Hedi walked home into the wind, her coat snapping like a small sail against the gray.

On the road, steam-car tires clack-clacked, a hard rain of rubber on iron.

Overhead, birds let out thin cries, like reed flutes lost in the rafters of the sky.

They circled the steel forest, nowhere to perch, like restless souls mourning buried woods; then dusk slid west, and their silhouettes bled into the skyscrapers’ slanting shadows.

Hedi hunched against the draft, and on a whim checked the mailbox; her fingers fished out a heavy letter like a stone pulled from a river.

The envelope was tough vellum, its edges ground smooth as a river pebble, handmade marks breathing under the grain.

On the front, pale-blue ink wrote the name and address, each stroke bold, as if carved with a seal-cutter’s blade.

On the back, a dark-blue stamp showed a glittering sea; by that tide and horizon, it likely came from Tilberma.

Cradling the letter to her chest, Hedi flicked on the apartment light; the cold dark retreated, and warmth moved in like a shy animal.

Most evenings, before the door fully opened, the radio would be chattering; then she’d see Selina on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, that silly, frozen look, as if a nerve had snapped and left a mask behind.

She sighed, a leaf curling under frost, and felt the wrongness sit in her chest.

The noisy little place had thinned to quiet, the radio lying cold on the wardrobe top; the narrow room held no Selina—she hadn’t left Naghtown with Hedi, stubborn as a rooted tree, hoping she’d come back.

Imperial Evening News…

Hedi tuned the radio, the knob turning like a clock’s heart, and listened to the host scatter tidbits like dry seeds.

Time slipped through the seams, and the news had all the flavor of boiled water; she wondered how Selina ever found joy in it, when she could just open the letter and read the sender’s mood in each line.

But it was sent from Tilberma; remembering Clara’s talk, opening it would become a timed choice—either write down her citizen ID, or wait and watch it kindle itself to ash.

The phone rang, a bell dropped into a still pond.

“Hello, hello?” Bruns lowered his voice on purpose, mischief leaking like ink.

“What is it?”

“Claire wants to throw a celebration dinner.”

“Next weekend.”

“You knew?”

Hedi took a sip of milk and tasted the additives like chalk on the tongue. “He told me over dinner.”

“Kid moves fast…”

“You called just to confirm?”

“Pointless call. He tells you good news first thing.”

Hedi stayed silent, and hummed through her nose, a moth’s wing against glass.

“That’s all. As long as you know.”

“Don’t hang up.” She stared at the white wall, blank as snow. “That leave you offered last time—still good?”

“What for?”

“I need to go back to Naghtown.”

“Didn’t you mourn John? Ah—” Bruns drew the sound out, his voice a thin straight line across the static.

“No choice. I have to rush back and save the Academy.”

“So it’s my fault in the end?”

Hedi shrugged, a branch in wind. “You made it sound so dire. How can I rest easy?”

“Fine~~”

“So you agree?”

“You’ve got to actually go. Don’t just circle the block.” He paused, checking presence. “Hello, hello?”

“I can hear you.”

“You can take leave, but you must go mourn John.”

“I will.”

Bruns repeated it in a sing-song, the tone sour-sweet. “I don’t know when you went to Naghtown, but you came back and never visited John… Quick with promises, you are!”

“What then, bring you a pinch of dirt from the cemetery?”

“Stand by his grave. If they allow it, take a photo. Get you and John in one frame.”

Hedi fell silent, a candle cupped in both hands. “Why are you… so hyped today?”

“Because my long teaching career has no stains!”

“I should’ve tanked today’s audit class, save me from your… inexplicable crusade.”

“Same as before: leave is fine—”

“But I must see the Priest,” Hedi cut in, clean as a knife. “And if possible, take a picture for you.”

“That’s right.”

“What is this? Punishment for too many leaves?”

“Why is visiting your foster father a punishment?”

Silence pooled like rainwater.

Bruns let the clowning drain from his voice and asked, solemn as stone, “Do you have no feeling for John? You were almost eaten by wild dogs. He carried you into the Sacred Cathedral, taught you magic, fed and clothed you, paid your tuition.”

“That’s because—”

“Dark Magic.”

Hedi stared at the phone, eyes cold as steel. “How do you know?”

“I told you he wrote me many letters.”

“You hid that from me? You’re a deep well, aren’t you?”

“Does that clash with visiting John?” Bruns shot back, words like pebbles. “Because of the Cathedral’s doctrine? You’ve never been a rule-bound girl.”

“Because of the Priest.”

“His role gets shackled to doctrine. But you’re different. Must you obey?”

Hedi recited slowly, each word a stone: “The sinful—”

“John went to Heaven six years ago. Seeing him now, what’ll it do? Drag him back down?”

“You don’t believe, so you don’t know the rules.”

Bruns thought for a beat, then spoke with care, like placing a bowl. “When you first came to the Academy, you critiqued religion every hour. Now don’t tell me, deep down… you believe.”

“That was because Sister Bertha dragged me away, and I was burning.”

“John’s death… that day, wasn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“You weren’t cursing faith. You were cursing how cold doctrine can be.”

“I broke the rules. I should be punished.”

“Then why go back?”

“Selina’s still in Naghtown. I have to bring her home.”

Bruns sighed, a reed bending. “You always find a reason to make yourself right.”

“Just speaking truth.”

“You’re stuck on a threshold. Hey, move forward a step.”

Hedi looked out the window; the western clouds were a brazier of fire. “Isn’t this respecting the Priest? He followed doctrine all his life. I should—”

“Think that much for others, and you’ll lose yourself.”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“Did I hit a nerve?”

“As if.”

“Stubborn. Stubborn as an ox.”

Hedi yielded, the blade sheathing. “I’ll go see the Priest.”

“I hope it’s real.”

“Before this call, two people told me the same thing. One said I keep dodging inwardly. Another said the Sacred Cathedral’s punishment runs delayed, trapping me. And you say I’m stuck at a threshold.”

“They’re all right. But three voices couldn’t turn you, and I— You know my health is bad. You want to rile me sick?”

“Counting you, that makes three.”

“Sigh, Melvina, who taught you to be this mulish? You—”

Hedi hung up. She waited a moment, then told the wall, voice soft as dust, “Whatever the case, Selina’s waiting for me.”

“And the Priest? At the end, he mistook someone else for me…”

The wall, of course, said nothing; it only threw back the sunset’s color, a quiet lake holding fire.