice between two evils."
The Pig raised his head. The pink mask, with the prominent snout, looked determined.
"And Pigledo?" he asked. "Or Sungrath? Or Ter-Théryon? Are there no other options?"
"No," Dantella replied. "It has to be Rhinorius. He's the only one who can face Ether. He's the only one who can stop him without destroying the world."
The Gazelle sighed. Her hand, pale and thin, touched the table.
"Then let's try," she said, her voice low. "Let's try to find Rhinorius Sturk. Let's try to convince him to help us."
"You won't convince him," said the Lion, his voice cold. "No one convinces Rhinorius Sturk. He does what he wants. Always."
"Then let's ask," Dantella replied. "Let's ask him to help us. And hope he listens."
Silence settled. The members of the table, motionless, looked at Dantella.
"Ohryar," Dantella said. "End the meeting."
Ohryar, the Psarya, closed her eyes. All three. Her body, which had been sitting in the chair, began to fade, as if the light of the plain were swallowing her.
Dantella leaned back in her chair. The grass, soft and cool, felt colder than before.
"The world is doomed," she murmured to herself. "If nothing works, the world is doomed."
The light of the plain began to darken.
Dantella closed her eyes.
+-+
The maid was standing by the door, motionless, when Dantella woke up.
Her body, which had once been still in the velvet armchair, was now breathing. The rabbit mask, still on her face, was slightly askew.
"Master," said the maid, her voice low. "Did the meeting go well?"
Dantella took a while to respond. Her eyes, behind the slits of the mask, fixed on the void.
"It went," she said, finally. "It went as I expected."
The maid tilted her head.
"And now?"
Dantella stood up. The black dress, simple and elegant, fell over her body like a shadow.
"Now we wait," she replied, walking to the window. "We wait for Rhinorius Sturk to hear us. And we wait for the world not to end before that happens."
The window, of opaque glass, showed only the darkness of Orthid. The pale sun shone on the horizon, but the light did not reach her.
Dantella touched the glass. The rabbit mask, on her face, reflected her own image.
"Ethan," she murmured. "The boy who can save the world. Or destroy it."
The maid did not answer. She just stood there, motionless, keeping watch.
The Orthid night continued.