An Unheated Gem
Chapter
(Safe House)
With the sound of a creaking door and the slow patter of trudging footsteps, a young woman steps inside.
Beryl silently watches the weary young woman. Her shoulders are soaked, darkened with rain.
Beryl
- Your trip to Vienna was not especially pleasant, it seems.
Brume
- …
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she pulls out a heavy pouch and empties it onto the table.
Crystals and gemstones scatter out, glittering in the dim light.
Brume
- My mission is complete. Thanks for lending me your teleportation disk; it worked perfectly.
She places the plain-looking disk on the edge of the table, handing it over along with the stones to the diviner.
Beryl
- Strictly speaking, they aren’t mine. The Foundation only lends them to me as part of our arrangement.
- Much like this house.
Their safehouse is one of few places shielded from the “Storm,” and the dark disk is capable of long-distance teleportation.
The young gem hunter’s journey is now inseparable from the Foundation’s assets.
Beryl
- Keep it. You will still have need of it.
Brume
- And our next destination is …?
Her tone is businesslike as usual and devoid of any expectation.
Beryl
- Adèle, what did you see there?
Brume
- That must be an easy question for you, of all people, to answer.
- Only the usual things one sees in the world before the “Storm.”
Beryl
- You look disheartened.
- Is it because you finally realized just how “usual” those things really are?
Brume
- …
- Madame Bouanich, I’m going to rest.
Being a gem hunter hasn’t been quite as she expected. For all she’s gained, she feels even more conflicted.
She pockets the disk, ending the conversation abruptly, leaving the glittering gems behind.
In the quiet of her room, she closes her eyes and recalls all that happened in Vienna.
(Street, Vienna)
Well-Dressed Man
- Is this your …?
Brume
- Yes, sir, ma’am, this is my car.
- Please, get in.
Most nobles here still travel by carriage. Four-wheeled automatons like hers remain a rare fascination.
The man and his wife step inside, and the young driver politely adjusts the lady’s dress. The three of them sit, sealed away from the outside world.
Melancholic Woman
- Mrs. Muller had told us these exchanges were always in a different place. But I had no idea we would be in a car.
- Nor did I expect the buyer to be a young lady like you.
Her tone carries no hostility, only confusion.
Brume
- You may call me “Brume.”
- Mrs. Muller referred you to me, non? She brought me a jeweled necklace last week.
- I gave her a fair price, one that matched its worth.
- Conducting business in a car makes things easier for busy clients like yourselves.
- Regardless of whether our deal succeeds, I can still take you to the afternoon opera free of charge.
The woman holds a flyer in her hand. Her attire bears theatrical embellishments. A peacock-green plume glints from her hat.
Well-Dressed Man
- Just so. Mrs. Muller’s never been cheated—my dear, show her the necklace.
The lady retrieves the necklace from her purse and cradles it in her palm.
Melancholic Woman
- We bought this a few years ago in Paris.
Brume
- Emerald. Not bad.
She receives the pendant carefully and lifts it toward the light. The green refracts across her face, vivid and pure.
She doesn’t need her arcane skill to know this gem meets the standard.
But a small dragon pokes its head out from behind her collar and crawls into position.
Brume
- By fire, what is false is purged.
Feufeu
- *roar*
Melancholic Woman
- Urgh!
Flame flares, wrapping the many-faceted emerald. As it fades, the little dragon lets out a tiny burp.
Feufeu
- *hic*
The gem in her palm remains untouched.
Brume
- Apologies for the fright. My associate here helps me authenticate gemstones.
- This one matches my requirements. I’ll buy it.
Well-Dressed Man
- … You’re an arcanist?
Brume
- My family has used our flames to distinguish genuine stones from false for centuries.
The man ruffles a little at the claim, not fully convinced of her pedigree.
The driver lets the topic drop with a turn of the wheel.
Well-Dressed Man
- Quite the performance, but then Mrs. Muller assured us you could be trusted, and we’ve known her for thirty years.
- How much will you pay, and when will we receive the money?
- It’s yours.
Brume
- Right now, sir.
- That’s the convenience of operating out of my car.
She opens the bag on the seat and takes out a thick stack of bills.
Melancholic Woman
- … Just like that? There isn’t anything to sign?
Brume
- Not at all. But if you’re worried about the bills, we can make a stop at the bank.
Well-Dressed Man
- Enough, Anya. We don’t have any time to spare.
Melancholic Woman
- But …
- Dear heavens, must you go?
She covers her face with her handkerchief and cries softly.
Well-Dressed Man
- Anya, don’t say that! Serving is honorable. We are defending our nation’s pride.
- Come now, dry your tears. No one must hear you speak this way. Ahem, Ms. Brume …
Brume
- Rest assured, sir. Everything that happens in this car remains private.
Well-Dressed Man
- Thank you. Just take us to the theater. We’ve looked forward to this performance for a long time.
The vehicle starts forward.
Well-Dressed Man
- Listen, Anya. I only need two pairs of sturdy boots. You keep the rest of the money.
- Go to shows, attend dances, whatever you like. I know you enjoy them. Have Mrs. Muller or Valerie accompany you.
- Until we win this thing and I come back to you again.
Melancholic Woman
- Alright, my dear, I’ll listen to you …
Her voice still trembles, weighed down by grief and hesitation.
(Riverside, Vienna)
Brume
- I met a married couple and bought an emerald from them.
- Of course, it wasn’t my own money, and I made sure the price was fair …
The driver relaxes against the car door, writing slowly and carefully on the postcard against an as yet unread book.
There is no recipient, no signature, no address. She quietly jots something down, then tucks it back inside the pages.
Halfway through, a voice calls out.
Young Man I
- Hey, it really is you!
Young Man II
- You’re the gem hunter, right? The short-haired lady who’s been driving around. Look, there’s your dragon!
At the comment, the little red creature on her shoulder puffs out its chest proudly.
Young Man I
- Yeah! The mysterious gem hunter. You’re the talk of the town!
- Hey, yeah, show us the famous legendary magic! Please, won’t you?
The sun is high. The young men are grinning and plainly drunk.
Brume
- Famous …?
Young Man I
- They say you can breathe on a stone, and then fire appears. If the gem is real, it comes out even brighter than before.
- But if it’s fake, it crumbles to dust—like it was never even there.
- Well, fakes aren’t worth anything anyway.
Rumors of a fabled “gem hunter” had already spread throughout Vienna. That was very much intentional.
The flame of her arcane skill draws anyone with gemstones to come and trade.
The fame comes with a growing pride. There is a heat in her chest that’s hard to suppress.
Brume
- You’re right. Though I’m not breathing any flames. That’s Feufeu’s job.
She strokes the dragon on her shoulder. It flutters its wings with pride.
Brume
- I can’t make a real gem more valuable, but I do pay what it’s worth.
Young Man II
- And what if the gem turns out to be fake?
Brume
- I don’t charge for that. Appraisal is free.
Young Man I
- Good, good. You’re a kind person. Someone who bought a fake gem has nothing left anyway.
- Look at this one, please … I spent everything I had on it. It was supposed to be for an engagement ring, but things didn’t work out.
Young Man II
- What! You mean you’re just selling it?
Young Man I
- Friend, if there’s any purpose to wealth, it’s in what you use it for; now I’m going to use mine to buy some paintings, maybe publish a book—
Brume
- You spent all your money on this?
She looks at the stone. Its color and luster say everything already.
Young Man I
- Well? Let your little dragon put my gem to the test!
Brume
- Hm, I think perhaps you should keep it after all. Let it be a fond memory.
Young Man I
- Y-you’re not going to burn it?
Young Man II
- You really are a kind person.
Brume
- I think right now, you’d prefer I were a swindler.
Young Man I
- Hahahahaha! You’re no swindler. I’m just a fool.
- I spent everything I ever had on a fake gem! No love, no paintings, and a book that will never be published.
Brume
- Hey, pull yourself together.
The young man grips the gem, runs to the railing, and leaps.
Brume
- Don’t—!
She rushes to the railing. The Danube flows below. He resurfaces, laughing as he’s pulled along with the current.
Young Man I
- Good old Vienna! Through you, I finally understand the meaning of a gemstone …
- Hahaha! I’m just happy to be alive! Though I can’t say the same for the rat that stole my money …
Brume
- … The meaning of a gemstone?
The young man continues his bizarre scene for a while longer before eventually swimming ashore. He stands, dripping; the fake stone, now gone from his hand, tumbles unseen through the water.
Brume
- I hope he’s alright …
His friend goes to meet him onshore. The two of them sing as they stagger away.
The gem hunter leans against the railing, looking down at the glittering river. She has seen days like this in other places and lived through them.
A small smile creeps onto her face without thinking.
Interrupted by a familiar ring. A message from her employer in Paris.
Beryl
- Adèle, come back.
- The “Storm” is coming.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
(Street, Vienna)
The city bristles with anticipation for a war that will never come; the “Storm” is set to arrive in just three days.
Operas and balls follow one after another. Poetry and calls to arms echo together. The young gather every night. New publications appear daily.
The air is so alive, it borders on absurdity.
Newlywed Woman
- Are you the one who buys gemstones …?
Brume
- Yes, madam. You may call me Brume.
- Please, get in first.
Newlywed Woman
- I’ve never ridden in something like this … Is it safe?
Brume
- Completely. But if you’re worried, I can leave it off.
Newlywed Woman
- Oh … alright.
She lifts herself into the passenger seat nervously.
The driver’s expression is hidden in shadow, but the look on her passenger’s face is one of equal parts awe and terror at this strange new marvel of technology.
Brume
- Apparently some famous writer is hosting a poetry reading at a café nearby.
She breaks the silence, hoping a bit of local gossip will put the young woman at ease.
Newlywed Woman
- Really? I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that. I don’t really care for poetry.
Brume
- Nor do I. It’s just something I overheard from a few passengers this morning.
- They were already drinking at that point, though. I don’t like their chances of making it through a poetry reading.
Newlywed Woman
- More young people with nothing to worry about in life. Vienna seems to have more poets and writers than cobblestones.
Her tone comes across begrudging, but there is an odd helplessness to it.
Brume
- Painters, musicians, opera performers … I’ve driven every sort and kind of them. Done business with them as well.
- I don’t know if I will ever understand them, but they’ve always treated me fairly. I think maybe they’re just satisfied with their lot in life.
Newlywed Woman
- Satisfied …? Ms. Brume, I wonder how many people you see like me, selling off their dearest possessions just to survive.
She carefully takes out a crumpled handkerchief. Wrapped inside is a ring.
Newlywed Woman
- He was just like them, so passionate; he used to write me poetry.
- Until he put down his pen … and picked up a rifle. Those hands weren’t meant for digging trenches.
- When he enlisted, it almost seemed he was happier than on our wedding. It had only been a week.
- Three days ago, they told me he was dead. There was an outbreak in the camp.
Brume
- …
Newlywed Woman
- Why did I let him talk me into that wedding? I was so naive.
- Now, I’m left to divide a meager widow’s pension between myself and his family. With bread and meat nearly as dear as gold.
- But please, the ring, how much is it worth? I was hoping to place some flowers on his grave.
- Passionate, stupid man that he was, my heart was buried right along with him. But if it’s a choice between flowers and food …
- Never read poetry, miss. And never fall for a man that writes it for you. Those sweet, dangerous words will make you forget reality until it’s too late.
Outside the window, another group of drunken revelers passes by, locked arm in arm. One bumps into the car, then staggers away.
Newlywed Woman
- People like that live as if there is no tomorrow. But I can’t. That’s why I came to see you.
- You wouldn’t believe the happiness I felt when I first saw this ring. The promises it held.
- Now, these gems mean nothing; they’re only a means to an end.
Brume
- …
Brume ponders the words, not yet moving to take the ring or even to speak.
At last, she takes a slow, deep breath and tightens her fingers around the steering wheel.
Brume
- If I told you there was a reason behind their odd behavior, would you believe me?
- Their passion and excitement might not be their own. They’re simply reacting to something happening in this place.
The woman looks out the window with a pensive, wistful stare.
Newlywed Woman
- Hearing you say that … I actually feel a bit relieved. I was born and raised here, but I’ve never seen anything like this.
- I started thinking that one day everyone else woke up and decided that life only existed as an excuse to write more poems. Or maybe there was some secret way to trade pretty words for food.
- I’d rather believe what you say. But then … why is this happening?
Brume
- Because the “Storm” is coming. When it arrives, nothing here will be the same.
- The square, the fountain, the opera house, the cafés … everything familiar to you will be washed away—and so will we.
Her brow knits, like she’s hearing something impossible.
She tries to understand.
Newlywed Woman
- You mean … the rain will be that heavy? That it’ll wash all of us away?
- Then the government should do something before it comes.
Brume
- No one can do anything. No one can stop the rain, madam.
- But … I have a way to leave before it arrives. If you want to live, I could help you get away from here.
The driver rests her hand on the wheel, her expression grim, her voice dry.
Newlywed Woman
- Leave Vienna? And go where? Just packing up and saying goodbye to my neighbors would take me half a day.
Brume
- None of that matters. The only thing I can offer is a way to stay alive.
- After the “Storm,” there will be nothing left of this city. Literally nothing. There’s no need for farewells.
Newlywed Woman
- …
- Maybe you are one of those poetry people after all.
- But … I also feel like you’re telling the truth. Days this strange can’t last forever.
She falls silent. Now it’s her turn to think. Soft rain begins outside, pattering lightly overhead.
After a long while, she speaks again.
Newlywed Woman
- I’m sorry, but … I have to go back. My family needs me.
- Thank you, truly.
- You said there’s still a little time. I think I’ll go out and buy some good meat and make them a proper dinner.
- They were right, weren’t they? To live as if there were no tomorrow …
- I should have known.
- This ring …
Brume
- It’s genuine.
- By fire, what is false is purged.
Her small dragon flicks out a burst of flame, wrapping the red gemstone in the woman’s palm.
When the flame fades, the gemstone remains untouched.
She closes her hands around the handkerchief, holding the ring tightly.
Newlywed Woman
- He didn’t trick me. I knew he wouldn’t. Even if I’m going to die tomorrow, I die a little happier knowing for sure.
- Thank you. I’m glad you don’t have to stay here.
- Goodbye, Brume.
The door opens. The passenger steps out into the rain, shrouded in mist.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
The car falls silent until a faint voice stirs.
Félicienne
- Hmph … just what are you hoping to accomplish, Adèle?
- Playing savior yet again. How amusing.
Another soul living inside Brume’s body. Too weak to stay at the surface for long.
She may only have a single moment. But she’s never one to waste an opportunity to sneer.
Brume
- I know that I can’t save everyone. I’m not trying to—
- But I can’t let someone die without trying, non?
Félicienne
- Please, ma cher, you’ve neither the grace nor skill to disguise your intentions.
- I’ve been silent, not dead. Do you really want to pretend you haven’t been enjoying yourself here?
- Driving around in this contraption, living out a long-forsaken dream. I feel the smile on your face every time you hear them calling you a “gem hunter.”
- Life is good here—I dare say superior to your pitiful life in Paris. You’re happy—non, sickeningly satisfied. You’d keep living like this forever if you could.
Brume
- …
Her brow tightens, and she lowers her face in a dark grimace.
Brume
- I don’t think this place is at all “superior” to Paris.
Félicienne
- No, no, don’t deny it. Nowhere else could ever compare to your precious Paris.
- But the “Storm” is coming, and this place will be destroyed all the same. Freedom never lasts long, does it?
- Look at all those postcards you wrote. You were as drunk on that freedom as any one of those sappy poets and lovelorn soldiers.
- But to soothe your conscience, you throw caution to the wind for the sake of some stranger with a sob story. Just because you couldn’t do the same in Paris.
- Adèle, cherie, don’t you feel the slightest bit of shame? To pretend as if one life might cover your sins.
- Alors, the “Storm” will come, yes. But so long as it’s not today, you are quite satisfied to revel in its shadow.
Brume
- Félicienne, you’re being too loud.
- I wasn’t thinking about all of that. I only …
Félicienne
- You idiot!
The soul’s voice spikes.
Félicienne
- Paris wasn’t enough to teach you? Use your head, Adèle!
- Even as the “Storm” washed away all of Paris—the entire world—your life was never truly in danger. Yet now, you’re content to live as that woman’s lackey, you weak-willed thing you!
- Tell me—how are you any different from these oblivious fools strutting about here?
- Admit it! In your heart, you are relieved it was Célia who died in Paris—
Brume
- Enough! Félicienne!
The driver’s face freezes like ice over still water, her voice booming in the empty car.
Félicienne
- Gah! *cough* … you …
The soul sputters weakly, having expended most of her energy.
Brume
- Non. Non. Not once have I felt anything like relief about Célia’s death. How could I ever?
- She was my best friend.
- The “Storm” … It caused all this!
Félicienne
- Adèle, whether you accept it or not, this is the world. As it is.
The soul’s voice drops low, dripping with condescension.
Félicienne
- I used to look down on the petty aristocracy as they knelt and paid homage at Baron’s banquets; I never imagined I’d one day be kneeling, begging someone to let me live.
- And you—you still cling to ideas of freedom, dignity, and peace in a world like this; that sort of idealism is worse than nonsense.
- Honestly, Adèle, you should leave Beryl. She will never protect you!
Brume
- Oh? And then what? Shall we join Manus Vindictae?
Félicienne
- I certainly wouldn’t object.
Brume
- If it weren’t for them, Célia might still be alive.
Félicienne
- Everyone could be alive, and everyone could be dead. The only thing that matters is that Manus Vindictae can control the “Storm.”
Brume
- So what?!
- They’ve twisted the world into something unnatural, where only people like them can survive.
- I don’t want a world with only one kind of person—one kind of madman. I would never want that.
- Their ideal world is like a street with no signs, no rules; only chaos everywhere. I’ve always hated driving in places like that!
- Félicienne, I’ve always let you speak your mind. But if you ever bring this up again, even once, I will ask Madame Bouanich to remove you.
Félicienne
- Adèle, you …
She gasps until she finally spends all of her energy and fades back into slumber.
Their argument ends without resolution.
It doesn’t feel like victory. The taste of that last threat hangs acrid and sharp on her tongue.
Finally, she starts the car and drives forward, cutting through the misty rain.
Another night passes, and her mood does not improve.
After leaving Paris, she had become a true gem hunter, chasing glittering stones and bringing them back to Madame Bouanich to serve as mediums for divination.
Outside, the world is crossing another “Storm.” But inside their shelter, the diviner has covered a table with crystals and gemstones.
Pale hands place them one by one, marking them with intricate, unfamiliar sigils. Brume sits across from her, sleepless eyes drooping with each pass, unable to make sense of what she sees.
Brume
- Madame Bouanich, are you preparing a reading?
Beryl
- Shh.
- The rain does not last long. Be patient, Adèle.
Her pale eyes reflect the gemstones’ glow. She speaks softly, unmoved by the events unfolding and refolding outside.
Adèle is quiet as she watches the ritual. Her eyes catching on the glimmering gems as they clink against one another.
Just as the rain slows outside, the gemstones on the table shatter all at once, their luster gone.
Brume
- Did the ritual … fail?
- This was different from your usual readings, n’est-ce pas?
Beryl
- You noticed, yes. This wasn’t really a “reading” at all.
- It’s a different kind of ritual. Though it still requires gemstones as a medium.
Brume
- Madame Bouanich, are these stones useless now?
Beryl
- As far as rituals go, yes, they cannot be used again.
- Do you find that regrettable?
Brume
- No … after all, you must’ve wanted me to purchase them for a reason.
- Well, perhaps a little. These gemstones … they have their worth and their stories.
- You said this wasn’t a typical reading. What was this ritual for?
- Is it something to do with the truth of the “Storm”?
Her eyes sharpen. The daze of fatigue disappears. She sits up without realizing, her voice edged with hope and urgency.
Beryl
- You believe that by giving me the gemstones, you will learn the truth about the “Storm.” Is that it, Adèle?
Brume
- …
- Judging from your tone, it won’t be that simple.
Beryl
- Your time in Vienna has made you more eager. That is a good sign.
Brume
- A good sign? Maybe. Félicienne nearly tore me apart over it.
The soul is silent. She has sunk into deep sleep.
Brume
- No one in Vienna knows anything about the Taverniers. Everything in Paris truly was erased by the “Storm.”
- It’s odd that I would only realize how proud I was of that name after it’s gone.
Her long fingers turn over the shattered crystal pieces, her gaze dimming.
Brume
- Even if I was only a driver, I was not an ordinary one. I had stories to tell.
- Those days are long gone, and I realized it too late.
Beryl
- Adèle, truth cannot be bought or traded. It reveals itself only along the way.
- You have already set foot on the path.
- In chasing gems—and the truth of the “Storm”—you have faced failure after failure, yet with each attempt, you draw ever closer.
Brume
- You mean … I will find the answer myself?
- You saw this in the reading?
The diviner’s smile is faint and distant, like snow melting into water—gone in a breath.
Beryl
- That, Adèle, is something that requires no divination to see.
- I need gemstones. You seek them. That is all. What happens along the way is your path to follow alone.
Brume
- I seek them …
- It’s still hard to believe. Me, a gemstone hunter, in a world ravaged by the “Storm.”
Her gaze holds on the glittering slivers that have scattered across the surface of the table.
Brume
- I don’t quite understand, but …
- Gemstones do not change. Perhaps that holds more meaning than trying to save people lost in the “Storm.”
She lifts a shard and peers through it, her vision suddenly recolored to match its hue.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
(Jewelers’ Street, Delhi)
A busy street dedicated to the buying and selling of precious gems, a panoply of merchants and customers of every complexion and style mingle together.
Sunglasses lift and lower again and again, just to catch the gemstone’s shine more clearly. The sun leaves skin sticky with heat.
Brume
- The clarity is excellent.
She places the stone back into the tray, neither offering a price nor revealing any particular emotion.
Gem Merchant
- Will you be taking it, then? This is the best batch of roughs we’ve had in some time, shipped straight from the Padar mines.
- There’s not much left there. Ask around; you’ll see everyone is running low on stock.
- But the customers keep coming.
Brume
- Thank you, sir, but this is not what I’m looking for.
Gem Merchant
- Tell me what it is that you’re looking for—I will ask around.
Brume
- A Kashmir sapphire.
The practiced glinting smile suddenly dulls.
Gem Merchant
- I don’t suppose you just heard a rumor and rushed over, eh?
- I’m afraid you’ll leave empty-handed.
- Look at you … green as grass. Take my advice, miss.
- Searching for a sapphire like that here is useless; not even the most experienced hunter could find such a thing.
Brume
- You think me an amateur, then, non?
Gem Merchant
- Let’s not put it that way. It’s only that you’re searching for the rarest of stones. To come all this way and leave empty-handed would be worse, I think. Unless you have no choice, I’d advise you to lower your expectations.
Brume
- I see, but I don’t intend to change my goal, sir.
Gem Merchant
- Then go ask around if you must …
A commotion cuts off their back-and-forth.
Mina’s Father
- Shoo, shoo! Stop bothering me! I’m not buying your stones!
- Mina! Come here! Don’t pay him any mind.
Mina
- Dad, but …
Mina’s Father
- Tell him to go back where he came from! Hmph, trying to trick me with these obvious fakes …
- One minute. I will give you one minute to clear off and leave me to my business, or else I’ll lay hands on you!
A dark-skinned boy is shoved down into the street, kicking up dust. He springs up, clutching a stone, and stubbornly leaps toward the counter.
Young Miner
- It’s real! It’s a good stone!
Brume
- Hey, hey! Calm down.
The gem hunter, having become well-accustomed to settling disputes, finds herself pulled unconsciously toward the situation, raising a hand to draw their attention.
Those gathered turn to the self-appointed mediator.
Seeing a fine crystal flash on the back of her hand, the gem merchant’s face softens toward the potential customer.
Brume
- So, what’s going on? What makes you think this stone is a fake?
The boy moves close to her, feeling both protected and newly hopeful.
Mina’s Father
- Miss, you don’t know this boy—he likely stole his father’s truck to come here! And it wouldn’t be the first time, I can tell you that!
- He’s just a miner’s hand. He never brings anything good; all the stones of any real quality don’t make it past their foremen.
- So whatever he’s holding now is either fake or stolen. This kid thinks he can just do whatever he wants—the guts!
Young Miner
- This one I dug up myself. I promise it’s good!
Mina’s Father
- Give me a break. I won’t trade with some ruffian like you. If there’s any justice in this world, then you’ll get a proper hiding for taking that truck!
He waves his hand like shooing flies, showing no pity.
Young Miner
- …
Mina
- Dad, why not at least look at the stone he brought? Maybe he’s telling the truth.
Mina’s Father
- Mina! With people like him, kindness gets you nowhere! If you get tangled up with that little thief today, it puts our business with the mines in jeopardy.
Brume
- I see.
- Still, I think it would be alright just to take a look, n’est-ce pas?
Small, rough hands place a simply cut, unheated stone into her palm. It has real weight to it.
Brume
- By fire, what is false is purged.
No more words needed. The red dragon on her shoulder lifts its head. Flame erupts, briefly flashing across her eyes.
The gem merchant watches the fire with widening eyes.
Brume
- That’s that. It’s real.
- Though … it’s not particularly high quality.
- Not clean. It has a violet cast. You cut this yourself, non? See the lumps and notches? You’ve all but ruined it.
Mina’s Father
- You were … using an arcane skill to appraise that stone just now?
Brume
- That’s right. Have you heard of it before?
She looks at the man with a sudden, eager curiosity. The little dragon stretches its neck out as if to join her.
Feufeu
- *Roar* …
Mina’s Father
- Are you a Chevalier?
Brume
- … Chevalier?
Mina’s Father
- The famed French gem-hunting family. That arcane skill of yours—it’s unmistakable.
Brume
- …
She looks away. The red dragon’s wings droop, suddenly lacking spirit.
Brume
- You’re mistaken. The techniques only look similar.
She places the stone back into the boy’s hand. His expression dims with disappointment.
Brume
- What’s your name?
Young Miner
- Patel.
Brume
- Alright, Patel. Name your price.
Patel
- … Hmm?
Brume
- The stone. How much do you want for it?
He gives a number, hesitant but steady.
Brume
- Fair price. I’ll take it.
Mina’s Father
- Miss! There’s no need to show charity to a no-good ruffian like him. Even if the stone is real, you don’t know where it came from …
- If it’s a gem you’re after, I will be able to find it, I assure you.
Brume
- Can you? I’m looking for a Kashmir sapphire.
Mina’s Father
- …
- Miss, are you sure? I’ll be honest, most of the mines around here don’t produce sapphires anymore.
- The few that are circulating around openly are invariably fakes.
- Then again, I see you can appraise them for yourself; that’s your advantage—at least you won’t be cheated.
The gem hunter shows no reaction to the merchant’s flattery.
Brume
- So these genuine sapphires aren’t in open circulation, but they can still be found somewhere, n’est-ce pas?
Mina’s Father
- As perceptive as your little dragon, it seems.
- The old sapphire mines are near the border. The same area this brat slinked out from.
He nods toward Patel, still clutching his jagged stone with pride.
Mina’s Father
- It’s not safe out there. You’ll pass through dense rainforest. Places where all manner of smugglers and criminals gather. And the miners themselves aren’t the friendliest either.
Brume
- But other gem hunters have gone to visit these mines before, non?
Mina’s Father
- Well, yes. But they had teams and backers behind them. You came alone, it seems, aside from your pet.
Brume
- That much is true.
Mina’s Father
- Then I beg you, please. Stay here, where it’s safe. I have contacts in the mines. If you want to work together …
Brume
- From what you just said, the sapphire mines are nearly exhausted, and the other hunters are waiting at the gate.
- If I stay here, I’ll never have a chance.
- You want someone who can appraise stones? Fine. After all, you gave me useful information.
The merchant’s expression hardens.
Mina’s Father
- Miss, I don’t want to sound harsh—but going into the mines alone is as good as a death sentence.
He scans her face, hoping to see some sign of struggle, some hint of fear or unease, anything.
But her expression is calm. Almost serene.
Mina’s Father
- I’m simply thinking of your safety. If you stay here, with enough time and money, and your appraisal abilities …
Brume
- I don’t have that much time.
- Kid. Come here.
The boy, really a young man, approaches, and Brume meets his eyes.
Brume
- Is this the first gem you’ve sold?
Patel
- Yes.
Brume
- Then I’m honored. I’ll pay you your price—and something extra for the effort.
- But you must take me to your mine.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
(Jewelers’ Street, Delhi)
As the sun sets, the eager crowds that once filled the street begin to shrink away into the night.
Brume
- You’ve got some guts, driving into Delhi alone.
She loads the supplies into her car and pats the roof.
Brume
- I’ll take my own car. When we set out tomorrow, you lead.
Patel
- Got it.
He’s quiet but seems to be in good spirits as he helps load up their supplies.
Mina furrows her brow as she watches them. She makes an odd pair with Patel; despite being the same age, they look years apart.
Mina
- Sister …
Brume
- Hmm? Oh, you can just call me Brume.
- Or Adèle.
Mina
- Adèle, I’m sorry about my father.
Brume
- You don’t need to apologize. He’s a merchant. He has his reasons.
Mina
- But he wasn’t like this before. It wasn’t so long ago that he’d go visit the mines himself. He’s become so harsh lately.
- And the people in the mines weren’t always like this either. They didn’t always treat Patel this way.
They both glance toward Patel sitting in the truck bed. His arms and legs tell the story in a patchwork of bruises.
Mina
- Adèle … Maybe you shouldn’t go. The mines really are risky to visit now …
Brume
- Mining gems is always risky. They wouldn’t be nearly so precious if it wasn’t.
Mina
- But you might not even find one. And even if you do, you may not make it back. My father is right about that much; there are so many dangers to avoid.
Brume
- But I don’t want to avoid danger.
- Or rather, I don’t intend to give up just to play things safe.
Mina falls quiet. She knows nothing she can say will change this woman’s mind.
Brume
- Hey. Don’t look so down. Maybe I really will come back with a sapphire.
Mina
- I … I hope so.
- If this is what you have to do, then I’ll wish you luck.
Brume
- Thank you, Mina.
- That’s enough.
(Mining Area)
The heat is always heaviest just before the rain arrives. Made worse by the stagnant air near the mine entrance, the sluggish humid air blurs the line between swimming and walking.
Shouts and hammering echo across the site. Even the threat of a downpour doesn’t stop their relentless pursuit.
Brume
- Whew … lucky enough, I suppose.
With Patel leading, they reach the mine without incident.
Patel
- There.
He points to a mine entrance where small-framed workers wearing headlamps are preparing to descend. A few older men look on.
Patel quickens his pace toward them. As he approaches, one of the men looks up, giving him a stony glare.
As Patel reaches him, he holds out a hand and strikes him across the face.
Patel
- …
Brume
- Patel!
- Leave him alone!
Too late. Patel stumbles from the blow. Brume catches him.
Patel’s Father
- Who are you?
Brume
- A friend of Patel’s.
Patel’s Father
- Hah, a friend.
His stone facade doesn’t crack, even as he withdraws his hand.
Patel’s Father
- Patel. Get back to work. Now.
Patel
- Yes, Father.
Brume
- …
Patel goes to fetch a large sieve. His own face now matches his father’s—stiff and emotionless.
Patel
- Are you coming with me?
- I have to go sift the mineral sand.
Brume
- D’accord. Your friend will only be too happy to help.
A smile breaks through the facade, but his left cheek is starting to swell and redden.
A water source muddied and tainted from washing away the ravaged earth. A line of people stands along its bank, breaking up ore.
Tired and thin old men playing out a cacophony of hammers.
Patel
- You … did well.
- Doesn’t look like your first time.
The words come out awkward, as if he isn’t used to saying anything at all.
At the water’s edge, they lower the sieve into the pool, shake it to wash away the mud, and pick through the stones revealed in the bottom.
Brume
- Is that so? Master Patel.
- Maybe it’s because I picked up some theory while learning to appraise gemstones.
Patel
- Theory?
Brume
- Knowledge. Methods.
Patel
- Oh—like my brother, he was always interested in learning. He even knew how to write.
Brume
- You have a brother?
Patel
- Dead. From heatstroke. He just collapsed one day.
Brume
- …
- I’m sorry, Patel.
Patel
- Everyone here has lost a brother.
- My uncle was buried in these mines.
The gem hunter lowers her head, hands in the sun-warmed water, feeling the mud between her fingers.
Brume
- You didn’t want to come back, did you?
Patel
- I wanted my own money.
His voice drops, almost swallowed by the babbling water and the arrhythmic hammering—but she hears it.
Patel
- When I found that stone, I hid it in my mouth.
- It was mine.
Brume
- If you’d gotten a good price, you wouldn’t have come back.
After a long moment, he nods.
Patel
- My brother did the same. He was good at finding stones, good at hiding them too. Good at staying away.
- But he always came back in the end.
The last of the mud washes away, leaving only a few dull stones behind.
Patel
- Worthless.
He flicks them into the water.
The workday passes quickly. Sunset falls. A cool night wind rises.
They didn’t come away empty-handed, but the effort far outweighs the gain.
A fire crackles. Clothes still damp. The gem hunter eats a little of the food she brought.
They will sleep on the ground tonight.
Félicienne
- Adèle! You’re as filthy as a peasant!
The familiar voice rings out.
Brume
- I’ve looked worse, Félicienne.
- This is part of the job.
Félicienne
- You do realize that I am a part of you now?! Why must I be forced to wallow in mud like some barnyard creature? I expect you revel in all of this, but have a heart!
Brume
- Félicienne, I am not wallowing in mud. And you’re being loud enough to give me a headache.
- Here. Let me wipe you off.
She wipes the muck from the crystal, suppressing an eye roll.
Félicienne
- *cough* Quelle horreur! This is what you get for playing with mud all afternoon!
- Why must I suffer like this …!
Brume
- Sorry, but I can’t exactly take you off.
Félicienne
- Weren’t you here for sapphires? What’s the point of sifting through this dirt? Please, oh, please do not tell me you’re enjoying this too.
Brume
- I haven’t forgotten what I’m here for.
- Patel will bring word. If a sapphire turns up, I’ll be the first one here to negotiate.
Félicienne
- So you’re pretending to befriend the boy. To exploit his skills.
- Adèle, I’m impressed. Perhaps I am beginning to have some influence on you.
Brume
- If misunderstanding my intentions makes you feel better, then go ahead, Félicienne.
- After all, being trapped inside a crystal seems rather miserable.
Félicienne
- Please. You’re just like everyone else, Adèle. Always refusing to admit your own selfishness.
She snickers darkly.
Brume
- I’m not as selfish as you make me out to be. I have a goal.
- I’ll get the sapphire.
- The Tavernier curse prevails; we always find our treasure.
She speaks softly, eyes lifted to the deep blue night.
At first light, the mine awakens with the day.
A rough hose feeds water into the mine shaft to ease the pressure inside. Patel straps on his headlamp, ready to descend.
Brume
- Be careful.
- If anything goes wrong, shake your light. I’ll pull you up.
His body slips into the water. He nods once and swims deeper.
His light dims.
By noon, Patel has surfaced only to bring up tray after tray of heavy mineral sand. His hands are wrinkled and pale from the water.
Brume
- You need to take a break!
Patel
- I’m fine.
- Just one more …
His wet hands lift the sieve high, passing it to Brume at the mouth of the tunnel.
Patel
- I’ll be right back.
His voice fades, swallowed by rushing water.
Brume
- You’ve been down there too long—
A sudden snap. At first it seems imagined. Then she realizes it is the support frame collapsing.
In an instant, earth floods the shaft. The light blinks out.
Brume
- Patel!
Patel’s Father
- Mine COLLAPSE!!!
The miners begin shouting over each other as they rush toward the site of the collapse.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
(Mining Area)
Stifling heat.
They dig, bent over the earth. With every minute, hope evaporates.
Brume
- Patel …
- Patel!
But no one answers.
His father is the first to stop digging. He stares at the mound of earth, empty-eyed.
Brume
- Keep digging! We must help him!
Patel’s Father
- He’s dead.
- There wasn’t anything worthwhile down there.
- He shouldn’t have gone in. It was a waste of effort.
His voice is flat. His eyes are red but hollow.
Patel’s Father
- We live and die searching for those gemstones—the only thing that’s ever been worth it, that ever mattered.
Brume
- …
Brume keeps digging, ignoring the old man’s dejected words. Sweat runs down her face, falling into the mud.
Near dusk, she finally unearths him. But the crush of stone and dirt had already suffocated him.
Brume
- Patel.
The boy’s face is gray. Eyes closed. His skin cold even in the jungle heat.
Brume
- You saw where your fate led you, didn’t you?
- You tried to escape this fate.
- But …
Her gaze drifts over the mining camp. At another entrance, workers are already gathering, starting their next shift.
The lonely figure sits in the dusk beside Patel’s still body, mumbling to herself.
Brume
- Only the gemstones matter.
- … Only gemstones?
She carries Patel’s body to a place far from the shaft, as far from camp as she can manage.
She covers him in a mound dug by hand. Her entire body aches with effort, but still she forces herself to prop up a few branches to mark his grave.
Brume
- Goodbye, Patel.
She whispers.
A new day breaks at the mine. None of the gathered workers seem concerned or even affected by their recent loss.
Patel’s Father
- You still here?
His voice is rough, as if tired of her very presence.
Patel’s Father
- If you’re going to stand there judging us, why stay?
- Did you want me to cry for him? He isn’t the first of us to die. He won’t be the last.
- It’s traders like you that made this place the hellhole it is.
Brume
- Patel’s grave is over there.
She doesn’t answer his accusation, only lifts a hand and points.
Brume
- If you want, you could give him a better marker. Something more.
Patel’s Father
- It’s not worth it.
- We may need to dig there some day.
His gaze shifts from the makeshift grave back toward the active shaft, where a thick hose pours water inside.
Brume
- You’re short on miners, aren’t you?
- Now that Patel is gone.
Patel’s Father
- You …?
Brume
- I’m staying to find my gemstone. That’s why I’m here.
- *deep breath*
The rush of water roars in her ears. Even in the heat, the water in the shaft feels cold.
She reaches beneath the surface, feeling for the weight of a stone hidden in the sands.
Brume
- …
She takes a deep breath and plunges her head under.
Well-Dressed Guest
- Oh, is that the Tavernier?
Elegant Guest
- Quite right. The famous gem-hunting family.
Well-Dressed Guest
- And she’s donated the largest gem we have tonight—so young, living with so much wealth already.
- Though … I heard the Tavernier family is cursed.
- Inevitably, once they set out on their journeys, they will find something, but it will cost them their lives.
- Seems as soon as they find something of true value, death follows close behind.
- I do wonder about this Tavernier in particular …
The lady hides a smile behind her hand, her diamond ring glittering.
Elegant Guest
- Dear, don’t speak like that.
- This one is different. She’s always known about the curse.
- Most of her family went to their doom never knowing it was coming.
- She’s known her fate from the beginning.
Enthusiastic Guest
- Adèle! Adèle!
- Adèle Tavernier!
A spotlight illuminates the gem displayed onstage.
Host
- Donated by Ms. Adèle Tavernier—our thanks for her contribution to charity.
- A gem hunter, a knight, a true adventurer.
- She fears nothing, cutting through uncertainty and hardship, all to chase the gleam of light …
Elegant Guest
- She knew her destiny and still made a choice to follow it.
- Every Tavernier is born with that thirst for adventure, to do or to die, and usually both.
- When she set out, Adèle meant to greet death and strike it down.
Well-Dressed Guest
- She really is like a questing knight!
Enthusiastic Guest
- Adèle! Adèle! Adèle!
Elegant Guest
- But she has succeeded where many before had failed. Perhaps, the curse is no more.
- It seems to me that nothing in this world could defeat her now.
- Her name will live on forever.
Enthusiastic Guest
- Adèle! Adèle! Adèle!
Host
- Please welcome—
- Adèle Tavernier!
Brume
- …
The lights glare down on her and the gemstone, bright as an engulfing flame.
Host
- Ms. Adèle, please tell everyone here—how did you use one gemstone to change your fate, to change the world?
Brume
- Change?
- Change the world … with a gemstone …?
Host
- Beautifully said!
Enthusiastic Guest
- Adèle! Adèle! Adèle!
Applause erupts, sudden and overwhelming. Eyes fix on her as though witnessing a miracle.
Brume
- No …
- …!
Brume
- !!!
Underwater, her eyes snap open. In the dark, something glimmers. Her hand closes around a hard stone.
The little dragon clinging frantically to her arms is shocked as a large stone is shoved forcefully into its mouth.
It flails, chokes, and retreats frantically beneath her clothes.
Brume
- *cough*
- I … I can’t keep going like this.
The rope tied to her waist begins to haul her up.
The gem hunter emerges, dripping, empty-handed.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Patel’s Father
- Find anything?
His tone is dismissive, but he holds his stare, sharp and unblinking.
Brume
- No. Just sand. You can try your luck if you like. Maybe you’ll get something.
- You were right. There’s nothing down there worth it.
Several pairs of eyes watch her, scanning her for clues.
Their eyes glint with something feverish. The gem hunter knows that look well.
Suspicious Miner
- You found something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come up.
Brume
- Sorry to disappoint. But, it’s like you said: the mine is a bust.
- It’s cold down there—not worth my time.
Strange Miner
- Or you already found what you were looking for.
Brume
- You don’t believe me?
She spreads her hands.
Brume
- Do you interrogate all your miners like this? Little wonder it’s so miserable here.
- Search me if you like. But remember, I’m a customer, not a worker.
Patel’s father watches her for a long time. His expression is like a snake waiting to strike.
Patel’s Father
- What are you thinking?
Brume
- I’m thinking … none of you are right in the head. And it’s a shame I have to be the one to tell you.
- Patel died doing this work, and you barely even tried to save him.
- Like he wasn’t worth enough to you.
- If we had all dug together, we might have saved him.
- But you all just went back to work. Even though there’s nothing left to find.
Patel’s Father
- …
Brume
- I’m sorry. I’ve said too much; I don’t really understand how things are here. Maybe it’s pointless to try.
- But I’m tired, and I just want to go.
He says nothing as she walks toward her car.
Suspicious Miner
- Are we going to let her just walk away? She’s got something …
Brume
- …!
Suspicious Miner
- She must have found a sapphire!
The accusation hits like a detonator—setting off every frayed nerve around her.
The gem hunter is only a few steps from the car. She surges forward and dives inside.
Strange Miner
- Damn it! Get her!
Patel’s Father
- Stand back!
He’s already scrambling for his gun. The engine roars. His eyes go bloodshot as the car kicks up sand.
A burst of dust rises, blotting out the sky.
Bang! The trigger is pulled, and gunshots crack through the air.
Félicienne
- Ah!!!
The vehicle jolts as a scream fills the cabin.
Félicienne
- Adèle, what are you doing?!
Brume
- I think … I just got shot in the arm.
Félicienne
- Imbécile! You want to embrace the family curse and chase your own death, n’est-ce pas?!
Brume
- Sorry, Félicienne. Not now.
- We’re being hunted.
Gunfire tears through the air, skipping against the earthen road.
Félicienne
- What was the purpose of all this? If you die … everything ends!
Brume
- Those miners have lost all reason! They would have killed me over that gem, whether I paid for it or not.
- I’d bet they were always greedy, but now with the “Storm” so near, we don’t know what they’re capable of.
- Good thing I’ve spent so much time dodging traffic in Paris, non? Though, I never would’ve guessed I’d use those skills to dodge bullets.
- Well, maybe I have.
She laughs; it comes out half-manic. She can feel the blood trickling down her arm.
Félicienne
- Ugh! If you want to get yourself killed, you could have the good manners to at least not take me with you!
Brume
- What’s wrong, Félicienne? You’ve more or less already died once, n’est-ce pas?
- Perhaps my family curse will at last find me today.
She jerks the wheel, pulling the car around a sharp blind curve. The gunfire at last fades behind them.
Brume
- But not now. My heart is racing. I won’t let it stop.
(Rainforest)
Brume
- Let’s hope I don’t end up with just one arm.
She filters water and washes the dried blood away.
A short time later, she crouches while heating her knife in her campfire. She bites down on a rolled-up cloth, closes her eyes, and digs out the bullet.
Brume
- … Ugh!
- I wonder if my great-grandfather did this too. Maman used to say whatever I thought of their stories, his stories were always worse.
- But then, at least Napoleon remembered his name …
She bites down on the bandage and ties it off.
Félicienne
- Are you proud of yourself now, Adèle?
The gem hunter goes quiet, pale.
Brume
- I just … didn’t think it would feel like this.
- So this is what an adventure feels like, huh?
- All this … for a single stone. Pretty though it may be.
The little dragon climbs onto her shoulder, avoiding the wound. It opens its mouth and spits out a rough-looking stone, panting with exhaustion.
A raw, uncut crystal. The gem hunter lifts it toward the light.
Brume
- … Only the gemstones matter.
- But the “Storm” has changed what that means.
- My ancestors. My great-grandfather. My parents. In this world, their stories no longer apply.
- Why should we bother chasing these things anymore? No one will remember it. Our name will be forgotten or changed.
- Or perhaps … feeling lost is also part of our fates?
She murmurs it, sorrow softening her voice.
The orbuculum gleams. Someone bound to fate sends a message.
Beryl
- Adèle.
- The “Storm” is coming.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
(Jewelers’ Street, Delhi)
Mina
- Adèle!
- You’re hurt!
The bandage on the driver’s arm is seeping blood as the mud-smeared vehicle returns to the outskirts of Delhi.
Brume
- Long time no see, Mina. How are things here?
Mina
- Are you serious? Come here, let me rewrap that wound … Gosh, what happened to you?
Mina’s Father
- You must have found what you wanted.
- Why else would you be here?
The gem merchant leans in and eyes her from behind the counter. He poses his question in a casual tone, but there is an unusual fervor beneath it.
Mina
- Dad …
Mina’s face twists, obviously uncomfortable with his attitude.
The gem hunter gives him a slight nod, unsteady but confident despite her ordeal.
Brume
- You’re not wrong.
- But I paid a steep price for it.
Mina’s Father
- To be frank, I never expected to see you again. Figured you for dead. Either outside the mines or on the road there.
- Would you let me take a look? If you intend to sell it …
Brume
- I’m not in need of a buyer, monsieur. If that’s what you’re driving after.
Mina
- Adèle, he’s just curious …
- Right? Dad?
She turns to her father with a pleading expression, hoping he will answer with dignity.
Mina’s Father
- Yes … I just wanted to see if it was worth all the effort. I’ll bet it shines like a sunset sea.
Brume
- It hasn’t been cut nor treated, so it isn’t much to look at. But you already knew that.
- I think it best that I take my leave. Thank you, Mina.
Mina has just finished wrapping her arm in clean white gauze. She winces with pain as it is tightened.
Mina’s father watches them both. His expression seeming to grow darker with every passing second.
Mina
- Adèle!
The girl runs up, panic and concern written all over her face.
Mina
- Where are you going to go now?
- Or I suppose I just mean, maybe I could write to you …
- Dad has been acting stranger each day, and it seems like he isn’t the only one.
- I just hoped that maybe we could stay friends.
- We … we could keep talking about gemstones, or whatever you like, really.
She stops behind her, a hint of hope in her voice.
Brume
- Mina.
She extends her hand. A gemstone rests quietly in her palm.
Mina
- This is Patel’s …
Brume
- He wanted you to have it. He said … thank you for speaking up for him that day.
They both recall the day he came to the market. Before Brume proved the stone with her flames, only Mina trusted him.
Mina accepts the stone with dawning concern, confusion written on her face.
Mina
- I don’t understand. Didn’t he sell the gem to you? Is he alright?
Brume
- He changed his mind.
- He escaped his old life for good. That’s all that matters.
- Do you want to see what I found?
Mina
- Yes, of course!
She lets the unanswered questions slide with a nod.
Mina
- Wow!
- This is a true Kashmir sapphire!
- Its luster is amazing, even unheated …
Entranced by its glow, the girl reaches out and touches it.
She snaps back to herself, quickly pulling her hand away.
Mina
- What will you do with it? Sell it for a fortune? Make it into a one-of-a-kind ring?
The gem hunter shakes her head.
Brume
- No. It has another purpose.
- Sorry, I … I have to leave.
This is her second farewell.
Brume
- Mina, I may not be able to write to you.
Mina
- Oh …?
She doesn’t ask why. Adèle’s pale face lifts into a smile.
But try as she might, she can’t make her smile look happy.
Brume
- I wish I could say more, but just know that the strange things happening here will end soon.
- Sooner or later.
- Goodbye, Mina.
Clouds gather overhead. The heavy air is thick with moisture.
The girl stands alone as the rain is about to fall.
Another reverse “Storm.” Another quiet ritual.
*crack*
The finer the gemstone, the clearer the sound when it breaks.
Brume
- …
The woman before her is silent like a sculpture. She never shows frustration at the ritual’s result.
Nor confusion. Just a solemn blankness.
The gemstone shatters. After a long pause, Brume walks out the door of the shelter.
(Riverside, Paris)
Another “Storm,” another disaster forgotten, but the riverbank air is damp and fresh.
Félicienne
- Adèle, admit it—you were played.
- She’s been predicting the “Storm” using intelligence from the Manus Vindictae.
- Beryl will never tell you the truth about the “Storm.” She’s never truly cared—not about you, not about the “Storm,” not about the world itself!
- The gemstone you worked so hard to find—she shattered it and tossed you the pieces.
She pulls a handful of glittering fragments from her pocket and looks out over the river.
One of the slivers, though, is sizeable enough on its own. In the light of day, cut as it is, it reveals itself in a lustrous cornflower blue.
Beryl
- Adèle.
- Do you want to keep it?
Even after the failed ritual, its shattered core seems to radiate with light.
Beryl
- It has no more use for me. But it could serve as a memory of your long journey.
Brume
- … What do you mean?
The gem hunter lowers her head, gazing at the fragmented stone.
Then her fingers close around it, gathering its remains into her palm.
Brume
- Yeah, I know.
- Madame Bouanich will not tell me the truth about the “Storm.”
She stands at the riverbank and tilts her hand toward the flowing water.
Brume
- The people I met in Vienna—I was like them once, looking forward to a bright future.
- In a way, I think Mina and Patel were too.
- They never knew the “Storm” was coming—and what would it matter if they did? There’s nowhere to run.
- The “Storm” has already changed everything.
- My fate … I’ve never had control over it. I doubt I ever will.
- Until now, I hesitated, always waiting for it to come.
- Waiting for the moment—any moment when I might feel I’ve become a true Tavernier … when I set out for adventure … or when I find a way to appreciate the significance of gemstones …
- …
The blue fragments tumble through the air, scattering light before they fall into the river.
Her eyes still reflect the gem’s blue gleam.
Brume
- Gems used to promise forever. But what does that mean now? Everything will be lost to time.
- Left unknown, unremembered, unappreciated.
Félicienne
- Then you’ve begun to understand, Adèle, cherie, this world has never mattered. You once chased what was ordinary, and now the extraordinary. But it is all the same.
Brume
- In a way, I wish I had tried to live that extraordinary life earlier—maybe then that curse would have found me before I knew all this.
- Now it’s too late.
Brilliant blue shards strike the water and disappear into the river.
Félicienne
- The old world is long gone, you poor wretch.
Paris stretches out around them, washed again by the “Storm.”
But the familiarity of its skyline is only a facade. It is a new Paris in an old mask, one that does not belong to them.
The winds of a new world rise.
Brume
- I will rediscover the true meaning behind these gems.
- Sooner or later.
(THE END)