“And if I win, we pretend we’re the ones who existed in that place I suspect you built for us, but only until next aurora rise. At which stage, you’ll owe me a single wish.” Confusion swims in his eyes as the octimar scrawls upon his palm. “What happens once the aurora rises?” “Not important.” “What. Happens?” I sigh, gather my allotted shards off the table and begin sorting them, stare cast on the vibrant illustrations. “I will have a Mindweft smudge you from my brain. Get back to reality. The wish is precautionary.”
