They now found themselves in a clearing larger than the last, at the edge of a meadow, almost like the one they had just left several minutes before. And in the middle of the meadow stood a tree, and ten people—minuscule in the distance—stood around it, beneath the shade of the foliage, waiting.

"Come," said Mr. Brighteyes, taking quick steps toward the tree and the strangers, his feet kicking at the tall grass swaying in the light breeze as he made his way. "You must all see this."

The youths followed suit, without question, without hesitation.

Seconds after they began treading up to the tree, Mr. Brighteyes started to run, a sudden urgency in his strides, hand lantern swinging in motion, his jacket flapping in the wind. At the immediate sight of this, Damien, Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn pushed themselves forward, speeding up to keep pace with him.

"Mister Brighteyes!" Jack called after the man. "Mister Brighteyes, what's the rush?"

"I see him," replied Mr. Brighteyes, still running. "I see him. He's about to make his descent. Hurry!"

Jack's brows knitted in confusion. "Who?" he asked, over the whistling of the wind.

"Him," said Mr. Brighteyes. "The one who caused them all to fall."

No one said another word.

They ran on in silence, the wind blowing against them, the long grass of the meadow brushing against their legs. Closer and closer and closer, the tree grew in size before their eyes, the people gathered around it coming to sharper focus, more details noticeable beneath the shade. Ten of them were clothed in woven garments, the youths noticed, each pair dressed in a certain color—red, blue, green, gold, and purple—as if they abided by some color coded scheme of sorts.

Their feet pounded against the earth. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Their hearts hammered in their chests.

Closer, closer, closer.

Mr. Brighteyes stepped foot into the vast shadow of the massive tree, and held his free hand up. Damien, Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn halted behind him, heaving in sharp breaths, eyes adjusting from the incandescence of daylight to the shade they now stood under.

Damien crouched low, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder. Without a thought, Lyn held on to Max's shoulder for support, and Max slung his arm over Sander's shoulder, although careful not to shift his weight over to the shorter boy. Yet they kept their eyes on the tree standing before them—its wood a stygian hue; its gnarly branches reaching down to the ground and rising up to the heavens, like dancers' limbs frozen in time; verdant leaves sprouted forth from its branches, the abundance forming the canopy that shielded them from the sun. And waiting there beneath the foliage, the youths now realized upon a closer look, were five couples of what appeared to be two races, still and silent and patient.

"These people here," explained Mr. Brighteyes, "are the leaders of Crystalline. The first man and the first woman of each people stand here in this critical moment to represent their own family, the first five clans of Crystalline to ever exist. As of this moment, every Crystallian is deemed present."

He lifted a finger, pointed at one of the couples. Brown skin, ebony hair, shorter in stature than the others. The man was clothed in a loin cloth and a vest, and the woman wore two pieces of fabric, one like a loose jacket draped around her shoulders and over her chest, tucked into the other piece of clothing that served as her skirt; necklaces of painted stone beads hung from her neck to middle of her abdomen. Their clothes were red for the most part, save the strips of black and white that ran across the fabric, symbols woven within. "The Kadasan Tribe," Mr. Brighteyes said.

Then he pointed over to another couple. Tan skin, sable hair, standing several inches taller than the Kadasan couple and heavier in built. The man was dressed in a loin cloth as well, although of a different design—several plaited threads hung from a thick waistband, patterns and symbols of blue, black, and white woven into the fabric. A woman in a loose sleeveless dress stood beside him, one of her shoulders bare, the fabric of her dress woven with similar patterns and symbols as the man's waistband. "The Moana Tribe."

Then to another, a tall white man and a tall white woman, the man's hair and the woman's tresses sharing a gleaming blonde hue under the patch of sunlight that slipped through the cracks of the foliage. The man stood tall, dressed in a green tunic that reached down to his knees, over his tawny trousers. A cloak in a darker shade of green was draped over his shoulders, and unobscured by the cloak was the left side of his brown leather belt, half of its ornate buckle visible. The woman who stood beside him wore a long green dress and a cloak, and she wore her waist-length golden hair down her back. A band of twisted gold adorned each of their necks. Unlike the other two couples, who stood with their bare feet planted on the grass-strewn floor, they wore simple shoes of brown leather. "The People of Tiern," Mr. Brighteyes said.

The couple beside the Tiernan man and woman were the tallest of all the people present. Brown hair, fair skin, dressed in clothes similar to those of the Tiernans, although they carried no cloaks on their shoulders. The man donned a tunic the color of cream, a pair of dark gold trousers, and a thin belt of twisted leather strings wrapped around his waist. The woman wore a short-sleeved dress of an ivory color, clinched at the waist with a thin leather belt, its long ends of twisted strings hanging down her skirt. A veil shrouded her long brown hair, yet strands of her chestnut tresses peeked out at the front of the thin fabric. "The People of Soleil."

The last couple Mr. Brighteyes pointed over to were quite similar to the Tiernans and the Soleilians: taller than both the Kadasans and Moanians, bodies wrapped in olive skin. Both their noses were aquiline in shape, and both their hair color was of a darker shade of brown than the Soleilians'. The man's tunic was purple and short-sleeved, and, unlike the Tiernan and the Soleilian men, however, he wore no trousers, leaving the hem of his tunic to graze his bare knees. The woman's tunic, on the other hand, concealed much of her skin, loose long-sleeves, its purple fabric flowing all the way down to her midstep. They both wore leather sandals. "And the People of Venezio."

"For many years," Mr. Brighteyes said, "the people of Crystalline lived in harmony. Amongst them there was no strife, no sickness, no decay, no death. Even the oldest of men and women remained in their prime. Everything they needed Elohim provided. They could speak to him as a man speaks to fellow man, face to face, like how one speaks to a friend. They were content, satisfied. And they were happy, truly happy—a joy that burned bright from within. And they loved: they loved their family, their clan. They treated the other clans as though they were their own flesh and blood, brothers and sisters in Elohim." A pause, a soft sigh. "Until—"

Silence. There was something in the foliage, Mr. Brighteyes noticed. Something he had seen floating through the verdant spaces and the ligneous arms that held them, even moments back, waiting, waiting, waiting. Mr. Brighteyes then lifted his free hand and pointed to a particular place in the verdure. "Until him," he said. "Until he caused them all to fall."

Damien, Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn shifted their sights over to the canopy above. Somewhere amongst the boughs and the leaves was a darkness deeper than the shade they were in, and it blossomed before their eyes, grew to a cloud of black smoke, which careened down the length of the tree and landed noiselessly among the huge roots that jutted out of the earth and wove themselves in and out of the ground.

The men and women gathered around the tree took a few steps back in trepidation. The men drew their weapons out. They stood their stances, blades of various forms ready in hand, eyes fixed on the dark mass pulsating before them.

Max stumbled back a step or two out of fear.

Jack turned to Mr. Brighteyes. "What is that?"

Sander drew a sharp breath. "Maybe the right questions isn't what that is," he said, "but who that is."

For the stygian smoke had vanished, and in its place stood a tall man in a long black hooded robe. In one fluid motion, the stranger pulled his hood down, revealing a face immaculate. Light blond hair, reaching a little past his shoulders, framed his features like a halo. His eyes were a captivating silver, as though the morning star shone bright through the windows of his soul; and his skin, the color of milk, wrapped his bones and flesh in flawless silk. A star crafted exquisitely into a living sculpture of perfection. An angel who had fallen from the heavens with such grace that one would doubt if he had been exiled at all.

"The Enemy," said Mr. Brighteyes, answering their question. "Apollyon."

The immaculate man raised both his hands up, in an attempt to ease the trepidation in the air, to show them all he had nothing to hide and they had nothing to fear. "Greetings," he said, with a confident smile, his voice melodious to their ears. "You have all received my message, I believe."

For a moment, everyone looked upon the mysterious stranger as if in a daze, entranced by the celestial being standing before them.

Then, with a shake of his head, the Kadasan man tightened his grip on his dagger, and said, "Who are you, strange being of the dark?"

"Why do you summon us?" said the Tiernan man, his sword ready in hand. "Why have you brought us all here under the Tree Between? What are your intentions for our meeting here? Speak!"

"I mean no harm, I assure you," said Apollyon, with his most charming smile.

"A lie," muttered Mr. Brighteyes. "You wretched liar."

Sander's eyes caught sight of how Mr. Brighteyes' right hand closed tight around the handle of his lantern, his knuckles turning white, and how his left hand was clenched as well. There was a tremble in the teacher's voice, Sander noticed. Was it anger, despise? With his back turned to them, his eyes intent on the scene playing out before him, was Mr. Brighteyes fighting back tears? Sander couldn't tell for sure, but he was certain this wasn't the Mr. Brighteyes he had known for the past month.

"Men," said Apollyon, "lower your weapons." The men dropped their weapons, although not of their own doing, as evidenced by the sudden release of the fingers, the bewildered looks on their faces. And before they could reach out to retrieve their weapons off the ground, the instruments sunk deep into the earth, disappearing completely before their eyes. Yet Apollyon made no motion whatsoever, and kept his smile etched on his face, nonchalant. The women gasped and stumbled a step back; the Soleilian let out a short scream and clasped a hand to her mouth in horror. "And permit me to speak, and listen to my words."

The Kadasan man glared up at the stranger. "Speak," he said.

"I believe the great Elohim has been keeping a secret from you," began Apollyon, with a twirl of his pale hand.

The men and women exchanged glances.

"A secret?" wondered the Soleilian man, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Moanian man turned to Apollyon. "I see no reason for Elohim to keep a secret from us," he said, with conviction. "He has satisfied us with every blessing. He provides all we need before we even ask. Everything he has taught us has been for our own good, and for the good of our wives, brethren, sisters, and children—"

"Oh, but you do not know," said Apollyon, playfully. "You do not know."

"We have had enough of this nonsense," said the Tiernan man, his tone firm. "If you persist on spewing any more of this—"

"I told you all to listen," said Apollyon, holding up a white hand and clenching it closed.

And with that, no one of the First Men and Women said another word, their mouths shut without their control or consent. The Tiernan woman's hands flew over to her mouth, her fingers touching her lips to no avail. She let out a muffled scream, eyes wide, terrified.

"Better," said Apollyon, satisfied. "Now listen." He paced before them for a moment, under the shade, into patches of sunlight illumining his silvery gold hair, and back into the shadows again. Then he said, "You all are more powerful than Elohim has made you to believe. And that"—he held up a long pale finger—"is what he is afraid of." A pause. Eyes widened, and glances were exchanged in wordless question. "I was once like you—a being created for Elohim's own pleasure, to serve him, to obey him, to praise him, to please him. And that was what I did for eons, that was what I was—my whole being devoted to him and him alone. And I was quite good at it. No, not good—I was excellent, I was exquisitely gifted, the best of his servants. Perhaps his favorite, I believe."

"Man's got an ego," muttered Jack, drawing momentary glances from his friends.

"Then, one day, it came upon me," Apollyon went on. "Like you I am gifted with power, yet Elohim kept the same secret from me and my fellow servants, as he has kept it from you." He paused, and glanced at his perceptible audience, and smiled. "Of course, you know of the Essence, that is no secret. However, Elohim has kept you from the true power of your Essence."

Apollyon turned to them again. With their mouths shut, his audience said nothing, but the perplexed looks on their faces revealed it all.

"What is the secret, you ask?" he continued. "The secret is this: Elohim has kept your Essence controlled, restrained, inhibited to only his will. He has made you believe that the extent of your Essence is subject to his commands and his favor, that you can do no more than what he has granted you. Lies, I tell you! He has denied you the freedom to use your Essence as you wish, to keep you all dependent on him, to keep the ultimate potential of the Essence to himself. And this I learned one day—"

Apollyon raised a pale hand under a patch of sun that spilled through the cracks of the verdure, and with the graceful movement of his fingers drew the light to his touch, harvesting it, transforming it into an orb of light, bright and tangible.

"—and this new revelation I shared to my fellow Servants of Elohim. Some believed my words, and turned their allegiance to me; others called me a fool." He sighed. "That was the very day Elohim discovered I knew of his secret, and to prevent further spread of the truth—"

"You liar," muttered Mr. Brighteyes.

"—he banished me and all those who have turned to my side out of Elysium and into the wretched abyss of Sheol."

Apollyon heaved in a shaky breath. "A dreadful day. One I shall never forget," he said, wiping his tears with his long black sleeve. "Did I truly deserve to be punished for unveiling the truth? Was it not for Elohim's selfish reasons that we were cursed to dwell in the abyss forever? Tell me—"

Apollyon glanced at his audience for an answer. Then he realized—

"Oh, of course. Yes. My apologies."

With a wave of his white hand, their mouths opened. The First Men and Women drew in sharp breaths, evident relief.

The Venezio man straightened up from his crouched position. Then he said, with a tone of genuine pity for the banished servant, "We are terribly sorry for what Elohim has done to you."

"If only we knew the truth," said the Venezia woman, grasping the Venezio man's arm.

"How can Elohim keep such a secret from the children he loves?" asked the Soleilian man.

Max looked over to Mr. Brighteyes. "But Elohim gave limits to their powers to protect them," he said. "That's what you said. And that makes sense. If Elohim just lets them use their powers—this Essence thing—however they wanted to use them, that'll—that'll be chaos. Huge chaos. With unlimited power, they're a danger to themselves and to everyone else." A pause, a breath in. "Why don't they see that? Why are they buying into this?"

"I don't think they know that," said Damien, before Mr. Brighteyes can respond. He shrugged. "Seems like it. And this guy knows that, too, and he's got a talent for words. It's what liars do. They get facts, and twist the facts into lies, adding and removing stuff here and there, and they take advantage of ignorance. It's all in the details, man. How he cuts out fake puzzle pieces to fit the blank spaces of what these people do not know. That's how he makes things sound so true that they'd believe him. This Apollyon guy's a liar, and he's a good one at that."

"Damien's right," said Mr. Brighteyes, his tone solemn. "This is the very manner in which Apollyon works—a master in well-crafted deception. He knows they don't see the full picture, and he's aware of what led to his downfall, and he's using just that to bring them all down with him. And, as Damien put it, he's woven this lie from twisted facts, fabricated knowledge, words strung and crafted in such a way that it seems believable enough to perceive as truth. And the First Men and Women did believe, to their own destruction."

"Question is, though," said Damien, crossing his arms over his chest, studying the pale man basking in the sympathy of his pity party, "what's in it for him?"

"What shall we do to set ourselves free?" the Venezio man asked.

Apollyon paced for a moment, into the fragments of daylight, into the shadows, the light, then the shade. Then he paused in his tracks, and smiled, and said, "There is only one way."

Silence. All eyes fixed on the pale man. A perturbed sense of anticipation lingered in the air.

Damien waited for the words, an answer to his own question.

"We must look to the root of it all." Apollyon paced again. "The one who truly inhibits your Essence is Elohim himself. Therefore, the solution is simple." He smiled in the shadows, a cunning devilish grin that none of the First Men and Women saw.

But Damien caught it. Anytime now, he thought to himself.

"You must turn from Elohim, declare that you are no longer his to control. Then you will be free. However"—Apollyon held up a finger—"your Essence will remain, yes, but it shall lay dormant within you, unless there is someone who will spark the flame to your true power."

"If that be so, then we refuse," said the Kadasan man. "Why should we sever our ties with Elohim for nothing?"

"Ah-ah-ah, I am not yet finished," said Apollyon, waggling his finger. This time, however, he seemed to take no offense.

He knows where this is going, thought Damien. He's got it all planned out.

"You see, that someone who is willing—and can—spark your true power is"—Apollyon paused, raised both hands up in his own manner of a shrug—"me."

Damien smirked. There it is.

"You?" questioned the Moanian man. "But you are a mere servant to Elohim."

"Do not underestimate me, Crystallian," said Apollyon. "Elohim has bestowed upon us Servants of the Realm Beyond powers that surpass your Essence. You Crystallians are limited to the control of existing elements, whilst us Servants can manifest even those which are intangible—dreams, thoughts, forces unseen. We may even grant you mortals powers, magnify your Essence, if we wish to. Watch, and I shall prove to you the error of your doubt."

Apollyon shot a hand into the air. The Venezia woman flew up, her feet dangling two feet above the ground, her body perfectly still, her long dark hair floating about her head like a halo. And with one motion of Apollyon's hand, as if beckoning her near, the woman glided forward, collapsing down to his side.

The Venezio man threw himself forward, running, without weapon, without caution—only to collide into an unseen wall. He crashed onto the grass-strewn floor, albeit unscathed from the impact. The Tiernan man and Soleilian man rushed to his side, and hoisted him up to his feet.

"Do not fear," said Apollyon, to the people beyond the wall. Then he transferred his glance to the Venezia woman, trembling in fear, crawling closer to the huge tree. "I mean no harm," assured Apollyon, grasping her wrist in one fluid motion.

The woman screamed as he pulled her to stand.

"No!" screamed the Venezio man. He lunged forward, struck the barrier with his fists. "No!"

"Silence," said Apollyon, and the Venezio man's mouth shut closed once again, without his doing. Yet the man didn't cease and kept banging on the wall, each strike creating no sound, each pound against the unseen shield only exhausting his energy.

    Jack ran a hand down his face. "Man, this guy's making them all look like idiots," he blurted, watching the Venezio man lift stones into the air with his Essence, without the touch of his bare hands, pelting them against the barrier. His companions stood back and did nothing, afraid and confused. Jack let out a breath. "They can't see it, can they? They're facing some guy who's on this whole new level of power—like, they're some level five Pokémon, and he's a level—" He considered his words for a moment. "Legendary. Defo this Apollyon's a legendary Pokémon. The evil, manipulative kind, though—"

    "Hey, mind shutting up for a while?" said Damien, to Jack's surprise.

    Damien, Sander, Max and Lyn all had their eyes intent upon Apollyon and the Venezia woman, listening in on their conversation, ignoring the series of thuds as stones bounced off the wall and dropped to the ground.

    Jack said nothing more, and listened.

    "I know deep down you believe," Apollyon was saying to the Venezia woman. "You desire the true power of your Essence; I can see it in your eyes; I can see it in all of you." The woman said nothing, holding her hands close to her chest, her fingers trembling. "So why do you fear when this is what you truly desire? Sever your ties with Elohim, and turn your allegiance to me."

    "But—Elohim—" the woman stammered.

    "Trust me," said Apollyon, looking her in the eyes, "once you attain the true power of your Essence, you shall be like Elohim."

    For a moment, the woman was deep in thought, still and quiet. A few beats passed between them. Then she relaxed, relishing his words, and whispered, "And I shall never fear him again . . . "

    "You shall never fear him again," assured Apollyon.

    The woman smiled, and held her hands out to him. "I am no longer Elohim's. Grant me the true power of my Essence."

    Apollyon smiled wide, brandishing his sharp white teeth. "Let it be so."

And he grasped her hands in his, and a wave unseen, electric and magical, jolted her bones awake, ran in currents through the blood in her veins, all the way to her heart that then hammered in her chest. She felt light as air, and floated above the ground, feeling in the depths of her mind freedom, freedom, freedom—walls shattering within, fragments falling down the fathomless pit, her soul no longer confined to a prison she had never been aware of till that moment . . .

    . . . and in its place grew a new prison, far worse than the first, yet so imperceptible she felt nothing at all but the violent colorful waves that swept her up and kept her afloat, distracted and unaware of the shackles he had chained her with. His prisoner now. Apollyon smiled a genuine, subtly diabolical smile. Mine, mine, mine.

Mine, mine, mine, the Venezia woman thought as well, floating in her own sea of bliss. All this power mine. My Essence is mine, mine, mine. I am no longer Elohim's, I shall fear Elohim no longer, for I am like him—I am my own god. Me—my god. Mine, mine, mine.

Apollyon pulled her back down to the ground, slowly and carefully.

The people beyond the barrier, the youths and Mr. Brighteyes included, now stood in absolute silence, all eyes focused on the Venezia woman. The Venezio man ceased his struggle to break the wall, the last of the stones he had picked up dropping gracelessly to the grass-strewn floor, a thud no one paid any mind to.

The grin on Apollyon's face grew, pleased he now held the First Men and Women's undivided attention and bewildered curiosity. "Why do you stand still and do nothing?" he said to the Venezia woman, unable to hide his enthusiasm. "Fear not. Do as you wish with your Essence. No longer shall you seek Elohim's favor, for your Essence is yours and yours alone . . . "

"Mine and mine alone," whispered the Venezia woman, lifting her eyes to a crack in the foliage, reaching her pale hand into the sunlight. "Mine and mine alone."

    And just like the pale man before her, watching her with a strange hunger in his eyes, she pulled in the light, weaving the rays into a tangible form, a wave that glistened gold between her hands.

    She smiled, and laughed like a child. She need not ask permission any longer. She need not seek Elohim's favor or approval. Her Essence was her own and hers alone, and she was her own god.

    "I am no longer Elohim's," she announced, and laughed, and played with the golden silk of light, throwing her arms around in grace, guiding the wave to and fro and around herself. "The true power of the Essence is mine. I am free!"

    The First Men and Women stared in wonder. And with that, the unseen wall between them vanished upon Apollyon's command.

    "Come," said the deceiver, gesturing them forward, "and I shall unleash your true power, as I did the woman's."

    And the First Men and Women believed, and they walked over to him, prepared to turn their backs on Elohim, ready to swear allegiance to Apollyon.

    "I think we've seen enough for today," said Mr. Brighteyes. And with one swift wave of his hand, the image before and around them turned to dust, particles floating in the darkness, all traces of the world of Crystalline disappearing into oblivion.

    They found themselves no longer within the world of the simulation, nor in the shadows of nothingness. Above them hung the great tapestry of Waltervere gloom, gray clouds filling every inch of the expanse, the sky holding back its tears just as it did when they left hours back. Before them stood Mr. Brighteyes' cabin, where Mr. Bato's figure stood inside waiting for them, looking out the window, munching on a cookie almost the size of his hand.

    The fire within Mr. Brighteyes' lantern had gone out.

    "We'll continue next Saturday afternoon," said Mr. Brighteyes. He nodded to himself, awkwardly. "Next Saturday. Yes, next Saturday. Same time as always."

    And no one said a word after that, and there was no other sound but the soft whistling of the wind and the distant peal of thunder.

    Mr. Brighteyes stood in front of them, deathly still. He held on to his lantern, clenching it so tight his knuckles had turned white. This didn't escape their notice.

    "Mister Brighteyes," called Sander, daring to speak, his voice laced with uncertainty. "Mister Brighteyes, are you all right?"

    Mr. Brighteyes began to tremble, then, and he began to sob, loud ugly sobs that never belonged to the calm, jovial man they had come to know for the past month. The hand lantern dropped gracelessly to the grass-strewn floor, and the teacher buried his face in his hands.

    As if the heavens heard him and understood his deep sorrow, a drop of water fell from the sky, then another, and another, until the clouds wept with him—a merciless downpour.

    "We've gotta go," said Jack, over the rhythm of the pouring rain.

And with that, they pulled their hoods up over their heads, and ran toward Mr. Brighteyes' still form.

"Mister Brighteyes," said Damien, grasping the man's arm. "Mister Brighteyes, we've got to get inside."

"The children, the children," cried Mr. Brighteyes, and he let out another sob.

Lyn and Max exchanged bewildered glances.

"What children?" Max asked.

    "I don't know," said Lyn, worry etched in her features.

Jack held the man's other arm. "C'mon, Mister Brighteyes. Stay here any longer, and we're all gonna be soaking wet, and we're all gonna catch a cold."

"We'll talk about it inside," said Sander, over the noise of pelting raindrops, "where it's warmer, where it's dry."

"Mister Brighteyes, we have to get inside," said Jack, tugging at the man's arm.

"You do not feel my pain," wailed Mister Brighteyes, his eyes a raging storm of dark ocean blue. "You do not know! You do not know!"

A jagged bolt of lightning pierced the sky, ripping the heavens apart in a lucid white tear. A thunder's roar reverberated after.

Mr. Brighteyes sobbed again. Lyn felt tears stream down her own face.

"That wretched thief," said Mr. Brighteyes, weeping. "That wretched thief!" he yelled at the sky, the rain washing his face. "He came to lie and steal and destroy. That liar, that liar! You do not know the pain. You do not understand, not yet. You are young, you are children. You do not know the pain a father feels as his children are ripped away from his arms, stolen away from him, and lost forever." He sobbed again. "The children, the children. Oh, the children, the poor children. They are dead."

And the rain poured on, and the sky mourned with the man who loved too much.