“This isn’t safe at all.” Max grumbled while trying to keep up with Kurt, who was moving recklessly on the steep and icy roofs of the estate. From climbing up the trees alongside the estate, clambering over the walls, in through one window and out another; this route was only bringing up more questions.

  “It’s the safest way if you want to avoid people.” Despite Max’s struggles, he didn’t stop or slow down for him. “We’re almost there.” Kurt wasn’t lying. Right in front of them was a high tower. Max glanced down at the courtyard below them, waiting for them to make themselves known were the tough guards training in the snow. “Okay, one last window,” Kurt didn’t hesitate to smash in the glass before diving in.

  “Is your bio dad going to be okay with all of these broken windows?” Max was glad to find the stairway that they ended up in to be significantly warmer than outside. The soft carpet with intricate patterns was now dangerous with all the embedded shards of glass. It took Max a moment to realise the carpet was horse themed. Even though it was a narrow, curved stairway, the horse emblem of the family had found its way up the stairs as shown by the hundreds of horseshoes nailed along the inner wall.

  “He hasn’t complained yet.” Kurt’s pace slowed as they climbed up the stairs.

  “How many windows have you broken since coming here?”

  “Too many to count.” His shrug was nonchalant and unrepentant.

  “No punishment?”

  “Bio dad has got a few screws loose when it comes to priorities.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the horses,” Kurt pointed to the wall and then the carpet below them. “He was the one who decided to deck out this place with his favourite animal.”

  “Is that why the inn has so many horses?”

  “That’s filled with the old junk bio dad tossed out when renewing some of the rooms at the estate.”

  “Is there another Pegasus?”

  “There are a few.”

  “How many?”

  “Don’t know. Never really paid attention to them.” Kurt began counting on his fingers before giving up when they reached the door at the top of the stairs. “I’ll go around and count them when we’re done.”

  “You don’t have to,” Max said, despite being curious about the answer. For some reason, he was feeling a little nervous beside the door. “Are you going to open it?” He prompted, wanting to confront the feelings brewing up inside of him.

  “Okay, but remember what I said-”

  “We might have to come back another day if he’s not feeling well.”

  “If he’s talking nonsense again,” Kurt corrected before opening the door for them.

  Despite being bedridden, the duke had been generous to their nonsensical, magic man. The room was circular and a decent size with several windows letting in a lot of light. Covering each of the windows were thin, white curtains. There were several pieces of furniture around the room, but they all had a thin layer of dust aside from the bed and one chair beside it. With the head of the bed resting under a window, their uninformed host laid peacefully. “Landrut?” A frail voice called out from the bed.

  “It’s me, Kurt. And I brought a friend.” After approaching, Max was a bit surprised to see Pompey was significantly younger than he had thought. Max would’ve guessed they were almost the same age if he didn’t know any better. Despite being physically young, there were several aspects making him look aged. The long, unkempt hair, large bags under his eyes, and razor-sharp cheeks from him being alarmingly skinny; all of them supported Kurt’s recounted history. “This is Max.”

  Pompey took one look at Max before gesturing a frail finger towards the door. “Kurt. Leave.”

  Kurt couldn’t believe his ears. “You hear that, Max! He remembered my name.” His voice turned into a whisper. “Do you think he’s recovering just from your presence? Maybe you should visit more?”

  “With your bio dad’s permission,” Max reminded him about his intentions of getting involved with their family’s political drama. “I think Pompey wants you to leave.” The finger was still not retracted. Kurt still didn’t seem convinced, perhaps he was doubting his conviction. “Since he’s feeling better, why don’t you go get him some food?”

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  The idea was enough to get him buzzing. “A good bit of liver will pep him back up.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Max smiled, as he watched Kurt leave. He was about to speak before Pompey beat him to it.

  “The system doesn’t like you.”

  “I guess you’re still in the middle of your story then.” Max took a seat by his bed while Pompey answered with a grunt. “Are we going to have a problem?” Thanks to Cy’s interjection with magic, there was a bit stored within the runes on his skin provided the crystal didn’t block it. It was a little precaution while they were separated. Even if it was useless, Max could win in a brawl. Instead of answering with words, a loud cackle came from the bedridden man making Max feel uneasy. Without a clear answer, Max decided to continue with his interrogation. “I see from the system you’ve completed a five-star story as well.” The laughing stopped as abruptly as it had started. Pompey’s eyes focused on the wooden ceiling above them. It was unclear if he could hear. “How recent was that lifetime-”

  “Has it started already?”

  “Started?” Max asked, confused. “Started what?” Pompey just gave a groan. “Do you mean the six-star-”

  Pompey sat up abruptly. His eyes were finally focused on his visitor. “Six-star? What do you mean six-star?”

  “It’s just like I said…” Max didn’t finish his sentence. Rather than listening, Pompey was clutching his ears while mumbling the words ‘no’ and ‘not good.’ Max waited patiently for him to calm down a bit. “I avoided starting stories…” Again, Max couldn’t finish as he watched Pompey roll on his side, away from him. The mumbling started again. Perhaps Kurt was right. Maybe he should come again tomorrow.

  Max was about to get up to leave when Pompey’s frail voice unnerved him. “Can you smell it?”

  “Smell it?”

  “The stench.” The two words rattled Max to his bones. Pompey picked up on his discomfort. “You can, can’t you? It doesn’t get better. Only worse, and worse, and worse.” Pompey repeated several more times before Max mustered up the will to interrupt.

  “What is it?”

  “… I don’t know.”

  “You smell it too?”

  Pompey began snickering again in his bed. For a moment, Max thought about going over to the other side of the bed so he could see the pale man’s face. “And you’ve seen her?”

  “Her?”

  “Ah, not yet… But that’s not right. You said you did a five-star story too… You should have seen her.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Where is she?” Pompey answered with a question before turning to face Max again. His eyes were looking around the room widely. “She should have been there.”

  “There?” Max wasn’t too sure whether or not to believe in Pompey’s words. “Why don’t we take a deep breath and calm-”

  Pompey reached out to grab Max’s hands, but he pulled them away before contact could be made. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Max tried to reassure him.

  “The final death is coming for you.”

  Max felt a chill. The curtains around the room fluttered from the wind. The wind? Weren’t all the windows closed? Otherwise, the room would be freezing. In contrast to the fluttering curtains, Max felt calm and settled. “The final death?” Or Darius’s after? The apologies began tumbling out again as the curtains stopped moving. “It’s alright. I’m not surprised all of this would stop one day.”

  It was one of Edric’s theories about what could happen if you completed a five-star story.

  It was one of the bigger reasons why they encouraged Max to be the person to test out what happened if they were to succeed.

  Edric and June both retained some fear of an end, but Max never felt any qualm.

  It was easier to face death with a smile than to look back on his actions as a hypocrite.

  Despite the reassurances, Pompey continued to apologise. It took some time before Max could think of a question to divert his attention. “Have you met others who have completed five-star stories?”

  “No,” Pompey began frantically shaking his head. “But I’ve met others like us, who are near the end.”

  A five-star story wasn’t a requirement? In an instant, it changed Max’s interpretation about their situation.

  “And what happened to them?”

  “First, the smell. Then, they begin to see things in reflections.” Instinctively, Pompey sat up to check all of the curtains were covering all of the glass in the room. He only settled when he could confirm his reflection couldn’t be seen.

  “What’s next?”

  “Then the glass. The liquid. The lights,” Pompey began to clutch his head again while rocking slightly.

  “And then?”

  “Nothing.” The rocking stopped. With rigid movements, he pulled his hands away from his head, losing a few long strands in the process. “They are simply gone. We shall see them no more.”

  “Uh-huh,” Max stood up and talked while he helped Pompey lower his hands, get rid of the hair, before trying to tuck him back into bed. “I have a friend. He has a theory that there are three kinds of people: before, during, and after. People who can remember lives and can interact with the system are deemed as during. So, you and I are during,” Max emphasised, wondering if Pompey could follow along. “People whose souls reincarnated as well, but they can’t remember are before. What you’re describing sounds like after.”

  Pompey resisted being cared for, as he violently shook his head. “He is wrong. He is wrong. There are two: real and unreal. Only two. There will be only two until they all become one.”

  “Until they all become real?”

  “All that will be left is unreal.”

  Max thought about his words and the whole bizarre interaction until now. “How is ‘her’ connected with all this?”

  “Her?” Pompey sounded confused.

  “The one I was supposed to see?” Max tried to jog his memory, but the poor man was clearly still confused. He decided to change his question. “Does the star-level of stories affect the final death?”

  “Nothing is solid. One-star creeps. Two-star saunters. Three-star strides. Four-star gallops. Five-star…”

  Max didn’t need Pompey to finish. The picture was clear enough. “What about six-star?”

  Pompey seemed unwilling to continue their conversation by turning over again to face the other way. Max tried to get the conversation between them flowing again, but the sick man refused to bite. “Kurt’s taking his time, I should check on him,” Max finally said, as an excuse to leave.

  Just as Max was about to close the door behind him, he thought he heard the airy voice mutter, “… help ... remember ...” But he couldn’t be sure. It could have just been the wind.