This was finally it, what Jenn had dreamed about for eight years. It was almost exactly like she had imagined it, except without her uncle by her side.

That night, Jenn rested well. Despite the day's tragic events, she was able to offset the horrifying images of Alba and Jesse with Councilman Gray's cowering expression—his desperate plead for mercy. But when the time came, she wouldn't hear his pleads—not after all that he'd done.

When Jenn awoke in the morning, she hopped out of bed, triggering the crystals beside her to glow red. After dressing herself, she collected her bow and sat with it, brushing the cold wood. Then she stood up and aimed her bow at the wall, viewing her distorted image through the crystal's reflection. She drew the string back, imagining Councilman Gray standing in front of her, and then fired an invisible arrow. It brought a smile to her face.

With a new squall of energy, Jenn headed for the main room where she found Lark sitting alone. Unlike the night before, he wore a pair of eyeglasses which, like her father, looked awkwardly small for his wide face.

When Jenn approached, she noticed that he was reading.

"Good morning," she said.

"Oh," said Lark, slightly startled. He observed her up and down. "All ready to march, are we?"

"More than ready," said Jenn.

Lark smiled.

"What are you reading?" said Jenn, seating herself across from him.

He looked down at his parchment. "It's the letter you gave us. I've been reading through it for a few hours now."

"Wow," said Jenn, "you must wake up early."

Lark looked back up at her, his eyes as kind as his smile. "I've always been somewhat of an insomniac. My thoughts often keep me up."

"Have you made any discoveries?" Lark looked confused. "About the letter?"

"Oh." He sighed. "No, I don't think so—except that it was written in gastro ink."

"What does that mean?"

"Not much," said Lark, "considering that I've never seen a pen that doesn't use gastro ink."

Jenn laughed.

Lark laughed with her, then took an orange from a bowl and held it up. "What do you see, dear?" His small eyes were focused on hers.

Jenn focused on it awhile before answering. "An orange?"

"And what color do you see?"

"Orange."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Jenn, now less confident.

"What if I told you I saw yellow?—Would you argue against it?"

"No, I suppose not—it does look kind of yellowish."

"But what if I said it was blue? Would you disagree?"

Jenn paused to think. "Yeah," she said. "I'd disagree."

"And what makes my conviction of blue so much different from yellow?"

"Well, yellow kind of looks like orange sometimes, so we just might see if differently. But blue is a lot different."

"I think I would agree." Lark took another orange and held it up. "If I asked you to describe an orange to someone who'd never seen or tasted one before, how would you do it?"

"Well," she said, "I would start by telling them it's orange."

"And if they didn't know what orange was?"

Jenn paused again, hoping to impress Lark with her answer. "I'd describe the taste."

"How would you describe it?"

"I'd say it was sweet and juicy."

"Can it be sour?"

"Yes—it can be sour, too."

"So it can be both things at once?"

"Well, it can't be both. If it's not ripe yet, then it's sour."

"You've never had an orange that was both sweet and sour?"

Jenn looked at the orange with new conviction. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It can be both."

"And what about people?—Are they the same? Can they be both rotten and enlightened?"

"No," said Jenn, now with confidence. "They're either one or the other."

"What makes their case different than oranges?"

"Oranges start out sour, but then they become sweet as they grow."

"I would agree again. But I don't think you've answered my question."

"I don't think I understand it. You're asking what makes people different from oranges?"

"Put simply, yes. But more specifically, I'm asking why you think oranges can mature from an undesirable fruit into a luscious delicacy, while people cannot?"

"People are different—they mature differently than oranges. There's no such thing as evil oranges."

"But there are bad oranges, no?"

"Yeah, but that's different."

"It absolutely is." He took another orange and began to juggle them. "Can you explain how they're different?"

"Bad oranges aren't evil," said Jenn, "they just grow that way. But people become evil—they aren't born that way."

He stopped juggling, then carefully placed the oranges back in the bowl. "There is another distinct difference between oranges and human beings—one that I might argue is more significant. Do you know what it is?"

"You can eat oranges," said Jenn, half-jokingly.

"Hah! Quite right. But cannibals might argue otherwise."

Jenn smiled. "What's the difference then?"

"What do farmers do with spoiled oranges?"

"They toss them out."

"Precisely. And why?"

"Because they're no good."

"Yes, because they're no good and they can't be made into a good orange. Their destiny is sealed—there's no altering their condition."

"So," said Jenn, "you're saying that bad people can be changed into good people."

"What if I said they could?—what would you say?"

Jenn looked away, thinking about the worse people she'd ever known. On top of the list was King Nero, Councilman Gray and Tim Morney—the higher responsible for her parents' death. She looked up at him. "No," she said. "Some people can't be changed."

"Maybe. But some can, no?"

Before Jenn could respond, Hannah came skipping down the steps.

"Look, Jenn!" She held up a bow, which Jenn instantly recognized. "I still have mine, too!"

"It still looks brand-new," said Jenn. "Have you been practicing with it?"

"Are you kidding? I almost shot a sparrow from a hundred meters yesterday!"

"Almost?" said Lark, gently laughing to himself.

"Well, I wasn't gonna kill it," said Hannah. "I don't kill animals that are minding their own business."

Jenn laughed. "You haven't changed much," she said. "Do you still not eat meat?"

Hannah set her elbow on the table and leaned towards Jenn, "Does milk still make your stomach upset?"

"I think that's a different case," said Lark, amused.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Lark?" said Hannah. "Why're you wasting your super-brain on us?"

"Good point," said Lark, gradually rising from his seat. "I'd better go wake the others."

Hannah shook her head as he departed. Then she turned and took Jenn's hand, her face radiating with enthusiasm.

"So," she said, "what've you and your uncle been doing? Do you go around pillaging cities and fighting soldiers?"

"Not until recently," said Jenn. "We've spent most of our time training and hiding."

"Well that's no fun. So how many battles have you been in?"

Jenn wanted to exaggerate her story, but she had to confess. "None, really," she said. "Except when we were staying in the Gwanoawamp encampment. Imperial Soldiers attacked us—I wanted to help but my uncle wouldn't let me."

"Oh," said Hannah, her enthusiasm fading. "So you haven't, you know, killed anyone?"

"No," said Jenn, biting her lip. "Not yet. Have you?"

"Like a real person?"

"Yeah...like a real person."

"Not yet," said Hannah, smiling. "But I definitely could if I had to—just not animals."

Jenn smiled.

"Could you?" said Hannah.

"Yeah," said Jenn. "If it was someone I hated."

"Well, you'll have your chance soon," said Hannah. "I haven't been in any fights either. Papa doesn't allow me to come with him if he thinks he might have to fight—even though I'm a Defender."

"You'll have your chance."

The upper level began to glow—a sign that someone had triggered the crystals. When Jenn and Hannah looked over, they found the Defenders approaching. Lark led them down the steps and to the table.

"Good morning," said Charles. He wore a tattered cloak, unlike anything Jenn had ever seen him wear before. She almost didn't recognize him.

Faunus was dressed in a black leather shirt, while Hammersmock wore a chest plate and helmet. Jenn could see a long blade sheathed alongside Faunus' waist, while Hammersmock was more revealing with his weapon: a war hammer that draped over his shoulder. It was almost as large as him.

"Are you ready to smash some heads?" said Hammersmock, grinning excessively at each of them.

"Heck yeah!" said Hannah, throwing her hands up.

As Jenn rose from her seat, Charles approached her. "Jeneria," he said. "Are you experienced with a horse? I suppose I just assumed you'd be—my apologies."

"I know how to ride. My uncle and I borrowed some horses from a stable a few years ago and he spent a few days teaching me."

"Borrowed horses?" said Hammersmock, clearly humored. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Well," said Jenn, "we stole them and then gave them back. Uncle Alexander called it borrowing."

"Splendid," said Charles. He faced them all. "We'll ride to the Gravard Forest together. From there, Jenn will take me to Denethgilne as her prisoner." He turned back to Jenn, "We'll need to give you a pseudonym—calling yourself Jenn might arouse suspicion."

"Sylvia Rose," said Jenn, almost instinctively. "That's the name I used in Cacturnus."

"Perfect," said Charles. "We'll also need to construct a false history—but we can do that on the way."

Jenn nodded, already thinking about what her story would be.

"Lark?" said Charles. "Would you mind gathering the Xomenclature? We should depart soon."

Lark nodded, then retreated back into the cove.

"Why are you dressed like a beggar?" said Hannah, examining her father's clothing.

"I want the council to think we've been weak and without resources," said Charles. He looked at Jenn, "It also suits our story better."

"Well, you definitely look like a beggar," said Hannah. "I'm almost embarrassed to call you my father." She sniffed him, then withdraw herself in disgust. "You reek too, papa! You made yourself stink?"

"It wasn't very difficult," said Charles. "I just spent the night with dear old Hammersmock."

Hammersmock nodded, unoffended.

Faunus drew her blade and began to examine it. It reflected the light of the crystals beside her, causing it to glow bright blue. It was long and slender, just like her.

"Are you ready to use that?" said Charles.

"There hasn't been a time in my life that I've been ready to use it," said Faunus, tucking it back into the sheath. "But we do what we must."

Lark returned soon after, accompanied by the Xomenclature. They all had fresh garments on and appeared bathed.

Jenn watched as they dispersed around the room, accompanied by the Natal boy, who, for probably the first time in his life, wore a shirt.

He smiled at her.

Once everyone was settled, Charles began to speak.

"After today, the history of Ausmik, and even of Ultanzia, will be dramatically altered." He paused and looked around at everyone before continuing. "For the years to come, the people will retell stories about how a small faction—made up of Defenders and Xomenclature and Natals—stormed into Denethgilne and changed the region forever. Our story will be celebrated."

Jenn could see the effect of his speech, as each Xomenclature—even the Natal boy who couldn't understand him—was on their heels.

"Every individual here is making a tremendous sacrifice," continued Charles, "and I cannot express how grateful I am for that. But know that your sacrifices aren't only for your lives, but for the conditions of thousands of ailing individuals. Our names may not be remembered or retold in the stories of our great rise, but our courage will serve as inspiration to others. I genuinely want to thank you all for all that you done—all that you've sacrificed—and what you continue to sacrifice. I am honored to be a part of this movement." He bowed his head, unashamed of his tears.

The Xomenclature erupted, shouting and cheering like an army preparing ready for battle. Hannah joined too, thrusting his bow up in the air.

"For those who've we've lost!" said Charles, throwing his fist up. "And for those who have suffered and continue to suffer! We march!"

Jenn joined in, usingher screams to expel all of her long-suspended anger and sadness. She hadn'tfelt this good in a long time, and when she glanced around the room, sherealized that she wasn't the only one. Charles hadn't only provided inspiration,but a legitimate sense of hope—and that was enough for them all.