pomengrenan

[pomengrenan]

Chapter VIII- Riskometer

Logline: In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying

"Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?

Ridge had hardly slept. He did not even get a shut-eye.

   After the exciting dive from the moon and the unexciting ride back to his room, Ridge safekept Roderick's costume inside the storage box hidden in his trashy, cashew-filled couch, where he also stuffed in Professor Yulek's ball clicker. He remembered how he had manipulated his professor into letting him inspect the ball clicker—he intended to lift fingerprints if they were crucial for the exit to Nevah. Now that he did not need them, he sat in his brainstorming corner and thought. He thought about what he could do with the ball clicker. It would raise suspicion if Ridge did not return it after claiming he had "fixed" it. But returning it to Yulek? How would that benefit him?

   Yulek would have figured Ridge out by now, so Ridge stayed in the shadows as he walked to the Academy in the Secondary Coverts to return the ball clicker to the sleeping professor. When he arrived at the teal aquarium of a classroom, he fumbled with his Riskometer and dropped it on the floor. Making a mental note to find a better way to carry it (gloves were too cliché, and he certainly was not about to spend money on the government-mandated round bags for Sensing Snowglobes) Ridge picked it up and tiptoed towards Yulek. He was hunched over his desk, his pince-nez perched on the end of his nose. His keen eye was stuck on the grains of sand falling slowly in the hourglass. Liquid dribbled from his mouth like a river. There was no sound of snoring, even though Yulek's body should've been vibrating with it. The only sounds were the ticking of the cuckoo clock above the dead professor and the quiet swish of the dayglass.

   Ridge could have left the ball clicker on the table and reported the dead body to have it buried in the Graveyard in the Primary Coverts, but as he stepped toward the door, he froze. Hypothesis shapes, as if summoned by his thoughts, materialized before his eyes. They tugged at his senses, telling him to get rid of Yulek's body. Ridge had a hypothesis: once the governors discovered the true cause of Yulek's death, they would investigate who tampered with the hourglass. They would track down the time gaps in Yulek's timed soda intake, and soon enough, they would detain Ridge, just like they had with Ab and Und. Or they would drag him down the same hapless path they had taken with Yulek.

   The rules of Haven menacingly loomed over him. The laws were plastered on blimps and giant billboards for all to see, claiming to protect the citizens, but Ridge had never subscribed to that belief. Those rules were too orthodox. Too constricting. He could not stand how the citizens of Haven followed them blindly, their heads raised high in reverence to the safety they supposedly provided. Ridge could not help but feel a bitter jealousy toward the Nevanese—those who lived without such stringent rules hovering over their heads. They were free to do as they pleased. He longed for that freedom, for subversion against the suffocating order of Haven.

   Confident in his decision, Ridge turned back to Yulek's desk, Riskometer in hand. He pulled some cashew crumbs from his pocket and placed them into Yulek's open mouth. Using the Riskometer, Ridge vacuumed up his body, leaving no trace behind. He turned to leave, but the shapes tugged at him again. This time, the hypothesis was clear: take Yulek's Aptem. Without it, rumors would spread that Yulek was not dead—he had simply vanished, taking his Aptem with him. The rumors would spread like wildfire, and the governors would focus all their attention on that mystery, rather than on Ridge and his risk-taking adventures.

   Perhaps the governors would even consider Yulek's disappearance an act of embezzlement. They would think the professor had gone rogue, especially since the hourglass was mysteriously filled with extra sand. It would not matter who did it or why; all that mattered was that Yulek was abruptly cut short of his timed sedation and had disappeared with his ball clicker lest they track the professor down.

   Following the shape's urging, Ridge was quick to grab the ball clicker and leave the classroom, pride swelling in his chest. He spent the morning brainstorming alternatives for carrying the Riskometer. His face creased in thought and exhaustion. He was used to being sleep-deprived, but this was different. He rubbed the wrinkles from his forehead when a sudden idea struck him. He removed the steel balls from the ball clicker and carefully tried to fit the Riskometer inside. It fit perfectly! He grinned as he retrieved the chip from his moth-eaten cabinet and plugged it into the ball clicker's stand.

   With the Riskometer now attached to the ball clicker and safely sitting on his nightstand, Ridge finally flopped onto his bed, his muscles aching for rest. But before he could fall into a deep sleep, Mavis's voice crackled through his transmission screen.

   "Heyi, Ridge! It's twelve o'clock on Sunday, you know what that means. Ready for the Workers' Guide Guild or not?"

   Sundays, the day before the First Monday Slint (the day that marked the beginning of all new workers' shifts after the Sensing Snowglobe Decree), saw all new and probationary workers gathering in the Park of the Primaries Wing. Ridge was sitting on a rock-hard bench, surrounded by Mavis and Polo. They were busy chatting, while Ridge flicked cashews into his mouth absent-mindedly. Polo had set up a sign that read, "Ask us three any questions, and we'll help (P.S: And by any questions, we mean relevant ones)". The rest of the group huddled in smaller circles, discussing their future work assignments, or passing scrolls to each other. Unlike the others, who wore standard brown coats with flannel trousers or plaid skirts and ties, each worker dressed in clothing specific to their future job.

   The Primaries Wing covered most of the southern portion of Haven. It was an ironic place—on the east side of the Primary Coverts, where the "arts and culture" were emphasized: entertainment, technology, museums. The Primary Coverts, however, were home to the graveyards and memorials.

   Back at the Academy, Ridge had been forced to meet Polo through his childhood friend, Mavis. They had formed a study trio after Ridge was forced to pair with Polo for a project, choosing the former for his brilliance and the latter for his creativity. Mavis was driven by an ambition to become a cartographer to "draw and drown in the delicacies of life", while Polo, with his offbeat charm, offered a fun distraction.

   Ridge's face was thoroughly blank, though his mind was anything but. His eyes, still trained on his fingers, were wide, and a faint, robotic smile twisted his lips. His hair hung messily around his face.

   The memory of his outing to Nevah, however, was still fresh in his mind. The thrill, the rush of adrenaline, was replaying over and over. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the sharp sting of the Nevanese air, hear the wind rustling through the red sands, and taste the salt in the air. Every part of him surged with that strange, exhilarating pleasure. The barren land stretching endlessly before him, the distant volcano-shaped mountain, the orange-tinted sky—all of it felt so free.

   Ridge's thoughts turned to the copper effigy of Quenten Oppen in the Park. The effigy, with its strange, droopy eyes, always unsettled him. He had chalked it up to an artistic mistake—an accident—but in Haven, mistakes like that were rarely tolerated.

   Ridge glanced down at the pocketwatch locked with his promise to never visit Nevah again. He wagged his finger at it. "What would the Riskometer have to say about this?" But the Riskometer couldn't measure that kind of risk. Not when the subversion of Haven's rules was already written into the engravings of his own destiny.

   "Penny for your thoughts, bud?" Polo asked, having just thanked someone for receiving a video game console as a gift before turning to Ridge with a wide grin.

   No answer.

   "Ridge, from Haven to Ridge?"

   Ridge's only response was how his face contorted back into his neutral expression, as if the fuzz of thought had been swept from his mind.

   Mavis fumed. She grabbed Ridge's arm and shook it. "Heyi! Whatever you're thinking, it has to be about the Slint."

   "Damned Slint..." Ridge muttered. "It's foolish to push pushovers to work tomorrow. Today too..."

   "Yeah, but there's no better gift than the present." Polo grinned, waving his video game console around like it was a casual prop.

   Mavis scoffed, her ponytail flicking back as she tightened it. "It's no better time than the present, Polo."

   Polo laughed and shrugged. "Speak for yourself, Mavis. We're both bad at this, and you know it."

   Mavis rolled her eyes and turned back to Ridge. "No, seriously, Ridge! Listen! We're talking about the Workers' Guide Guild. It's important."

   Polo mumbled while powering up his console, "Gift, present, time... all the same, man."

   Mavis shot him a look. "Not the time, Polo."

   "Ridge, that's not usual of you," Mavis pressed, now ignoring Polo's mumbling. "You're the quietest guy in the Playing Cards Melee, and you still took home the championship, but now? This? I can't allow it. You've been acting off ever since we came back from Nevah. Plus, I had to hide my precious map to convince the authorities I wasn't guilty of mapping Alula. I had to lie, Ridge. I had to lie just to get out of that hole you dug. And you—"

   Still no response. Ridge popped another cashew into his mouth, eyes distant, staring into nothingness.

   Mavis clenched her fist, gritting her teeth as she shook him harder. "Did you even pay attention to what we were saying?! You're acting like a cashew—"

   Ridge buried his face in his palm, his voice muffled. "Mavis, Mavis, I can't hear—"

   "—eating automaton. And now you're talking? Heyi, Ridge—"

   "I can't hear you. I'm eating cashews—"

   Mavis threw her hands up in frustration, "You can't just trivialize the Workers' Guide Guild and prioritize your cashews. We're discussing super important stuff here, Ridge! The policies, the materials—everything that impacts us!"

   "Mavis, for damn's sake..." Ridge rose his hand in protest. "Chewing food drowns out any external noises. And I never trivialized anything. I'm just... thinking."

   "Thinking, thinking—" Mavis continued, her voice getting higher with each word. "No! No, I can't put up with your carelessness anymore. The three of us are supposed to be the brightest batteries of the bunch, and a remote control doesn't work without a supply of even one battery."

   "The occlusion effect!" Ridge raised his voice, as if something had finally ignited inside him. He sat up straight, his earlier indifference replaced by intensity. He wagged his finger at her. "When I'm eating cashews, I can't hear external noises because I'm distracted by the internal ones. That's the occlusion effect, Mavis. On both accounts now.""

   A girl in a clinical coat and pillbox hat, who had been massaging Polo's shoulders while he played on the console, piped up, chin raised. "Also because chewing puts pressure on the Eustachian tube, which connects the middle ear to the back of the throat."

   Ridge rolled his eyes and mumbled, dry as ever, through the cashew he was holding, "Yes, yes, very sage. Thank you, confusion clearer. Good riddance to confusion."

   Mavis shot the girl a confused look. "And are you a probationer chiropractor or doctor?"

   The girl glanced at Mavis with a slight smirk. "Doctor. An orthopedic, to be specific." She showed her Sensing Snowglobe, which was designed with bones and x-ray images. "Aptem's a cast."

   Haven didn't really need doctors, though, Ridge thought. The only patients were those with minor injuries or a slightly elevated temperature. Haven was indoors, the air was preserved, no defects lurked in people's minds, and harmful viruses and bacteria were kept at bay.

   Once Mavis had calmed down and tightened her ponytail once more, curiosity replacing irritation. "On both accounts, huh? What about the other account?"

   Ridge sighed and leaned back. "Ah, well, the other account of the occlusion effect is that you kept talking over me. I was trying to tell you... there's barely anyone in the guild. Even though it's supposed to be mandatory. You two are responsible for helping others with overcoming drudgeries, and I'm in charge of organizing professional support. So far? Only five people have actually come up to us for help. The rest are either fulfilled or lost."

   Inertia was never a problem in Haven. At least, not in the conventional sense. There was never a time when someone was seen as a "diamond in the rough," except in fictional plays. Laziness in Haven was an unspoken threat, just like how the Riskometer was in Nevah—wait, no. The Riskometer. It was the opposite of a threat. It was a beacon of hope—one that could unify both halves of Thear, if used wisely.

   No. No, Ridge. The Riskometer's solely for your safety.

   Polo groaned, placing the video game console down and masking his defeat with a crooked grin. He gave the girl massaging his shoulders a thumbs up before leaning forward. "With all due respect, man... but we don't mean anything at the moment. Everyone is seeking guidance from each other. Peer orientations, stuff like that." He made a cuckoo gesture. "Others are going bananas over some missing Sensing Snowglobe. I won't name names, but let's just call them Ash. Ash is flipping the Wings upside down with their friends and siblings. They're even searching for it in the Marginal Coverts. The Marginal Coverts, Ridge. Where the families and kindergarteners live. Ash is out of their mind."

   Ridge raised an eyebrow. "People can be absentmindedly absentminded, but not that much. Ash, are they one of the graduates of this year?"

   Polo opened a bag of chips and dug into it. "One of us, yeah." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Boon can't generate another Sensing Snowglobe for Ash, though. There's an alarm, sure, but it only triggers when the Sensing Snowglobe is in a risky position—like if it gets stuck somewhere."

   Ridge hummed thoughtfully. He wagged his finger at the console, and Polo, without missing a beat, began manipulating the buttons and joystick again.

   Once Polo was focused, Ridge leaned in a little closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

   "Say," Ridge began, smirking, "Is that Ash Shaima, perchance?"

   Polo froze. He grimaced and cursed softly under his breath.

   Ridge laughed, loud and genuine. "Way to be absentmindedly absentminded, Polo."

   Polo laughed sheepishly and tapped on his diagonally crossed chest belt, "You would've known either way, dude. It's Shaima we're talking about."

   Mavis perked up all of a sudden as she was slumped back on the bench, popping pretzels into her mouth. She grinned as she leaned forward while looking at the two, "Heyi, I've an idea! I can help Shaima with the search in no time using the mini blimp drone Ridge gave me."

   Ridge crumpled the empty package of cashews and said disgruntedly, "I only gave it to you to help you with mapping, not look for a moron's Sensing Snowglobe. Leave it be. It's not like I will give you more batteries after you used up all of the energy in the span of a week!"

   Polo spread his hands. "Woah, woah, dude. Buck up. She just suggested an innocent idea. What  part of it is triggering you? Can't be the batteries."

   "You won't get it. She's forfeiting the purpose of the drone I gave her when she wanted to create her very own original map of the Secondaires where all the facilities are." Ridge made a cutting throat gesture. "People will think I'm reinventing the wheel. There's already blimps for surveillance and search parties." "People can be annoying, even someone like Polo Swarovski! At least those two sniffing bulldogs of his friends aren't here."

   Polo let out a belly laugh and resumed the video game. "Come on, dude. Since when did you care about your reputation?" Keeping his eyes on the video game console, he said, "Tell me something. How was your trip to—"

   When Polo was cut off by his red nosed and the other bleared eyed friend calling his name, Ridge stared off the distance in horror as he thought, "Why, of course Polo would know! He's the one responsible for the entertainment after all. He probably used his position to escape curfew and saw me gliding to the moon and exit. Polo, you crafty man. Masking your craftiness with charisma, huh? Well, good riddance to you! I might as well dispose of you, and if there are any other eyewitnesses or people with inside knowledge, I'll gladly hit them with Riskomifiers and suck them into my Riskometer. Yes, yes, that's what'll happen."

   A shadow conquered Ridge's features. In the spur of the moment, Ridge stuffed his hand in his pocket where the cashew crumbs as Riskomifiers were. He took them out, and just as Mavis was about to nose in once more, Polo held up a hand in the direction of the two frantic men and turned to Ridge, "Like I was saying. How was your trip to Alula?"

   Ridge's anger dulled. Polo was referring to Alula. His eyes softened, his scowl still left behind. "When will I ever say good riddance to suddenness? Anyway, I'd have to kill him before using the Riskometer on him. The Riskometer's weakness, aside from the action-reaction effect being avoided by extra appendage that act as the unbalanced force, is that it cannot suck in living humans. Living animals, yes, but living humans are more complicated and are impossible to trap in a tool that uses the funnel effect. But what's there to cry about? It's fine if I can't do that. I don't intend on spilling any blood. Just find spilled blood and get rid of it. Either to protect me or protect others."

   Just as Mavis was reaching out her fingers to touch the cashew crumbs, Ridge shot her a glare while putting them back in the pocket. He looked back at the smiling Polo. "Pfft, 't was alright. Their gadgets were decent at best. Couldn't measure up to mine. You walk into the storage room, and lo and behold, they have gadgets only the governors use made by special inventors."

   "Like that dude?" Polo pointed at the effigy of Quentenn Oppen. Ridge nodded and crossed his arms, echoing calmly, "Like that dude."

   The bleared eyed man, who looked like he would explode, gasped, 'Mister minister Swarovski! One of the automatons came in the Recreation room and announced your previous Physics professor's death! The hearse already made it to the Primary Coverts. You can go see the burial and grieve your briefings if you want."

   The girl massaging Polo peeled her hands off his shoulders and looked down mournfully. Polo's grin faltered and Mavis wore a crestfallen expression. Ridge closed his eyes and put his fingers to his lips.

   "They just dress his little disappearance up by faking his death? How secretly corrupt, governors. No good riddance to coming out clean, no? No, that's what I thought."

   Polo closed the video game console and broke the silence gently like tiptoeing in a library, "Alright. We'll be there shortly. The two of you," he pointed at the sign on his pool stick beside him, "take our roles while we're away."

   The red nosed man sniffled and nodded, nudging the other man as his bleared eyes were glazed over. He flinched, nodded, and switched seats with Polo. The other switched seats with Mavis, who stood up begrudgingly while looking down at her coat and fumbling with the pearls. 

   They all stared at Ridge with hollow faces. Including the girl in the clinical coat who was massaging her wrists.

   "Ridge, from Haven to Ridge?" Polo's voice barely came out above a whisper, not smiling as usual as he plugged the video game console into his chest belt. He even left the chips bag behind for the red nosed man who was eating the chips slowly.

   Ridge opened his eyes, rubbed his knees, and stood, hands in pockets, eyes darting. He tugged his lip into a frown, dipped his head, and gripped his jacket, still concealing both pocketwatches. After the obituary, his patience wore thin—he had to go to his second outing.

[pomengrenan]

The cover's done! Can't wait to publish the full chapters here (because it is complete). Thanks and happy reading.

[pomengrenan]

Chapter VII- Riskometer

Logline: In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying

"Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?

At last, Ridge broke free from the monotony of Haven. He was there on a casual visit, intent on making history. As for being the first Havenian civilian to visit the Outdoors, it was more likely to be someone else—someone who died by one of the risks that dwelled in Nevah. There were never rumors circulating around Haven about a crazy person escaping. Not even a theory about a Havenian lunatic breaking out of their home. There had never been lunatics to begin with. What was Ridge thinking? What were they thinking? If that happened, they would have changed the exit and hidden it elsewhere. And if it had ever happened without anyone's knowledge, that unlucky soul would be just that—unlucky.

   There was red sand everywhere. Ridge tried touching it, but it was so granular that even a quill could crush it. He had found a body of water nearby to wash the mud off his face. The water was surrounded by the same basalt rocks, except these were covered in moss. It stretched to a point Ridge could not quite make out. He made a mental note to visit that point later. He had stumbled across Nevah's geology during a Topography lesson in real life application, so he knew it was a river. That book that had taught him... it was a rabbit hole, to say the least. He had gotten so invested in it that his parents had to distract him by showing him the rain zeppelin he had invented, which was launched in Falcon Plaza. He was young, the Plaza was young, and his fascination with visiting Nevah and becoming an "Innovative Havenian Hero" was young too. Some things grow up, others just pass away. That had been when he was in the Marginal Coverts Wing with his family, before moving to the Academy in the Secondary Coverts Wing at the age of 11. He chuckled at the memory of his parents' reactions when the automaton announced his early enrollment, and at the most recent one where his father flaunted the moon orbiting headpiece.

   Ridge smiled as he rinsed the mud from his face. It reeked of dirt and soot, but still, it was new and refreshing. The smell reminded him of the steam he had encountered before—yes, back in the government manor in Alula, when he stood in front of the printer. Or even the burnt odor of academic sheets before they turned into cashews. The only difference was that the mud smell was natural. It felt authentic, in the truest sense.

   The waters of the river, as Ridge continued to cup them, reflected the pinkish-red sand and the yellow-brown hues of the sky. It wasn't like the quaint, azure sky of Haven—or the ceiling. Here, it was coated in butterscotch with clouds of accentuated whites. Ridge liked seeing the sky clear of blimps and robotic falcons. To his surprise, there was no celestial body in the sky, leaving it a greasy red. He quickly deduced that the atmosphere here was thick, and the only celestial body visible was the shared sun from the Diurnal Bridge. Ridge looked at the Diurnal Bridge from afar, planted firmly into the ground. The sun was sinking gradually through Haven. Over there, where the sun shone, the sky was a perfect blue. He wondered if only half of the sky exposed to the sun was that cerulean.

   Ridge turned his attention toward the Riskometer standing on the riverbank. So far, he had only dealt with a tumbleweed that could have pricked him. Naturally, he'd taken care of it to keep himself safe. He could have sworn that tumbleweed had been ganging up on him. It wasn't as if he was doing what he'd originally set out to do—becoming the "Innovative Havenian Hero." Looking back, that mouthful of a title would've been annoying anyway. He had originally thought of something else tied to his role as a risk eliminator, but that would have sounded too antagonistic.

   Ridge snorted and grabbed the Riskometer. He'd never dreamed of becoming a villain. Villains were the ones who allowed risks to dwell in Thear, be they human or natural.

   Ridge rubbed the Riskometer's sphere carefully. He had not yet fully grasped how to handle such a weapon. Yes, he admitted, it was a weapon. But it was a weapon for noble causes, not for personal gain or for being more liberated than everyone else in Thear.

   Keeping his eyes trained on the clear river, Ridge walked on the bank in hopes of reaching somewhere. He had about an hour before returning to Haven. Falcon Plaza only became flooded with people after 10 a.m. Ridge knew he would not be able to explore every nook and cranny of Nevah in less than a day. His plan was to continue these nocturnal outings until he had roamed every spot in Nevah.

   The first visit had already been a breakthrough, so the next visits would be about breaking through not only Haven's barriers but his work back home as well. As an industrial machinery mechanic, of all things.

   Ridge's eyes narrowed at the river as he continued trudging along its bank. The water was growing murkier and murkier. He felt the Aptem pocketwatch under his jacket. No pulsation. He moved the Riskometer about, noticing plastics flowing through the waters. Just then, he felt the pocketwatch pulse. Because he had diverted his attention to the pocketwatch, he didn't notice the huge pile of fish bones he tripped over. He quickly regained his balance, avoiding a fall into the marshy ground. He decided to break into a full sprint.

   The pocketwatch struck 44 riskons. (XLIV r-kons: bigger hand at 44 minutes, smaller hand fixed on the hour in Haven.)

   Just as the terrain turned to quagmire and a stench filled his nostrils, he heard a snap.

   Ridge flinched, looking up from the pocketwatch. He stopped in his tracks. The terrain in front of him was harsh, if it could be described in one word. Just ahead, there was a cave with boulders barricading its opening, mounted through the dark river. A lone cave, which was strange because Ridge had always thought caves were found in mountains. He sniffed the air, filled with sulfur and another smell he could not identify.

   Another snap and a low growl echoed from within the cave. Ridge squared his shoulders, eyes wide as boulders tumbled into the river, splashing him and the Riskometer. He wiped it clean, gaze locked on the cave. A silhouette emerged—then another, smaller one.

   Suddenly, the smaller figure darted towards him. It was a small, furry creature with a hammer-like tail, gnashing its teeth as it sprang at Ridge.

   The pocketwatch struck 55 riskons. (LV r-kons)

   The snow particles in the Riskometer vibrated queasily. Ridge pointed the Riskometer at the creature. The clock tower in the device locked onto the fast-moving, sharp-teethed creature. Just then, the larger figure stepped into the dim light of the sinking sun, an old man made his appearance clear as day. He was clad in a waterproof vest and fleece gloves, a long leash-like rope with a hook at the end attached to it. His green fisherman's hat sat snugly atop his messy white hair. Eerily, he wore charms of bones, with the lower jaw of what appeared to be a real skull covering his own jawline. His baggy pants were soaked, and his beige, blood-stained shirt, were patched in places. The attire was unlike anything Ridge had ever seen, except perhaps in the museum he visited about pirates in the Primaries Wing. Ridge began to perspire. He glanced at the pocketwatch as the snow particles died down.

   The pocketwatch struck 21 riskons. (XXI r-kons)

   The old man's face was flushed red as he dragged his feet out of the thick river. He towed the creature by its tail, shaking it while snarling. Thanks to Polo's rapport with a linguistics scholar, he was able to get his hands on a translater in an earbud exclusive to foreign languages. "What did I say about pouncing on human bones?"

   Ridge was too stunned to speak, just watching the old man and the creature with an open-mouthed expression. He couldn't even laugh at the absurdity of the situation, or the fact that he had just survived his first near-death experience—in Nevah, and in Thear.

   The old man held the creature by its crook and draped it over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His scrunched-up face remained fixed, and his eyes moved to Ridge. The old man was a living paradox: his ill eyes and redness amplified his naturally grumpy expression, but the rest of his body was indistinguishable from a young man who worked tirelessly without breaking a sweat. Not knowing how to respond, Ridge tipped the Riskometer slightly, adjusting his ruffle as he eyed the man. "Thanks."

   The old man sneered, his eyes slowly scanning Ridge from head to toe. He held onto the brim of his hat and tilted his head. "Ya one of those rovers?"

   Ridge hummed, nodding slowly. He smirked faintly, thinking, "No pleasantries? Just straight to the point? Looks like Nevanese people are more efficient than Havenians.." "Yes, I'm one of those rovers."

   "Whatever ya think yar doing here, do it, but don't even tickle a fish bone. All the fish are mine to catch." The old man dropped the creature as it whimpered around his begrimed sandals.

   "Yes, the fish. And by that, you mean the risky lot?" Ridge wagged his finger at the old man. He could save the man and his pet's lives. Perhaps they— or the old man— will grant him something if he helps them get the work done more efficiently. Something that will conceal Ridge's foreign appearance.

   The old man laughed dryly, "Oh, very risky. Six ways till Sunday. I tell ya, kid."

   "Well, I can help. From a rover to a fisher, yes?"

   "I'm no fisher," the old man huffed. "I'm much more valuable than that."

   The old man flexed his flabby yet muscular arms. "An animal hunter, kid! I'm Roderick Sutoh. And trust me when I tell ya that the sound of even my nickname Rod makes animals' skins crawl!" He nudged at the creature with his foot and stared at it expectantly. "Just look at Tonks!" The creature pretended to whimper apprehensively while curling its hammer tail around itself.

   Ridge let out a suppressed giggle. "Roderick and Tonks? In Haven, they would be Rodriguez and Tony. Even the names here are rash."

   Roderick picked up a spear from the riverban, saying, "How can a young, puny rover like ya help me with my hunting?"

   Ridge exhaled through his nostrils as he covered the stand of the Riskometer until it was out of Roderick's sight. "I can suck the fish into this sphere by means of..." Ridge tried to be as tactful as possible, but he remembered that it was a Nevanese he was dealing with. So he continued, "whirlpools. I managed to get my hands on one of those and trapped one in this sphere." Ridge held up the Riskometer to show the sphere, "You seine the risky fish, and I suck them into this."

   "Ya suck risky fish?" Roderick scratched the mandible-geared jawline with the haft of the spear.

   Ridge wagged his finger at Rod while saying, "I mean I suck them into the sphere. Like siphoning them."

   "Ahhh. Gotcha, kid. Do ya want any reward if I do let you hunt with me and Tonks?"

   "Ah, good question. I've thought about a reward, and...I want to keep some of your clothes and equipment to myself. That'd be the reward."

   Roderick's eyes widened, and they flickered between Ridge and Tonks, who was on the verge of sleep as it nodded off on his sandal. Roderick grumbled while pointing at Ridge with the spear, "Keep yar hands to yourself, I tell ya! They are mine."

   Ridge raised his hands as if to tame the old man, "I mean spare ones, Roderick."

   Roderick scratched the mandible with his spear again, this time his red face wrinkling in thought. Ridge suppressed a laugh of disbelief. Nevanese people think? He shook his head, "No can do, kid. I'm afraid this is my only set of clothing, and my equipment are too precious to be handed to rovers. And anyway, I don't need ya and yar thing. I've my net to seine the risky fish." He scoffed and poked Tonk's sleeping head with the spear. "Ways of hunting is a bone of contention anyway. Who said I agree with yar weird sucking into sphere way?"

   "You don't have to buy the idea of my sphere, and you need some help, surely! A net will not be enough. I can help you spare yourself some work. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, you know? You love phrases so might as well love that. How about you let me just for once? You can see if I'm good at hunting or not, and if I'm not and my intentions are of theft as you think they are, then you and Tonks can—"

   The pocketwatch pulsated against his chest. He caught a hold of it while cradling the stand with his arm so it was still concealed and furrowed his brows.

   The pocketwatch struck 50 riskons. (L r-kons)

   Ridge whipped his head around. Roderick cocked his head at the fast-working fan mechanism of a man. To the old man, it reminded him of the tail of a swimming fish. He blinked at the Riskometer as the snow particles defied gravity on their own. To the old man, it reminded him of how the wind picked up leaves off the ground. Ridge stepped back, his steps slow and deliberate like the ticking of a clock or a regular pocketwatch. To the old man, it reminded him of raindrops during a spring eve.

   "Why did ya clam up, kid?" Just then, a skeletal fish catapulted from the murky waters of the river. Larger than Tonks, it had wings for fins and a pointed triple paint. It lunged at Roderick, who was caught off guard as he dropped the spear and dropped dead himself, the fish digging its venomous tongue into his back. Tonks growled and leapt at the fish, only for it to skydive into the river, never to be seen again amid the depths of the water.

   The pocketwatch struck 54 riskons. (LIV r-kons)

   Ridge's heart was at his throat as he watched Roderick's back bleed nonstop. There were cracking sounds coming from his spine as the fish feasted on his bones. He gritted his teeth as he pointed the Riskometer at the terrifying fish. He shook it clockwise. The beam shone from the clocktower through the sphere and onto the fish. The fish let out a gurgled sound as it shrieked from the pulling of the beam, and into the Riskometer it went.

   The pocketwatch struck 8 riskons. (IIX r-kons)

   Ridge let out a breath he did not know he was holding. He ruffled his hair as he knelt down beside Roderick's corpse. Blood stopped spraying from his back and was seeping out like molasses from a crack in a bottle.

   "That's the fate of a headstrong hunter who's pushing his seventies." Ridge put the Riskometer down and rolled his shoulders with the bronze shoulder plates. He ripped out a patch from Roderick's shirt and tore a piece from his pants. Harshly, he grabbed Roderick's heavy head by the hair and lifted it, peering at it with visible disgust. It was naturally red and reddened even more by the sand. His eyes were whitened, and the mandible somehow did not break. Ridge clicked his tongue and muttered in Roderick's ear, "Good riddance to a fool like ya," while removing the mandible. He chucked the head back onto the ground aggressively, proceeding to removing one of his ragged sandals and carrying everything while walking away until he was a mile away from the body and the spear. After arranging them on the ground, he speed-walked to the Riskometer and picked it up before pointing it at the pile of the remnants of Roderick's attire. He clutched the pocketwatch with his other hand.

   The pocketwatch struck 2 riskons. (II r-kons)

   "If Rod was 21 riskons with his clothes, and his clothes are only 2 riskons, that made him 19 riskons... which is a lot for any human, as far as I know." Ridge scoffed as he retreated back to Roderick's body. He towered over it as he looked down at the lifeless, muscular body. "It is just—I am 0 riskons. Can humans really be that risky?"

   Ridge's dignity held him back from undressing Roderick and stealing his clothes. Nonetheless, the wise thing to do while visiting Nevah was to blend with the Nevanese. He was not sure about Roderick's status, and the old man did not have anything that shed light on his identity.

   Ridge settled with replacing the the sandal and mandible back on Roderick before taking out Riskomifiers from his pocket and sprinkling them on his body. These tiny cashew crumbs were created to amplify the target object's riskiness, as only an object over 50 riskons could get sucked into the Riskometer. They could run out, so he had to use them sparingly and wisely.

   Ridge proceeded to shake the Riskometer clockwise and got rid of his whole corpse, clothes and all. He then rotated the hand of the pocketwatch until it struck 2 riskons. Instantaneously, the same beam shone out and sent the clothes, sandal, and mandible flowing until they rested in the same spot where Roderick had been.

   With that, Ridge changed into Roderick's clothes. He replaced his boots with the raggedy sandals and put on the mandible jaw accessory and wore the shirt and the baggy pants, much to his discomfort. He kept the shoulder plates on over the shirt; they provided counterbalanced load, as the weight was tremendous yet practical for serving as a ballast.

   With his clothes on the ground, Ridge picked up both the spear and Riskometer before walking over to the cave. He squeezed through the gap between the boulders until he was inside the cave. It was hollow, as he expected, and had nothing much besides the ominous darkness of the river and red sand. He did make out a net by the riverbank, which he took to be Roderick's equipment.

   "That's his only equipment? Lousy," Ridge said, the echo sending him ripples of gratification. The net, the cave, and the river were all reminiscent of the Lema twins, Ab and Und. Ridge pursed his lips as he remembered finding out how the governors detained them. He then shrugged as he sprinkled the Riskomifiers on the equipment before sucking them into the Riskometer; he remembered how he would not be needing them anymore.

   Thinking he could pretend to be the hunter Roderick was, Ridge called his first outing ever in Nevah off and scampered back to the Diurnal Bridge with his clothes and boots put back on. He pressed the button on his shirt, the propeller tool flying back to him from the moon. Climbing down the ladder, the realization that he was going again as an undercover Havenian dawned on him. Good riddance to the pining for visiting the Outdoors. He would not miss Nevah. He would not need to. He was going to revisit Nevah until every place was walked by Ridge.

[pomengrenan]

Chapter VI- Riskometer

Logline: In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying

"Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?

It was now twelve am, which meant that curfew was set in Haven.

   Prior to plugging the memory stick into his own printer in his warmly lit room, Ridge had finally discovered the way to reach the bridge in the manor's storage room, which would ultimately lead him to Nevah. While the memory stick adjusted to the new printer, he began constructing the tool at his L-shaped desk. The tool he had mulled over in the brainstorming corner after first encountering it in Alula—that was the one that would take him to the moon. At 10 p.m., the moon would hang in the far left section of the Diurnal Bridge. Ridge would sit or stand by the waterwheel in Falcon Plaza and look up at the moon. His gaze would be brief but thoughtful. Especially with the blimps, it was hard to focus on the moon as it gleamed through the Diurnal Bridge.

   Ridge had noticed that the moon appeared large enough for a person to stand on, comparing its size to the already massive blimps. Beyond the obvious, he had mapped the moon's speed and the distance between its body and the sky—or ceiling, as he preferred to call it. The celestial bodies of the sun and moon would actually pass through the sky, leaving no gap between Haven and Nevah. The only opening was the so-called exit to Nevah. Ridge was still uncertain about what he could now make of it, but he was sure the exit was reachable at 5 a.m.

   "Given that the moon travels at around two thousand miles per hour, the distance between its body and the sky, eight hours after its full appearance (at 7 p.m.), would be only two meters—just above the average height of Havenians. Assuming the governors who attend these outings wear high boots, they could easily reach the exit. The only issue is that this means they'd depart to the moon and Nevah at 5 a.m.—five hours after curfew and an hour before sunrise. But why would they need the full five hours?" Ridge mused as he paused from constructing the tool. He leaned back in his swivel chair, letting his head dangle off the headrest while holding the graph up. He flipped it over to reveal an inked diagram of the circular chart that highlighted the Diurnal Bridge's sun-and-moon system. In Haven, the unit circle perfectly mapped the Diurnal Bridge's sun-and-moon system. The positions of the sun and moon were marked along the circular path. It also included hourly time indicators to show exactly when the sun and moon appeared in Haven. The sun signified daytime in Haven, while the moon represented nighttime. The reverse was true for Nevah, since both celestial bodies moved at the same speed, so Ridge had to keep that in mind.

(Ridge's Diurnal Bridge Diagram: )

    Ridge pressed his index finger against the point on the 345-degree line that represented 5 a.m. as the moon, or 6 p.m. as the sun. The diagram represented a full 24-hour cycle, divided into degrees. Each degree corresponded to a specific hour. The time of Nevah could also be deciphered, since it gave a visual representation of how the celestial bodies moved in relation to each other, but that was not important for now. What mattered was the tool that would get him to the moon at 5 a.m., so he had to keep his shoulders to the wheel.

   Ridge returned to immersing himself in the creation of the tool that would take him to the moon in no time. It was practical, safe, and could carry the Riskometer. The Riskometer was crucial at all times. Ridge needed it just to protect himself. The pocketwatch, which connected to the Riskometer, was to stay tucked under the ruffle of his shirt beneath his jacket. He couldn't afford to be ill-equipped. If he were, he wouldn't be able to enjoy his visit to the Outdoors. Who knew what risks lay beyond the sky... or the walls. Or Haven as a whole.

   After what felt like a fortnight, Ridge finished creating the tool. He exhaled deeply and checked the time. Conveniently, it was 4:30. A concentrated look crept over his face as he wagged his finger. Now, the thoughts were kicking in.

   "The worst-case scenario would be stumbling across one of the governors who undertake these expeditions. I'm sure I checked the schedule in that room in Alula. It was the right schedule. Even the automaton confirmed it. They only go during harvest season."

   Ridge pushed himself off his swivel chair and yanked the tool off the desk. As he made his way to Falcon Plaza through the barren and dark areas, he glanced at the tool proudly. The parachute-like contraption was deceptively designed, with a propeller shaped like falcon wings. It was made that way specifically to throw off any onlookers. They would dismiss it as just a falcon, since falcons were sporadic in Falcon Plaza. Its true form would be inconspicuous when the sun was not up (as in, when it was "down" by Havenian terms). Attached to the propeller was a talon that looked like it had come out of a claw machine. It snugly held the Riskometer and had a steering mechanism shaped like steel-made nails. There were also two bars resembling the wall that barricaded the waterwheel Ridge would lean against—bars for him to hold onto.

   After donning the shoulder plates and riding the emptiest yet liveliest tram car Ridge had ever been on, he found himself standing dead center in Falcon Plaza, resolutely beneath the Diurnal Bridge. Ridge didn't look up at it—he didn't want to risk breaking his neck. Instead, his eyes took in every detail of the falcon-shaped propeller he had built. He didn't fear, because he wasn't putting his life on the line. He didn't retreat, because he had no regrets. He didn't feel anger, because there was no one around to anger him. It was complete bliss as he readied himself for what he needed to do—at least once in his lifetime.

   There was no hubbub coming from the Havenians around the plaza, as usual. The only sound Ridge could hear was the rhythmic splashing of water being hoisted and then dropped by the waterwheel. Ridge's shoulders sagged in relaxation. He dipped his index finger through the air, not wagging it. He felt his nerves flow out through his finger. Wagging it, ironically, would only cause more stress. Ridge smiled and tucked the same hand under his jacket to feel his pocketwatch. He had to do that in Nevah—of course, he would need to check his pocketwatch, but he also had to find out what the air was like out there.

   If Haven was the half of the world that was strict, advanced, and full of hive mind, then what was Nevah like? "I have a hypothesis that Nevah will be... something else." Ridge chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Kidding. I have a hypothesis that Nevah will be bleak and hollow at first glance, but as I progress through it, it will have a certain spark to it."

   Ridge had reached the pinnacle of his thoughts and took one deep breath of the Havenian air. It would not be his last time. He was bound to return. He stood in a starting stance, holding the propeller with the Riskometer above his head. His hands curled around the bars, luckily rough and rigid. Ridge's eyes began to trace shapes around the sight of the lofty Diurnal Bridge, specifically the moon. Normal shapes, Euclidean shapes, and finally, topographic shapes. Perhaps he had underestimated the importance of those topography worksheets, but good riddance to them anyway.

   Ridge dipped his head as he closed his eyes, the shapes crashing down on him. He bided his own time as he stared at the moon. His eyes then darted to a blimp. 5 a.m. It was time to say good riddance to the Havenian ground, at least temporarily, and take off. With every fiber of his body, he hunkered down until his face flushed slightly. He grunted, and a sound was produced by the propeller tool. Like a slinky, he thrust himself upwards. The falcon wings accelerated, and Ridge's boots ceased to touch the ground of Falcon Plaza.

   There Ridge was, soaring toward the moon. His hair flew downward as his body ascended. He let his legs flail a little, like a child experiencing water for the first time. It was a transcendent experience, seeing the moon grow nearer and larger as the Wing Monuments shrank to the size of pebbles. If he were an astronomy fan, he would have already thrown his hands in the air and called it a day. But he was no astronomy fan, and his ambition reached far beyond that.

   Ridge felt his stomach churn as he was now directly beside the moon. It exuded a glow too bright for the naked eye, prompting him to squint. "Dang it, I should've bought eyewear of some sort! Because I was so hell-bent on finishing the tool and getting here on time, I didn't factor in every possibility. Oh, why stress over something that's already happened? People who live in the past are stupid. Just think about how you'll feel when you experience the Nevah breeze for the first time. You'll be a legend, Ridge. Good riddance to legends about Haven, Havenian anthropology, and Havenian rules."

   Ridge cackled as the almost invisible rotation of the falcon wings slowed down. He landed on the moon and let his arms fall until he was holding the Riskometer properly. He knelt down on one knee and brushed his hand over the moon's silver surface. It was extraordinary, and there was no denying that Ridge admired the sight and the touch. To him, there was a fine line between inspection and admiration. The latter was present as he smiled softly, his touch as light as a feather's graze. Even though the surface was rugged, touching it felt like caressing a moss of glitter gathered underwater. It was powdery, to Ridge's delight.

   Ridge breathed in as he detached the propeller tool. He was surprised that oxygen was still present up here. He couldn't pinpoint why exactly, but it was for the best. He took out a tracker-magnetic device clipped onto the ruffle of his shirt—the classical way of stashing portable devices—and attached it to the talon of the propeller tool while removing the Riskometer. This way, once his outing was complete, he could press the button on his shirt (disguised as an actual button) to send the propeller flying back to him like a boomerang. He stood upright and eyed the propeller tool. He scraped his boots against the moon's surface and looked up. There, embedded in the moon's silver surface, was a mechanical combination lock lodged in a hidden vent.

   The fact that he was so close to Nevah was mind-boggling, but what was even more mind-boggling was the "Personnel Only" sign next to the lock.

   Ridge wagged his finger and laughed, his other hand rummaging through his pocket. "What's that sign for? For silly, curious citizens like me?" What was more curious, though, was the lock hanging there loosely from a... mini bridge? It had to be the handle for a hidden door. Carefully, to avoid shattering it, Ridge pulled out the filament sheet with the encrypted QR code he had printed after transferring the data. However, instead of paper, it was made from condensed cashews—an edible sheet, to put it simply. This was so he wouldn't have to worry about hiding it or burning it after its transient use. It could be ingested and disappear without a trace. Ridge would be living the best of both worlds if he ate it after using it, but he preferred having another creature in Nevah ingest it. That way, he could solidify his innocence, in case the governors found out and started medical testing to pinpoint the devourer of the cashew-printed sheet. Ridge sometimes mentally facepalmed. Maybe he thought too far ahead of himself, but his pocketwatch told him it would be risky to outright eat the filament. Besides, it wouldn't be hard to find an unwary creature that snacked on cashews.

   Ridge indeed found a box with a visible scanner and wasted no time holding up the filament to scan the QR code. Unbeknownst to him, there was another step he had to take to get to Nevah. Once access was granted and the box opened, a mechanical combination lock appeared.

   Ridge extended his hand upwards and felt around it. There was no lining, and the more he felt, the more his hopes diminished and his skepticism grew. With nothing else left for him to do, he wagged his finger at the mechanical combination lock. It seemed worth a shot.

   Without further hesitation, Ridge grabbed the lock and peered at it intently. The number combination consisted of three digits—simple enough. He didn't see a code or catch any hint leading to it back in the manor in Alula. Ridge smirked as he calculated the number of times he would have to enter an individual number on the three locks. It wasn't a smirk of pride, but rather one of cynicism. He thought, glancing aside, It would take around 1,000 attempts, given that the total combinations are the possible numbers to the power of the number of locking mechanisms. Hence, 10 to the power of 3. Assuming it takes three seconds to turn each number from 0 to 1, it will take about 50 minutes—almost another hour. If that hour passes, the person will get squashed between the sky and the moon. They really thought this through, huh? Even the stakes are high for idiotic expedition rookies.

   Ridge clenched his jaw and wagged his finger, lost in a thoughtful stupor. His thoughts ran rampant, and so did the moon. It was getting closer to the sky. Ridge was getting closer to doom—the doom of his ambition. His brows shot upwards as it clicked in his mind. He quickly fumbled with the locking mechanisms until they read "195." Ridge had deduced, in the cold light of day, that the moon was 345 degrees from the original position at 5 a.m. in Haven, while the other celestial body, the sun in Nevah, was 150 degrees from the original at 6 p.m. in their respective time zones. How did he know? Referring back to the diagram he had inked, he realized the 5 a.m. and 6 p.m. points were inverse, meaning the 345 degrees and 150 degrees were simply one line that aligned the sun and moon with the Diurnal Bridge cycle. All he had to do was subtract the 150 degrees corresponding to Nevah's time from the 345 degrees corresponding to Haven's. The difference between the two was the code.

   As soon as Ridge pulled the lock after it unbolted, a wooden ladder staggered down. Wasting no time, as he was short of breath, Ridge clambered onto it while cradling the Riskometer. Every step brought him closer to the Outdoors. Ridge could already feel emotions of exhilaration swirl within him. Here, in the middle of all the buzz Ridge could hear, despite the only sound being the rush of a different air swirling around, was the exit to Nevah—the exit that only governors undertaking outings were meant to use. Even though it was cheesy to admit, he had prepared his entire life for this, and it certainly had to pay off. He couldn't just let his innovative and inventive skills slip through his fingers. He couldn't let the stupid Sensing Snowglobe system decide how to use his talents. His eyes narrowed at the nebulous point in the distance. His hand propped itself against a rocky surface.

   First, it was his head, then the Riskometer, and finally his eyes. They widened and glimmered with newfound excitement and interest. The air sent a welcoming breeze that tousled his hair as leaves drifted past him. The new topological land around him hurtled downward into his vision. He couldn't make out the details just yet; he was too single-minded about his achievement. He had been dreaming of this, and now he was visiting Nevah—the Outdoors.

   The landscape made the dichotomy between Haven and Nevah immediately obvious. It seemed as though the entirety of Haven was underground, save for the Diurnal Bridge, as the other half stood out in reverse, the sun visible from afar. Nevah was in the middle of nowhere, with basalt rocks blanketing the entire area that covered Haven's sky. A maladrous and almost burning stench filled the air. It was barren and silent, except for the occasional shrieks and squawks from above.

   Ridge's senses were heightened as he looked up. A flock of three falcons circled above him enticingly. As if he had done it before, he pulled out the cashew filament and raised his hand. Unflinchingly, he watched as one of the falcons dove downward toward him, taking the filament in its beak. As it fluttered away, its wings sent a strong gust. Ridge felt a shiver as his hair whipped around his head. How heavy it is. He grinned as he clutched his head and took in the vastness of his surroundings in the Outdoors.

   Seeing how simple and deserted Nevah was so far knocked the wind out of Ridge. He finished climbing the ladder, letting out an eruption of laughter he had been bottling up for a long time. He was finally letting it out. He was on all fours as he laughed, invigorated to say the least. The emotions were too intense for him to handle. A surge of extreme excitement coursed through his veins. He laughed uncontrollably, for he could not fathom how he had gotten here. He had forgotten all the hard work it took to get here—all the strife and mundane efforts that led to being in the Outdoors. It was everything he had ever needed.

   Ridge dunked his heavy head into the basalt ground. He noticed some mud and smeared it on his upturned face. He felt all the adrenaline of a thousand savant students who had graduated and faced their Sensing Snowglobes. The feeling of the chunks of rock in the mud on his cheeks only augmented the rush of conflicting emotions.

   "I can't believe it. The exit was under my nose the whole time!" Ridge burst out laughing bitterly as he stood up, swaying from side to side, unable to regain his balance. All the unusualness was being dumped on him. He fixed his eyes on the Riskometer tucked under his arm. With a full-fledged grin, he hoisted it into the sultry Nevanese air, bellowing, "Good riddance to 'Never visit Nevah'!"

[pomengrenan]

A dark poem that could make your skin crawl.

[pomengrenan]

Chapter V- Riskometer

Logline: In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying

"Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?

"Polo, can I come in?" Ridge called through the door.

   "Of course you can! It's 'may I,' big time." A laugh followed the correction, light and easy. "Nah, nah, I'm no stickler for those things. Come on in, dude."

   Ridge pushed open the door—an odd design requiring a pull from the outside—and stepped into the recreation room. The space radiated warmth, furnished in dark wood with brass accents that gleamed softly under the glow of Edison bulbs encased in intricate fixtures. Their amber light bathed the room, which boasted antique clocks, leather armchairs, and tables with scattered playing cards. Cogs and mechanical curios dotted the shelves alongside foosball and ping-pong tables, dartboards, and board games. Exercise equipment—treadmills, bikes, and dumbbells—occupied one corner, contrasting with the indulgent leisure decor. Cabinets stored games, supplies, snacks, and refreshments, while video game consoles floated midair, suspended by drones that emitted soft whirring and gentle puffs of steam.

   Sonorous music drifted from a green jukebox tucked against the wall, blending seamlessly with the room's lively ambiance. At its heart stood a grand pool table, its leather-lined rails and brass fittings exuding opulence. Pool balls, chalk, a rack, and—curiously—a bag of chips sat upon it.

   A man lingered by the table, his lanky frame wrapped in casual elegance. Black, slightly messy curls framed his face, with a prominent strand cascading down the middle of his forehead. The rest gathered in a high ponytail, though stray locks brushed his upper back. He wore rectangular glasses over brown eyes that gleamed with mischief, a second layer of clear eyewear resting over them, cushioned by blue earpieces. Crumbs clung to his lips and the gloved fingertips of his black gloves. His outfit—a high-collared white-and-blue top cinched with a diagonal chest belt—paired with leg warmers over pants, and his socked feet grounded him in eccentricity.

   This was Polo Swarovski, second-best in the Sensing Snowglobe Decree Giveaway, known for his effortless charm. He tapped his pool stick on the floor and flashed a velvety smile. "What's up, Ridge?"

   "All is well, Polo," Ridge replied, stepping forward.

   "Good, good." Polo's free hand dove into the bag of chips, his grin unfaltering. "So, what brings you here? You don't come to play often."

   Ridge wagged a finger, his tone dry but teasing. "I never come here to play. You ought to know that. You built this place—just like you built most of Haven's entertainment and culture."

   "You don't gotta do me like that," Polo laughed, dipping his head. The chip in his gloved hand hovered midair before finally meeting his mouth. He shrugged. "I don't know, man. Thought you'd wanna play on a whim—or just relax before diving back into the grind of machinery mechanic work."

   Ridge chuckled faintly, placing a hand over his chest to touch his pocket watch. "I just wanted to see you after the Sensing Snowglobe Decree. Good job snagging 213 awards."

   "Thanks. Right back at you with 254 awards," Polo said, tapping his temple with a finger and grinning. "Yep, I still remember."

   Polo's gaze flitted to Ridge's pocket watch as he polished off the bag of chips. "That's a nice-looking Aptem, big time. Very—" He gestured a chef's kiss, "—exquisite."

   Ridge forced a breezy laugh, shuffling his feet. Then, with a wag of his finger, he revealed his true intentions. "Remember when I created that Magic 8-Ball for you? You owe me something."

   Polo raised a brow, tossing the empty chip bag aside. His stance shifted into a pool player's pose, his stick inching toward the cue ball. "Yeah... you want me to pay that favor back now?"

   "Yes, and in the simplest way possible."

   Polo hummed, eyeing the pool balls one by one. A sharp crack followed as he struck the cue ball, triggering a domino reaction. Several balls clattered across the table, two sinking smoothly into pockets. He chopped the air triumphantly before turning to Ridge. "Simple or not, just say the word. I'll do it, big time. As my siblings would say, "When they throw a favor, catch it with fervor." " 

   Ridge pressed his lips together, feigning consideration. "I just need you to tell me where the Havenian governors keep their confidential tools and mechanisms. You've visited it before—thanks to your position as Minister of Entertainment, yes?"

   Polo's brows knit together as he rested his chin on his pool stick. His gaze drifted to the side, hesitation writ across his face. "Ah, yes, but... I don't know if I can do that. It's... sorta not allowed."Ridge chuckled and tilted his head sideways, "Knowing you Polo Swarovski, I'm sure you can mend a rule or two when necessary."

   One man with his red nose buried into the jackaroo board scoffed, "Polo, why don't you ignore that boy? The second medal effect shakes people to their bones. It's natural to let that effect affect you, so no need to pretend that it's not by being helpful. Take my word for it."

   Polo laughed heartily and looked at the man while resting both his hands on his pool stick. "Come on, man. You know what they say, falcons of a feather flock together. We're all good here."

   "But, mister minister Swarovski! You are a programming genius, an entertainment mastermind, a video game expert, and a man of culture," said another man with shrewd eyes and a tank top with baggy steampunk overalls. He pointed at Ridge in an accusatory way. "And he's just a selfish dude who invents shit no one uses except for himself and his ass!"

   Polo clicked his tongue and took the magic eight ball from the cabinet side of the pool table. "You know, if it weren't for Ridge and his flair for inventions, this recreation room along with other forms of entertainment would have never been introduced to Haven. I put the fork in the road and became who I am today. I was so indecisive when it came to choosing being a lawyer or what I am great at today. All because of an invention Ridge gave me."

   Polo flourished the magic eight ball while leaning against his pool stick. "He created this for me, which is super useful if you are an indecisive guy like me. It's not only about odds, but also about how you feel about a certain option." He whirled on Ridge and smiled. "Kinda like the Sensing Snowglobe." He turned back to the rest while pushing himself off the support of the pool stick. "So I owe him a ton, and the rest is history."

   Covering his mouth to yawn, Polo shook the magic eight ball. He scratched his hair and looked down at the magic eight ball. He smiled and looked at Ridge, who was busying himself with his pocketwatch while eyeing Polo with a bored expression. Polo said, "Good news for you, dude. I asked the ball if I could leak the place to you, and it was like 'yes, man,' so here goes!"

   Ridge perked up and stared at Polo expectantly. Polo motioned for him to come closer, so Ridge stepped forward while raising his brows. Polo set the pool stick on the floor while returning the magic eight ball to the side cabinet. He tapped the floor with the pool stick and uttered, "It's in Alula, directly west to the Primary Coverts wing. And no, Alula is not only the place where the governors have their meetings and yadda yadda. They also retain super secretive tools they use mostly for their professional outings to Nevah and get resources from there."

   Ridge smirked. "Checkmate." He then said aloud while wagging his finger, "And how can I get to Alula?"

   "Actually forgot, man. Ask the dudette who draws maps. Your childhood friend, argh, what was her name?" Polo snapped his fingers and furrowed his brows as he tried to remember. "May, no, Macy, Marla—"

   "Right, right. Mavis Bensleigh." Ridge refrained from scoffing and rolling his eyes. He respected Polo a lot; in fact, Polo Swarovski was one of the people he could put up with alongside the Lema twins. But his careless antics bothered him at times.

   Polo gave Ridge a thumbs up before returning to his pool game. He asked while tapping the cue ball with the pool stick, "Why do you wanna go there anyway?"

   "Inspiration purposes," Ridge answered as he already started exiting the recreation room. However, the two men who defended Polo from earlier walked menacingly towards him. Ridge stopped by the door and looked at them over his shoulder. He glanced at his pocketwatch and saw that the hand was only at 5 riskons.

   "Next time you swing by, bring your Sensing Snowglobe with you," the red-nosed man said while glaring at Ridge.

   Ridge furrowed his brows. "Why is that?"

   "Because from now on, only Havenians with official careers get to be in this recreation room," the same man responded. The other man's shrewd eyes spoke curiosity before he asked, "How will you get past the heavy security to Alula? Do you have a plan?"

   Ridge smiled while still remaining callous. "As you know, I am an industrial machinery mechanic. I can wheedle my way into Alula by telling them that I simply want inspiration for the tools they use conventionally."

   The man snickered.

   "Easier said than done."

   "Yes, I am aware of that. But I can still convince them to let me peek by explaining my idea on renovating current inventions and incorporating more compelling gadgets into our lives. I will even tell them to keep an eye on me as I visit Alula."

   The sold men backtrack, letting Ridge take his exit. As soon as Ridge held the door handle, the door opened outwardly by Ivan Pelet. Ridge blinked as he stepped aside while Ivan's pumpkin mouth upturned to an apologetic and goofy smile as he entered the room while holding sock puppets, looking at Ridge then at Polo. Ridge finally left the room, but with newfound intrigue. Ivan could be heard saying, "The look on the kidsters' faces when I told them about that Nevah apocalypse story. They were to die for!"

   Polo could be heard laughing then saying, "Dude Ivan. You should stop it with your fascination with Nevah, big time."

   "Fine...but I still believe my dadster's out there. Oh boyster! Had to pull out that "my son is doing pretty well so I'll just head out" pass." Ivan could be heard laughing like a chicken. Ridge blinked and started walking towards the Scapulars Wing again as the recreation room was in the Secondaries Wing, right under the Scapulars. For some reason, he tried wrapping his head around Ivan's enigma. Was it because they had almost the identical jackets? Maybe that respect he had for Polo and the Lena twins could be sparked for that fellow Ivan. It's hard to get on Ridge's good side, after all. Even Mavis was never a tad bit taken seriously by him.

   Speaking of which, Ridge had made it to Mavis's room and was yet again asking, "Mavis, can I come in?"

   "Okay, okay, Ridge. One second." A few ruffled noises are accompanied by that. The door clicks and it opens, revealing a beaming Mavis with her arms outstretched. Ridge exposes his palm as a gesture of objection to the unspoken offer for a hug and looks at the room. It was dimly lit with different wallpapers that blend in very nicely. The centerpiece was a large drafting table cluttered with parchment maps, compasses, and other tools. He could see a brass sextant, an astrolabe, and a spyglass displayed. There were inkewells with quills as well as a magnifiying glass on an articulated arm. Shelves of leather books on geography lined the walls. Globes of different sizes, some with clockwork mechanists, rotated slowly under glass donned. Posters of models of airships were seen everywhere. Ridge's eyes lingered on a large multi-paneled map of Thear, detailing known territories and uncharted lands. Jazz music was played by Mavis's personalized jukebox.

   Mavis raised a brow, "Heyi, Ridge. Finally got back to your senses?"

   Without warning, Ridge squeezed through to enter the room and wagged his finger at the multi-paneled map, "Mavis, oh Mavis...this is really important. Forget about how foolish I was yesterday. I changed on a whim. This industrial machinery mechanic work has grown on me. I just need to go to Alula where they keep displays of tools and mechanisms so I can take inspiration."

   Mavis was stunned by Ridge's sudden announcement and apparent interest in going to Alula. She turned around and said, "Wait, Alula? That's the place where the government holds congresses, no?"

   "No, you idiot! That's another place. Alula is known for being the government's warehouse of Haven. How can you not know that?" Ridge laughed incredulously. 

   Feeling sheepish, Mavis chuckled nervously while tightening her ponytail, "Ok, forget about my ignorance. What you now want is the map, yeah?"

   "Yes, and I want you to accompany me for the time being. I can't read maps." Ridge was lying through his teeth. He just wanted Mavis as bait to distract the guards there.

   Mavis nodded excitedly and sprinted to the table and took a map. With the map in the ready, she darted out of the room, motioning for Ridge to follow. Ridge did as beckoned but in a slower pace as he let his eyes linger on the multi panelled map. He saw that the barren space east to Haven is supposedly Nevah. There were no marked areas except for the whole half labeled Nevah. Ridge had sensed that Mavis was also interesting in Nevah, but she never explicitly admitted it.

   After returning to Ridge's room to take his Sensing Snowglobe followed by lots of tramcar riding and trekking, the two entered the Alula territory. There was an imposing manor surrounded by fog and brown trees. The area was landscaped beautifully yet securely as there were gardens, fountains, and surveillance camera attatched to blimps. Ridge could spot retina recognition devices and patrol automatons from afar. Mavis tightened her ponytail and bent down. She whispered while staying low, "Say, how do we get in there? Have you any plan?"

   "Have you any patience?" Ridge clicked his tongue and rubbed his pocketwatch underneath his jacket. He did not feel it pulsate, which meant that there was no danger lying around and ahead of them. To Mavis's shock, he started walking casually to the double doors guarded by two guards in black security coats wearing bronze goggles with a lamp and intricate gadget fixture in one of the lens, "You stay here, and I'll go and ask if I can take a look at their gadgets."

   Mavis watched Ridge go with her mouth hanging open. She tried screaming in a low voice, but she ended up shouting, "Heyi, Ridge! They won't let you inside!"

   Both guards were attracted by the commotion and strutted near where Ridge and Mavis stood. Ridge halted his steps and bowed shallowly to them while showing his Sensing Snowglobe. "Hello. I came here from the Machinery Mechanic Industry-" He interrupted himself by exhaling and shaking his head at Mavis, "that's a mouthful." He continued didactically,  "-to report something as a righteous Havenian." He gestured toward the red-faced Mavis. "My friend here illegally marked this confidential place on her map. She is holding the last sample of the map with the true pathway to Alula."

   Mavis's jaw dropped, and she cradled her map to her chest. "Ridge, why would—"

   "Stay here, young lady." Both guards accosted Mavis as she glanced back and forth between them. Meanwhile, Ridge nonchalantly continued walking toward the front door of the manor with his Sensing Snowglobe ready. The automatons with continuous tracks moved past him. He towed one along by its bronze ribcage as he reached the double doors. Setting it beside him, he kneeled down and brandished the Sensing Snowglobe.

   "I am Ridge Kindler, from the Machinery Mechanic Industry. I came here to inspect the tools used as references for my own mechanisms. I'd like you to accompany me so you can trust that I will only look at them and will not take pictures or smuggle anything."

   The automaton beeped as it processed Ridge's words and replied in a robotic voice, "Sensing Snowglobe scanned. Access to gadget storage room granted."

   A smile graced Ridge's lips. His plan was coming to fruition.

   "It's a good thing these automatons only scan the semblance of Sensing Snowglobes. Only Boon can scan the insides," Ridge thought as he let go of the automaton. It automatically opened the door with its intricate mechanism and rolled away. Ridge followed it, taking in his surroundings. The hallway was adorned with artwork, artifacts, and mini statues of the Wing Monument in Falcon Plaza.

   They entered a room with fortified workbenches holding an array of devices, tools, and gadgets Ridge had never seen before. He could see communication interceptors of various forms, encrypted surveillance equipment used by the guards, and other high-tech tools tinted bronze and black. They were unlike the ones displayed in the corridors of the Secondary Coverts Wing. They weren't showy or ostentatious, nor were they superficial or repetitive. Each had a unique air about it—perhaps literally, as some emitted steam.

   One of them was a brass-accentuated printer with mechanical components sticking out. It had a control panel on the left side with a blue backlit LCD screen above a large knob and a memory stick port. On the right side were two analog pressure gauges. At the center, the expelled mechanism of the printer was visible, with a red nozzle where the filament was extruded.

   Ridge asked the automaton about the significance of the printer, as it was the only device occupying an entire workbench. Its reply made Ridge's eyes widen: "It is the specialized printer programmed to extrude the filament with the QR code for the exit to the Outdoors."

   Ridge hummed and looked around. His eyes narrowed at the visible cameras mounted on the ceilings and the lockers along the walls. There could be hidden cameras, but the only way to find out was to detect them efficiently. Ridge held the pocket watch firmly, feeling it with his fingers as he pretended to inspect the gadgets—which, if he was being honest, were fascinating.

   The pocket watch pulsated against his palm and fingers. His gaze shifted to the Sensing Snowglobe, or Riskometer, noticing the snow particles levitate and the clock tower rotate several times. Nodding slightly to himself, his calculative eyes scanned the workbenches. "I guess I'll have to discreetly test that printer."

   Ridge stepped forward, eye level with the printer. Hypotheses began forming around the printer in his mind. He set the Sensing Snowglobe beside it on the workbench and slowly removed his pocket watch. Looking over his shoulder at the automaton with raised brows, he placed the pocket watch with a small jig next to the Snowglobe and said nonchalantly, "I removed my Aptem, a pocket watch, so you don't have to worry about hidden cameras taking pictures."

   The automaton beeped and nodded, giving Ridge the green light to observe as he pleased. Smirking, Ridge turned back to the printer and folded his arms behind his back while peering at it. He stood on his tiptoes, shifting occasionally. Wagging his finger at the screen, he grabbed the ruffle of his shirt with his other hand and began ostensibly wiping it. The automaton didn't question him; instead, its bronze tech eyes drilled into his back.

   Ridge mumbled as he "cleaned" the screen. Under the ruffle of his shirt, a memory stick was clipped. He made sure to bring it for good measure—he suspected the governors used some kind of storage tool as the key to exiting Nevah. Stealthily, he plugged it into the port beneath the screen. Luckily, his constant mumbling served to drown out the printer's chime.

   Heat prickled Ridge's face as tension built before it could overwhelm him. Slowly, he rotated the knob until a file labeled "MISC" appeared on the screen. "Careful now. One flimsy move, and you'll end up Lema'd or Mavis'd by some falcon-masked or goggled man."

   Now that the QR code data was attainable, Ridge rotated the knob with the same precision he used for his pocket watch. The transfer was successful, much to Ridge's buried relief. He clipped the memory stick back into his shirt after finishing "cleaning" the screen.

   Turning to the automaton with a pretense of astonishment, he grinned as he adjusted the ruffle like a bow tie. "The government really pushed boundaries with this one. My heart goes out to them and the inventors of this magnificent tool. May I know who invented it?"

   The automaton momentarily beeped before replying, "Mister Quenten Oppen. He was the mastermind behind gadgets used by governors for their expedient outings to Nevah."

   Ridge nodded in satisfaction and moved away from the workbench. Wagging his finger at himself, he thought, "I feel like I'm forgetting something...ah yes, a way to get to the bridge." Clicking his tongue, he walked backward to the workbench. He grabbed his Sensing Snowglobe and resumed wandering around the room. "No, it's the Riskometer, idiot."

[pomengrenan]

Chapter IV- Riskometer

Logline: In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying

"Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?

Ridge had just refused to join Mavis and Faye in celebrating and was now storming off to his room. After much trouble avoiding his clueless parents, he made it to the tramcar, his gaze fixed on the blimps looming in the convivial air. The breeze from the blimps billowed around his panting form and conflicted soul. His grip on his Sensing Snowglobe tightened, his jaw clenched as he cradled it. The two pocketwatches drummed against his heaving chest, and he took it as a sign to storm off to his room in the Scapulars Wing.

   The realization that he would live as an industrial machinery mechanic for the rest of his life gnawed at his mind. Every breath, every step he took became more frantic. The words of the last verse in the song "Paint" echoed in his head:

"I promise I will paint, a painting I'll never abandon..."

   Ridge contemplated that final word. He remembered the Lema twins, Ab and Und. He saw everyone, including his parents, but neither Ab nor Und were in sight. He had assumed they'd separate for the first time in years, but no. They were gone. Gone when he needed them most. It was a dire situation, one that demanded two "creepsters" who owed him a lifetime of favors by lending him four helping hands. He became more aghast as he realized that the two had been detained by the governors. They had been fighting over the differences in their Sensing Snowglobes, and the governors had stepped in and imprisoned them. The Havenian governors, it seemed, were adding fuel to the fire that had rekindled the moment Ridge was born a Havenian. Every. Single. Time.

   The brown paisley mosaic and purple frames of the glass stained windows blurred as Ridge stormed past them. His vision, clouded with fury, focused only on his path. "No, not time for tears."  His chestnut hair flapped violently in the wind as he quickened his pace.

   Ridge was angry at himself. Furious with himself for being such a fool. He had been foolish to believe that he could change the ridiculous Sensing Snowglobe system. What kind of fool did a Havenian have to be to believe that? He had even gone so far as to manipulate Professor Yulek, trying to alter his inevitable Sensing Snowglobe revelation. That wasn't just foolish, that was... odd. Odd for someone of his caliber. He should never have let his hopes get so high, should never have been blinded by ambition. It was always true: over-ambition could be a person's downfall. Or worse, a setback.

   Ridge slammed his side against the door to his room. In a lopsided stance, he rotated the sprocket-shaped key in a complex pattern until it clicked. He flung the door open and stood in a crouch, breathing heavily. For the first time in years, he looked around his room. It was a mess—gadgets were scattered across every spot on the floor. His bed looked like a typhoon had hit it. Diagrams covered every surface of his brainstorming corner beside his L-shaped desk. A chaotic tangle of wires and cables. Books on computer science were strewn about. Crumbs from cashews lay on his desk, mixed in with the remnants of devices created for the "Innovative Havenian Hero" invention. Ridge felt like his room had been turned plain, as if all of this mess had been brought in by a breeze from Nevah.

   Ridge seethed as he clutched his head, his eyes closing. "Forget about Nevah. While everyone else is having a blast and rejoicing like mad hatters, you're complaining."

   Ridge sighed in complete resignation. He realized he couldn't run his fingers through his hair because one hand was occupied with his Sensing Snowglobe. As his eyes opened, he lowered the Snowglobe so that it was at eye level with him. Suffice it to say, the clock tower, basking in its own aura of excellence, revolted him. If he were still his naïve younger self, he might have admired it through the glistening sphere. But he wasn't that person anymore. He was seventeen-year-old inventor Ridge, whose passion for unifying Thear knew no bounds. But now, that passion felt as dead as a dodo. His hand trembled as he ran his thumb over the sprockets on the stand. Gosh, how he hated how perfectly it matched his liking.

   The sharp part of the sprocket pricked his fingertip. Ridge snarled and acted on impulse. He lifted the Sensing Snowglobe above his ear and threw it, putting all his inner turmoil and pain from the sting into the toss. He watched as it zoomed toward his brainstorming corner. He tottered toward the corner, sucking on the bead of blood on his fingertip. He stopped and looked down at the Snowglobe as he hunched over. There was no visible crack from where he stood. With malice, Ridge extended his arm and retrieved the incinerator tool from the cylinder, having forgotten to return the chair to its original position. Without hesitation, he turned the tool on, and flames started enveloping the Sensing Snowglobe. He blew steam at it—quite literally. Even so, there was no sign of melting, burning, or even steaming.

   Ridge huffed and tossed the incinerator aside, bending down to pick it up. He ran his tongue over his teeth while rotating the Sensing Snowglobe in the palm of his hand. He muttered, "An invincible snowglobe that senses... I have a hypothesis that it could sense other things."

   Pondering, Ridge walked toward his L-shaped desk, ignoring the clutter as he maneuvered through it. He plopped down into his swivel chair and inspected the Sensing Snowglobe with both hands. His lips parted as an unrestrained long exhale escaped him. Shock and determination pooled in his stomach. His eyes scanned the devices on his desk. He moved the scale drawing of the chip from the Diurnal Bridge aside, which was on an adjustable stand, and gently placed the Sensing Snowglobe on the desk. The careful gesture was a stark contrast to his earlier behavior with it.

   The devices on his desk were in various stages of assembly. Ridge picked up a half-bullet-sized object with his index finger and thumb. He said, lips pinched, "This was supposed to be the laser pointer to shoot beams at any risky object in Nevah." He then grabbed a small antenna with a glowing star. "And this was supposed to activate the pointer with electromagnetic waves." He carefully placed it down and took a slinky on a stand with a capillary tube. He exhaled, "And this was supposed to determine the riskiness of the object." He turned to a thimble with brown ink next to an inkwell on the desk and dipped his finger into it. "And this was supposed to help suck the object in and eject it, coupled with the brown sugar solute that would help shrink the object."

   Ridge reclined in his seat, which creaked under him. He made a mental note to oil it. Maybe because he'd be sitting in it day in and day out, working as a machinery industry mechanic—conducting machinery and mechanics...

   Ridge seethed again. There was no way he would settle for being a normal Havenian citizen, especially not a mechanic. He had to be a falcon. A cashew-eating one at that.

   Ridge had to defy the order. He had to take revenge on the Sensing Snowglobe system—on Haven, specifically on the Havenian governors. Those elitists bore a significant share of the system's accountability, clinging stubbornly to the archaic, rigid six times ten to the power of thirteen rule. That was the last straw. He had to visit Nevah.

   "It will be just a visit," Ridge muttered, removing both pocket watches from the ruffle of his shirt. "And I promise it will be—just to protest that Never Visit Nevah rule. Rule it out, Ridge. Just rule it out and accept the system. I'll even lock the promise."

    He placed the aptem pocket watch beside a scale drawing of the chip and held the falcon-engraved pocket watch in his other hand. Opening the drawer beside him, he retrieved a copper lock. With deliberate precision, he attached it to the falcon pocket watch and fastened it. Rummaging through the drawer again, he pulled out a rotary tool with a sharp burr bit and carefully engraved the words "Just Visit Nevah" onto the lock. Satisfied, he clipped the watch back onto his shirt and let out a pleased sigh.

   Ridge blew a strand of hair from his temple and surveyed the portable devices scattered before him. Inventor's block gnawed at him; he didn't know where to start. The sketches demanded his attention, but assembling the rest of the devices and integrating them into one gadget felt like an insurmountable task. 

   "Come on." He urged.  "I ought to have my inventiveness in spades. I need to gather them and create something invincible. Something invincible..." Ridge let out a sound of epiphany and his gaze drifted to the Sensing Snowglobe. It was calling out to him.

   His lips curled upwards. He grabbed the snow globe and withdrew the chip from the pocket of his jacket. Tilting his head downward, he studied both objects with intent eyes and murmured, "It's not just tinkering with inventions anymore. Good riddance to child's play."

   Ridge flipped the Sensing Snow Globe over, exposing the bottom of its stand. A vinyl lining rimmed the circular edges. Pressing the burnt section of the chip against the edge, Ridge slid it through with precision. A scraping sound resonated as the chip completed its path, cutting a full circle. The stand loosened with a soft click, and Ridge effortlessly pulled it free.

   After dismantling the snow globe, Ridge regarded the chip with a sly grin. "Whatever you're made of, you've proven your worth. Good job passing the riddance test." He opened the cupboard above his L-shaped desk, its interior crammed with packages of cashews and moths in various states—dead, unborn, or alive. Nestling the chip among a bed of moth eggs, he dusted off his hands and shut the cupboard. "No one's poking through here," he declared.

   Returning with a package of cashews, Ridge approached the disassembled pieces of the Sensing Snow Globe meticulously laid out on the desk: the stand, the miniature landscape, and the glass sphere. Crossing his arms, he slumped back into his swivel chair, letting his gaze dart between the parts like a tennis ball struck by three rackets. Popping a cashew into his mouth, he tilted his head thoughtfully. "Its snow globe façade makes for the perfect mask for the Riskometer."

   "The Riskometer," he mused aloud. "A tool meant to detect risks by measurement. Once a certain threshold is breached, it absorbs the risky object. The design isn't set in stone—yet." Ridge chewed his cashew deliberately, then bent forward to sweep up the scattered devices on the desk with his hands. He swallowed and grinned, his narrowed eyes gleaming. "I'll rebuild it from scratch in the most unexpected way. Good riddance to normalities."

    Ridge rolled up his sleeves, his expression shifting into the focused demeanor of an inventor at work. Usually, his face carried a bored, cavalier air, but this time, it was sharp with intent. He reached for a laser pointer, retrieving tools from an open drawer to affix it to the miniature clock tower in the snow globe's landscape. With steady hands, he mounted a thimble onto the landscape, flicking cashews into his mouth with practiced precision. Each one landed perfectly, his mind and hands working in seamless synchronization, transforming ideas into mechanisms. Grabbing an inkwell, he doused the snow inside the glass sphere with its contents before reassembling the sphere into the landscape. Shaking it, he watched the snow particles swirl in rich brown hues.

   Laying the stand on its back, Ridge rummaged through the drawer for more tools, tweaking the stand's inner workings with delicate adjustments. His faint grin broadened as he crunched on another cashew pinched between his fingers. Everything was falling into place. He felt a swell of triumph, like confetti bursting within him—albeit confetti in muted, earthy tones.

   Ridge dismantled a slinky from the capillary-tubed stand and paired it with the Aptem pocketwatch, opening the watch's case with a screwdriver. He carefully integrated the slinky into the watch's gear train, embedding its parts with exacting precision. Snapping the pocketwatch shut, Ridge frowned slightly at its warped shape. His fingers brushed the cashew package, only to find it empty save for crumbs. His brows lifted with inspiration. He poured the crumbs into the empty inkwell, discarding the package with a casual flick.

   Using scissors, Ridge cut open the capillary tube, letting its liquid flow into the inkwell. Stirring the mixture with the tube, he grinned at the resulting matte light-brown liquid. Taking a paintbrush from the drawer, he coated the back of the pocketwatch, pausing occasionally to inhale the nutty aroma.

   Ridge's pride bubbled over as he admired the results of his "mechanical surgery." No, it wasn't just mechanics—it was exhilaration. Hope, long absent, now pulsed within him. He reshaped two copper plates with a mandrel, rolling them onto his shoulders like ceremonial armor.

   With deliberate care, Ridge placed the Sensing Snow Globe and the Aptem pocketwatch side by side. Wagging a finger between them, he smiled slyly and said, "Ah, you two. Raised by my hands to transcend the average snow globe and pocketwatch. Good riddance to that 'Never visit Nevah' tool. You

   Silence is followed by Ridge's declaration as expected. Ridge scowled and looked off the distance with bored eyes, "As unexpected? I could make a talking Riskometer if I wanted to." And what was the Riskometer exactly?

   Ridge steepled his fingers together as he eyed the Sensing Snowglobe, that was thereafter the Riskometer. "From its name itself, the Riskometer is a scaling tool that measures how risky an object is within a mile radius. I established it a long time ago ever since I struck on the "Innovative Havenian Hero". It is not only that, but also a device that sucks anything risky into the sphere. My pocket watch here is connected to it. It tells me how risky the object within a mile radius is. When it reaches over 50 riskons, the unit for measuring the riskiness of an object, my Riskometer activates and the snow particles levitate. These snow particles mix and create an underlying collision similar to a nebula and once you shake it clockwise, the target object gets sucked in."

    Ridge held the Sensing Snowglobe with his right hand and the pocketwatch with the other. He rotated in his swivel chair and stood up from it while squinting at the pocketwatch. As he moved closer to the brainstorming corner, the pocketwatch hand shifted slowly until it reached 52 riskons. He smirked as the snow particles floated by the electromagnetic force being channeled from the pocketwatch. The clock tower in the landscape turned around until it stopped facing what could be seen as the incinerator on the floor.

   "And the clock tower determines the exact location of the target object." Ridge pointed the Riskometer downwards so the trajectory was directed to the incinerator. His other hand ensnared the pocketwatch. Once the snow particles fuse, Ridge bent down and shook the Riskometer clockwise. In a matter of seconds, an effervescent brown beam radiated on the incinerator. Ridge's eyes analyzed calcutlatively and analytically, but his mind was swayed by what he was witnessing. Beatifically yet scarily, it dragged the incinerater into the sphere, shrinking it so that it was not visible anymore. The beam did not disappear in one go but rather subsided faintly. Ridge straightened his posture and gaped at what he had created.

   Ridge laughed and stared back into the distance. "With the help of the funnel effect, my Riskometer is capable of sucking in anything my pocketwatch discerns as risky. Big time, so say good riddance to vacuum cleaners! Who said dirt does not pose a risk to Thear? Oh, and one more thing—"

   Ridge looked down at the pocketwatch and saw that the hand returned to 0 riskons. He opened the film of the pocketwatch and held the hand, moving it until it was back to 52 riskons. The stationary snow particles become restless again and fuse. He shook the Riskometer counter clockwise this time, and the same beam emerged out while pushing the incinerator out like a conveyer belt. It returned to its original size and landed on the same spot it had been before.

   "When I shake it the opposite direction, it reverses the process. Instead of sucking the target object in after measuring its riskiness, the target obeject that has the same riskiness I apply on the pocketwatch gets ejected."

   Ridge let go of the pocketwatch and brought the Riskometer to his lips, planting a kiss on it as his eyes gleam. He said into it, "I will rule out that rule, by hook or by crook. It will be just a visit. A visit to Nevah."

[pomengrenan]

Chapter III- Riskometer

Logline: In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying

"Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?

Lying on his unkempt bed, Ridge stared vacantly at the ceiling. It was not just the ceiling he was fixated on. He had been watching the ceiling fan rotate for what felt like an eternity since waking from a dream. The dream itself didn't seem to hold any meaning. Yet, he still could not wrap his head around it. Images of sprockets and a conveyor belt lingered in his mind... it had been delivering something to him. Was it the Sensing Snowglobe? Ridge stroked his forehead with the back of his hand then dragged it over his eyes.Of course, it had to be the object of scorn—he would obsess over nothing else. So did every Havenian, when he really thought about it.

   Were the Sensing Snowglobes truly objects of scorn? Or was it the system itself? The system turned people into slaves to their own Sensing Snowglobes. Havenians always took the Sensing Snowglobe system for granted. Some even let the system coax them into labor. Maybe that was why people followed it blindly; they believed it was not just forbidden to reject, but also a prerogative and a privilege to have.

   Ridge tilted his head to the side, peering through the gaps in his fingers at his other hand. The small piece from the Diurnal Bridge, the one Professor Yulek had given him, was still wedged between his fingers. After tremendous examination, Ridge came to discover that the Diurnal Bridge was constructed 9,999 years ago. He may need to run more inspections on it, but thus far, he knew how old it was. He also walked to the conclusion that it was a key. A key to something, but to what, he could not ascertain. 

   "My hypothesis was correct. They don't change the Diurnal Bridge, and the sun does almost no damage to it. Maybe this is just a piece from an earlier version, before it was revamped..." Ridge wagged his finger with the chip. 

   "That's just foolish." He countered his own thoughts."They can't change the bridge because of the sun and moon system. The material must be one of a kind. But what else is it used for?" Ridge rattled a handful of cashews absently in his other hand as his mind churned. His gaze drifted back to the ceiling fan, and with sudden mischief, he flung all the cashews into the spinning blades. As expected, the blades seamlessly turned the cashews into shards. Like sprockets, the tinier pieces of the cashews sprinkled on top of Ridge's body and bed. He blowed out some pieces out of his mouth but stayed motionless.

   Ridge held up the chip above his cashew crumb specked face. "I have a hypothesis that this will not rip apart."

   With a sharp squint of resolution, Ridge flicked the chip toward the ceiling fan. The chip somersaulted through the air, heading straight for the rotating blades. As soon as it made contact, the fan blades came to an abrupt halt. The chip jammed itself between two blades, stopping them cold and refusing to budge. The blades groaned in protest, but the chip remained lodged firmly in place.

   Ridge furrowed his brows and sat upright. The chip was lodged in a functioning ceiling fan, and it would be best to turn off the fan and take it out before it could zoom through the air, right? Right? At least not in Ridge's book.

   With a buried smirk, Ridge took the sensory controller from his nightstand and pointed it at the ceiling fan. He shook it clockwise, causing the ceiling fan to speed up. The blades twitched and trembled as it tried to push through the chip. As the rotation was still buffered by the chip, Ridge continued moving the sensory controller clockwise, clenching his teeth as his veins bulged out.

   The biggest bolt from the blue came when the chip slipped away. It flew across the entire room in a beeline until it dived into the gap under the door. The ceiling fan recommenced its rotation, tousling Ridge's hair in the wind-beating process.

   Ridge groaned as he got up from the bed and stomped towards the door. He murmured while holding the door handle, "At least my hypothesis was correct. I don't get it though. How can a material of such kind be created 9,999 years ago, much less form an upside down bridge carrying the sun and moon? It was as if the governors-"

   "Ridge!"

   "Yes?" Silence followed Ridge's voice as his eyes flit to his wooden framed transmission screen. He took the muffled chirpy voice to be his mom speaking via the transmission screen, and that was his hypothesis. He furrowed his brows looked back at the door handle. "That's what I thought..."

   As soon as Ridge opened the door, a girl with a red X marking on her cheek beamed, leaning over. "It was me, silly!"

   She was none other than Mavis Bensleigh, Ridge's so-called childhood friend. Her brown hair was tied to a fishtail ponytail with a blue pencil sticking out. She wore a stylish gray coat adorned with white pockets and pearls over a sleek black ensemble—a black top paired with black shorts featuring crisscross straps on her thighs.

   Ridge didn't bat an eye as he stood there, staring at Mavis with a deadpan expression. He then said while wagging his finger at her, "You made my thoughts derail."

   "Heyi, you ingrate. I just came to accompany you to the Falcon Plaza for the Sensing Snowglobe Decree Day. Matter of fact, it will start in half an hour!" Mavis scoffed as she tightened her ponytail. Her wide green eyes wandered to Ridge's L shaped desk, and what was on it piqued her curiosity; there was a matte sheet with a scale drawing of an unidentified piece of material rested on an adjustable book stand surrounded by various portable devices.

   Ridge's eyes followed Mavis's, and his widened mimetically. He quickly moved to the side to obstruct the desk from entering her peripheral vision. "Hey, stop looking at my stuff!"

   Mavis pursed her lips and said. "Heyi! I can't help it when your blueprint is so big."

   "It's not a blueprint." Ridge let out a drawn out sigh and glanced down at Mavis's feet. Beside her high top blue accented shoes was the chip. He cleared his throat and wagged his finger at the crate on his coffee table. He offered evasively, "How about you have some cake? You probably ran to get here on time."

   Mavis's eyes lit up, and she skipped towards the crate and opened it with steps of hi-jinks. She opened the crate and said, "Wow! There are even edible flower petals shaped like a heart."

   While Mavis was indulging herself in some cake, Ridge picked up the chip and flipped it between his fingers while doing a once-over. There was no dent or crease. Nothing happened to it physically. The relief of a hero after a villain had been defeated washed over Ridge. He took his red field jacket from the mechanical hanger beside the door and slid the chip into the pocket before putting it on.

   Mavis's head resurfaced from the crate as the fork idly stuck out of her mouth. You could only imagine the state of her face. She scrunched her white spotted nose up, "Ridge! You better wear the robes for the Sensing Snowglobe Decree Day. That jacket won't fit the atmosphere."

   "Math Olympiad winners get to wear whatever they want," Ridge disclosed as he slid each of his feet into his brown boots. He wagged his finger in beckoning fashion, "Come on. Early falcon catches the worm." He wagged his finger at his pocket watch hanging above the L shaped desk. "And bring me that with you."

   Mavis nodded excitedly and tossed the crate away. She wiped the frosting off her face with the table cloth (Ridge rolled his eyes), took the pocket watch, and handed it to Ridge. As she skipped out of the room, Ridge felt the cold pulse of the pocket watch, his eyes softening as he saw what he always dreamed of seeing; the hand was just an inch away from striking the falcon at the very top. Ridge smiled as he let the pocket watch hang from the ruffle of his shirt. He closed the door behind him, and both- one miffed and the other upbeat- made their way to the tramcar.

   They both entered the tramcar, Ridge reluctantly stepping inside with Mavis, and Mavis started the boisterous and almost pointless talk. Or at least in Ridge's ears.

   "...And when I tell you that the people went crazy over my map 3D depiction of Haven, I mean it! Even the neat freak Polly loved it." Mavis shook her head as she laughed and looked at the sculpted walls.

   "Polly, Professor Faber's daughter?" Ridge chimed in while averting his gaze from the walls to Mavis.

   "Yep. Aren't they the same? The apple does not fall far from the tree." Mavis giggled as she pretended that the pencil in her hair was the apple and her ponytail was the tree. Her face turned serious, her smile still there though, and said, "Ridge, why did you skip the party?"

   "I hate parties involving people I never and will never talk to," Ridge said as he felt the chip in his pocket.

   "Why don't you meet them? Get to meet them before judging them, you know."

   "I pass. They're all dullards." Ridge rested his cheek on his palm as he had his eyes peeled on what was outside in the Indoors. His facial muscles tightened ever so slightly when he saw a man he had never seen before but looked very familiar. The man had slightly disheveled black hair and a– what was that? A pumpkin mouth? Ridge had to do a double take. Indeed, his mouth was similar to Jack-O-Lantern's. His cheeks were orange-tinted, and a part of his black hair was covering a part of his brown eye. The other was grey. His jacket looked eerily similar to Ridge's except it was shiny, and his white shirt underneath blended with the white pants with orange lines on the bottom. Even his black shoes had orange lines. He was performing a puppet show to a bunch of huddled-up children, tapping some of the kids' noses with the puppet.

   Ridge leaned to the side as he asked Mavis, his eyes never off of the man, "Who's that ventriloquist guy?"

   "That's Ivan Pelet, the Peletground theme park owner's son." Mavis said as she tightened her ponytail She nodded in Ivan's direction, "He knows how to deal with kids wholeheartedly even after his dad passed away."

   "Whis Pelet died..." Ridge muttered as he watched Ivan throw a sock puppet to the crowd of jovial children. His facial muscles relaxed as he said, "I was ill-informed about that..."

   "Yea. One of the few deaths that happened this year was his. Heyi, I feel bad. The poor man had to come to terms with his dad's absence. Oh well." Mavis sighed wistfully and rose from the bench. Ridge followed suit and they both made their way to the Eye, the center of the Falcon Plaza.

   Ridge could feel the ceremonial drums of the distance pound in his ears. His heart pounded in his chest at the same tempo. The spectacle of the Sensing Snowglobe Decree was so powerful that it could be felt from afar. It sent an electric spark in the air. Maybe literally due to all of the gadget-clothed people, the blimps looming over everyone with blaring speakers and moving searchlights amidst the broad daylight, and most importantly the Yearly Falcon Parade. People gathered around the line of marchers wearing dazzling wings. They were holding a falcon-headed staff with talons at the end, reminding Ridge of the batons the governors owned. The banner carriers caused many heads to turn, most of the banners saying "Happy Heartfelt Day, Havenians" or "Never Visit Nevah". They never put that last one before...but back to the parade. Flag bearers were holding the Havenian flag which was fully maroon and had three white falcon wings as the emblem. The dignitaries waved and smiled while their lazy asses were ensconced on the vehicles being pulled or driven by other people or automatons. Ridge scoffed inwardly. Those useless good-for-nothing VIPs. Above it all, there were displays of mechanical contraptions the more they neared the stage where the Sensing Snowglobe Decree was happening. From working orerries to Leyden jars. It was all colorful despite being brown.

   Mavis broke into a grin as they entered the bustling stage territory. It felt like the stage was about to pounce at Ridge's face. He was bound to be on top of it with his hand curled around what would determine what he would become.

   "I'm so over the moon!" Mavis shouted over the triumphant music. Ridge nodded, his eyes scanning the stage. He wore his usual steely expression, his hand resting on his pocket watch as he thought, By the looks of it, the curtains have just been opened. That means, while they were closed, they must have been sorting out the scrolls with the résumés.

   Mavis noticed her childhood friend was completely transfixed. She elbowed him gently. "Hey, don't worry. When I had mine last year, I kept my cool and still got my Sensing Snowglobe, even with stage fright. It'll pass, I promise. Just like a tumbleweed."

   "Tumbleweed... an interesting choice of words from someone who's never been to Nevah." Ridge raised a brow at Mavis, wagging a finger playfully.

   Mavis grinned, but Ridge could've sworn he saw it falter for a second. She shrugged and tightened her ponytail. "As a cartographer, I should know my geography, right?"

"That's not geography, it's botany," Ridge replied, looking down and muttering, "More like monotony."

   "Did I hear someone say botany?" Faye's ladylike voice chimed in as she approached, her arms open wide. Despite always being soft-spoken, her voice was as captivating as her eyelashes.

   Mavis giggled, stepping forward to embrace Faye. Faye stood frozen for a moment, still smiling, blinking in surprise. Ridge sighed and blew his hair out of his face, giving Faye a nod. Instead of Ridge receiving the hug, Mavis squeezed Faye tightly, causing her to purse her lips while awkwardly returning the hug.

   "Faye, that cake you made was amazing!" Mavis exclaimed, pulling away.

   Faye chuckled, glancing at Ridge before replying, "I'm so glad you both enjoyed it. Treat yourself to the delicacies of life!"

   Ridge felt a bead of sweat form. It wasn't the time for nerves to kick in, but here he was. He let out a nervous laugh, which took Faye by surprise, even earning her admiration. He quickly turned to the speaker on the stage. The music faded, and the speaker adjusted the microphone at the podium. After mumbling something and wiping off some dirt from the mic, he grinned his most charming smile and announced in a booming voice, "Happy and heartfelt day, Havenians, and, more specifically, a joyful Sensing Snowglobe Decree Day!"

   The speaker paused, waiting for applause. In the absence of an ovation save for a few claps and whoops, he continued, "Today, another year means another chance for us to celebrate all our students' accomplishments. Today is not just a jamboree, but also a dream come true for all graduates. Today is the day where everyone's future is determined, and the Secondary Coverts College appreciates the dedication each student has put in. Everyone completed their courses, Personal Projects, and even the extracurriculars, and all of that gets compressed—" A few gasps were heard from the crowd. The speaker waved his hand dismissively. "My bad. Wrong choice of words. All of that gets, what should I say..."

   He eyed the audience expectantly. Someone shouted, "Homed in on to," and the speaker smiled warmly, "Yes, thank you. All of that gets homed in on to the career that will be envisioned shortly by the Sensing Snowglobe. We'll start by giving the spotlight to this year's representative."

   "The representative for this year is one of the most skillful professors Secondary Coverts College has ever seen. He received his Sensing Snowglobe 32 years ago, when his future was sealed to become who he is today: a bright Physics professor with remarkable insight and a talent for teaching even the most troubled students. And need I mention, he has helped over a thousand students? Please, give it up for Professor Yulek!"

   A round of hearty applause erupted, and the screen above the stage flickered to life. Yulek appeared, though his appearance raised eyebrows—except for Ridge. His eyes were droopy, and his sunken cheeks were more pronounced than usual. His hair wasn't tied back in a neat bun; instead, it hung messily to the side of his worn face. It looked as though they had brought a skeleton, painted it, put a wig on it, and dressed it in Yulek's purple blazer. Even his pince-nez was absent. There was no sign of his usual soda either. He still looked utterly depleted, his eyes flicking toward something longingly, which Ridge recognized as the hourglass he kept refilling with sand. Ridge thought while wagging his finger, This is why they shouldn't do it live. Fools...

   Yulek's brittle voice echoed through the speakers, stirring a sense of concern. "Thank you. I'm glad I could make it here as the—the—" Yulek belched and groaned, "the representative this year for the annual Sensing Snowglobe Decree Day."

   As Yulek seemingly wiped his already clean desk in circles, the speaker let out a nervous laugh, furrowing his brows. He glanced surreptitiously to the side of the stage, shaking his head and shrugging his hands. Turning back to the screen, he grinned into the microphone at the podium. "Say, Professor Yulek, is there anything you'd like to tell the graduates about the Sensing Snowglobe?"

   Professor Yulek buried his face in his hands and retched. He sniffled and nodded before slowly removing his hands. "I won't disclose the physical properties of the Sensing Snowglobe, but all I can tell you is... is..."

   Yulek's mouth hung open as he stared off into the distance desolately. He lifted his chin and rubbed his mustache. The young Yulek who had died long ago seemed to re-emerge, his fascination with the world beyond the walls shining through. Only Ridge noticed this. Yulek spoke almost in a twisted lull, "...it is not the answer to the question of how you will achieve what you want. What you've been working for. What you've set your sights on. It's the total opposite of that."

   Ridge tilted his head, feeling the chip inside his pocket while his other hand fiddled with the pocketwatch. Yulek ground his teeth as he rocked back and forth, adjusting his imaginary pince-nez. "Your fascination has limits. That's what the Sensing Snowglobe is all about, missuses and misters. It limits what you want to accomplish. You want to be something, but that something can't be done." He started speaking to himself, clutching at invisible straws. "I was so close, but I'm a laissez-faire man. I couldn't change it; it would've been the worst course of action. But, but— it was foolish of me! They were right. They changed mine for the best. I was so close! The exit, the exit, the exit, oh—"

   The audience exchanged uneasy glances as Yulek whimpered. His words and mannerisms completely shattered the light-hearted mood of the event. Even Mavis and Faye looked at each other with shared expressions of concern. Only Ridge kept his unwavering gaze on the screen, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

   Before the situation could devolve into a full debacle, the speaker cleared his throat and waved his hand rapidly, prompting the screen to shut down. "Thank you, uh, Professor Yulek. Such peculiar words. I'm sure that was meant for a fantasy play... or perhaps a fable." Ridge laughed at that. Not only because Yulek couldn't hear him, but because the speaker had chosen to mask Yulek's words with a ridiculous twist.

   The screen flickered back to life, displaying the slide for the Sensing Snowglobe Giveaways. The audience erupted into layered applause and whoops. An orchestral piece played in the rowdy yet music-to-the-ears background. Ridge's chest heaved. It was happening.

   "The moment you've all been waiting for, Havenians! The Sensing Snowglobe Giveaways!" The speaker's booming voice delivered those long-anticipated words. "We'll begin with the graduates with the fewest awards, working our way up to the graduate with the most."

   Mavis shook Ridge by the arm. "That's you, Ridge! You're the one with the most! Fair and square, trust me." Ridge didn't respond. He was lost in the build-up, bracing himself for what was coming next.

   An automaton, gilded in gold, emerged from the side of the stage with a wooden, interwoven basket inserted into its torso. Its golden head was topped with a steampunk-style crown, blending regal design with industrial importance. The crown had a bronze hue, adorned with small gears, cogs, and other mechanical components. Each peak of the crown ended in a spherical tip.

   The speaker gestured toward it, "Please, give it up for the awards certifier, the Sensing Snowglobe giver, Boon!"

   The crowd cheered as Boon mechanically strode to the center of the stage. Ridge squinted at it, focusing on the crown. His plan was simple: once the Sensing Snowglobe emerged from Boon's crown, he would insert the chip from the Diurnal Bridge, causing it to malfunction. When Boon became defunct, the Sensing Snowglobe Giveaway for Ridge would have to be delayed. During the following year of hard work, Ridge would not only focus on building a résumé for a career in heroism and inventiveness, but also convince the governors to overhaul the Sensing Snowglobe system. He would push through the tediousness, but it would be worth it.

   The speaker opened a sideboard on the podium, standing beside it as he grabbed the microphone. He bent down, retrieving a scroll tied with a brown ribbon. "First graduate coming up on stage with three awards—teamwork, linguistics, and sportsmanship—is Shaima Soud."

   Shaima capered up to the stage, holding onto her robes and balancing a notebook on her head. As she reached the center of the stage, the speaker handed her the scroll. Shaima skidded to a stop by Boon, jogging in place as she placed the scroll inside the basket, holding her hands out toward its crown. The cameraman in the front activated the antique camera and pointed it at the crown. The live feed displayed on a looming blimp above the stage.

   With a divine entrance that exuded glory and prestige, a shiny snowglobe rose into the air, its virtue enhanced by the height. Its stand was decorated with what appeared to be volleyballs.

   As the audience cheered jubilantly, Ridge's eyes widened in horror. His face fell as he realized the catastrophic change on the screen. The crown encircling the Sensing Snowglobe, as it was yanked by Shaima, had no opening—only a panel that ejected the Sensing Snowglobe. There was no way for Ridge to execute his plan now. It was as if he watched his entire kingdom collapse on the screen before him.The Boon's metallic voice shaped the clear words "Volleyball Mentor" as its robotic hand dived into the basket and resurfaced with a whistle, saying "Aptem: Whistle" and handing it to her. Shaima put on her second whistle and cheekily grabbed both whistles around her neck and whistled through them a frisk tune. Some people laughed heartily at her gesture, including Mavis and Faye. Ridge was far from engaging in that. He rubbed his pocketwatch underneath his jacket, making him sweat profusely. It was not the jacket that did so. Ridge's face darkened as he pulled the pocketwatch out and stared at it. There was just a sliver of distance between the hand and the falcon. He was between a rock and a hard place, and by rock it was the pocketwatch. His thoughts clashed into one another.

   "That's it! I'm done for. I've tried to leave stones unturned, but it was all in vain." "What are you doing? Think of a second plan." "Now I get why even someone like professor Yulek could not fix everything and just fell into despair." Ridge's eyes shifted around rapidly. "There is no going back. I will get the Sensing Snowglobe and become a computer scientist. I will be just like dad, a boring geophysicist. I will not open a new chapter; the boredom will still appear in my pages of this miserable Havenian life. Boredom is death, except that it can be dodged. But in this case, I cannot dodge death single handedly."

"...And now, for the final graduate to come up on stage. They have proven to Haven that they are the contender when it comes to... everything, oh my! With 254 awards, chiefly in mathematics, physics, and computer science, please give it up for the best graduate of the sixth times ten to the power of thirteenth, Ridge Kindler!"

   Ridge blinked. "Already?" He felt his feet moving as Mavis and Faye cheered him on. The crowd erupted with enthusiasm and encouragement, likely thinking that Ridge was having cold feet. His feet kept moving as he ascended the staircase leading to the stage, each step heavier than the last. He could feel his face contorting sourly, as if he'd eaten a lemon.

   The speaker clumsily placed the microphone back on the podium and, while handing Ridge the scroll, said, "Boy, where are your robes?"

   "I'm allowed to wear whatever I want," Ridge muttered quietly, feebly accepting the scroll and stepping toward the center of the stage, where Boon was stationed. His feet seemed to freeze, rooted to the hard wood beneath him.

   Ridge's face went numb. He couldn't tell what his expression looked like anymore—was it distraught? In disbelief? He swallowed a lump in his throat, the weight of realization hitting him. He cupped his hands around the crown, staring at it with the same intensity that Professor Yulek had. Slowly, he placed the scroll inside the basket. It was time—falcon time. Ridge felt the pocketwatch pulse against his chest and, surreptitiously, he looked down at it. The hand struck the falcon, and Ridge could feel the falcon's wings flap freely. Even without pressing it to his ear, he could hear the sound like chimes.

   A snowglobe emerged, first from the sphere, then from the lining, and finally settled onto the stand. Inside was a landscape of mechanical industry, adorned in brown and bronze accents. In the very center stood a clock tower. Ridge's vision blurred as he struggled to take in the beauty of it. He could feel the sprockets etched into the stand, his fingers curled around it, stiff despite his best efforts. Slowly, he turned to face the loud, cheering audience.

   It all seemed distant now. The cheers, Boon's metallic voice announcing "Industrial Machinery Mechanic" as it tucked a pocketwatch into Ridge's hand, and the speaker exclaiming, "Take it away!"—all faded. No... the song was called "Paint."

"Another life, we may work always..."

"I want to fly, like a falcon with you by my side..."

"Even when I grind, every day will be a celebration..."

"I promise you I will paint, a painting I'll never abandon..."

[pomengrenan]

Chapter II- Riskometer

Logline: In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying "Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?

Alone in his teal-colored classroom, which felt more like an aquarium, Yulek downed his sixteenth bottle of grape soda. The soda fizzed in his throat, echoing the rhythmic ticking of the pendulum clock mounted above the dark-haired man with a chopped bunHe rested his cheek on the desk, eyes fixed on the executive ball clicker as it swayed back and forth. The ball swung away, then returned. Away it went again, then back near. The cycle repeated, over and over.

   With a sigh, Yulek lifted his head and rested his chin on the desk upholstered in dark wood instead, his gaze averting to the hourglass. Despite the presence of the cuckoo clock, Yulek preferred the old-fashioned hourglass. It was simply what he felt most comfortable with.

   Through his pince-nez, Yulek's keen eye measured the grains of the fine sand cascading down. He sat up, shifting his hand so the rim of the bottle rested against his lips. Just one more—no, two more grains—and then he could finally take the shot. Just then, a hiccup interrupted his focus. The last grains of sand from the upper chamber fell. Yulek groaned and flipped the hourglass; he had lost track, all because of that damn hiccup.

   Just when things seemed like they couldn't get worse, the door flung open, revealing Ridge, chest puffed out and breathing slightly heavier. Yulek's sharp eye shifted to the golden glass medal dangling from Ridge's collared neck. Clearing his throat, Yulek placed the bottle aside and dusted off his purple jacket while rising. He nodded in Ridge's direction and, in a brittle voice, said, "Fancy seeing you here, Mister Kindler."

   Ridge's breathing neutralized as he strode towards Yulek, his boots clacking against the checkerboard floor. "Professor Yulek."

"..."

   The two regarded each other with looks of askance. Yulek's jaw clenched involuntarily. "He's not here just for a simple visit, is he?"

   "...is probably what's going on in his soda-stricken head." Ridge's mouth stayed still, but his eyes roamed the room—past the humble fish tank, the steampunk calendar, and the massive, tiered seating and desks. Yulek pursed his lips; Ridge's gaze held no ghost of wistfulness.

   Yulek blurted out grinningly, "Congrats, again. I knew you'd win, one way or another."

   Ridge hummed in response while laying his eyes on the professor. "Thank you, professor Yulek. There were no competitors, really." He paused before continuing smilingly, "It all boils down to you and the Physics lessons. Really, professor, I'm indebted to you." Ridge despised pleasantries, but he played along for the sake of his goal.

   Professor Yulek leaned forward while folding his arms over the desk. The executive ball clicker did its job louder than before. He bobbed his head up and his prince-nez stopped slipping. "Cut it out for now. You don't need to make up for the silence you gave me at graduation."

   Ridge shrugged. "I was having a rough day."

   "Mine was no different." Yulek glanced at the hourglass, noting that the upper chamber was nearly empty. He grabbed the soda bottle and drained it, while Ridge watched intently.

   "Rough days come in different magnitudes." Ridge muttered as he looked away, "In Nevah, at least."

   "I'm sorry?" Yulek hiccuped as he plucked the bottle down. Ridge smirked to himself as he thought, "Perfect. Stay like this. I'll gain the upper hand in no time."

   Ridge moved closer, stopping beside the tower of bottles on the desk. He looked at Yulek with a solemn expression and said, "Professor Yulek, you're aware of the upcoming Sensing Snowglobe Decree day, right?"

   Yulek's eyes flicked to the tower, his expression momentarily worried. He balanced the empty bottle on his index fingers and said lowly, "Yes, I am. But you just mentioned Nevah, so I'm not sure where you're going with this."

   "Professor, this is about my future. Slow people belong to the past, smart people to the present, and superior people—well, they're in the future." Ridge let his words simmer in the air as he finished wagging his finger. Yulek nodded slowly, still eyeing Ridge with a questioning gaze as he slid the empty bottle into the desk's built-in bin. Ridge feigned consideration as he twisted his lips to the side before continuing, "Because I won the Math Olympiad again this year, they let me peek at what's inside my Sensing Snowglobe. You know how curious I can be."

   Yulek chortled while glancing at the hourglass, his brows bouncing. "Yes, I know. But what does that have to do with Nevah?"

   "My job envisioned is manufacturing," Ridge said matter-of-factly, "and I feel like I need to prepare for it since I'm only used to momentum engineering."

   "And you want me to help you prepare?" Yulek asked while reaching for another bottle.

   "That, and I want something else." Ridge said while wagging his finger. He then stopped and pointed at Yulek with the tip of it, saying, "I want something that has to do with the secret exit to Nevah."

   Yulek gasped. He gaped at Ridge while adjusting his prince-nez. The executive ball clicker tapped more vigorously, and the pendulum of the clock above the shocked man ticked quicklier. He finally said breathlessly, "Why'd you want that?"

   "So I can maximize the formidability of both the exit and Sensing Snowglobe." Ridge said with a contrived sense of passion. He folded his arms behind his back, "You see, I inspected the Sensing Snowglobe's edifice and noticed how the sphere was only made of tempered glass. Tempered glass is usually unbreakable, but has its weak points such as the lining underneath. As a future manufacturer, I have to make sure that the sphere is unbreakable and inseparable from the stand. The only way is to bend a piece from the indestructible exit to Nevah as some tool of protection. And then it hit me; I can kill two birds with one stone and see how I can renew the material used for the exit. The other day I heard a group of graduates from last year wanting to deactivate the sensory alarm in their Sensing Snowglobes and escape Haven to visit Nevah. I have to make sure they do not by maximizing the formidability of both the Snowglobes and exit to Nevah."

  Yulek tautened, dumbfounded by what he heard. Ridge bent down and looked around before whispering while pressing his wagging finger onto his lips, "I know the exit, but I can't say what it is due to the promise I kept with the governors. I want to surprise them as a token of gratitude for what they had given me and want to prove my loyalty to them as both manufacturer and "Innovative Havenian Hero"."

   After Yulek made certain that Ridge finished, he slowly rotated the cap of the bottle while keeping his widened eyes affixed on Ridge. He said weakly, "I can show you my Sensing Snowglobe for reference, but how are you sure that I know about the exit to Nevah, let alone having acquired a chip from it? Why would I even have a chip from the Diurnal Birdge-"

   Yulek stopped as soon as he noticed his slip-up. He clamped his hand onto his mouth and looked anywhere but Ridge. Ridge smiled all the way, his sharp amber eyes fixated on the sheepish professor. Yulek thought he made a mistake by revealing that he indeed knew the exit to Nevah, but that was not the case for Ridge. Now Ridge knew where the exit was.

   Yulek whimpered as he made eye contact with him. He completed, "-to begin with." 

   "I had a theory that my lovely Physics professor-" Ridge raised his brows at Yulek, "had something that has to do with the exit to Nevah. Good thing you tested it out for me. Whenever someone would ask a question during exam, you'd always give the answer away while reading the question aloud.

   "You see, Professor Yulek, your history can be read like an open book. You were always fascinated by Nevah, yet you had to hold back. Your mannerisms say it all. How you gagged when someone mentioned the word Nevah, I never let that slide. Anyone curious about Nevah or looking like they have any links with Nevah could mean they are either a governor or a geophysicist. Obviously, there were never natural disasters or any noteworthy geologic events in Haven. But Nevah? That also brings me to the part where you used to be a geophysicist. You'd try to nose your way into the landscape of Nevah. You'd detect the seismic and disastrous activities coming from there from inside. Inside here, in Haven. I'm guessing that just when you found the exit to Nevah, they caught you red-handed.

   "They couldn't afford to imprison a great man like you, so they changed your Sensing Snowglobe and gave you soda disguised as sedation. They knew you'd be better off being some normal and sane Physics professor than a geophysicist with access to leads to Nevah. A downgrade, if you ask me."

   "Shush!" Yulek's brittle voice rang out around the classroom. In the heat of the moment, he took out a surface cleaner and pointed it at Ridge's face. "You don't talk to your former professor like that! And how do you know all that?"

   Ridge shrugged, unfazed by the spray cleaner. He wagged his finger at the steampunk calendar beside the fish tank, "Let's just put it that I noticed you marked the exact day when the geophysicists statistics in the advertisements blimps went down by one worker. Not in the deceased or improsined or retired section. In the active one." He then wagged his finger at the clock above Yulek, saying, "And that pendulum is the same as the seismometer my dad would use to record any natural events from the Outdoors. The seismometer was your Aptem as a geophysicist, that's for certain. You know how Haven is strict on keeping the Aptem and never dumping it, hm? Well, they played it smart and turned it into a cuckoo clock. Looks normal until someone like me notices how it does not function like a cuckoo clock. The pendulum is weird too. Looks like the one attached to my dad's Aptem seismometer. Yes, it all began with the advertisements blimp." Ridge cups his cheek and wags his index finger with the other hand while smirking slyly at Yulek, "Makes sense for someone cuckoo like you. Good thing you have the soda as your meds. I've never seen them advertise plain purple bottles of soda. The governors really knew what they were doing."

   Yulek's grip around the cleaner's helve tightened. He said through gritted teeth while standing up from his chair. "Speaking of advertisements, why don't you go see that advertisment girl?"

   "Faye can wait. I have other fish to fry." Ridge tilted his head at Yulek while looking at him expectantly. Yulek shook his head while shaking up physically as he quiverly said, "I can't give you a chip from the Diurnal Bridge just like that!"

   "Why not?"

   "I can't hand it over to you just like that!" Yulek reiterated fiercely. Ridge clicked his tongue loudly, crouching low over the checkerboard floor. Without hesitation, he reached for the tower of bottles and, with a deliberate tap, pulled one from the bottom row. The entire tower toppled over, spraying all the bottles across the black and white tiles. The thwanks and clanks drowned out the sound of the executive ball clicker, which shrieked theatrically. Yulek tossed his cleaner aside to gather the scattered mess.

   Ridge picked up a lone bottle lying near the fish tank. He glanced at Yulek, He glanced at Yulek, who was frantically rebuilding the tower, muttering reassurances under his breath. Poor man. Every smidge of his old exciting life as a geophysicist had turned against him. Ridge blinked as he wagged a finger at himself while directing his gaze to the sand bag slouching against the table holding the fish tank. Maybe it was for the best. Without Yulek as his former physics professor, Ridge wouldn't have a lead on where—or what—the exit to Nevah could be.

   Ridge poured some grains of sand into his cupped hand and returned to his initial position. He watched as Yulek carefully stacked the bottles, stabilizing them like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Ridge smirked and shifted his gaze to the hourglass. With a deft motion of his slender fingers, he unscrewed the lid of its upper chamber. His hand ensnaring the sand loomed over the opened hourglass and he gently loosened his grip, letting the waterfall of sand bucket down into the hourglass. "This would give him the green light a bit too late," Ridge thought. "A bit. Sure."

   Ridge replaced the lid, resuming his stance as if nothing had happened. Then, he waved the bottle in Yulek's face, who was still kneeling in front of the toppled tower. Yulek glared at Ridge and snatched the bottle from his hand. He rose to his feet and scrambled to the chair, all while shaking his head at Ridge. "You're even more impulsive than I let on!"

   "Everyone's full of surprises, Professor Yulek."

   "I'm not your professor anymore. Just Mr Yulek."

   Yulek took a weaker approach as his keen eye, magnified by the pince-nez, began to water. He hiccuped. "You want me to help you prepare, eh?"

   Yulek's face became squiffy, and his posture wavered somewhere between upright and slumped. He swayed dizzily, unable to bring himself to glance at the hourglass. Why the hell was the upper chamber taking so long to empty?

   "I don't expect you to be on board with the idea. Just easygoing." Ridge extended a hand, adjusting the ruffle of his brown, long-sleeved shirt with his other. He was swimming in his head like a...falcon? All he could make out was Ridge's palm and his words.

   Yulek's vision blurred, his mind spinning. He felt like he was swimming inside his own head—like a... falcon? All he could register was Ridge's outstretched palm and the faint echo of his words. Yulek hiccupped as he rose unsteadily, swaying side to side. Like a drifting scrap of paper, he stumbled to the cuckoo clock on the wall and tugged at its pendulum. With a flick, a worn piece of metal slid out of the cuckoo door, its edges warped and melted. Ridge advanced forward and took the chip from Yulek's hand before the professor could even hand it to him. He tilted his head, inspecting the chip closely, flipping it between his fingers. He felt an itch in his foot and stooped down to scratch underneath his boot, then rose slowly, propping his hand on the desk as he continued studying the chip. "Lightning never strikes twice; it's the first and last time I get my hands on this gem."

   While rubbing his temples and holding the pendulum of the cuckoo clock for support, Yulek breathed out, "That's the thing that fell from the bridge while I was doing my job as a geophysicist. Erosion caused it."

   "Or abrasion."

   "Don't be a stickler for these things, Ridge. Be a stickler for order." Yulek exhaled heavily, fogging his pince-nez. His bleary eyes traveled to the hourglass. It was still going. He'd probably forget to down another bottle by then.

   "And is the Sensing Snowglobe alterable?"

   "I haven't a clue. They took mine and changed it. Like magic," Yulek replied. He hiccuped as he pointed at his foggy pince-nez. "Either way, I'm laissez-faire. Look through my lens, and you'll see why I'm like this. All of Haven is like this. Should be like this. Oh my..."

   Yulek's gaze shifted to the executive ball clicker, furrowing his brows. Yulek belched, "Hey, uh, Ridge. The balls aren't moving."

   "That's because you're holding them." Ridge was still inspecting the chip between his fingers like it was the key to a life-or-death conundrum. 

   Yulek shook his head as he let go of the pendulum, only to lose his balance and slump into the chair, his face planting flat against the desk. He groaned, "No, I mean the ball clicker. My Aptem, Ridge. My Aptem!"

   "Your Aptem as a Phsyics professor..." Ridge let out a sound of understanding as he looked at the executive ball clicker. Sure enough, the balls were completely still, as though an invisible force clogged their regulation. 

   "I can fix it for you. I am indebted to you, after all." Ridge smiled at Yulek- ignoring the fact that the dizzy man could not see his face- and grabbed the executive ball clicker.

   Yulek lay slumped over the desk, his arms draped across his head. He repeated softly, almost pleading, "Please fix it. It's not mine—it's theirs. I broke the order. It's not mine—it's theirs. I broke the order."

   "I know." With a final glance at the paranoid professor, Ridge turned and trudged past the layered seating of the classroom, now devoid of the memories of his time there, before stepping out into the teal-lit aquarium.

   As Ridge walked through the hallways of the Secondary Coverts Wing, where classrooms for various courses stamped the walls, he let out a low, sardonic laugh while sheathing the bubble tray out from the base of the executive ball clicker.

   "When people don't know what the error is, they'll believe anything as long as it gets fixed," he mused. "That's why Haven is blissful—by being brainless, even when all the brains dwell here and the brawns dwell there."

   With the magnetic suspension released, the executive ball clicker resumed its steady rhythm. Ridge stuck the tray back into his boot as he kept his eyes peeled ahead of him. He was tired of even glancing at the gas lamps mounted beside campaign boards. The walls were plastered with so many maps and blueprints that the underlying brass and copper accents were almost completely hidden. Antique clocks, shelves stacked with books and trophies, and other college-like trinkets cluttered the space. Students hurried past him, their faces blank yet strangely content, their movements brisk and robotic.

   Suddenly, Ridge's ears perked up as a squeal was heard. He came to a halt and looked up at the exposed pipes. The din did not come from there, rather...

   "Oh, if only a gentleman could help me get up!" a shrill voice cried out. A girl knelt on the floor before a crate, her vibrant red bangs blanketed over her makeup-adorned face. Her waist-length hair, styled with a decorative flower hairpiece around a bun, fell in soft waves past her shoulders. A stylish blue hat with a white band and feather perched neatly on her head. Oversized blue glasses sat nearby, just out of reach, while her white-gloved hands pressed against the floor. One hand clutched a folded hand fan tightly.

   Against his better judgement, Ridge walked over to her and upholstered her by the massive bow of her dress. In a crisp and moderately courteous voice, Faye Ire said while looking at Ridge with starry teal eyes as she balanced herself, "I knew you'd rescue me, Ridge! Oh, dearie—" Faye deliberately glanced at the glasses while patting Ridge's shoulder, "Happy and heartfelt congratulations! I just you'd win just by vying for a math contest alone. "

Ridge sighed as he picked up her glasses and handed them to her. She adjusted them on her nose, unfurled her fan, and placed one hand on her hip. While fanning herself with her pinkie raised, she pointed at the crate on the floor with a cheerful smile. "The cake's for you, and don't you fret. It is not in shambles—not in the slightest! I made sure to act like a damsel in distress gracefully."

"That's...questionable," Ridge muttered as he hoisted the crate with his freehand and placed the executive ball clicker on top.

Faye laughed heartily as she stood poised again. "You may want to eat it sparingly, because there will be more by the time the Sensing Snowglobe Decree Day arrives. I am sure you are bouncing off the wall as much as me." She looked up at a passing blimp with the screen displaying a botanical advertisement. She said, "What an authentic advertisement! And if you use your eyes, dearie, you could see me being the advocate."

   Ridge glanced at the blimp and nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes. "Have a green thumb and spare a sum." Great slogan." He said curtly.

   "It is a great one indeed, but not the best. Spectacular, but misses something that makes it special. Perhaps novelty? Perhaps the producers weren't trailblazers of that sort. Creativity, I am afraid, is what they lacked. Oh, Ridge, surely you are painfully aware of how hackneyed these jobs can be. I cannot judge the system though. After all, there is never a rose without the prick. I've attended a play where the main character has problems with originality. It was marvelous and delivered a great message. They talked about ethos, pathos, logos..."

   Ridge was not hearing "Faye's flowery words", as he liked to call it. His eyes sprinted to the Diurnal Bridge off the distance as the Secondary Coverts Wing was directly north to the Falcon Plaza. Deep down, he could feel his heart race and adrenaline being circulated. He was looking at the exit towards Nevah. Ridge's eyes traced a multitude of shapes around the air surrounding the sun around the bridge like skewers. Forms of polygons under there, forms of vertices over there. The conveyer belt in his brain projected several sprockets around the Diurnal Bridge like the Northern Lights that were said to signal quick peace in Nevah. They all connected as one mechanism and moved in a flow towards the Wing Monument.

   Ridge looked down at the executive ball clicker on the crate and then at the chip between his fingers. He tilted his head sideways. Just what was the catch behind it all?

[pomengrenan]

Chapter I- Riskometer

Logline: In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying "Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?

The mechanical pen moved in leaps guided by the precision of the mechanical hand. Leap after leap, and even more heaps of them. To anyone else, the way the pen danced across the paper looked cinematic. Ridge, however, thought of it a boring ritual through and through.

   Saccharine music played from his personalized jukebox. The more he inked, the blacker it became. Ridge's pupils followed every movement of the pen, never failing to miss a single one.

   Ridge solved the math-based questions as if his future depended on them, though without the passion of an aspiring student. The brownness of his eyes stood out against the dimness of the room. Apparatuses and other tools were scattered everywhere, mirroring the state of the paper he was working on. Ridge sighed and rolled his shoulders. He had not bargained for this, but at least the contract was about to end. This would be the last time he ever laid eyes on a topology worksheet.

   Ridge's room and mind were full of clutter. While his eyes and hands were occupied with the paper, and his mouth with cashews, his head was filled with thoughts about the Sensing Snowglobe. He hummed in tune with the relaxing music and turned his swivel chair so that he was facing the brown pocket watch hanging from the sideboard of his L-shaped desk. The pocket watch's hand was just inches away from the top center, where a falcon symbol replaced the numeral twelve. The sublime pocket watch looked back at Ridge, whose lips upturned. It looked like it had been crafted by a talented kid; the tessellation was a combination of basic and intricate shapes and the falcon was carved inside with a playful, naïve touch. It was a small watch, but Ridge had always believed the micro world was superior to the macro world.

   Ridge's humming grew more wistful, drifting away from the background music. Maybe even excited—scratch that; it was excitement. Internally, he was a miner, excavating a gateway out of the tedious math filling his brain. He kept digging until he found the gold—his unfiltered curiosity awaited him in Nevah. The Outdoors, the opposite of Haven. The Outdoors that made up the other half of Thear. The Nevanese, neither advanced like Haven nor nascent like Havenians. Oh, the things he wondered.

   "Was Thear always a divided world? And if not, what was there before?" Ridge thought as he eyed the pocket watch. He wagged his finger and smiled at it, "Once you touch the falcon, I will get the Sensing Snowglobe and make history as the new Havenian hero and risk ridder."

   Yes, Ridge timed the arrival of the grand day that is known as the Snowglobe Decree Day—and the only one who did that for that matter. Once the Sensing Snowglobe sensed his ideal career and created a landscape to match, he would finally become the hero he had always yearned to be as a child. Even Thear yearned for someone with that ambition. That someone had to be Ridge; it was inevitable for a man of such high devotion and inventiveness.

   Protruding his lower lip, Ridge blew his curtain bangs away from his temples before flicking another crescent nut into his mouth. He continued his math worksheet while puffing his cheeks. He paused chewing the cashew and stopped drawing.

   "Ah..." Ridge swallowed the cud and continued drawing. Ah, oval and crescent—shapes he was drawing on the paper, alongside other complex forms that only a genius could comprehend. Yet, that wasn't why he made the sound. He remembered that finding gold was not enough; he had to pan it to create something marvelous. He had to transform his desire to step out of Haven and visit Nevah into something tangible. Luckily, his pan was already prepared. He knew exactly what to do once he got his Sensing Snowglobe.

   Ridge continued writing in desultory fashion until the pen stopped pelting on the book. The only sound in the room was the soft music from the jukebox. He leaned back, gripping the paper tightly between his fingers. Having completed the last math exercise he would ever work on, he let out a victorious huff and retrieved a piece of blotting paper from his drawer. With a cashew sticking out of his mouth, Ridge pressed the blotting paper onto the math worksheet. Once the ink was absorbed, he removed the blotting paper. Gripping the tape handle at the back, he positioned the paper before the scanner mounted on his deskboard. His swivel chair creaked as he leaned forward, letting out a matching sound of his own as the paper was scanned.

   "Last little lot for the résumé and I'm good to go."

   The scanner signaled completion, accompanied by the sound of chimes blending with the background music. Ridge leaned back in the swivel chair and spun around gently—careful not to choke on the cashew—while running his fingers through his chestnut hair, eyes closed. His hand found the tilt adjuster, and he began pumping it. With a whoop, an incinerator tool shot out of the chair's cylinder as it extended. Ridge abruptly stopped and snatched it mid-air. He spun it in his palm and pointed it at the math worksheet. Flames crackled to life as he activated it. Ridge cackled triumphantly and declared with finality, "Good riddance to you, topology!"

   In a heartbeat, the fire whipped and reduced the worksheet to ashes. Ridge wiped away a sheen of sweat with delight and slid the tool back into the cylinder. With vein-bulged hands, he gathered the ashes, relishing the acrid smell of burnt paper. Ridge turned to his typewriter, twisting the falcon decal until the key top popped out, transforming into a bubble cap tray. He swept the ashes onto the tray and carefully aligned them. He sashayed to the microwave while ogling at ashes on the tray. Wagging his finger at the tray as if disciplining a child, he said, "You may outsmart others, but not me. You'll regret making me work for you since I was a known prodigy."

   Ridge opened the microwave with the lever, slid the tray inside, and shut it firmly. His fingers curled around the lever, watching the ashes transform into cashews like popping corn. He closed his eyes and threw his head back. To Ridge, nothing could beat the soothing music and the sound of cashews sizzling in his microwave. The thought made his mouth water, but not as much as the dream of getting his Sensing Snowglobe and becoming the "Innovative Havenian Hero."

   As the ashes transformed into whole cashews, the intercom in Ridge's room stirred awake. The music from his jukebox came to a halt, and the sound from the intercom was accompanied by what sounded like an anthem. Ridge opened his eyes as though seeing would help him hear better. After the national anthem waned, a clear feminine voice was heard through the communal intercoms:

   "Happy and heartfelt living, Havenians. To all graduates from the Scapulars Wing, please go to Falcon Plaza at seven sharp, as per the promise. The promise we made to announce the results for mathletes and the ceremonial post graduation. Congratulations again, graduates of the Scapulars Wing. We hope to see you on the six times ten to the power of thirteenth Snowglobe Decree Day, when the future holds no guarantees but infinite potential, and every step forward is a choice of who you are becoming."

   Ridge could not help but laugh. The use of scientific notation in this context struck him as amusingly overblown. Sometimes, he would catch himself mulling over the day when Sensing Snowglobes were first discovered. He never bought into the idea that they had always existed, like Thear and its two divided parts—Haven and Nevah. With an internal shrug, Ridge shifted his focus back to the cashews. He opened the microwave, carefully retrieving the tray by its insulated handle.

   As he headed to the door, he balanced the tray while munching on the cashews, unbothered by the heat, and poured them into a simple plastic bag. His eyes flicked to his red field jacket hanging on a rotating hook.

   "I won't need you now. Not like I'd bring my pocket watch anyway. I will stick to this shirt—or rather, it'll stick to me." With that, Ridge elbowed the door open, stepped into the hallway, and bolted the door behind him with a swift kick to the base

   Ridge's eyes were sharp, though his movements were fluid, his smile fixed on his face as if glued there. He strode down the corridor, his gaze bypassing the stained-glass windows. Students appeared as silhouettes against the semi-opaque walls separating the doors from the walking conveyer belt. The windows, adorned with brown paisley mosaics and purple frames—some matte, others gleaming—cast intricate patterns onto the walls. The corridor was bathed in the soft, golden light of a spring evening spilling through the glass. Spring evenings, he mused—the kind of weather the Nevanese must long for after their punishing winters. Haven, however, knew no seasons. It had no need for them; its indoor climate was meticulously crafted to suit all living beings, inside and out.

   Ridge glanced up at the falcon-wing-themed fans circling the chandeliers above. "You're making people work for you so you can work yourself, huh? That will change as soon as I emerge." His hands clung to the tray as he plucked another cashew. The clocks on the pillars struck seven, and the chandeliers above flared to life. Graduates and parents from the Scapulars Wing surged toward Haven's center. Ridge, however, maintained his leisurely pace, humming contentedly as he popped another cashew into his mouth.

   People bustled past him, the rush of air sending his hair forward. Smoothing it back into place, Ridge smirked.

   "The first-place announcement will be last," he muttered. "And anyway, I won't need to worry about running into anyone."

   A tramcar rolled in, its approach marked only by the chatter of passengers. Ridge stepped aboard, gripping a metal bar as he positioned himself near the edge, keeping his distance from the crowd of diversely uniformed passengers, ranging from cassocks to antiquated suits. The tramcar whirred to life and glided forward.

   Ridge relished the sight of the concrete reliefs, a cashew paused midair near his lips. To think that ancient Havenians carved all these for future generations. It was all so stupendous; two dimensional figures in balaclavas and wings hanging from their biceps, depicted bearing fruit as fruits levitated above them. The figures were framed by undulating waves, interspersed with geometric patterns that symbolized the Havenian sky and ground. The ground was said to mirror the sky—or the ceiling—that enclosed all Havenians, sealing them off from the Outdoors. Havenians believed the flat ground and spherical sky were bound together in perfect harmony. The art reliefs also depicted a collection of brains, the letter 'H', and graduation caps carried by talons. They were meticulously organized and pristine. Ridge would be shocked if he ever saw a speck of graffiti.

   On the tramcar ride to the plaza, Ridge overheard every tale told through microphones and television screens for the children: "Naya the adventurer climbed the monkey bars until her hands blotted red. Oh no! She could climb no more." "The rocketship went kaput. Suddenly, a thick veil of smoke formed around the astronaut and gave him fatigue!" Gasps. "Slowly, slowly, the squirrel nibbled the pinecone. He stopped and suddenly spewed bits out. The pinecone was fake!" More gasps.

   Ridge scoffed, shaking the tray of cashews, listening to the hollow echo of a lone nut bouncing inside. He was no author, but he found the overuse of the term "suddenly" cliche and unwarranted. As Ridge reached for the last cashew, someone snatched it. Ridge frowned and snapped his head toward the intruder. Shaima, the apple-cheeked mathlete with an open notebook perched atop her head, grinned around the cashew in her mouth. "Sup, Ribeye?" she said with a nasally drawl.

   Ridge groaned. "Not this juvenile gourd head." "What do you want, Shaima?"

   Shaima held up her hands in a flurry of animated gestures. "Okay, okay. Hear me out, just this once, okay?" Ridge gave a reluctant nod, prompting Shaima to pull the notebook from her messy blonde hair, pointing at it with green, expectant eyes fixed on Ridge.

   "Did you get this for the question with the sin and its co-worker?"

   "It's sine and cosine, for crying out loud! And no, the answer was 76, rounded."

   Shaima repeated, fiddling with her sports whistle necklace. "76? But I got the square root of 1567. And what about the question where the interval from 0 to 1 made a pact—"

   "Compact. How they are compact subsets of R."

   Shaima nodded vehemently, "Yeah, that. You got—"

   "You don't just get an answer. You prove it through the Heine-Boren theorem."

   Shaima dipped her head, a sheepish "Ohhh..." escaping her lips.

   Ridge crossed his arms and scowled. "And don't tell me you forgot the fundamental units for the question on why they, though unrelated, connect through constants like the speed of light. You had to know the fundamental units first. You had to remember the guiding sentence I gave you—that they serve as bridges between mysterious phenomena."

   Shaima snapped her fingers and intoned in sing-song. "Yeah, "a mole caged my sick cd." I did, but..." She shrugged sheepishly.

   "How—just let someone tutor you." Ridge wagged his finger at her. "Just leave. Just leave and cross your fingers that you make it to the top twenty."

   "No fingers crossed, and no legs broken." Shaima sighed heavily, waving as she squeezed into the tramcar. "Later, Ribeye."

   Ridge clucked his tongue and folded the bubble cap tray. "Shaima? More like Shame-a," he muttered, snapping the tray into two. With a quick flick, he spun both halves between his fingers before fastening them to the soles of his boots. Just as Ridge had predicted, the tramcar glided to a stop beside a beak-shaped lake, its waterfall cascading in neon hues. He skated out of the tramcar, the oil and bubbles from the makeshift wheelies creating just the right mix of glide and friction for smooth movement.

   Above him, a billboard tilted downward bore the slogan: Never visit Nevah. Ridge barely spared it a glance. His attention was drawn instead to the growing hum of activity ahead, where Falcon Plaza bustled with life.

   The heart of the plaza was a hive of orderly chaos, each person or group occupying their own two-meter bubble of space. The atmosphere was paradoxically busy yet serene, awash in muted shades of brown, maroon, and papyrus-colors that adorned the buildings and clock towers. Overhead, wires draped in neat U-shaped arcs between structures—parabolas, Ridge thought with a smirk. Looming over it all was the wing-shaped monument, a towering structure stretching 50 meters into the air. Its wingtips aligned perfectly with the ends of the known elliptical Diurnal Bridge, which curved upside down into the clouds.

   As Ridge watched, the glowing orb of Haven's artificial sun dipped into the clouds like quicksand, sinking out of sight. In its place, the moon's beams began to emerge, radiating from the opposite horizon. The transition marked the start of Haven's choreographed nighttime—a detail Ridge appreciated for its technical brilliance, though it failed to spark any real emotion. The Indoors always felt artificial.

   Ridge slid to a stop near a brick U-shaped wall, leaning against it as he peeled the trays from his boots. A passing basket on the waterwheel collected them without pause. He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly, his half-lidded eyes fixed on the rotating wheel. Water was scooped up, hurled down, and scooped up again in an endless cycle, its unchanging rhythm taunting him. He hated cycles. Everything in the Indoors seemed to repeat itself—orderly, predictable, and devoid of the chaos that gave life its spark. He imagined stopping it with his bare hands, forcing it out of its mechanical monotony. But Ridge didn't have the brute strength for such things. That was the domain of the Nevanese—people who lived Outdoors, unbound by Haven's carefully engineered perfection. Ridge sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. Maybe it was jealousy, he thought. Yes, jealousy. He envied the Nevanese for their wild, unpredictable lives.

   Even if they didn't have what Haven offered, at least they weren't stuck watching waterwheels spin endlessly.

   From the still blue waters, two enormous bubbles swelled grotesquely before bursting with a sharp, visceral pop. Ridge's eyes widened for a fleeting moment before he exhaled sharply, closing them as he braced himself for what lay ahead. The moon crept fully into view, its pale light darkening the atmosphere and pulling his focus back to the ominous shapes in the lake. A low, eerie gurgle rippled through the air, clawing at Ridge's ears. The oppressive aura pressed against him like an unshakable weight, while muffled blobs and glogs punctuated the silence.

   Two translucent-skinned figures with pointed ears, fish net gloves, and grotesque Glasgow smiles emerged slowly, water dripping from the hollow contours of their faces. Their bristled platinum hair, streaked with black roots, bristled in a way that could send chills down anyone's spine. Their wide cat eyes were devoid of pupils. They wore tattered, ghostly robes adorned with miniature dreamcatchers dangling from their sleeves, swaying with every movement. The Lema twins crouched low, setting down the very trays Ridge had deliberately left in the waterwheel basket along the riverbank. They settled into frog-like crouches, knees jutting outward as their long fingers rested between their bare feet. The sight was especially unsettling. 

   Ridge turned around and bent down while resting his elbows on his own knees. He stared into Und's eyes, the one with frowning brows and a translucent green shawl with a frowning drama mask on his head, then into Ab's, the one with sharp brows and the smiling drama mask. No one spoke, just stared. That was until Ridge picked up the trays while deliberately scraping them against the ground. "Was it a mockingjay this time?"

   It was odd. Ab and Und, the Lema twins who always lurked by the waterwheel and helped Ridge, were not in their usual entertained spirits. They looked like yaks in heat. Their faces blank, making them look even creepier. Though they were the ones who petrified people for fun, they were the ones who looked petrified.

   Ab broke the silence by laughing maniacally. Und followed suit but by crying. The unnerving sounds of laughter and wailing filled the space between them. Ridge backed away a bit and stood up; for the first time, he felt unnerved by the Lema twins.

   Ab's voice came out in asqueal. "It was just like in our dreams, but even worse!"

   Und was still in tears as he said. "Not only did our Sensing Snowglobes expose our love for disturbing movies, but one of ours envisioned a whole different career!"

   Ridge's face dropped. He felt his heart sink. "What do you mean?"

   "I mean that, this traitor—" Und pointed at Ab, his arm trembling as he continued to frown, "—had a pet clinic as the Sensing Snowglobe landscape!"

   Ab slumped and hid half of his face under his shawl. He glared at Und smilingly. "I told you, I don't know how that happened!"

   Ridge wagged his pointer fingers at them and said, "Woah, woah. Let me get this straight; Ab chose to be a veterinarian?"

   "No! You're supposed to be a genius or something, Ridge!" Und leaned back and clutched onto his forehead. He whined, "The Sensing Snowglobe sensed that Ab's perfect job is to be in the pet clinic!"

   Ab growled and whipped his fist on his open palm. "I told you, it's not my fault."

   "Yes it is! Now how will we both become horror movie directors?"

   Und grabbed Ab by the shawl and punched him, sending him flying to the lake. He got up with a livid expression and hurtled at his brother. Und screeched and fell on his neck, causing him to use his feet to sweep Ab off his. Ab toppled over and retaliated with a lethal blow on Und's stomach. They started pulling each others' hair and pummeling each others noses. They then pulled each others' masks and snatched them onto each others' faces with huge thwaps and thwaps. Thwap, thwap...it was like a matador versus ox scene, except there was no audience. What about Ridge, then?

   Ridge was completely in his own world. The sounds of the freakish fight in front of him were on mute. He was staring past the crazy twins with wide eyes, his lens vibrating and his mouth agape. This time, he could feel the ominousness of the night. The thoughts buzzing in his head drowned out everything around him, so far away from him now. He felt the world blur and tighten in size. But there were no actual thoughts. For the first time, Ridge had no thoughts.

   Then, it dawned on him. The Sensing Snowglobe, the spellbinding object that sensed your faculty and envisioned the ideal career for you. It was also the object that determined whether a family must reside in Haven or Nevah forevermore based on the dominant hereditary faculty (if they have the brains or brawn). Then that would mean...no. Ridge did not want to believe it. It shook his core: Ridge could not choose to be an "Innovative Havenian Hero". Chances were that it would envision his career to be a computer scientist. No, not computer science...

   Ridge looked up at the billboard. It was laughing at him in a "I told you so" way.

   "Never visit Nevah." Now he cared.

[pomengrenan]

Ridge Kindler ( ^ moodboard by my close friend):

Protagonist/ Antihero of "Riskometer"

A competent, intelligent, and a secretive Havenian with a knack for inventions.

Although he is bright, he lacks emotional intelligence as he tends to be reclusive (not "people smart") and often fails to read others. He is often avoidant due to being under unbridled pressure ever since the public found out about his acumen at his mother's knees. He also finds the stringent rules of Haven that force its inhabitants to essentially act like robots disdainful because of his past observations.

Ridge is torn between his deep-seated desire to break free from the oppressive system of Haven and his obsession with uncovering the mysteries of the Outdoors. His curiosity about what lies beyond is tempered by the constant risk he faces when pushing the boundaries of his own society. The "Riskometer" becomes a symbol of duality. It protects him while simultaneously pushing him toward ever greater danger.

His lack of emotional intelligence also causes him to struggle with forming meaningful connections, leaving him isolated even as he pursues his ambitions. He is often forced to reconcile his need for personal freedom with the reality that his actions have consequences on those around him.

He finds it tedious to do what he is good at and seeks for quenching his curiosity about the Outdoors. His curiosity accelerates to deadly ambition and does not only frequent outside of the walls with the Riskometer to protect him, but also starts exterminating anything that poses a risk to Thear.

Ridge could come off as dry and withdrawn to many. Nonetheless, he is not short of any fans, his admirers being especially Faye Ire and Guantum Jern.

He mostly spends time in his dormitory in the Scapulars (the north most region of Haven, where all students and graduates reside) inventing, contemplating, and complaining about Haven and the governors.

Ridge has dark brown chestnut layered hair with curtain bangs, an oval face shape with warm ivory skin and almond amber eyes, broad shoulders and a tall stature. He is usually clad in a long sleeved brown ruffle front with matching brown boots and black joggers, sometimes coupled with a velvet field jacket while tucking a hand underneath it as he holds his pocket watch and feels its pulse.

His mannerism is that he pops cashews into his mouth while working or studying and wags his finger either slyly or seriously. His catchphrase is "Good riddance".

He has no close relationship of any sorts, save for with his gadgets and his begrudging accomplices. His parents are alive and well, and his father works as a Geophysicist in Haven which gives Ridge the edge to glean more information in order to break the severe "Never Visit Nevah" rule.

Ridge is a prodigy when it comes to engineering and creating advanced, often risky, inventions. The "Riskometer" is his crowning achievement, but his creations are numerous, ranging from gadgets that help him navigate Haven’s labyrinthine rules to complex devices used for exploration and defense outside the city walls.

It is no wonder that he excels at thinking on his feet. His mind works quickly to identify patterns, risks, and opportunities—traits that serve him well when experimenting with the unknown or in the face of adversity.

While not being a traditional survivalist, Ridge’s obsession with the Outdoors and his use of the Riskometer shows his growing ability to adapt to savage and foreign environments.

[pomengrenan]

Soli-Dare-ity

Ever thought of how many times,

It would take for her

To build that monument so high?

Finally let the cedar tendrils go ‘round the crenellations.

Ever thought why she apologized?

Her words never meant to stir.

Feigning ponies frolicking around without care and patience.

Help me, what can it be?

Magpies circling?

How when the high helixes twist,

What she bludgeoned with her own ring, a sign of her undoing?

How the scars of what we lost,

Are all now what I have to hold to?

The horizon that heralded the dawning

Of a new, dreary day

Descended upon me what-with no dissent- I let it smite

My youthful array.

“Dare me

To leave all of it behind-

The things I never saw were precious.

Until they were bygones.

Never to remind.

"So, Dare me

All the gallantry rising,

From the sky that sinks in my slew of tides,

And swallows the stars we made

And spews them all below.

“Dare me.

The sea beckons me,

With its sussurus that winds

All time no longer mine.

Beckons me to shrink to a max

And sink to the min- don’t follow.”

Ever so slightly,

I dart wild jeremiads to the air.

The wind capers without care.

Now, now, what can it be?

Cedar trees masking the mutiny?

How when she kept the knot so scant

Of loyalty tied to our patriotic chatoyant?

I plant tears on the hopscotch,

Sprouting by the blood of the swords

That cleave through the magpies.

I pine for her sonorous chords.

Now, your bricks wither

Tiles littering the shrubs, never to grow.

I dare you to,

Promise me to,

Bury me underground so low.

Where no one sees,

But a nose,

So long enough to touch the horde of clouds that flows.

So I can rest,

Finally,

With what I lost.

[pomengrenan]

Hi fellow readers! I go by the name of H. Aljazi or simply Halo. I am an aspiring author and started creative writing when I was circa 14 years old. I discovered my passion for writing through reading, particularly detective fiction and dystopia. It was a caprice, I recall, when I thought of starting writing as a hobby. I also really love poetry, psychology, and philosophy. In the spur of a mundane moment, I decided to be a creator, not just a consumer. I am currently working on a duology called "Riskometer". My goal for 2025 is to publish at least one book for everyone else to see. What can I say? I've got a bloated ambition I wanna fulfill too. Back to "Riskometer", here's the logline:

"In Thear, a world where Haven and Nevah are divided by walls and rules, an unsatisfied Havenian escapes Haven in search of freedom and purpose, defying his predetermined destiny with a Riskometer that measures danger alongside the Aptem which is a pocket watch. Alongside a trio of unlikely companions, he begins to be set on nightly quests to eliminate all risks, challenging societal norms and pushing the boundaries, in which Havenian governors and Nevanese tribes go against.

Will Ridge Kindler's defiance against his destiny and his Riskometer to eliminate all risks lead to his goal of achieving status as a unifiying "Innovative Havenian Hero", or will he unleash untold danger that will threaten all of Thear?"

"Riskometer" consists of enthralling screens, memorable characterization, and a great setting. It's ripe for your mind that secretly craves original dystopian books with elements of sci-fi. 12 and above is the recommended age rating. Check the link out if you're interested. I also have an unmodified version of Riskometer on archiveofourown, so unless you aren't a pedantic, you can also give that a read. Sorry if this took you so long to read- time is precious, there's no denying. Thanks and happy reading!