She soon hit the invisible wall around her little town. Here the shroud had been painted to give the illusion of a landscape extending forever. Once she touched it, that wall warped and bent—letting her pass through. For the first time in almost two thousand years, she physically left that pocket of land and entered the shroud proper.
The darkness was strangely transparent to her. （And she didn’t even have to burn tin.） Perhaps this was because she was made of its same substance. Once she was within it—hovering on a tree that was shrinking by the minute—she saw a dark and ruined landscape below. Nothing growing—just dark stone that had been hidden from the sun for millennia. Behind her, the town faded. She could see it retreating, a column with a dome on top. A piece of her broke when she realized even the sunlight she’d basked in and loved—even the sight of the daystar itself—had somehow been fake.
（She was wrong, by the way. The sunlight, actually, was real—the domes over the cities let sunlight through in one direction without allowing light back out the other way. So while what she felt was authentic, those of us surveying the world from above didn’t spot these prisons. In addition, the heat from the ground was real, created by the machine using a concentration of Invested essence.）
From this height, Yumi could make out other dome-topped columns in the distance. These too were transparent to her eyes, lights standing out like candles on a dark night. The prisons of the thirteen other yoki-hijo. And in the middle of it all, a brilliant larger light that she figured must be Torio City, the capital. Home of the festival. Seat of the queen.
Yumi was drifting away from it.
That was a much smaller problem than the fact that her tree was unraveling faster now—joining with the smoky blackness. Beneath her, dark shapes gathered. The scholars had not given up. Indeed, she flew like a banner out here, hard to miss. She started to drift downward as her tree continued to cease being a tree. She clung to it, eyes closed, resting her forehead against the wood.
Please. Please, spirits. Let it continue.
The bark beneath her forehead hardened. The tree stabilized in the air. Yumi opened her eyes, surprised—and embarrassed by that surprise. She’d prayed. The spirits had answered. It was just…she didn’t usually see them answer so quickly…
She started to fall again, the tree unraveling.
No! she thought. And again it recovered. Because…Because what I believe to be true is true, Yumi realized. This tree is created from the shroud. And by thinking of it as something else, I can force that to be the reality.
As she thought this way, the tree indeed became even more solid.
And the wind, Yumi thought forcefully. I am lucky. Because it blows the right direction.
The tree shifted in the wind, turning the way she needed it to go, toward Torio City. Toward the machine.
* * *
An hour later, painters gathered at the western edge of the city, laying down stacks of canvases and large jars of ink. Favors had been cashed in. Promises given. Debts incurred. In total, thirty-seven had come.
Painter watched it all with excruciating anxiety, worried that the assault would come while they were still preparing. But now that he had them all organized—a good ten to fifteen percent of the city’s total painters—he found himself overwhelmed with gratitude. His friends had not gone halfway in their efforts. It was still a small force, considering what was coming. And not one of them save him had any experience painting stable nightmares.
But it was a far, far cry from where he’d been before, standing here alone.
“All right, Akane,” a lanky painter called. “What are we doing here again?”
“Waiting,” she said. “Something might be coming. Something dangerous. Have your paints ready.”
The others settled in, chatting in groups, some sitting with their backs to the wall of warehouse buildings around the city. Painter turned his eyes to the shroud and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
A full hour with all of them gathered there, grumbles increasing. His anxiety rising. What if he’d picked the wrong location? What if the others got bored and left right before the attack happened?
What if…
While Tojin placated one of the leaders among the other groups. Akane walked up, hands clasped behind her back. She looked tired.
“Nikaro,” she said, “is your sister safe? Please tell me she’s staying, for once, in your room.”
“She’s…not going to be painting. I will explain eventually, but you don’t need to worry about her.” I’ll do enough of that for all of us.
Telling the truth was one thing. Explaining what had been happening with him and Yumi…well, that would have to wait. Akane glanced out at the shroud, concern written across her face. Then she looked back at him. “Tell me again what we’re waiting for?”
“They’ll come,” Painter promised her before she could continue. “A hundred nightmares. It’s going to happen.”
“It’s all right if it doesn’t, you know.”
“You all put your reputations on the line for this,” Painter said. He’d noticed the glares from some painters as they realized he was involved. The others had left his name out of the recruitment efforts. Wisely.
She shrugged. “Like Tojin said. We might get embarrassed for a little while. Nothing we can’t live down.”
“Akane,” he said, “I know it sounds strange, but I did speak to a nightmare. I…I can’t explain it all. I promise though, this is really going to happen.”
“And…if it doesn’t, Nikaro?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said, his voice strained. “Not again.”
“I’m not saying you would,” she whispered. “But Nikaro, what if…maybe you imagined it. What if you…need help? Because sometimes, things you want to be real feel real?”
“I—”
“Please,” Akane said. “Consider it.”
He forced himself to. For her; for the effort they’d given him. He closed his eyes, and actually wondered. The things he’d experienced seemed so incredible, even outlandish. There was an easy explanation.
He’d wanted so badly to be someone special. He’d viewed himself, all these months, as a lone warrior wandering the night, looking for people to save. Could he have just…made it all up? Formed everything out of the shroud? Or even worse, simply imagined it?
He rebelled against the thought, but a calmer part of him—the part that had survived the shame of his previous lies—stood fast. Willing to examine this. If it was true, if he’d devised all of this, then Akane was right. He needed help. It wasn’t a lie, or even a moral failing, to admit that.
“If it turns out,” he said, opening his eyes, “that nothing comes of this…then yes, Akane. I’ll get help.”
She nodded toward the others. “Why don’t I tell them this was a drill of sorts? Us trying to figure out how quickly we could gather a force to protect the city in an emergency.”
“No,” Painter said, taking her arm. “Don’t lie to them. If you decide you need to dismiss them…tell them the truth. That you were humoring me. In remembrance of our former friendship.”