"Guiding the birth of a god..."
In the villa at No. 17 Green Shade, on the northern outskirts of Tivian, Dorothy sat at the desk in her second-floor study, clad in loose loungewear. Her eyes were fixed on the Literary Sea Logbook, where Little Fox’s handwritten reply had just appeared. Reading it, she murmured with interest.
"Fascinating. Can a god’s nature truly be influenced by mortal worship?"
Intrigued, Dorothy thought to herself. After a moment of contemplation, she wrote another response on the page.
“Do you possess some method of influencing a god’s will?”
“No. Gods are far too powerful for mortals to affect so easily. What we can influence—more accurately speaking—is a god that is still being born, not yet mature. The current Lord of Dreams is in precisely such a state. At the heart of the Endless Forest in the Dreamscape, the Lord of Dreams exists in the form of a cocoon, still dormant and developing upon the divine throne.
“Even before I was born, the Holy Cocoon has always been the focus of our Butterfly Dreamland’s worship. We’ve performed many rituals in both the waking world and the dream world—offering music and hymns to the young god within the cocoon, guiding its growth. We call the newly-born god the ‘Dreamwing.’”
Little Fox’s handwriting continued to appear fluidly across the page. After carefully reading it, Dorothy took up her pen again.
“Why do you guide it? Are you trying to shape a god that belongs to you alone?”
“That’s not it. We’re not trying to mold a god for our own desires—we're merely fulfilling the final wish of the previous Lord of Dreams. According to my grandfather, our Butterfly Dreamland was formed from the remnants of the former Knight of Dreams Order, reorganized in the new epoch. The Knight of Dreams Order was once the loyal follower of the Lord of Dreams, and guiding the next Lord of Dreams was said to be the final divine command left behind before Their fall. We are simply honoring that command.”
Little Fox continued his explanation. After skimming the reply again, Dorothy asked another question.
“Then… do you know how the previous Dream Knight—or the former Lord of Dreams—perished? Or why such a divine command was left behind?”
It didn’t take long for Little Fox’s next message to appear.
“As for how the last Lord of Dreams died—I don’t know. Grandpa never told me, and to be honest, I’m not sure he knows either. This is something from the very beginning—or even before—the current epoch. It’s too ancient; no one can say for certain.
“As for the reason behind the guidance… according to the priests of old in Butterfly Dreamland, the divine command from the previous Lord of Dreams warned that if the new god were left to grow on its own, without any guidance, it could turn bad—or more precisely, become a malevolent god. If that happened, it would bring disastrous consequences to the Dreamscape, or even the whole world.”
Little Fox’s handwriting was neater and clearer than before—Dorothy could sense how serious he was being.
“If left to grow freely… it would become a malevolent god?”
Dorothy stroked her chin thoughtfully, then, after a pause, wrote again.
“So… the appearance of the ‘Moth’ seems to be related to signs of the new Lord of Dreams undergoing this ‘corruption’?”
“Mhm! You guessed right. According to Grandpa… the Dream Moth is, in a sense, the other side of the Dreamwing. It represents the aspect of the young god that has turned toward corruption.”
Little Fox confirmed it. Dorothy immediately wrote another question.
“You’ve been guiding it all this time, and yet the new Lord of Dreams still began to show signs of corruption?”
“Yes… For centuries, Butterfly Dreamland faithfully followed the divine command to guide the young god’s emergence. But for some unknown reason, the god within the Holy Cocoon still developed symptoms of corruption. The will of the ‘Moth’ began to emerge inside the cocoon, and started clashing with the will of the ‘Butterfly.’ This internal struggle eventually spilled outward and began affecting our people.
“At first, it was the priests—those who came into contact with the Holy Cocoon during rituals. In those sacred ceremonies, they sometimes unintentionally linked with the ‘Moth’ will inside. Though it was still in a dormant, dreamlike state, unlike the gentle ‘Butterfly,’ the ‘Moth’s’ will was deeply invasive. Those who came into contact were gradually corrupted and became followers of the ‘Moth.’
“These followers hid among us and used various means to lure others into connecting with the Moth’s will, growing their numbers until, eventually, they took control of Butterfly Dreamland from the shadows. When the time was ripe, they launched a rebellion. Using traps and surprise attacks, they massacred nearly all followers of the ‘Butterfly,’ seized control of the Holy Cocoon, and renamed the society the Blackdream Hunting Pack. Only a few members of Butterfly Dreamland escaped that massacre—we’re one of those remnants.
“Since then, the Blackdream Hunting Pack has devoted itself to accelerating the complete emergence of the Holy Cocoon. They’re attempting a reverse-guidance process to strengthen the Moth’s will, hoping it will devour the Butterfly’s will entirely. Their ultimate goal is to ensure that the true Dream Moth hatches from the cocoon. Meanwhile, we survivors are striving to stop them.”
Little Fox’s steady stream of explanation filled the page. Though his handwriting wasn’t elegant, the careful seriousness in his strokes made Dorothy’s expression grow solemn.
This conversation reminded her of her earlier exchange with Viagetta in Busalet.
Back in Heopolis, Viagetta had told her that the reason she continued to exist in such a half-living state was to help Heaven’s Arbiter occupy the divine throne—so as to prevent others from seizing it or for a new Revelation god to emerge unbidden. It was, according to her, to stave off a potential fall.
“Did the Dream Knight have their followers guide the next Lord of Dreams for the same reason? Based on what Viagetta said, gods born directly from the divine throne seem highly susceptible to ‘fall.’ The Moth’s will may have originated from this very influence…”
“So then… what exactly is this ‘fall’? To affect even gods so easily… what kind of force does it represent? One capable of dragging deities down? Or perhaps it’s the opposite—the higher the entity, the more receptive it becomes to influence…”
As she stared at the written words, Dorothy pondered deeply. Then she picked up her pen and wrote again.
“Since the Holy Cocoon has been in the Blackdream Hunting Pack’s hands for so long, when exactly will they complete the guidance? Can you confirm the cocoon’s current state of emergence?”
“That… we don’t know. After taking control of the cocoon, the traitors in the Blackdream Hunting Pack used various means to cut it off from all outside interference. It’s very difficult for us to get any intel on its condition. But, according to Grandpa, if they were conducting the reverse-guidance at full throttle, the cocoon should have hatched by now. Most likely, they’ve run into some kind of problem during the emergence process.”
Little Fox’s reply continued to appear across the pages of Dorothy’s Literary Sea Logbook. After reading it, Dorothy nodded thoughtfully and picked up her pen again to write.
“Thank you for the intel. I believe this will be very helpful to us. By the way, you previously mentioned that the pseudo-moths of the Blackdream Hunting Pack were acting strangely—can you explain in more detail what’s going on?”
“Well... we actually can’t say too much about that either. My grandfather has a certain means of detecting the movements of the Blackdream Hunting Pack, but it’s far from enough to give us a clear picture. This time, however, he detected that all the pseudo-moths he’s aware of relocated simultaneously. That kind of coordinated mass movement has never happened before. Grandpa suspects they may be preparing for something big.
“He’s very uneasy about this large-scale mobilization and decided to share more intel with you all, hoping that you might be able to cross-reference it with your own findings to deduce something useful.”
As she read Little Fox’s response, Dorothy couldn’t help but recall one of the visions shown to her by the Mirror Moon Goddess back in Igwynt. One of those illusions had included what looked like the Holy Cocoon. And beyond just the visions, the Mirror Moon had also given her a directional nudge... could there be a connection?
After pondering for a moment, Dorothy stroked her chin and then wrote down.
“Tivian. Their target might be Tivian.”
“Tivian? You mean... that place where they’re holding the World Expo soon? How did you know that location? So you really do have intelligence on the Blackdream Hunting Pack…”
Little Fox’s reply appeared, clearly tinged with surprise—it seemed he hadn’t expected Dorothy’s side to actually have Blackdream-related intel. Dorothy calmly wrote back.
“As for how we identified Tivian, you can tell your grandfather this: it was through a ‘Revelation of the Moon.’ It’s definitely not groundless speculation. If your group trusts us, then you should mobilize now and head to Tivian. Many of our people are already in position. To deal with the Blackdream Hunting Pack, we need your help. And please, move quickly—preferably arrive before the World Expo begins.”
Dorothy’s words appeared firmly on the page. After a short pause—perhaps Little Fox was consulting with his grandfather—a reply came.
“Alright. I’ll speak with my grandfather and let you know his decision as soon as possible.”
“Very well then. I’ll await your good news.”
With that final exchange, Dorothy paused the conversation, closed the Literary Sea Logbook, and exhaled deeply.
“So that’s the relationship between Butterfly and Moth... like twin siblings still in the womb...”
Recalling all the information Little Fox had shared, Dorothy murmured to herself. She then began extracting the spirituality contained within the intel. In total, she gained 14 points of Shadow.
“Say what you will, but that Little Fox really gave me something worthwhile. Fourteen points of spirituality—if I were to buy that through mystical texts, it’d cost over 1,500 pounds. Got it all for free. Not bad at all.”
Looking at her current stats, Dorothy couldn’t help but assess the situation internally. With her major spiritual types all replenished, she finally felt at ease.
“Mmmuaaah...”
After reading so much in one go—and after her long journey—Dorothy was feeling rather drowsy. She decided to rest well for the night and meet some old acquaintances the following day.
Stretching and yawning, she rubbed her eyes, collected the mystical texts and the Logbook, and rose from her desk. She planned to have one of her corpse marionettes go out and buy dinner before she turned in for the night.
...
Tivian North District, on a bustling city street.
Even during the daytime, Tivian’s streets remained lively due to the upcoming World Expo. On one of the flower-and-banner-decorated avenues, a marching band moved in rhythm under precise command. Crowds gathered on both sides of the street, and many booths were still handing out free Expo souvenirs.
“These souvenirs... they’re pretty well-made. If they were sold directly, they could fetch a decent price. And now they’re just giving them away. The kingdom’s really being generous—must’ve cost a fortune. I wonder if they’re taking a loss.”
At a street corner, Gregor, dressed in a collared shirt and jacket, admired the souvenir mug he had just received, examining the Expo emblem stamped on it. Beside him, Dorothy, dressed in a pale blue dress, barefoot in sandals and shaded by a sunhat, replied:
“If the production volume is large enough, costs drop due to economies of scale. The government likely produced these in huge quantities, which lowered the per-unit cost significantly. Plus, the factories making them are just outside Tivian, so transportation costs are minimal. So while making these souvenirs does cost money, it’s not as much as you’d think. In the government’s overall budget for the Expo, this probably only counts as a minor advertising expense. Compared to the cost of building that Crystal Palace just for the Expo, this is nothing.”
Dorothy explained to Gregor with ease. Gregor pondered it, then chuckled.
“Economies of scale... cost efficiency... Heh, Dorothy, the way you talk these days, you sound just like a scholar. A guy like me, not too well educated, can barely keep up—but it sounds impressive.
“I gotta say, Tivian’s schools really are something, huh? They turned you into such a proper academic. At first, I was a bit worried—your school always had you running off on study trips, elite school visits, social research… Seemed like you were out more often than I was doing cross-county missions. You were never in class, so I thought your grades would suffer... but clearly, that’s not the case.
“Tivian’s elite schools really are different. They don’t just lock students in classrooms to cram. That’s the difference.”
Gregor smiled as he spoke, seeming to have let go of some lingering concerns. Dorothy also replied with a smile.
“Reading ten thousand books and walking ten thousand miles—if you want to become a cultivated scholar, just burying yourself in books won’t cut it. You need real-world experience and to broaden your horizons. If I were content with being a civil servant or a teacher, like you used to say, then sure—I wouldn’t need to go to such lengths. But I’ve got bigger goals now, so traditional studying alone just isn’t enough. All those ‘practical field research’ activities are necessary.”
“Oh? So being a civil servant or a teacher isn’t your goal anymore, huh? Then what is it? A university professor, maybe? Now that would be amazing. That’s the kind of job for the upper crust. If you really became a professor someday, I’d be over the moon.”
Gregor asked curiously, clearly intrigued by her aspirations. Dorothy replied with a mysterious smile.
“Well… I haven’t decided anything concrete yet. Professor was one of the options I considered before, but lately I’ve lost interest. That said, I still have plenty of time before graduation. There’s no need to rush.”
In her heart, Dorothy also thought: “I've already moved past the 'mysticism professor' phase. That’s no longer my ambition.”
“I see. Well, once you’ve figured it out, let me know, alright? I’ve got high hopes for your future.”
Gregor chuckled, and Dorothy responded.
“High hopes, huh? Then next time I head out for another project or activity, don’t pester me with a million questions. No need to worry about my grades or safety.”
“Haha, I trust your grades. I won’t ask anymore. As for safety though… that I will ask about. You’re still only fifteen—I can’t just not worry.”
Gregor said with a laugh. The two of them strolled and chatted like always. Eventually, they stopped in front of a massive poster displayed on a building. Both looked up. It depicted a grand palace made of glass and steel—the main venue of the Tivian World Expo, the extravagant Crystal Palace funded by the Pritt government.
“The opening ceremony’s in just two days,” Gregor said.
“I hear there’s going to be some spectacular performances. Dorothy—are you going to see it?”
Standing beneath the poster, Gregor looked up at the image above and commented openly, while Dorothy nodded in response.
“I think I’ll go see it—after all, it’s a rare opportunity, isn’t it? What about you, Gregor? Are you going to the opening ceremony? You don’t have work that day, do you?”
“Me? I do have work that day, actually. But luckily, the security company I work for was hired to provide security at the venue. So I’ll be there in an official capacity. I might not be able to watch it with you, but at least I’ll be on-site.”
Gregor answered honestly, and Dorothy gave a small nod as she replied.
“Oh, I see. Well then, let’s hope we bump into each other at the venue.”
She glanced at a nearby intersection and continued.
“I think that’s everything for today. I’ve bought all I came for. I’ll catch a ride at the next intersection and head home. Let’s meet again after the exposition ends, Gregor.”
Hearing this, Gregor protested immediately.
“You’re leaving already? No way! We haven’t even had dinner yet. It’s nearly evening. Come on, let’s find a restaurant—my treat.”
He clapped her shoulder firmly. Dorothy, hearing this, looked slightly troubled.
“Uh… I ate a bit too much at lunch… I’m not really hungry right now…”
“Hey, lunch is lunch—this is dinner. Look at you, Dorothy. You’re fifteen now, and compared to last year, you’ve barely grown. Probably from skipping meals and not getting proper nutrition. You’re in your growth phase, you know? That height won’t do. It’ll be hard to find a boyfriend if you’re too short. Come on, let’s get you a proper meal.”
With a slightly stern tone, Gregor spoke like a proper older brother, then started walking straight toward the nearest restaurant. Seeing this, Dorothy stood silently in place for a moment.
“……”
...
Evening, inside a private room in an upscale restaurant, East Tivian.
Inside the elegantly decorated suite, soft music drifted faintly from beyond the door. A fine spread of gourmet dishes adorned the table, along with vintage red wine. Dorothy sat on one side of the table, quietly staring at the steak before her, not touching it.
Then, a gentle woman’s voice came from across the table.
“What’s wrong? Don’t like the food? Or did I order something that didn’t suit your taste, Detective?”
Seated across from her in a classic long dress and a veiled ladies’ hat, her hair elegantly pinned up, Adèle swirled a glass of wine and watched Dorothy as she spoke. Hearing her, Dorothy finally cut a small piece of steak and brought it to her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she answered.
“No—it’s just that I already ate a bit too much before coming here. I’m not feeling too hungry right now.”
“Oh… so you had another engagement before this? That explains why you were a little late tonight, even though you’re usually so punctual.
“Looks like you’ve been quite busy lately, Miss Detective. Scheduling me last, huh? Makes me feel a little unimportant—how heartbreaking~”
Adèle took another sip of wine and teased her with a faintly amused expression. Though she spoke of being hurt, her tone and demeanor showed no actual sadness.
“Enough with the jokes, Adèle… I don’t believe for a second that a big star like you would actually care about what place you rank in someone’s heart.”
Dorothy replied, cutting into her steak.
“I wouldn’t care with just anyone. But when it comes to you, Miss Detective… I do care, just a little.”
“……”
“Haha, alright, alright. Let’s not dwell on that, or this conversation will go nowhere. Let’s just eat. By the way, I honestly thought I’d be late tonight, so I even prepared a little apology gift for you. Didn’t expect that we’d actually arrive at the same time. You were late too—must be fate.”
Adèle leaned back lazily on the sofa as she spoke, and Dorothy responded with curiosity:
“Yeah? You were late tonight too? Why?”
“The reason… well, it’s a bit irritating. I left from the theater and was planning to wear a new outfit to meet you. It’s the latest release from a luxury brand I really like. I had one of my assistants keep an eye out and buy it for me while I was away on training. It had been waiting at the theater this whole time.
“But just as I finished rehearsal and was about to change into it… I noticed something was off with the outfit.”
Adèle gently swirled her wine glass as she spoke softly. Dorothy, now intrigued, asked.
“Something wrong? Was it a hidden mystical mechanism? Did the Afterbirth Cult try to harm you with some enchanted trap sewn into the clothes?”
“No, no… nothing mystical. Just a mundane, everyday problem. In short: the quality was bad.”
Adèle waved her hand as she clarified. Dorothy raised a brow.
“Bad quality? But you said it’s a luxury brand’s newest release. How can you tell at a glance that something’s wrong with it? What was the issue, exactly?”
“Of course I could tell. Who do you think I am? I’ve been in showbiz long enough—and I’m a Beyonder, remember? I’m very sensitive to fashion—cosmetics, dresses, accessories, you name it. One look and I can tell if something’s off.
“That outfit had a flaw—not easy to notice, but I still spotted it. I could feel it instinctively, though I wasn’t sure what it was at first. Since I was at the theater and didn’t have any backup clothes except for stage costumes, I decided to take it straight back to the store.
“And when I got there, I found I wasn’t the only one. A few other people who bought that same outfit also reported issues. It turns out the entire batch was faulty.”
Adèle continued sipping her wine as she responded with a calm and casual air. Dorothy, still curious, asked further.
“So what exactly was wrong with the clothing?”
“Oh, nothing too dramatic. Just that it faded easily. That particular design can’t withstand washing—after just one wash, several spots already started to show noticeable discoloration.
“On its own, it wouldn’t be a big deal. At an average clothing store, they’d probably just give a small refund and be done with it. But the issue here is that this was a high-end brand, their products are expensive, and the clientele is mostly upper-class. So when something like this happens, it spreads fast in the local fashion circles. It did some real damage to their reputation in Tivian.
“Fortunately, their customer service was decent. When I returned the outfit, they immediately let me exchange it for another item of equal value—this one I’m wearing now. It’s not bad, honestly.”
Adèle finished her explanation, then began nibbling on the fruit from the platter in front of her. After listening to the whole story, Dorothy gave it a little thought and decided it really wasn’t anything serious—just a normal case of faulty merchandise. Nothing to worry about.
She cut another small piece of steak, ate it, and then finally turned the conversation toward the main topic.
“By the way, you haven’t said yet—how did your ritual go? Have you completed your First Dance?”
Adèle responded with a smile, her tone playful and mysterious.
“Why don’t you guess~?”
“Hah. If you hadn’t succeeded, you wouldn’t have invited me to dinner tonight. And judging by your mood, you definitely don’t look like someone who failed. Judging by the timeline, I’d say you passed it on your first attempt—danced for days on end without ever having to start over. Impressive…”
Dorothy smiled lightly as she spoke. Adèle, proud of herself, nodded and added.
“What else would you expect? With my talent, plus my mentor’s guidance and the blessings of the Third Dance—not to mention your assistance, Miss Detective—it would’ve been disgraceful if I didn’t pass on my first try.”
She spoke with complete self-assurance. Though the First Dance was considered the greatest hurdle for those advancing on the Desire Path, for the current Adèle, it had already become an obstacle she could overcome with ease. So much so that after completing it, she didn’t even feel much of a sense of achievement.
“So, your final dance—the Second Dance for the Others—have you already arranged it?”
Dorothy pressed further, and Adèle maintained her smiling reply.
“It’s all arranged. Very soon, in fact. Good thing I cleared the First Dance in one go. If I’d needed more attempts, I wouldn’t have made it in time for such a golden opportunity.”
Still smiling, she looked at Dorothy, who immediately understood exactly what Adèle had planned.
“I knew it—you’re going to perform your advancement ritual during the opening ceremony of the exposition, aren’t you? Right under the eyes of the Archbishop of Pritt, the Pritt King, the royal Crimson-rank, and a host of foreign dignitaries. You’ve got some guts...”
Dorothy spoke with a “just as I expected” tone. Adèle shrugged and said.
“Sure, it’s risky. But a stage like that, with such a massive audience, comes once in a lifetime. It’d be a shame to pass it up. I figured that with so many eyes on the event, the officials won’t be able to make a move on me so easily. In broad daylight, in front of everyone? That works to my advantage.
“Of course, it’s still just a plan for now. If you, Miss Detective, think the risks outweigh the benefits, I can always postpone it and look for a safer opportunity in the future… One of the reasons I invited you tonight was to ask your opinion.”
Adèle gazed quietly at Dorothy after finishing, clearly awaiting her advice or judgment.
Dorothy, resting her chin on her hand, was silent for a moment before she finally spoke.
“Your plan… isn’t impossible. But considering what the opening ceremony might be like, you’ll need to be wary of more than just those official Crimsons. This year’s exposition may be a lot more ‘lively’ than you’re expecting…”
“Lively? What do you mean by ‘a lot more lively’?”
Hearing this, Adèle was full of confusion.
...
After discussing her advancement and the exposition plans with Adèle, Dorothy firmly declined the invitation to stay in the city overnight. She then left the restaurant and rode away in a carriage driven by one of her corpse marionettes, heading back toward the northern outskirts of Tivian.
Seated in the carriage, she glanced out the window for a while, taking in the view. Then she reached into her portable magic box, pulled out the Literary Sea Logbook, and flipped to Gregor’s communication page.
Before this, Dorothy had already sent a message to Gregor in her capacity as “Scholar,” arranging to speak with him tonight. With the confrontation against the Eight-Spired Nest drawing near, she needed to hear what intel her insider within their ranks had to offer. After all, in previous anti-Eight-Spired Nest operations, Gregor’s intelligence had played a crucial role.
“Good evening, Mr. Black Dog,” Dorothy wrote in a distinct script on the page.
Gregor’s handwriting appeared in reply almost immediately.
“Good evening, Scholar. Things on my end are secure. Ask whatever you like.”
“Very good. With the World Expo approaching, we’ve received word that the Eight-Spired Nest may attempt something major during the event. Have you noticed any signs of activity on their side?”
Dorothy asked with utmost seriousness, and Gregor replied swiftly:
“Signs of activity… Well, the latest order I received from my contact was: exercise caution, cease all risky reconnaissance, and await further instructions.”
“Is that all the message said? Nothing more?”
Dorothy followed up, frowning slightly.
“Yes, that was it. The Eight-Spired Nest’s intel system is very compartmentalized. I may be an agent they placed within the Serenity Bureau, but I only receive mission-specific information. I’m not privy to broader plans. I assume whatever’s next doesn’t require my involvement.”
“They’re not involving Gregor in the next phase? Is that for secrecy’s sake—or have they decided he’s no longer trustworthy?”
Dorothy furrowed her brows at the thought. If Gregor couldn’t learn more, her ability to anticipate their plans was severely limited.
“Then… aside from that message, have they issued you any other instructions recently? Any kind of directive at all?”
This time, Gregor’s reply offered more value.
“Actually… a few days ago, they did have me carry out a task. But it was surprisingly minor—and not even related to mysticism. It caught me off guard.”
“What kind of task?”
Dorothy asked directly.
“A verification assignment. They had me confirm the identities of two ordinary people who were being held at a mundane city police station—just to check if they really were ordinary. To see if there was any hidden background.”
“Two ordinary detainees? What were their names? What crimes were they charged with? Why would the Eight-Spired Nest suddenly care about two common criminals?”
Dorothy continued pressing, and Gregor replied promptly.
“Their names are Alvin Miller and Tom Davy—both workers at a freight company in the western district. They were arrested for stealing transported goods—caught embezzling valuable dye products and selling them on the black market for profit.
“According to my investigation, they’re both ordinary people. Not involved in mysticism or the hidden world in any way. Their crimes were mundane. I submitted a full report to the Nest, and they haven’t followed up since.”
“Thieves... ordinary thieves?”
Dorothy rubbed her chin thoughtfully as she read Gregor’s reply.
…
While Dorothy sat in her carriage questioning Gregor, elsewhere in the city—on the rooftop of a tall building—a small figure in a large cloak stood quietly, her short black hair swaying in the breeze.
It was Artcheli, from the Court of Secrets.
She gazed out over the lights of Tivian at night, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, she turned her gaze down to a document in her hand. Studying it for a moment, she murmured softly.
“Pritt… Serenity Bureau, is it…”