The following collection was donated to Dunai’s Library of the Extraordinary in 4838. While the donor’s request for anonymity casted doubts on its authenticity, historians and graphologists alike confirm its legitimacy. Before her death on August 10th, 4835, the 70th Seeress of Exo traveled Exo Planet in 30 days. These are her journal entries, appearing in their unabridged form.

JULY 11TH, 4835. The desert smells greasy. Grilled to crispy perfection by the scorching sun. The summer season gives me strength to leave the Capital. Winter was harsh on my bones; I used to love the cold.

Always the pessimists, Victoria and Luna complain about the heat in the “all-terrain” jeep’s cockpit. Victoria uses this word four separate times in two minutes. Fueled by Victoria’s unnecessarily extensive explanation of her recent purchase, Luna proposes testing it out in the Capital. Victoria gets a shock and stops boasting. We ride in silence for two more minutes.

I break the ice with, “Why stop horsing around? We’ve got 1,450 in the engine to spare.” Not my best, but I’m proud of it. They laugh. It’s the little things. I’ll never beat breakfast. 

Do they sell bacon in Flior? 

JULY 12TH, 4835. They do sell bacon in Flior — a pleasant surprise. It’s turkey bacon, but remember: the little things. I can’t protest to a day of gardening with Lay. We kept in touch often, and slip into a rhythm that makes me believe I was meant to be a gardener.

Flior’s soil is soft, and their seasonal harvest is made bountiful by the return to their nomadic lifestyle. Lay uses their abundance of herbs in his work as a healer. He’s still learning but says, “I like it here.” Count on Lay to turn his incessant worry for others into a career.

Victoria and Luna drove back to the Capital this morning. I left in the middle of negotiations for what each major city’s representative is calling the “establishment of a reformed Council.” In my distaste for the term, I don’t regret time cutting our deliberation short.

Lay taught me how to plant white roses today. He gives me an elixir created from their thorns. “Even in death, being can live on,” he says. Perceptive in such matters, he undoubtedly notices my deterioration —a weekly video call can easily be distorted by well-placed lighting and regular naps. He neither says nor does anything more. 

JULY 13TH, 4835. I hitch a ride with merchants setting out for Dunai. They approached me as I was leaving Flior. Apparently, Zhoumi’s influence while in the inhabitable Capital still reaches far and wide.

It takes several absurd finger stretches for me to properly dot this sentence. I’m comforted by the knowledge that I can moonwalk without my legs.

JULY14TH, 4835. The mark is spreading. I cover up in spite. So much for summer. On the bright side, Dunai’s mosquitoes will need to find another source for a savory snack. 

JULY 15TH, 4835. Tellius kindly buys me a new scarf from Dunai’s bustling street vendors. As usual, our talk revolves around Kai. The Guardian who used to break into public city records became the assistant archivist at Dunai’s Library of the Extraordinary. “He’s got a passion for digging up the truth, no matter how dirty,” Tellius reprimands Kai with a fondness that turns me green.

I spend the afternoon telling Tellius about good ol’ Guinevere Callum, the 69th Seeress of Exo. He takes notes like his life depends on it. In exchange, I ask for an extraordinary tour. Who knew miniature dragons liked peaches so much?

Tao receives me in the evening at his home. Surgeons hardly get time off. With the miracles he was working on his patients, I doubt the Library of the Extraordinary won’t soon have an exhibit dedicated to his skills with a knife. He laughs at this, remembering when he almost decapitated me. Good times. 

It’s a long walk to Alberos, and I regrettably bid both him and Dunai’s twinkling fireflies goodnight to get a head start on my much-neglected daily nap.

JULY 16TH, 4835. I wake up to unfamiliar surroundings, the smell of coffee, and a note, “Is passing out in each other’s presence our thing now?” I almost extend my stay in the comforts of Tao’s constancy.

JULY 17TH, 4835. I had no idea where Kris was until this morning. Missing Kai in Dunai gets a girl thinking the Tree of Life threw this familiar traveling troupe in her path to make up for poorly-timed work schedules. Kris claims, “Nothing is more exciting than wondering if I’ll break the sound barrier this time.” Employed as the colorful bunches’ “Daredevil,” Kris soared to new heights — he says he’s seen dragons, and they like meat more than peaches. 

The night’s festivities include an impromptu performance by the devil himself. He shoots up through the canopy, a drumroll dancing wildly like the campfire’s flickering flames. Anticipation builds. Builds. Builds. When he descends, I realize Kris the Daredevil makes regular dragon donations to the Library of the Extraordinary. 

He asks what I think, in search of praise for his new skill. I say, “I’m as peached as a dragon made peachy from eating peaches.” This earns me another laugh. Bad jokes: 3. Good jokes: 0. Step it up, good jokes.

JULY 18TH, 4835. Kris continues to Jingxi with the troupe, and I accompany Exotians on a pilgrimage to the Tree of Life. Victoria calls from the Capital. She tells me I may have to go back early. I spend the day making business calls from a moving caravan.

JULY 19TH, 4835. I released the Guardians from their Tree of Life-given responsibilities with my time limit in mind. Luna recommends sending them to quell an uprising marching across Bout Du Monde’s glacial landscape. Exotians wanted certainty now, not later. My leading role demands I return to defusing crises. However, as trained as I am in a pinch, this is me time.

I vote in favor of the “establishment of a reformed Council.” 

JULY 20TH, 4835. Yelling at misguided tyrants works less often than Exotians, than I’d, hope. City leaders can sense my increasingly withdrawn response to everyday, “end of the planet as we know it” do or dies. Up to five years may pass without a Seeress. There’s a lesson to be learnt in problem-solving without the help of twelve Guardians — and a woman who can sometimes see the future and sometimes call you out on a white lie.

I solemnly swear that I didn’t eat bacon for breakfast.

Alberos prefers rabbit jerky. D.O smokes the tiny beings to perfection. Lay would be better at articulating the cycle of life connected to the meal, as I’m too busy stuffing my face. The Tree of Life’s new Gardener sang a merry tune. 

One day, two days, three days, and more.
The Tree of Life knows what’s in store. 
Plants a sproutling in our heads.
For our future needs a bed.

A letter arrived for him in Dunai mere weeks after the Capital’s mass evacuation. Recognizing D.O’s natural affinity with the planet, the young woman who taught the Gardener’s tradition offered him a home in the Ytri Mountains. He accepted, asking me first, as he does now, “Is there anything I can do for you, your highness?”

I promise him the planet, but he doesn’t believe me. The Tree of Life asks, “What’s the good in keeping secrets, child?” I answered “to protect others,” but I don’t believe me. Rabbit jerky heals most wounds.

JULY 21ST, 4835. But not all. Skepticism shields us from future dejection. Neglecting my health is getting harder. I plan to rest in Alberos, but the sudden appearance of an airship cuts my dream short. 

JULY 22ND, 4835. Jingxi remains in ruins after suffering unparalleled, celestial wrath. Surprisingly, Exotians are returning to the area in larger numbers. Important as I may be for an airlift, I don’t see the big shot responsible for Jingxi’s reconstruction project until the moon is out — looking alive. 

Jingxians want to mold the city’s rubble into modern art. Luhan disagrees. 

Up until now, I’ve been picky with this journal. Writing these days down has helped me maintain focus. Purpose. Keeping scenes concise lets me dwell on a didactic message of some kind. Something. Anything to stop myself from saying, “It’s too soon.” It’s all ending too soon.

But maybe if I write what passes between us, I can figure out how to protect myself. Luhan brings out the best in me.

“Am I the only Jingxian who thinks dulling every sharp piece of glass is impractical?” he asks me. He doesn’t wait for a response. “Petitions to keep the debris in place as a statement on the ‘state of nature’ come in every hour like clockwork. A giant tree shook this city with a minor earthquake, and it shattered to bits. Where’s the grande moral in gripping so tightly to what used to be?”

Face-to-face, alone, for the first time, and he talks politics. As he goes on, I can’t help fixating; he has an oval-shaped face. Expect the unexpected! Oval-shaped: it makes the heart grow founder.

This comes to me without a moment’s thought: “In 11 days I’ve learned how to grow roses, met a miniature dragon with a love for peaches, wondered what life would be like headless, watched a daredevil break the sound barrier, eaten rabbit jerky with a fellow tree-talker, and made promises I can’t keep.”

Here is how I let Luhan go.

“Foresight can’t predict what I’ll face next. Hindsight secures me with past familiarities. Insight insists I move forward nevertheless.” I say to myself, “Beings on the verge of becoming must leave things behind — if they intend to leave at all.”

“It feels like you’ve both scolded and praised me.” Luhan laughs. What a sight! I can feel him my seconds reserve dry. I want to feel time’s irrelevancy in his embrace. Ovals are such charming shapes.

JULY 23RD, 4835. I secure passage to Trädgård by boat. 

Coincidence favored her endeavor. A traveling troupe and an airship: many readers may assume the 70th Seeress of Exo was blessed by Lady Luck. Reconsider this judgement. She writes only one line on July 23rd. This is a stark contrast to the wit and easy manner of her previous entries. 

Upon her arrival in Trädgård, then having less than five high-rises, eye witnesses reported she looked “even better than on her inauguration day.” As there is no mention of Moon Guardian Lay’s elixir in the proceeding entries, historians assume the rose thorn mixture had a positive effect on her health. Scientists presently flock to the western forests in search of the nomadic Fliorians and Lay’s miracle drug. 

To focus on something the 70th Seeress seemed so fixated upon, what message is this entry attempting to portray — besides the progression of the inevitable? Sentimentalists may conclude her encounter with Moon Guardian Luhan reaffirmed her inability to solve the crisis that was her death. Romanticists, who hold the more popular opinion, may conclude she was in love. And it broke her body and soul to neither see the start nor the end of its possibilities.

A/N: Thoughts?