I’m not all-seeing; that’s not how it works. Imagine the future’s a plane: the Future Plane. Foresight provides me a ticket. Aisle, middle, or window seat; first-class, business, or couch: these details are vague until I arrive at the terminal. The pilot decides the destination.

Whether she decides to swerve left, barrel roll right, land here or there, I’m just along for the ride. Depending on my seat, I can make predictions. Receive hints to back up suspicions; little inklings dotted amongst the clouds.

Granted, airplanes no longer exist on Exo Planet. Airships are used to transport goods, not people — at least for now. 

To return to the analogy, the Seeress of Exo is to passenger as Guardians are to sponsors. Providing funds through physical contact. I receive my ticket, board the Future Plane, and I’m off. Plagued by acrophobia, the journey is no joy ride. However, after numerous incidents, it’s easier to tell when I should start the breathing exercises. 

Generous in his subtlety, Baekhyun pays for a round trip. Gone and back again, the visions increase in clarity; the predictable flight pattern allows for a carefree snack at the midway point. Master of adventure, Chen randomly selects a destination. Turbulence in abundance, images are blurry; judgement gets skewed as the world turns green. Thank the Tree of Life for obligatory brown bags.

Kai stopped shelling out long ago.

Suffice it to say, I didn’t know what was in B1. While Vernon Milford provided enough high-and-mighty thoughts for loose speculation, there was no knowing what I would deal with on my first day as Gardener of Exo Planet. Could an extra voyage on the Future Plane have helped me stop it? Years later, I can’t help but wonder.

B1. Luhan was close to discovering the secrets hidden behind the ominous letter-number combination. Rapidly self-regenerating cells capable of subsistence: a description recorded months prior. Tides were changing in the Capital with the 70th Seeress of Exo’s return; the Moon Guardian’s gnawing concern was buried by unexplained distance.

The Gardener of the Capital held benevolent intentions; Vernon Milford was simply a being who acted on progress. 78%: “The Bloom Project” was near completion when Exo Planet drove off the serf meticulously tending their pastures. Numerous Exotians died for attempting to stop what they deemed “unnatural.” B1.

Firestorms in subway tunnels. Reckless drivers. Misdirected traffic. Events orchestrated to keep the world’s revolutionary innovation under wraps: instant growth hormones. 

Grapes in Flior. Rice in Dunai. Cheese in Jingxi. The Bloom Project would triple food production. Limitations placed on the diets of Rank 2s and Rank 3s could become obsolete — should it be implemented.

“Initiating Field Test 001 in t-minus ten seconds.”

Benevolent intentions don't equate to positive outcomes. Zero flashed red on the overhead monitor before Vernon Milford could step back. Reevaluate. Rehash ideals. Retract a decision that led to the Capital’s inhabitation one year later. Pumping serum directly into the water supply,  The Bloom Project took hold.

78%: a C+ for effort. Not nearly as attractive as the Seeress of Exo’s approval ratings — which skyrocketed to 84% the day she took power. Yesterday. 

Today, plants sprouted from solid rock. Hacking through the concrete jungle. Splitting buildings wide open. Spilling into the streets onto oncoming traffic. Hairy roots clamored to claim space. 

Mass evacuations needed structure, organization, peace of mind. The Sun Guardians were deployed to facilitate smooth operations. With the Boards' help, Sectors E, D, and C rendezvoused with — Flior’s, Dunai’s, Jingxi’s, Beleuch’s, Alberos’s, and many more — citizens at an abandoned outpost outside the city limits. Unfortunately, Sectors B and A remained trapped; whole roadways were raised, insurmountable by normal means.

Following the first wave of Nature’s flag posting upon a barren landscape, there gave small pause. Where Sectors B and A filed out from toppling towers, looked, watched green recapture gray. Leaves in abundance unfurling like sighs. Stems reaching for the sky. A blue expanse peaking through small pockets between interwoven growth.

When an assumed night descended, candlelit beacons leading towards the People’s Court, the metropolis buzzed. Uplifting chatter rippled. Optimism contagious. Even as the tremors shook them, imperceptible forces tearing into foundation, new efforts blossomed with the day.

Sector B’s population scaled rooftops, built wooden pathways, clamored to safety. Individuals returned via these routes — able-bodied residents of Sectors E, D, C — to give relief to those still imprisoned by thick tree trunks in Sector A. Another shock shaking the ground beneath their feet, this choir hummed a quaint diddy. Familiar to its audience despite its nameless status.

Today, Exotians truly became one.

Windows: nonexistent. Elevator: sealed. Control panel: locked.

Whether strategically planned or accidentally forgotten, the Moon Guardians had been trapped in B2. Rock shifted, lights flickering. The panic stricken healer broke first. Howling with each trembling quake. Excruciating pain exploding like stars across dilated pupils; black swallowing almond irises whole.

“Tao’s not waking up!” Someone yelled, grasping at the youngest Moon Guardian whose being blinked. Overlapped. Phased in and out of existence. Threatening to disappear any second. 

“Get us out of here, Luhan!” Kris ordered, voice cracking along with the ice Xiumin sent pummeling against titanium. One more dent. One more wail to echo Lay’s. Time escaped their flustered fingertips as another wall collapsed, burying twelve hooded figures marred upon white tile. 

Flesh burnt instantly when Chen’s hand came in contact with exposed wires. Peeling off the grilled skin, he tried again, “The Council’s diverted both main and auxiliary power to something big.” A second spark sent a pink scar searing away forearm hair. “Too big.” Turning to Luhan, defeated by happenstance, he admitted, “Any attempt to control the flow of electricity will make me a charred corpse.”

Decreasing levels of breathable air left them haggard; susceptible to defeatism.

Without access to the Court’s emergency protocols, the elevator wasn’t going anywhere — prying the doors open another matter entirely. Memory fails to provide Luhan schematics for emergency exits. It instead recalls faulty pipelines betwixt concrete slabs and iron beams. 

“Move.” 

Luhan pushes past a strained Xiumin. Focuses on the unseen past their visible barriers and physical limitations. Swims through the deep end for a pressure he snaps, sending water crashing on the opposite side of the elevator doors. Score one for the telekinetic.

“Freeze it.”

“Freezing it!” 

Xiumin quickly abides. Titanium bends under metal fatigue. A swift strike opens their way out. The relief is momentary. Yet untainted air pockets filled with smoke. Somewhere, a fire was spreading. 

When bursting flames spotted their eyes, white and gold, igniting the world as they knew it, Minseok briefly wondered aloud. Childish whimsy producing a dreamy, “Is this what the afterlife feels like?” Dry. Thick. Blindingly beautiful.

He wouldn’t receive a legitimate answer then. Only laughter. Loudly bouncing across crunching concrete; as though this place were a mouth preparing to devour a savory, six-course meal. Luckily, the 70th Seeress of Exo foresaw this from her window seat. Death wasn’t who set the elevator shaft ablaze.

Descending the ladder too late, Chanyeol missed the chance to play hero, “One-slice beats me yet again.”

Getting Lay out, body convulsing as it was, takes everything Luhan has left. Heat exhaustion makes Xiumin delirious. Chen and Chanyeol keep him climbing through the tight space, incoherent mumbling leaving chapped lips. Escape in sight, it happens.

Instantly. An unconscious Tao slips through Kris’s fingers. Trapped in time. Precariously perched on the border of being and not. Kris follows his plummet, catching cotton lapels. Two years ago, Tao pushed at the realm of possibility for his sake. Today, strength fading fast, Kris makes a split-second decision.

It’s easier than he thinks: using his mass to propel Tao upwards; sacrificing the slingshot; falling into the dry, thick, blindingly beautiful unknown.

Luhan catches the pass. Score two for the telekinetic who screamed. Gut wrenching. Lungs shriveling to create a soundless shriek. “Chanyeol.” The Sun Guardian hears over his imminent loss. “Chanyeol.” 

I’m not all seeing; that’s not how it works, she says. Imagine the future’s a plane: the Future Plane. His laughter is quieted as she continues. Suffice it to say, I don’t know what’s in B1. 

“Whatever it is, you decide how it defines you.”

Chanyeol dove in after him. 

A/N: 6 more chapters. The opening scene is, as is depicted above, her highness speaking with Chanyeol. (Remember: Chanyeol always had issues figuring out who he was/where he fit in the world.) Thoughts?