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Azura helped Speculus up a short flight of stairs before they made it outside. Behind them stood the gray, stone tower they had just left--easily eighty stories high, it seemed to hold up the sky. Each brick looked new, so perfectly positioned that a robot might as well have built the whole structure.

"The Counselor lives at the top one," said Azura, pointing her tail at it absentmindedly. "I wouldn't recommend the stairs, but it's rather easy to fly into."

Speculus sighed, looking upwards. The sky hung above them, a brilliant blue marred only be the occasional cloud. The sun was bright, but not blinding; his pupils contracted as he started into the orange disk, its form rippling with the rising thermals. He glanced away, the sun's ghost dancing in his vision.

Everything else was overwhelmingly green and brown. They stood in a clearing, encircled by a dense mix of trees, bushes, and other foliage. There were no flowers--only leaves, bark, dirt and grass. Speculus found himself looking at Azura, if only to verify that other colors existed. A soft rustling came from the trees, hinting at the slightest of breezes. Had it not been for the sound, he would have missed it entirely.

Speculus inhaled deeply and nearly choked on the overwhelming stench of pollen. He could see the powder, drifting through the air like a fog. It twisted into complex patterns, slowly rising and falling, billowing in the wind and eddies. The cloud drifted into a wall of nearby maples with a sizzle and vanished.

Even with the wind, everything seemed eerily quiet. There were no birds chirping, no buzzing insects--only the rustling of leaves and soft crunching of the grass beneath their feet. He craned his neck and then heard them, faintly, as the wind eased up. They seemed far away, hidden and muffled by the woods, but present nonetheless. He looked for the source of the noise, but found nothing in the dense canopy.

Speculus then realized that the trees were too small. It was strange--everything else about them felt right. They rippled in the breeze as he expected, and their trunks were well-proportioned with their branches. Yet, they didn't tower over him in a way he was used to. He could reach their tops, pull them down; he was their equal.

"I'm big," he concluded, looking back to Azura.

"I suppose it's all relative," said Azura. "You seem regular-sized to me." She examined at him, tilting her head. "Mostly. It looks like you may have gained some weight. I guess that's what you get when you lay down for a whole day or two straight, in some fantasy coma or something."

Speculus scoffed. "I'm not too sure about that..."

"Oh, come on. What are the alternatives? That the Counselor drugged you, gave you fake memories? That you aren't Speculus, and he performed a brain transplant?" She shook her head. "Not only is it absurd, but I can't see the Counselor doing any such thing."

She had forgotten a case--though Speculus couldn't blame her for it. She knew she was real, in the same way he knew he was real. It was unreasonable for her to consider that she was a figment of Speculus's imagination, just as Speculus did not consider that he was a figment of her's. Even so, this did not preclude Speculus from thinking it.

"Maybe," he said. "But are those scenarios more absurd than his 'Experience Machine'?"

She laughed. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Does it really matter? You are here now."

She had a point--there was little Speculus could do. He could run, but to where? Perhaps he could ask to go back to his life as a composer--but would the Counselor even let him? Did that 'Experience Machine' even work, let alone exist? He was stuck here--all he could reasonably do was wait and hope for answers.

Azura began to walk away from the tower, down a path defined only by the absence of trees. Speculus followed, stepping gingerly. Walking was still unnatural to him; the motion was more reminiscent of swimming, or of treading water, than it was of walking. It wasn't challenging in any physical way, but was instead mentally exhausting. He was not following Azura; he wasn't ready for such abstractions. Instead, each step was a conscious action that moved him one step closer to her. There was little room left for other thoughts. Azura noticed his struggle and slowed to match his pace.

"So, where are we?" he finally asked.

"The Counselor calls it 'The Garden', but he has a horrible habit of naming things, as I'm sure you've noticed." She paused. "That's only half of your question, of course. I'm afraid I don't know much about where we are, physically. Talk to Pyrrhus if you want a wild guess."

"Pyrrhus?"

She nodded. "There's me, you, the Counselor, Pyrrhus, and Jade. Pyrrhus and Jade are partners, like you and I."

Partners. The thought worried Speculus. He pushed it out of his head--he could deal with that later. "How many live here, in total?" he asked.

"Oh, that's it. Just us five."

Speculus cocked his head. Had the rest died out? "That's it? Why five?"

She shrugged. "Why is any population the size it is? It's not like somebody decided that there would only be five. It just is."

"That's not what I mean--why aren't there thousands more?"

"None are added, none are removed. And so, it stays at five." She hummed contentedly.

"So when you die...that's it." Speculus could not object to the morality of it. If there were children, they would be riddled with diseases and genetic disorders that would only grow worse with each successive generation. Perhaps it was merciful to end it here, with dignity.

"Well, death is 'it' whether there are a thousand people or just one. But don't be so morbid! Nobody has died yet--we're built tougher than that."

"If you don't mind me asking...what happened?"

"Nothing 'happened'. One day, I wasn't here. The next, I was, along with the others."

"Parents?"

She flicked her tail to the side. "No idea--certainly not here. No point in worrying about it."

Walking had become arduous. At first, Speculus thought it was due solely to his own ineptness, but Azura appeared to grow weary of it as well. It had finally become intuitive; he had found a rhythm to his steps. It was steady and methodical. He could repeat the process, replicate the pattern, and he would walk. Azura did not seem to follow any such rules--her rustled cadence was completely alien to Speculus, even if there was some sort of emergent structure to it.

After a few more minutes, they came across a small lake. The water was still and mirror-like, with a clarity that seemed almost artificial. Its surface rippled with their footsteps. On the opposite side of the lake, a cliff face extended from the ground, leaning over the water as if threatening to come crashing down into it. Sunlight found paths though the tangled canopy of leaves surrounding the area, casting golden shafts where pollen blew through them.

"So, where are we going?" asked Speculus.

She pointed her tail to the top of the cliff. "Vantage point. We wouldn't want you getting lost, would we?" Had Speculus been able to fly, the task of getting his bearings would have been simpler. Perhaps his legs were so tired because he was never supposed to use them this much. Flying would have been far more convenient.

"Couldn't we have just used the tower?" he asked.

"I didn't feel like dragging you up the thing. This will suffice."

Azura led him along the side of the lake. There was no beach along its border--the grass merely stopped at the water's edge, interrupted by the lake, and continued along its side instead. It was almost like an impact site; all of the nearby plant life had been blown away, and what was not later filled by water was instead reclaimed by grass.

"Any rules I should know about? Don't pick at the trees, or something?"

"Nothing terribly formal." She thought for a moment. "Just be reasonable. Don't be a jerk. I doubt you'll run into any issues though, and if you do, just talk to the Counselor. It's his responsibility to help you with such things."

"Do you trust him? The Counselor, that is."

"He maintains this place, and everything in it--including us. In that sense, I believe that he does care about us." She shrugged. "That being said, he is somewhat peculiar. Used to be she, weeks ago. Not that it really matters--missing the fun bits, in any case." She chuckled. "His personality is about as fickle. Assertive one day, refusing to give a yes or no answer the next. Vanishing for a while. Stressful job, I guess."

"What's your job, then? What do you do?" he asked.

"No job. None of us have a job, save the Counselor. No need. Plenty of fruit on the trees--everything mostly takes care of itself. The Counselor steps in only when something goes wrong."

The realization hit him. Of course, he didn't expect to be writing more music. Who would play it? Still, it had defined his life; it would not be easy to find something that would be an adequate replacement. "What should I do?"

She gave a wry smile. "That's an excellent question." She let the statement hang in the air.

He fixed the inquiry. "What do you do in your spare time, then?"

"Oh, whatever I feel like at the moment," she mused. "Flying, sex, thinking--I make those metal brain teasers, with the interlocking rings? Those are fun."

Speculus blinked. But what would he do? Certainly not the same things as Azura--somehow, her suggestions seemed insufficient. He wanted to do something with value.

They arrived at the side of the cliff. A steep hill ran behind it, leading to its top. Grass grew at an angle perpendicular to the ground along it, making the hill look like a giant had taken a flat patch of land and lifted it up to make the incline. Azura nudged Speculus forwards with her snout. "You first, unless you plan on practicing downhill somersaults."

He followed her instructions, initially with some disdain. After slipping a few times, saved only by Azura's careful positioning, his reluctance disappeared. His legs were on fire by the time they reached the top of the cliff, but the view was well worth the effort.

The horizon formed a perfect dichotomy between the earth and sky. Above it, everything was a perfect sky-blue. Below, a mess of verdant leaves and muddy branches. Only where there were lakes or structures was this plant life interrupted. A pair of houses flanked the stone tower. Around them was an entire palette of colors, all sorts of flowers meticulously planted to break up the monolithic green.

The path they had taken was just one part of a giant dendrite, centered on the tower. Each one branched off in fractal patterns, growing thinner as they carved a region further and further from this central point. Beyond these, the forest slowly transitioned into a dense patchwork of coniferous trees, so tightly packed that Speculus was unable to tell where one tree ended and the next began.

Azura looked at him. "You should stretch your wings. You haven't used them in a while." Sunlight glanced off the mirrored surface of the wings as he unfurled them, blinding her for a moment. "As ostentatious as always," she said, shielding her eyes and grinning.

"Sorry." He shifted accordingly.

"Just keep your wings level, don't try to flap them--you'll hurt yourself." She stepped towards him.

Speculus then found no ground beneath himself, the light strain of standing replaced by a dull ache where Azura had shoved him. Flight joints experienced the stresses they were designed for. His tail angled itself, changing his tumbling into something with the concept of 'up'. His legs tucked themselves closer to his body, into a more aerodynamic position. For a moment, he experienced the wondrous sensation of flying.

The moment he realized this, the sky rejected him. He found himself falling, tumbling towards the still surface of the lake below. The air grew louder around him, whipping past his ears like he had stuck his head out the window of a moving vehicle. The pressure on his wings increased, threatening to rip them from his body. Speculus tried to flap them, to find some purchase in the surrounding gusts, but he could only flail.

A blue teardrop fell from the cliff. It seemed to pick up speed faster than gravity was willing to give it out. Azura pulled out of the tight dive just above Speculus, headed on a collision course with him.

He felt a sharp tug forward as Azura grabbed the stems of his wings, slowing his fall. The air quieted to a dull roar. There was another tug as she tried to pull up, but she had lost too much speed grabbing Speculus. They were headed for the shoreline, but not quickly enough.

Azura cursed. "You're heavier than I thought you would be," she said. "This will probably hurt."

Speculus' feet grazed the surface of the water as Azura released her grip on his wings. He flipped forward, his head slamming itself into the lake. It might as well have been concrete. He submerged further, slowing down until his back scraped sand. He stood up, finding himself only a few steps from shore. His face felt like a million needles had found a home in it.

Azura landed in front of him, folding her wings and smiling. "You had it, for a moment," she said. "And then you thought about it."

Speculus tried to look at her, but his neck refused to support his head. He groaned. "I could have died! Surely there's a better way to teach someone to fly."

"It's not something you teach--it's like walking. You have to figure it out on your own, with a little guidance. Trust in your instincts. Besides, flying is the easy part. It's taking off and landing that's hard. Frankly, I couldn't have made it much easier for you."

His head throbbed. "I could have died!"

"Don't you remember what I said earlier? We're built tougher than that." She grinned. "Besides, I caught you, didn't I?"

He had faced death head on. Chills ran down his spine at the thought, but it was not dying that he feared. He thought he would shock himself awake with some life-threatening experience and wake up safe in his bed, still a composer, and still a human. The risk of doing so was irresponsible--but Azura had made the choice for him. And he was still here. He must have been seriously injured in the crash, too damaged to wake up. Instead, his brain had locked him here until it was safe to get up. Perhaps it was wrong of him to have approached his situation with such nonchalance.

Azura gestured for him to follow her, and she began to walk back down the trail. She had a bounce in her step. Speculus begrudgingly obeyed, his face still tingling. He followed her by those bizarre rhythms of her feet. His own legs no longer felt so tired, though he was not sure if it was a genuine sensation or an artifact of the pain.

"So, where are we going next?" he asked the ground. "Another cliff, to push me off of?"

She sighed. "No, you'll jump next time--might have been part of the problem. We're heading home."

The house had no walls--had it not been for the various furnishings, carpet, and fireplace in the center, it would have been a pavilion. Even then, Speculus could not fault somebody for calling it such. A network of wooden supports held the roof. The square pillars appeared to be carved from trees, breaking into a canopy of branches at the top that somehow wove into a solid sheet of wood to form something akin to a ceiling.

Thousands of tulips were planted around the structure, forming a smooth color wheel with a few spokes of dirt to avoid trampling the flowers. Speculus padded along one of the paths, careful to not disturb them.

Azura stood in the middle of the flower bed. Crisp stems crumpled beneath her feet. "I wouldn't worry too much about the tulips--Jade has been dying for an excuse to replant some." She bounded into the house, leaving behind a smeared mess of cerulean petals in her wake. Speculus followed her inside, eyeing the crushed plants with disgust. It was too wasteful.

A set of giant mattresses were inset into the floor, flush with the hardwood. The surface was unmarred; not a single scratch was present on its lustrous finish. Like the roof, the floor also appeared to formed directly from trees, roots sanded down to give an organic feel. There were no boards--it was grown, not assembled. A few dividers were strewn about; they were the closest thing to a wall Speculus had seen since he awoke in the white room. A few tables were scattered around the remaining space. There were no chairs--judging from the number of brain teasers and smaller personal effects, the tables were primarily used as Azura's personal storage space. They too were fused with the hardwood, like everything else in the pavilion. The surface of the table and the surface of the floor were indistinguishable, save the difference in elevation. In the middle of sat a small fire pit, the chimney above blackened by use. It too was made of wood.

Azura noticed his interest. "Hasn't burned down yet, at least. Flame retardant, or something." Speculus slumped onto the recessed cushion, watching Azura as she sauntered over to the corner. A small flame was lit there; it looked to be something between a blowtorch and a Bunsen burner. She grabbed a metal dowel from a basket beside it and went to put it over the fire, but then sighed and extinguished the device.

Her claws clinked against the hardwood as she trotted over to him. She stopped by one of the tables along the way, removing a small film of blue from each of her eyes. She placed the lenses into a plastic case on the table, and Speculus gave her a quizzical glance.

"Blue contacts," she explained.

"You don't see enough blue already?" he asked, gesturing towards her scales with his head.

She laughed. "No, no. Quite the opposite. They filter out the blue light--otherwise they'd be yellow." She padded over to the mattress and laid down next to him. Speculus slid over to make space, turning away from her.

"Oh, don't worry about it. Plenty of space for the two of us." She leaned her head close to his, her snout nearly touching his ear.

"Tell me, in earnest," she whispered. "How are you doing'?"

Even though she had spoken softly, the words that came out of her mouth were so close that she may as well have shouted. Speculus quickly found himself very interested in the grain patterns of the hardwood floor as Azura wormed her head into the edge of his vision. He closed his eyes instead.

"I'm not sure; I'm not here because I wanted to be, you know."

"Oh, come on," she said, giving him a playful nudge. "None of that stuff is real. Even if it was, what would you do about it?" She pressed herself closer to him. "Just relax a bit, enjoy yourself."

"I don't think I can."

"Is that so?" She cocked her head, flashing a toothed grin.

"There's nothing here for me."

"Now that's where you're wrong--there's plenty. You don't remember anything about who you were before you used that accursed machine; that's not necessarily a bad thing." She smiled. "I envy you in some ways, you know. You get to experience all of your first times a second time." She snuggled closer to him, hips meeting his, and started rubbing. Speculus felt a stirring in his loins.

He inhaled sharply. "Azura...what are you doing?"

"I thought that was fairly obvious." She curled her tail around his and draped a wing over them, pulling him closer. "You don't even have to do anything--just stay still, and follow my lead."

The thought was simultaneously enticing and terrifying, but with each pulse of Azura's hips Speculus found himself leaning ever closer towards the former. Without warning, he felt something begin to extrude itself from between his legs, and he quivered in delight.

"Don't squirm so much! Or at least wait until you're inside me; it's hard enough to line everything up as it is." Azura slid around, trying to match his movements, all the while thrusting onto him repeatedly with the hope that one of them would be properly aligned.

Speculus could feel his resolve slipping away. It was like a drowsiness, tugging him back to the clutches of sleep--except it was not sleep he would be pulled to. He suppressed a moan and uncoiled his tail from her. In an instant he was standing on the hardwood floor, a short distance away from her.

Speculus stood there for a moment, perfectly still save his heaving chest. "I'm going for a walk," he said, huffing between syllables. He was outside the pavilion before he had finished the sentence.

Azura rolled onto her belly, resting her head between her forelegs. "Certainly don't need my permission," she grumbled as he vanished behind a grove of trees.