They never spoke of it again. At least, that was the unspoken agreement.

The visions they had after their vows were revisited years later, inside the Memverse. After putting their headsets back on, at Kayus' enthusiastic request, the virtual world forwent the Spire of Order entirely and landed them in an unknown cavern, incomplete in geometry.

There was no wind, no howl, but a perpetual coldness.

They were left to explore the cavern's islands, following the same simple objective: uncover more of O.R.C.A's records. Their advance towards the void generated more of this isolated world. It was ray-traced in bright yellow, then filled in with the frigid white of the permafrost. These were O.R.C.A's most recent recordings of Alterna, which were yet to be encrypted and vaulted. And Isandro and Anthos would be diving into this present snapshot towards the past, with the help of their memories.

Not thinking more of it, Olive brushed hands with a snowed-in glass panel. Beneath it, the brightest and plumpest tomatoes grew. These had been taken care of for millennia, by an automated climate control system. These were the only things left alive.

After a simultaneous skip of his heartbeats, the simulation filled in the rest of the greenhouses that gave Alterna sustenance, the husks of the Eco-Forest Hills. Yet, Olive still couldn't understand how the sunlight and water-hungry plants thrived in the unattended greenhouses. He gnashed his beak from helplessness, it wasn't the first time he banged his head against this question. So much knowledge used to live in his soul, but it was lost to time.

Drawn by the urban skyline, going towards the industrial area around the Happiness Research Lab, Rodi found smashed glassware at every step. Millions of shards were littering the abandoned research facilities. He was following the loose, faulty wiring of some Liquid Crystal Displays that were yet to be remounted. He found them in a glittering pool of the liquid technology that made them work. A massive, untouched rocket suddenly appeared on the rendered horizon. From all the damage around it, it seemed a terrible implosion happened before the previous inhabitants ever came around to fixing the spare LCDs.

This was the first moment Rodi and Olive were suspecting they had some involvement in Alterna's life and death.

Because the more they tried to remember, the more colours Alterna regained. Although islands away, both of them could sense a spark going off at the right place, at the wrong time. The snow melted to the scorching heat of the past. It was all ash and shockwaves. The collective desires smashed into the ground, along with the Liquid Sky.

The chain reaction occurred like on humanity's last day: the cavern became a collapsing inferno in a split second.

This scene was recorded in minute detail by O.R.C.A., and it always played the same. They succumbed to it countless of times, until they cracked the Memverse's solution. Humanity's extinction wasn't ever preventable, but the way they went out was always in their command. ...It was not immediately obvious.

And today, seeing the connections between their human and cephalopod sides clearer, they wonder over another drink how deeply this tragedy is encoded in their crystals, their shared decisions. Their dreams and passions still can't stop growing beyond what is considered safe.

But if nobody got entrusted with the taste of risk, nobody would've thought of reaching for the sun ever again.

Isandro and Anthos had an unfortunate passion for playing with fire.

Seven years ago, Rodi's life was perfect on paper: a gorgeous man, a successful business, a social status.

He hit every single wish he'd thrown to the wind when he was just opening up Mimosa. The recollection brought him to one of his of pipe dreams: a front-page feature for TideOut magazine, the leader in Inkopolis' entertainment and leisure news.

The interview for the two-page spread was warm with rapport. Rodi lead most of it, while Olive kept to nodding and tuning his smile to whatever was said: inspiration, challenges, standout guests, their favourite drink after last call.

By the end, the anemone interviewer took notice of their matching silver rings. The script diverged from discussing their business to discussing their romantic involvement. A knowing laughter burst between the two bartenders. Although they snuck glances, voiced something silent with their mischievous lips, they returned to the interviewer matter-of-fact.

“I call him my secret weapon for a reason," Rodi left the topic at that.

The interviewer was delighted that she had recorded that.

“Now, let’s hope they don’t twist that into something career-ruining," Olive shushed for them two, just as they were exiting the room.

Rodi kept going his way. "Anyone with eyes and ears knows we’ll tie the knot. The question was stupid."

“Still… Maybe it’d be easier for us to admit it.”

His hands fell to his hips. “Duh, no, where’s the fun in that? Keep them guessing.”

Olive laughed, for lack of a better reaction. He quickly gave up on his point. He couldn't ever fence Rodi's entertainment.

"...I know you'd like us more like this anyway," Rodi said out loud.

"What? O-On the low?" Olive stuttered, going even quieter.

"Yeah." He opened the next door for Olive. "...It keeps you available."

Rodi never wanted to fence Olive's entertainment either. He knew the kind of soul he carried, and how it glowed when the shyness peeled off. As their shared experiences unveiled their secrets, it was clearer how Olive instantly fell for Rodi's libertine side: he craved it for himself.

Ever since they've made their names known as Inkadia's up and coming bartenders, people were flocking with greater interest around them. Olive was programmed to give out as much love as he received. It was overspilling.

Their TideOut feature had also brought them plenty of invitations at industry events. They responded only to the parties.

The low frequencies of the music and the loud conversations tickled their chests as they climbed towards the rooftops they had dreamed of. There were evening dresses and colourful suits. Olive's patterned shirt was even more lush in the coloured lights, to contrast Rodi's little black dress.

In the first hours, while the guests still arrived on the rooftop, the gaps filled with polite laughter. While others responded to a networker's attempt at humour, Rodi and Olive stepped closer together. Olive’s hand on Rodi’s back slid closer to the hem, sneaking fingers underneath to find the warm, silky skin.

Once they were distanced enough, under the guise of getting another drink, they'd drop all their covers into the shadows.

"This is a bore," Olive sighed on his fiancé's lips. There were so many champagne flutes and canapés to keep him happy.

"It won't be long, love."

As the celebrations were wrapping, they were keen to continue off the official premises. They'd place themselves in peculiar situations, though they had built enough trust to step into the unexpected. They would even light the sparks to turn it into a hedonistic banquet.

Mixology gained a new sense between the handful of bartenders that joined the after-parties. Isandro and Anthos would steal sips from others' generous drink offerings. They'd also sip kisses from anyone willing to have a taste of their inner alchemy.

The sugariness and amber in Rodi's fragrance got stuck in the air, while his necklace barely hung from his neck. He opened one eye, lifted his chin, saw how Olive struggled to pick between two mouths.

Seeing his partner adored by others was a strange kind of turn-on. The fear and hunger were clashing in his belly, and they were heightening the trepidation of being the one Olive always returned to.

At home, dedication took many more meanings when they breathed the heated air between themselves, whilst resting their swollen lips. They were stuck on full drive, as if slowing down would've killed whatever glorious mess they've built. But something made Isandro pause.

Deep inside, Rodi had grown a fragility for what Olive and himself would still be after the good times faded, when they went back to the tough work of making yet another dream a reality.

All that desire passed the point of pleasure. Isandro couldn't figure why he couldn't ever get rid of his cravings. He had it all, and he still wanted everything. The Alternan crystals had no means to know that he already held the sun in his palms.

This was the original mistake that brought their demise: their Alternan selves were rushing towards the light, blinded by what it took to make their dreams real. They had been upturning the delicate balance they have worked so hard on, but that only made the disastrous chain reactions brighter and more colourful in their eyes.