She recalls her sixth birthday. She didn’t know what she wanted, and she wasn’t crying. Pressing tiny hands to the rock wall, she wanted enough. And it opened.  

Glyphs glowed blue, the Hall of the Guardians humming to life. She was looking for Luhan; he had promised to take her moongazing. Baekhyun would read the Exotian Historia, and Luhan would hug her tight. Naming the stars in the vast sky. Making it feel like the universe was embracing her Being. Her father often turned green with jealousy.

Daun, the 71st Seeress of Exo, takes promises seriously. 

She wandered the tall hallways, shoes tapping against polished wood. Past her room. Past the training room. She heard leaves rustling. Laughter. A green light glowed under the library’s door. 

“One more time,” a familiar voice insisted. In her excitement, Daun burst into the room. You’re here, she exclaimed. The 70th Guardians of Exo turned away from the video playing on a flickering Holovision. She said sorry one-hundred and thirty-four times — she counted. 

Childlike innocence convinced her she caused twelve grown men to weep; if they didn’t want to go moongazing, why didn’t they just say so?

But Daun gained wisdom in her bonafide 1-0. She watched Suho for four years. Stubbing toes. Tripping over. Face planting. He never cried. Not even on his birthday! 

“It’s just what boys do when they’re alone together,” she tells Roan. Tiny flames shuffle across his knuckles. Chanyeol emphasized “control.” Daun doesn’t like to be ignored. “Exo to Roan! Come in, Roan!”

“No, we don’t,” Roan corrects her without looking up. He turned nine-years-old last Fall. Despite his response, his patience is Tree of Life-sent. Growing up in Trädgård gives him time to cultivate this virtue under Daun’s attention-seeking tutelage. She insists she saw it, and he says, “I believe you; I’m just saying we don’t.”

“I didn’t say all boys!” Daun fumbles out, backpedaling. 

“You kind of did.” Roan looks up. Her face is beet red. “Ask Ivo. He’s visiting from Bout du Monde for your birthday tomorrow.”

Exo Planet’s new Adonis has a name: Ivo. 13. Charismatic to his very core. “He’s too cold,” Daun complains. Roan knew what she meant. “It’s the hardheads we want to accept us the most,” Xiumin explained last Fall. 

Chancellor Victoria calls for them from her jeep. It squeaks to a rusty stop by the docks. The Sun is falling into the sea. Daun spontaneously says sorry one hundred and thirty four times — Roan counted. She knew what he meant, too.

“I want that one.” Daun points at the book teetering on the top shelf. The shop’s owner isn’t around. She doesn’t feel like waiting. “Be my lookout, Roan.”

“Uncle Kai just taught Vlad how to teleport with his clothes on,” Roan says in protest as she clutches onto wood and begins her ascent. 

“Vlad is traveling from Dunai right now,” Daun huffs. “Besides, I can get it if you help me.” He groans, but does a good job as a footstool. Her fingers stretch for its spine. Bones pop. Roan yelps.

They fall. Books tumble to the floor. In Daun’s grasp was a giant, leather-bound novel from Dunai’s Library of the Extraordinary. Folklore and the Like: The Seeress of Exo, Vol. 70. 

Quickly flipping through its pages, Daun smiles and says, “She taught me that ‘inadequacy is a figment of a Being’s creation.’” 

“What does that mean?” Roan asks. She shrugs and passes him the book. “Grandpa Tellius’s” name is on the front page.

“I’ll buy it for you,” Daun s the yellow pouch at her hip. 

“For me?” Roan is flushed with questions. Daun won’t answer. She never answers. She doesn’t cry on her birthday and prefers giving over receiving gifts.

“I already have a copy.” She pauses. Thinks for awhile. A thinking Daun spells trouble for Roan; her last thought turned the Hall of the Guardians into an underground swimming pool. She decides on a more docile conclusion this time. “And you could learn something from her, too.”

Chancellor Victoria drives them home. Daun’s family is waiting amidst streamers and lopsided signs. “Happy Birthday” is sung with 38 different inflections. It appears tone deafness is hereditary. Chen saves the day with a solo performance. D.O can be heard from the kitchen, singing along. 

The Hall of the Guardians is abuzz with festivities. The 69th, 70th, and 71st generation of Guardians break off into smaller groups. Vlad, an 11-year-old with emeralds for eyes, born and raised in Alberos, is making Kai proud with his disappearing hijinks. He finds particular pleasure in swiping the refreshments D.O’s laid out. The older man returns with refills, but the bowls are full again.

12 boys laugh like hyenas. It’s Daun’s idea to put them back. Counteractive or conducive to the concept of a “prank,” no one asks questions. She wouldn’t answer anyway.

Tao and Sehun are getting schooled by Xiumin in chess when Ivo pulls her aside. “Thanks for helping Roan; he’s been sending me depressing one-liners on postcards lately.” His breath smells like toothpaste, and she scoots closer to the fireplace. Shrugs like she knows modesty.

Kris squishes his long body between them, inquiring an insinuating, “What’re you two whispering about?”

“How many more years do we have to wait to get married, Daun?” Ivo jests. 

The 70th Generation of Guardians are up in arms immediately. Unsurprisingly, her father is alone in his “she’s my baby girl” sentiment. Her mother insists on Ryker, the 10-year-old lightning bolt from Beleuch. “He’s got a way with words,” she insists. 

“He’s got a way with crazy,” her father corrects. 

“I like crazy,” Daun announces, and the debate continues on until the Moon joins the party.

Quiet returns to the Hall. Daun’s parents leave with the 69th Guardians of Exo after she insists on sleeping over. EXON, Exo’s leading news broadcast, glows on the Holovision. Henry Lau is giving a speech about the “Council’s corruption” in Llago. Exotian cheers drown him out, and Daun struggles to understand the words “political takeover” that scroll across the header. 

“8 more years, Daun,” Ivo says. Eyes attached to the screen. Exhaling white condensation. Thinking about the 17-year-old Jingxian girl named Catalina whose mother, Kalil, died during one of Henry Lau’s “peaceful” demonstrations. Chancellor Victoria promises justice, Aunt Luna settles protestors peacefully, Zhoumi assures the Tree of Life knows what it’s doing, but it isn’t enough.

Daun wonders what to say.

“Everyone has good intentions,” Roan repeats for her — he’s a fast reader. 

Lay enters the library last, minutes before midnight.

Daun shushes the 12 boys crowding behind her. “Tears are produced from the lacrimal gland in a response to emotional stress. Good and bad stressors are subjective. Objectively speaking, everybody cries,” Ryker babbles endlessly. Vlad asks if he wants to test his theory right now. “No, thank you.” Ryker keeps his thoughts to Daun and himself.

Glyphs cover the walls in pale blue light. Short conversation precedes the green glow beneath the library door. Laughter. “One more time.” 

13 faces peek through the door just a crack. A holovision flashes. Daun hears 12 hearts drop behind her. They love her instinctively. What else but love can persevere against betrayals and pitfalls. Victories and successes. Highs and lows alike?

The image freezes. Lay opens the door and lets them in without a word. Daun settles between Kai and Luhan. Once they’re all ready, Kai hits play. 

“One more time,” the 70th Seeress of Exo says on loop. Children urge her on offscreen. Hair falling in golden waves, she walks across a tightrope in Flior’s forest. Each step is more breathtaking than the last. She manages a sloppy front-flip that sends thin, pink satin flying and golden bangles jingling. 

Laughing, she says from a bed of dandelions, “How’d I do?” 

The video, given by Zhoumi weeks following her death, starts again. Luhan tugs Daun close. Makes it feel like the universe is embracing her Being. She was right; grown men and young boys do cry when they’re alone together.

Dawn enters through the window, turning the planet a spectrum of blues, purples, yellows, and reds. Daun leaps from Luhan’s arms to watch it rise, buck teeth showing. Who will she be? She’ll never know tomorrow, but she can start today.