8 years ago.

Althea and Nathaniel raced down the hall in the Paragon headquarters, two blurs of white-blonde hair. They dodged uniformed legs, narrowly avoiding crashing into unsuspecting passersby, until they reached the cafeteria.

They didn't slow their pace as they wove through the tables, their shoes squeaking on the polished floor. On offer today was grilled pork with stewed cabbage, but the twins had their sights set on something better: the freshly baked cog cookies in the back. They were a rare treat, as the kitchens usually made unappetizing jellies that wobbled or gin and tonic cake, which the soldiers enjoyed but to younger taste buds seemed like it had already gone rancid.

Althea and Nathaniel slipped through the swinging doors into the back, barely avoiding a collision with a cook carrying a massive tray of cabbage. "Oy!" he snapped. "Watch it!"

"Sorry!" Nathaniel called back.

The twins followed their noses past the line of prep cooks.

"Oh, here comes trouble," one of them said with a grin. The cooks all knew the president's twins by now—they'd developed a reputation for getting underfoot.

Althea laughed as they sprinted towards the industrial ovens in the back, the smell of fresh cog cookies luring them onwards.

When they finally reached the ovens, a massive barrel of a woman blocked their way.

Out of breath, Althea and Nathaniel rocked back on their heels, hands clasped innocently.

"Well, well, well," the woman boomed. "If it isn't the terrible two."

"Hello, Chef Francis," they chorused.

She put her hands on her wide hips, looking from one to the other. "I suppose you'll be wanting some of my cog cookies, eh?"

They nodded vigorously.

"Use your words."

"Yes, please!"

"Very well." She reached behind her and held out a neat little package with a twine bow. Althea went to take it, but Chef Francis withdrew it at the last second. "One more thing..."

"No running in the kitchens," they said together.

"I mean it this time," she warned, then plopped the package into Althea's waiting hands. It was still warm!

"Thanks, Chef Francis!" they said, and took off at a run.

"What did I just say?" she hollered after them.

#

The twins dashed back through the cafeteria, down the long hallways, and cut across the courtyard. The two guards stationed outside the Glass family's private quarters didn't blink an eye as the twins streaked past. They were always coming and going—the Paragon headquarters were their playground.

They bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and pushed through a set of heavy wooden doors until they finally fell, gasping for air, into their parents' bedchamber.

Their father was away on Paragon business, as he often was, but their mother was seated at her vanity, makeup brush in hand.

Where most of the Paragon headquarters were cold and unadorned, their parents' home felt warm and inviting. Long velvet curtains flanked tall windows, and a crackling fire gave the room a smoky scent. There was a big grandfather clock, an ornate four-poster bed, and a large oil painting of the four Glasses: their father, standing tall, proud, and happy; their mother, seated and smiling, her hand draped over her husband's; and the twins on either side of their parents, their expressions carefree. It wasn't the portrait that the Paragon used—it was far too casual for that—but it was the portrait that their mother loved best.

The room was lined with shelves of books. There were enough to line almost every inch of spare wall. Their mother loved books: her bedside table was home to a tall stack of her ongoing reads. "You can be a better person," she said, "if you put yourself in another's shoes."

Collapsed dramatically on the plush carpeting, the twins quickly found enough strength to prop themselves up on their elbows and set upon the cog cookies like ravenous beasts tearing into their hard-won dinner.

"Cog cookies today, hmm?" their mother asked with a smile. She walked over and leaned down to take a cookie for herself, her long blonde hair tickling their arms.

She tsk'ed at their protests. "I deserve a reward. After all, I'm the one harbouring a pair of fugitives."

"We didn't steal them! Chef Francis gave them to us," Althea insisted.

"A likely story..."

"It's true. She wrapped them up for us and everything," Nathaniel agreed.

"That was very kind of her." Their mother resumed her place at the vanity and leaned in close. She was always impeccably done-up, her pale cheeks tinted just so with rouge, and her long eyelashes made even longer with a wand and curler.

The twins knew her movements by heart. First, she brushed her hair and arranged it, twisting the front two strands into delicate braids and tying them back like a crown. Then she did her makeup, dabbing this here and that there until her beautiful face shone even brighter. Finally came the outfit, which was always laid across the bed, with a matching set of jewels: a simple necklace, delicate earrings, and a slip of a bracelet, its links so fine that it almost appeared as a single metallic strand.

Other women wore large, ostentatious jewellery, but Althea and Nathaniel's mother had nothing to prove. She was the Lady Sofia—the beloved First Lady of the Paragon.

Ten minutes later, the grandfather clock struck two. Their mother emerged fully dressed from behind the folding curtain, prompt as ever, and clapped her hands. "Right. Get your things! Time to go!"

Althea groaned. She would much rather stay here, or head over to the training arena, or even take a lesson with smelly Tutor Reginald, than accompany her mother on another diplomatic assignment. This one, she knew, was at the Symphony Orchestra.

But Nathaniel darted up, eyes alight with excitement. He loved functions like this. "Ready!" he announced. The siblings may have been mirror images of one another, but they couldn't be more different in this one area. Where Althea preferred hand-to-hand combat and physical sport, Nathaniel preferred the thrust and parry of mental acrobatics.

Althea sighed and pushed herself up, dusting crumbs off her uniform.

#

Even the landing pad at the Symphony Orchestra was stuffy.

It was marked by a gigantic purple crest with swirly golden swirls.

"Lady Sofia, an honour..." A representative from the institution welcomed them as soon as they stepped out of the airship, bowing and simpering.

He snapped his fingers, and a server appeared with a tray of drinks.

"Champagne? Coffee, tea? Lemonade for the little ones?" He leered down at the twins. Althea grabbed a lemonade but pulled back quickly with a frown, concealing herself behind her mother—the representative gave her an icky feeling.

They were ushered inside and down several long corridors until they finally emerged in a private box. Beyond was a grand concert hall: there were rows upon rows of cushy seats in dim lighting, and they could hear the hush of whispers and crinkling of pamphlets.

On the large stage was a full orchestra. Musicians dressed in black and white robes and dresses stood poised with their instruments, chests puffed proudly. After much clapping and standing and bowing, things finally got underway.

Overall, the performance was dreadfully dull. Althea had no patience for such things, and she huffed, groaned, yawned, wriggled, and fidgeted her way through the whole thing—until her mother leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Regardless of how bored you feel inside, sometimes it is wise to at least give the illusion of paying attention."

That was as close as her mother ever got to a lecture, so Althea tried her very best to look interested after that.

The show, however, was only the precursor to the main event. After the orchestra finished—again, with much clapping and standing and bowing—the Glasses were shepherded to the Symphony Director's private chambers, where an exclusive group of Meraki society clinked glasses and exchanged gossip.

Althea and Nathaniel politely followed their mother as she made the rounds. They spoke to red-faced professors in tweed coats, sucking on pipes. To diplomatic advisors in fur trim and swallowtail coats. To boisterous business tycoons, who always seemed to have candy in their pocket for nearby children.

When they finally got to a sour-faced man with oily hair and bottle cap glasses, Althea saw her mother's back straighten. The Lady Sofia didn't simply attend these events to keep up appearances—she always had a political reason, and this man, Althea knew, was the reason for this trip.

Her mood immediately improved. Now that her mother had found her mark, they could be done with this boring afternoon and head back home.

"Archibald Whiting, what a treat," said the Lady Sofia, holding out a gloved hand.

The man took her hand and gave a stiff bow. "Lady Sofia. The pleasure is all mine."

"I didn't know you enjoyed the Symphony?" Althea rolled her eyes. Of course she knew he enjoyed the Symphony—that's why they were here.

"Not typically, but I have a soft spot for Lever's early works."

"Yes, she took liberties with her sonatas."

"Quite...did you enjoy the Ninth Symphony?"

"I thought the first chair violin was exquisite..."

On and on they went for a while, proving to each other that yes, they both boasted an impressive knowledge of Lever's works and evolving style.

Finally, the Lady Sofia got to the point.

"Now that I have you, Archibald, have you had a moment to re-consider my offer?"

His brow furrowed. "Yes, and I'm afraid I stand by my decision. I simply do not have the time, Lady Sofia, what with the Bridgehelm project. We are expanding the city rapidly, much more rapidly than I had expected..."

And yet he still had time to attend the Symphony Orchestra. Charming man.

"Oh, tosh! You know as well as I do that the Bridgehelm project can't hold a candle to the Settlement. Just think—your name would go down in history for establishing the first foothold on the mainland beyond the fog."

The man adjusted his glasses, his lips pursed in contemplation. "Forgive me, Lady Sofia, but I'm a man who prides himself on elegant design. Intricate layouts, with an eye for greenery and the broader environment. In Bridgehelm, I have a canvas: the beautiful Western woods. I'll be frank with you—the Settlement is naught but a wasteland of sand and dust, and I can't say I'm particularly inspired to design a city in such a place."

The Lady Sofia's cheeks were slightly more red than usual. They always got that way when she was flustered.

"It may be naught but a 'wasteland of sand and dust' now, of course, but it holds incredible potential. I only thought of your reputation, Archibald, and the potential long-term benefits for your career..."

The man held up his glass to her. "I appreciate the consideration, my Lady. Unfortunately, my decision holds."

"Mother, when are we going to Capital?" Nathaniel interrupted, sounding bored.

Althea cocked her head, confused.

"Capital, darling?" Lady Sofia asked.

"Yes. You said they had the largest snow behemoth skeleton in Meraki at the University."

"They do indeed..." The Lady Sofia stared at her son, not sure what he was on about. But whatever Nathaniel's game was, it certainly caught Archibald Whiting's attention.

"Capital University? You can't possibly be considering Fordham, can you?" he demanded. "She hasn't designed a city for years—she's little more than an instructor now!"

Althea shot a look at Nathaniel. Well done!

He shrugged like it was no big deal, but she could see he was suppressing a smile. He'd always been twice as good as she was at these political games.

The Lady Sofia held out her hands, gesturing to the ground on which they stood. "Little more than an instructor? Fordham helped design Kinvarra's expansion. She is a professor now, true, but she is also a master of her craft."

Archibald's lip quivered as he stared at the Lady Sofia. Althea took a step back—he held the glass so tightly she wondered if he was going to smash it into a million little pieces.

#

A few weeks later, the twins clung to their mother as one of the Paragon's air ships stood by, waiting for her to board.

"Don't go!" Nathaniel cried, his face buried in her skirts.

Althea, who had proclaimed only minutes ago that she wouldn't be a "snot-nosed sissy," was now wailing unabashedly.

"Shhh," their mother said, holding them tightly. "I know it's hard, but I have to go. The people of Meraki need to know that we are just as invested in the Settlement as they are."

"I don't care what Meraki needs," Althea insisted.

"Yeah, we need you here!"

Their mother knelt down so she was on their level. "This is the burden of being the Glass family. We put what is best for Meraki before our own needs. You'll understand when you're older, I know it." She put a hand to each of their cheeks—it felt calm and cool to the touch, as always. Nathaniel's sniffles slowed.

"We'll talk every day on the radio," she reassured them. "Not a day will go by without me. If you call, I will answer. All right?"

The twins nodded.

"Now, give me another hug."

They leapt onto her, roping their small arms around her neck.

"Can I have a moment to bid my wife a pleasant trip?" The president was on the platform, a smile on his face.

The twins released their hold on their mother, and she stood. Their father walked over and embraced her. They spoke in hushed voices to one another, but Althea couldn't make out what they were saying—the air ship propellers were too loud. She only knew they were happy, because her mother threw her head back and laughed, and her father beamed.

#

"Don't let all your weight fall to your front foot," her father warned.

"I'm not!" Althea panted, although she shifted some of her weight to her back foot.

They were sparring in the president's private training ring, a small octagon-shaped room with a high ceiling and padded floors and walls. The windows were dark—it was late, but Althea always took up her father's offers on fighting instruction, no matter the hour.

"Fists up," he said, gesturing with his own. "Make sure you protect your head. Never let your guard down. Never give them an opportunity to strike."

Althea nodded. She moved lightly from foot to foot as they circled the ring.

And with that, her father moved in with a quick one-two strike. Althea dodged the first and blocked the second, just like they'd practiced.

"Good defence! What's your attack?"

She exhaled, steadying her breath, and lunged forward to strike. He'd expect hits to his head and side, since that's what they'd been practicing lately, but there was strength in going for the unexpected.

Althea dipped low and spun around, whipping out her leg.

Her father stepped back, just avoiding her kick. "Good work. Always keep them guessing."

Normally she would return to defensive moves, but her father's compliment rallied her confidence.

She lunged again, this time going in with her fists swinging. She threw a jab at his core. He sidestepped it, and Althea used her momentum to spin herself around, aiming downwards with her elbow.

Her father caught on quick. He shifted his weight to his back foot and dodged the second hit.

When Althea landed, he sent her sprawling with a shove to her shoulder.

"Oof!" She tumbled head over foot and nearly crashed into the small bench.

"Hey, watch it!" Nathaniel snapped, scowling up at them from his book.

"Sorry," she muttered before getting back up on her feet.

Her father gestured for her to return to the ring. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Never give them an opportunity to strike."

Althea huffed and lowered again into a fighting stance, her fists up. But before they could begin sparring, a runner came rushing in. He was as white as a sheet.

"Sir," he began. "We're receiving alarming reports from the Settlement...it seems they're under attack."

Who would attack them on the Settlement? Nothing lived on the mainland. The Paragon had sent countless scouting parties out to look.

The Glasses all turned to look at the runner, unsure what to make of his report.

"What? Under attack by whom?" The president snapped.

"Not whom, sir," the runner said. "By what."

#

Althea and Nathaniel hurried after their father as he strode out onto the Kinvarra docks.

It was cold out here at night, in the dark, and the twins' teeth chattered, but they dared not go inside. They needed to find out what was going on in the Settlement.

There was a constant swirl of motion around their father. Althea had never seen him so angry. He barked a constant stream of orders. "Order all civilians and soldiers to barricade themselves in the outpost until reinforcements arrive. We'll show those beasts who they're dealing with. 'Unkillable,' I'll be damned. Where's my radio?"

Four sweaty soldiers rushed over, hauling a massive long-range radio to the docks. Technicians descended upon it like flies on day-old custard, setting it up as quickly as they could.

The president stomped over to the gathering of mages at the edge of the dock. Six of them were gathered there, shades drifting around them—the seventh mage, Abraham, was on the Settlement with Lady Sofia.

It was impossible to hear what their father and the other Paragon officials were discussing with the mages, but it looked increasingly heated.

Althea looked towards the fog on the edge of the horizon. Just beyond was a town with thousands of people...one of whom was her mother.

The radio buzzed to life. "Kinvarra, come in! Mayday! Mayday! We're overrun! We need backup!" The voice sounded terrified. The hairs on Althea's neck stood straight up. She could hear screams in the background, even through the roaring wind on the docks.

A soldier spoke into the transmitter. "Copy! We read you, Settlement. We're sending reinforcements. Seek refuge in the outpost until we can—"

"We cannot defeat them! We're overrun!" the soldier on the other end cried. Althea could hear pained shouts in the background, and the sound of gunfire. "We need backup immediately!"

The soldiers on the dock looked around at one another, wide-eyed.

"Copy that, Settlement. We're sending airships with reinforcements coming your way. Estimated time of arrival is twenty minutes."

There was a shuffle as someone else grabbed the mic on the Settlement. "We won't last that long...they're killing anyone who tries to escape. We tried everything...they won't die—the Settlement is lost, I repeat, the Settlement is lost—"

Nathaniel clutched Althea's arm. What did she mean, the Settlement was lost? Althea's head was spinning—she was lost, tumbling head over foot through the water, unable to find the surface.

The president grabbed the transmitter from the soldier. "I didn't order a retreat!" he bellowed, his cool demeanour gone. "Stand your ground, kill the beasts! Fog you, where's my wife?"

There was a pause, and then the Lady Sofia's voice came through the radio. "I'm here, Emory," she said. "I ordered the retreat. We can't risk these beasts getting to the mainland...we will save as many as we can on the Settlement. The outpost has supplies, we can last a little while longer." Her voice cracked, but she continued. "The Settlement is lost. These creatures withstand everything we throw at them. They will take all of Meraki if we let them...I'm sorry, my love."

The president hunched over the transmitter. "Don't say that, Sofia! You'll be all right. We're sending airships now. They'll be there before you know it. Just hold on—"

"Emory," she interrupted. "You can't send more soldiers. I won't allow any more to die."

"Sofia, stop it! Help is on the way—"

Lady Sofia's voice was louder now. "Mages! You must seal the tunnel in the fog. You know as well as I do that we can't risk Meraki. It must be protected. The creatures will breach the fog if we continue to send reinforcements. I beg of you, protect Meraki! Protect our people!"

"Don't you dare listen to her!" The president roared. He whipped around and shook the transmitter at the soldiers. "She can't hear me! Fix it! Fix it now!"

"My love, we did our best. Make sure Althea and Nathaniel know..." she stopped, breathing hard into the microphone. "Make sure Althea and Nathaniel know I did my best. Goodbye, my love."

The signal cut out.

Althea couldn't breathe.

"No!" The president slammed a fist down on the radio. "You," he turned to the mages, his eyes wild, "don't even think about closing that tunnel, or I'll have your heads, I swear it!"

The lead mage, Apostas, waved a hand—and suddenly the group of mages was enveloped in a protective sphere.

The mages couldn't possibly be closing the tunnel in the fog. The Paragon had conquered every obstacle thrown its way—how could they be leaving people to die in the Settlement because of some strange creatures? It didn't make any sense!

Soldiers banged against the sphere, but they couldn't break through. They fired shots, but the bullets only fell to the ground, useless. The president was screaming orders, the waves below were crashing against the docks, the wind was howling...and Althea and Nathaniel held onto one another, adrift.