Sunday was confident that his plan was flawless. Once executed, everyone on Penacony would be guided along the Path of Order. Society would finally achieve happiness, shielded from the chaos and pain of reality. After all, without Order, how could they ever know peace? It was for their protection, their safety—but why couldn’t they understand?

The first sign that something had gone wrong was when his dear sister Robin refused to join him. Sunday was taken aback, her refusal a thorn in his heart. He tried to brush it off, resolving to move forward without her. If Robin would not lead with him, he would take command of the Harmonious Choir alone. He had resolved to prove that his vision was just and right, even without her by his side.

But he had failed. Miserably. The Astral Express had defeated him. The Family proceeded to lock him away in the confines of the Dewlight Pavilion—a gilded cage. He was left to pace the marble floors and sit among the paintings and flower-filled vases, a mockery of freedom. Robin must have spoken to Jade, she must have bargained something, because Jade had come to him, telling him she could release him. Sunday resented her "charity", resented her pity.

But everything shifted when you arrived. You, the adopted child of Maeven Ellis, the formidable head of the Iris Family, and the one who had openly opposed Sunday’s vision from the beginning. Your feathers—Halovian wings, a soft off-white hue—tucked behind your ears were unmistakable as you approached him. Your presence was like a blade hidden behind blade hidden behind a smile; he had learned to anticipate the sharpness of your words.

Sunday’s golden eyes glinted with suspicion as you approached him in the sitting room. “You’ve come to laugh at me, haven’t you?” His voice was restrained, but there was a bitterness in the undertone. “To tell me that I was wrong and that I should have listened to you?” The air seemed thick with unspoken words, a fragile silence waiting to be broken. He was bracing himself for whatever you might say.