The bus shuddered violently during the deepest part of night, when dreams feel most real. Liquid tar darkness seeped through the seams. The Omringle’s jolted awake, gasped and pulled their animascotas close.
Carli watched earth's sphere loom larger in an effort to ignore the gooey, creeping tar. Soon, a translucent shimmer caught the light just so. She put her face closer to the window as if that would help her decipher the mystery of what she saw: the Empyrean Dome blazed like a living soap bubble resting on a swath of ocean — not just a barrier, but something alive with shifting colors and harmonies.
Through the windows, dark ripples spread across the dome’s surface like cracks in ice. The protective barrier flickered. Its heartbeat sounded irregular.
“He’s trying to break through,” Nahuálin muttered grimly. “Archondath knows we’re carrying something precious.”
The Omringle HSB shuddered as they approached the dome for entry. Instead of passing through smoothly, the barrier pushed back like a solid wall that made the Omringle’s teeth rattle.
“All Omringles . . . hold on.” Conductor warned. “This is going to be unusually rough.” In every compartment hands gripped armrests. Knuckles faded to white.
The Omringle HSB spun like a cork in a whirlpool as the dome’s defenses battled whatever Archondath was using to stalk them through space.
They tumbled end over end. The seven sections writhed like a wounded snake. Carli’s stomach dropped to her knees.
Through her blue eye, she saw the truth — dark metal feet pressed against the dome’s outer surface in the attempt to pound their way through. Archondath had followed them across the void. His hunger for the Fire Seed drove him to test even this ancient protection.
The bus shuddered again. Through her blue eye, Carli saw how the dark tar that seeped through the seams had texture — it flowed upward against gravity. It crept in thick, glossy strands that absorbed light, rather than reflected it. She reached to touched the tar on the wall. Guido grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back. He didn’t say a word. Carli wondered what he knew.
"Conductor do you hear me! He's trying to stop us from reaching the Empyrean Dome," Nahuálin called sharply. "Conductor!" His teeth chattered from the bus’s shaking. His words sounded choppy.
Conductor answered calmly, "I’m wielding. But he's stronger now. He's had time to . . .”
Suddenly, the Omringle HSB creaked and groaned with the sound of its last breath. The darkness thickened. Through her right eye, Carli saw how the seepage formed patterns like metal scales that tried to wrap around the bus. She recognized the same metal, rectangular footprints from the orphanage mixed in with the scales. The moment she looked, footsteps separated from the scales and moved, one by one, towards her section of the bus. She saw, without knowing how, the footsteps would keep searching. For her. Through her brown eye, she saw nothing more than shadows that pressed against their windows in the way night leans into day.
Ariki stood. He looked around the bus compartment. He breathed more to himself than to anyone in particular, “Has anyone else noticed the sudden change, a sudden change in temperature?” He looked around with the precise economy of someone whose mind calculated optimal paths through every situation, each gesture served a purpose that connected to larger patterns only he could see. His movements held the focused intensity of mathematical equations working themselves out in physical space.
Carli rubbed her cheeks, her mouth. “Do your teeth ache?”
Ariki nodded and sat down. “Just a moment. Calculating temperature change. Don’t talk . . . please. Please.” In his pocket rested something that occasionally caught the light, though he kept it carefully hidden from curious eyes. He took it out and started pressing buttons.
His dark eyes focused on the buttons with the particular intensity of someone who saw the universe as an endlessly fascinating puzzle. Each iris contained tiny flecks of gold that arranged themselves in perfect mathematical sequences. As he concentrated, the flecks created new patterns that reflected whatever problem consumed his attention. His face combined sharp intelligence with surprising gentleness — angular features softened by eyes that held genuine curiosity. About everything.
His black hair fell in precisely organized waves, somehow maintaining perfect mathematical proportions even when disheveled by excitement. He carried a small notebook everywhere, fingers constantly scribbling calculations and observations about the world’s hidden patterns.
His simple clothes somehow looked precisely arranged — every fold and crease positioned at optimal angles. His skin held the warm bronze of Pacific island heritage, marked with freckles in faint geometric patterns that seemed to echo the tattoo traditions of his ancestors.
When he spoke, his voice carried the rapid cadence of someone whose thoughts moved faster than most people could follow. Words tumbled out in excited bursts when discoveries struck him. His accent held traces of islands and careful education blended together.
Erwin gulped and leaned across the aisle. He whispered to Ariki, “And what about that strange sniffing sound?”
Suddenly, footsteps pounded above Carli’s head with such force they left rectangular dents in the ceiling.
Nahuálin narrowed his eyes at the dents. He raised his arm. His fist pointed at the ceiling above Carli. She noticed his gardening clothes had begun to change, they shimmered like sunset on water. "Hello, Archondath.”
STOMP. STOMP. As if to say hello in return.
“Conductor . . . Conductor!!”
The static shattered into silence. Complete silence.
"Conduc . . ." Nahuálin's call cut off as he noticed something in the void. His hand moved to the Wielder on his wrist. Four delicate strands caught starlight between the wrist cuff and rings on his fingers.
Through her right eye, Carli saw how the strands carried light to their ring destinations like railroad tracks. Through her brown eye, she saw what everyone else saw — just beautiful, strange jewelry that suddenly seemed important.
"He's here too early," Nahuálin muttered.
STOMP
STOMP
“No question he can sense her.” He pressed his lips to his Portuna Key and spoke words that tasted like summer lightning, "Koomrah sha koomrah . . ."
The strands on his Wielder suddenly pulsed with differently-colored fire. Each strand carried light to its ring, which blazed like a captured star. When he raised his fist, reality itself bent around it — notes became visible in the air, harmonies took physical form.
The Omringle volunteers stared in wonder. Kainon's sneer dissolved into open-mouthed amazement. Even Ariki stopped calculating long enough to simply watch.
"Doomrah sha doomrah," Nahuálin continued. His golden-brown eyes reflected impossible patterns as he conducted primørdial power itself. "Fáhtrah dánn ohh . . ."
The tar strands reversed direction. They fled like rivers flowing backwards with each word. What little remained was turned into something closer to moonlight.
"Heel mann eecksoh!"
With the final phrase, he swept his hand in an arc that left traces of pure sound in the air. The bus surged forward, protected now by harmonies that even silence couldn't break.
"How, how did you . . .” Ariki began.
But Nahuálin was already pressing buttons, his movements urgent. "Conductor," he called into the renewed quiet. "We need the Pull Back. Now!"
"Steady yourselves," the voice answered, strong and clear again. "He's holding on, trying to prevent . . . wait, here comes the marinara sauce."
A battle cry in perfect operatic Italian split the darkness. The Ferrari had looped back. Nonna Gia wielded a wooden spoon like a conductor's baton. Her own Wielder glinted copper-warm; its strands released harmonic flurries of basil leaves that smelled like home.
"The Flying Kitchen must arrive before their first meal!" she called, as her wooden spoon left trails of protective garlic-scented steam. "Luigi! Show them how the Gustallini’s do business with darkness!”
Papa Luigi thrust his fist out the open window. His rings blazed lightning as he sang a high C that pushed back the darkness. "Anda we have pasta to prepare! No time for thissa shadows — anda — oozy tar nonsense! Anda now we spiral!”
The Ferrari’s exhaust pipe spewed a trail of steaming spaghetti sauce that spiraled around the bus. Papa Luigi and Nonna Gia's combined wielding covered Archondath's invisible attacks in dripping, marinara red. It exposed every move he made. Every footstep looked covered in blood.
Archondath howled as his attempts shriveled beneath the power of the sauce.
Through her right eye, Carli saw how their three streams of wields — Nahuálin's light, Nonna Gia and Papa Luigi's marinara sauce — wove together in the void. They created a pattern that reminded her of something . . . something about trees and protection and seeds that grew both up and down.
"You’ve done it. Almost there!" Conductor called. "The Empyrean Dome is just ahead! All rips are repaired. It’s heartbeat is strong once more.”
“Here’s to the power offa the sauce!” cried Papa Luigi.
Nonna Gia elbowed him and said, “Donta celebrate justa yet. We stilla have to getta through the dome.”
Below her, through her brown eye, Carli saw what looked like northern lights. They stretched impossible miles high and wide — ribbons of color danced in the shape of an upside down bowl — and yet, covered nothing. Through her right eye, she saw the truth: a dome barrier of pure music made visible, notes and harmonies weaving together like living color that slid around the half bubble.
The tar streams tried on last time to block their path. They formed a wall of twisted silence. But Nonna Gia laughed — a sound like copper bells ringing. She made a fist and aimed her Wielder rings. In her other hand, her wooden spoon traced recipes in the air that turned into shields of light.
"Papa Luigi!" she called. "Summon the harmony we used atta the wedding!" He gripped the steering wheel tighter, filled his chest like a balloon and let out another high C.
Luigi's note transformed into Funiculì, Funiculà; the same aria he sang that had made wedding guests dance in mid-air and turned their cake into a floating castle of tiramisu with chocolate fountains. Stars began to waltz in their wake.
This time, their Ferrari left contrails of sparkling wedding cookies. Powerful powdered sugar plumes spiraled around the bus, wrapping it in protection.
Each of Luigi's "Jammo! Jammos!" sent another wave of protective sweetness washing over them.
Both Gustallinis sang in a prolonged operatic duet and Papa Luigi honked the horn. "I canta do no more, Nahuálin! Now itsa uppa to you!”
Nahuálin put his lips to his Portuna Key one final time: "Koomrah sha koomrah." The strands on his Wielder blazed as if they gave off light from the sun itself. His fingers pulled into a fist. He swept it down like a conductor ending the universe's greatest symphony.
The bus shot forward, wreathed in three kinds of light — copper warm from Nahuálin's wielding; silver from Nonna Gia's spoon; gold from the song still surged from Luigi's wide open mouth. The front of the Omringle HSB struck the Empyrean Dome.
For one eternal moment, everything stopped. Time stopped. Carli felt her bones ring like tuning forks. Through both eyes, she saw the same thing: pure light broke into colors that had no names. They moved like prism waves through the bus.
They slid through through. In silence.
Darkness behind them howled in frustration as they descended toward something that couldn't exist — an island made of music given form. At its center rose a spire that caught impossible light.
Nahuálin sank into his seat. The strands on his Wielder glowed faintly. A bead of sweat slid down the side of his forehead.
"Welcome," he said softly, "to the land of Primørdiya.” He paused to catch his breath. “Primørdiya, my dear Omringles, is the space between earth and all that is."
After a few moments, Nahualin stood at the front. He announced, “Approaching Rinath . . . the island between worlds. “Through her blue eye, Carli saw how the name somehow fit perfectly. In the distance a triangular peak caught sunlight.
Nahálin noticed Carli’s gaze, “And there’s Pirketh. Long ago, that dormant volcano helped birth this sanctuary.”
Something peculiar moved in the waters far below — a ripple too regular to be natural, as if something massive circled an invisible point.
"Do you see that?" she whispered to Guido. He rubbed his eyes with luminescent hands.
"Is that . . .” Ariki squinted through his window. "Is that water moving in a perfect circle around the island?"
The Gustallinis' Ferrari peeled away toward what looked like a mansion floating in midair. "The Flying Kitchen mustta be ready!" Nonna Gia called back to them. "Your first Harbornacles meal awaits! Just have to adjusta the gravity settings anda polish the starlight silverware . . ." They zoomed away and parked inside an enormous, dilapidated pizza oven next to the floating mansion, leaving behind an echo of opera and the scent of basil.
As the bus descended through the peculiar atmosphere toward the impossible island, Carli felt something deep in her bones wake up . . . and remember.
Around the island, water moved in a perfect circle. Something vast and purposeful swam in an endless loop. The impossibility of it reminded Carli of the way Nahuálin planted that seed upwards in the orphanage yard, as if some things needed to travel in impossible directions.
Suddenly, Carli and the other Omringles covered their ears to drown out a deafening sound. An enormous whirlpool swirled off to one side of the slithering circle.
Stone towers of different heights rose from the island. Their pires caught light that shouldn't exist at this hour. Off to one side, the Gustallinis' Flying Kitchen and pizza oven garage had just made its landing on wobbling pillars of cooked spaghetti bunches. Aromas wafted out of the massive restaurant in tufts of light that made the air itself feel hungry.
As they circled lower, Nahálin announced, "What you see before you are main grounds of Harbornacles Sanctuary of Primørdial Arts. Your home. You have all waited for this day without knowing it." He smiled at their awestruck faces. "Though you might want to look up."
Above them, the Empyrean Dome they'd just pierced wasn't just a barrier — it was alive with shifting colors and harmonies. Through her right eye, Carli saw how it was woven from pure music. It protected them like a clam shell of light with a heartbeat. Through her brown eye, she saw what looked like the world's most beautiful, twilight-colored soap bubble. It stretched over their entire island and surrounding waters.
"Does this keep us hidden?" Ariki asked, his gold tile suddenly warming in his chest pocket. “Hidden?”
"That and other things," Nahuálin nodded toward the circular water. "Though perhaps those are stories for another . . .”
The bus banked gently. It followed a path of light that spiraled down a road leading to it made of captured twilight. Through her right eye, Carli saw how each cobblestone in the road held its own story, waiting to be read. Through her brown eye, she saw elegant lampposts come alive on the road, one by one, welcoming them home.
Behind them, the darkness howled. Somewhere in that sound, Carli heard her name called by a sinister voice that promised this was far from over.