Merry bells rang out over the already crowded streets of Rallia, and people began to congregate in the city's vast marketplace seeking to celebrate the passing of the flowers. Rallians were not the type to let the absence of the Gardener spoil a chance for a good party, and the festivities were already underway even as Cyrus sleepily arose from his bed.

A figure strode in through the door. It was Maywren. "Come on, hurry! You mustn't lie abed all day, my boy!"

They set out walking east towards the Market, passing quickly through the narrow streets. The youth had difficulty in keeping up with the thief, who was walking at full speed, with his long legs giving him a considerable advantage. Soon enough, they arrived at the celebration, with multicolored banners everywhere and the floral insignia of several wealthy merchants visible on their various businesses. The street vendors were out in full force, and just as before Cyrus was enticed by the many aromas surrounding him. He purchased a flat cake made in the Ilesian fashion, and munched away on it while the footpad guided him on a weaving path through the area.

Venturing past a group of particularly large and obstructive banners, they found a crowd of well-dressed people watching the sedate twirling of a pair of ballerinas and applauding, just as sedately, after they had completed every sequence of tedious revolutions.

Maywren frowned. "I don't know what I was thinking bringing you here. Let's go, I'll show you where the real party is."

He led the way north towards the poorer section of town. Passing by the progressively shabbier houses, decorations were conspicuously absent, but the beaming smiles and lively music were attractive enough on their own.

Cheerful fiddles abounded in the alleys of the Slums. Perhaps they were not all in tune, or particularly beautiful sounding, but the fun was infectious and Cyrus soon started tapping his foot to the rhythm in spite of himself. All around, people were dancing jigs, snacking on roasted treats, or sharing bawdy and titillating jokes with one another. Surely, these people were richer than the staid and restrained merchants could ever be.

Up ahead, the pair could see a curious commotion going on in the center of the street. Hurrying forward to investigate, they discovered that the crowd was betting on a cockfight. Maywren, as ever, was too eager to pass up this opportunity to make money. As he placed his bet, however, one of the observers looked up and squinted in recognition. "I know you -- you're the one who stole the rest of my fake gems! Quick, get him!"

The thief grinned widely, and whispered to Cyrus, "You're on your own." He turned about with a flourish and started running, dodging around a baker who proceeded to drop a bag of flour with a cry, causing a billowing white cloud to obscure his passage. The counterfeiter dashed madly after him, while a thought could be seen building up steam in the mind of yet another of the watchers.

"Hold on a minute... Fake?"

In his fury, he ran straight through the ring, knocking one of the chickens far into the air by virtue of his haste. Bewildered, the remaining members of the crowd shrugged and started collecting money for the victorious bird. Cyrus, left to his own devices, was about to continue his tour when he heard a woman sobbing in the house nearby.

Once he had entered the domicile, the grief-stricken woman looked at him with her reddened, tear-stained face.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"I- I couldn't bear to hear you crying."

"No need to pay me any heed, young man. My sorrow will pass, never fear."

"But why do you grieve?"

The woman was taken by a coughing fit, and paused a moment before continuing. "My cousin, Arturo, is- was the head of the Accademia. I've never had very much, as you might guess, but he was very kind and let me board in the dormitories. But..."

She choked, sobbing. "He is dead. The new headmaster turned me out, and I've no way to support myself. And my son... my son..."

Once again, she broke down and wept.

"He begs for our meals. We can't pay the rent for much longer, I've only a little left in my savings. But I won't last for very long anyway. My son, though... please, do one thing for me. Take him back to the Accademia and make them accept him. I haven't anything to offer you, but I'll be eternally grateful if you'll grant me this one wish."

Moved by the woman's poignant tale, he agreed at once. "I will. Tell me, what is your name, my lady?"

"Elena. And yours, my gracious young savior?"

"Cyrus," he said blushingly. "How will I find your son?"

"My son is Micael, he'll be in the Market, by the wine sellers. I'm sure you'll know him when you see him. Oh, thank you, thank you! I can't tell you how it pleases me to know that my son will have a future again." She gazed thoughtfully at the boy. "Our world needs more people like you."

"But I don't know if I'll be able to succeed!"

"I have faith in you, you'll finish the task. I can see it in the way you move."

She coughed. "My mother told me, long ago, that you can always tell what a person is like from how they walk. My steps have always faltered, but yours go straight on their course without straying." The woman smiled reminiscently. "Your stride reminds me of Arturo's; he always knew where he was going." Her face clouded in remembrance. "But never mind that. Please, go to Micael, and tell him that I sent you. I'll be fine here by myself, but he never takes it well when he's alone, and I've not the strength to go and see him on my own."

With a heavy heart, Cyrus bid farewell to Elena and set out to return to the marketplace. The celebration had continued with its usual restraint and formality, but the boy ignored it completely and sought out the area where the wine-sellers hawked their wares. At once, he spotted a small child of no more than ten years peering out at the crowd. The boy turned to look at him, and his forlorn eyes spoke volumes of his past. That gaze was the twin of the poor child's who he had known so long ago. He had no known flower! That must have been why his mother had so insisted that he be taken to the Accademia. Only their adepts had the skills necessary to test such children and discover their skills. Surely, someone within the institution must be kind-hearted enough to take in such a child, even if the headmaster was against it.

"Micael!" he called.

The boy opened his thin mouth in surprise, then shut it again. "Yes?"

"Elena asked me to find you." He extended his hand. "Please, come with me."

Hesitating a moment, the child slowly walked over and placed his hand in Cyrus'. He peered up at Cyrus, who in that moment felt inextricably bound to help this lost boy looking for someplace that he might at last truly call home.

They went through the maze of streets which led into the Slums, and arrived at the dilapidated building which was the child's residence. As soon as they had entered, Elena greeted them with an enthusiastic cry.

"Thank goodness you're safe!" She stroked Micael's head. "I worry about him every time he goes out like this. If only he didn't have to..."

"May there be an end to his trials," Cyrus said with feeling. And mine, he added internally. The Accademia seemed to present a challenge in and of itself, and he hoped that it would not be too difficult to both put the boy in good hands and ascertain the information he needed to proceed.

The day was too long for the pair to travel on the moment, so they agreed to wait until the morrow. Cyrus returned to Mattie's boarding house, happy to rest his tiring feet. However, he found it difficult to sleep, and when he at last entered the realm of dreams, his thoughts were full of foreboding.

Sunlight streamed through the small window of Cyrus' room, and he knew it was time to leave. Mattie greeted him as he came down the stairs.

"I knew that Maywren was up to no good. He had been planning to have you make money by working for me, then running off with it when the time was right. Fortunately, the authorities managed to catch him, and he shan't be troubling me or you or anybody else from now on."

"He really did? I was sure he had changed his ways."

"You can never be too suspicious of such types. Anyway, I see that you're planning on leaving. But I warn you to be careful, my boy."

Cyrus thanked her for her consideration and continued on his way. He promptly traveled over to Elena and Micael's residence to take the boy.

Mother and son were already outside waiting for him. "He's all ready, as you can see. I can't ever thank you enough!" She turned to the young boy. "Now, you're sure you're ready? You may not see your mother again for a long time, but I want you to be strong and keep your head up high."

"I will be, mummy," the boy replied in his quiet fashion.

"That's my dear Micael." She kissed him on the forehead, then coughed again slightly. Cyrus could see that she was holding back tears. "Please, have a safe journey, both of you. And thank you again, Cyrus."

He nodded with determination and offered the little boy his hand once more. "Ready?"

"Yes."

"Let's go!"

Though young Micael was much smaller than Cyrus, he was very enthusiastic in trying to catch up with the older boy, and they made better time than he had expected. Cyrus had his own worries about traveling through the city feeling so alone, but for the child's sake and his own he must at least put on a show of confidence. One thing at least was certain; they would not be lost, for the Accademia di Fiori was an expansive building, and the Garden behind it even larger. Passing through the narrow streets, the shabby buildings began to thin out as they neared the outskirts of town and grew closer to the towering structures.

They had been lucky so far, in that the majority of people remained in the Market and few thieves thought it lucrative enough to be over in the less frequented districts. Still, the youth was on the lookout for any signs of danger; he had, after all, two lives to guard, not just his own. As they went along, he felt the chill of winter set in, the twin of the chill in his spirit.

They drew nearer to the forbidding Accademia. Once at its foot, even the Garden behind it was obscured by its fortress-like construction. In its center, a single spire extended upward until its point was exactly aligned with the top of the crystalline dome from their perspective, and it was adorned with an intricate metalwork crafted in the forum of a lotus, the traditional flower associated with the institution's masters. Saltrio, the boy's aged mentor, had possessed that flower, as he now remembered. Was this new headmaster also a lotus? Surely not, for wisdom and charity were the noted traits of such folk, not such cruelty as would turn a destitute woman out of doors. Perhaps this would not be as easy as he had imagined.

Drawing closer to the entrance, Cyrus grasped the ornate bronze knocker on the door and struck it three times. Nothing happened for a moment, then a barely audible stirring could be heard inside. The pair held their breath, for they had no guess what might come next.