"Answer me."
"Do you devote yourself wholly to Order, to walk the future it desires—without a shred of selfishness?"
The veneer of gentility fell away from Gopph, revealing icy fangs. He wouldn't trust loyalty won with pretty words. A birdcage needed songbirds—not beasts.
Sunday and Robin, the Twin Children of Order, kept each other in check. Control one, and you controlled both. But Anming was different—
A gambit.
This move could elevate Penacony to new heights... or plunge it back into primordial chaos.
Gopph had to choose his Child of Order carefully. If the bird couldn't be caged, its wings would be clipped.
Even a god was but a child now.
If fledglings couldn't embrace the true sky, he would become their only sky.
"Yes."
It didn't matter what he served. Order's desired future was irrelevant.
He'd become anything—so long as the world found happiness.
Anming's reply was calm, his eyes laced with divine mockery. How amusing, they seemed to say, that a servant of Order needs Harmony's power to interrogate.
"Answer me."
"Do you pledge yourself as Child of Order—without treason in your heart?"
Gopph's gaze pinned Anming like a specimen. One wrong answer, and the abyss awaited.
Useless Children deserved extinction.
"Yes."
Why rebel? If happiness could be bought, why resist?
Most importantly—Robin and Sunday must have a future. Their sky should be boundless, not a gilded cage.
Those free wings would one day shatter shackles, bearing hope to all.
And he? A wingless bird, forever earthbound.
"Answer me."
"Will you sacrifice everything—even life itself—to fulfill Order's grand design?"
Gopph's pressure eased. The first two answers had erased doubt. Anming was the chosen Child.
One day, Order's light would blanket Penacony's skies—a cage of perfect laws.
"I'll trade all I am for everyone's happiness."
Anming's halo blazed like a newborn sun.
He disdained lies. His creed never wavered.
Harmony or Order—mere tools to build paradise. All would become his strength.
All for that ideal Eden.
"Good. Very good."
Gopph saw his younger self—but Anming's fire burned a thousand times brighter.
What future would this conflagration bring?
Great souls became stars, guiding mortals from the firmament...
"Anming! You're back!"
On the lawn, Robin cradled an injured songbird. "Brother and I bandaged it. It'll recover soon."
"Birds belong to the sky. I want to see it fly again."
Her fingers brushed its wings—as if seeing her own reflection.
Sunday watched Anming. "Your thoughts?"
Was releasing it truly right? If death awaited, was the sky worth it?
"I found a cage. Rest is best for now."
"Brother!"
Robin's pleading eyes turned to Anming. She understood Sunday's logic—yet still yearned to see it soar.
The sky is its home.
"Sister, is flying worth dying for?" Sunday's voice softened. "Wouldn't living be better?"
"If I couldn't sing, I'd..." Robin bit back "rather die."
She couldn't die.
This life wasn't hers alone—it carried her mother's blessing, Anming's sacrifice.
"Sorry, Brother... We don't get to choose for it."
In the end, the songbird was placed in a gilded cage.
Anming stayed silent.