(It's the last winter before the Chūnin exams- on the eve of the Rinne Festival in Konoha, Sylvie and Naruto perform top-secret solo missions to find one-another a holiday gift.)
The orphanage always sounded different on festival mornings.
Normal days started with creaking boards, somebody coughing, a bowl clacking against the kitchen counter. Today, it was that, plus the muffled thump of drums from somewhere out in the village and the high, excited voices of kids who had already decided they were going to misbehave.
Cold crept up through the thin futon into my bones. I tried to curl tighter without falling off the edge. Naruto had rolled halfway onto my blanket in the night, sprawled on his back with his arms flung wide, mouth open. He snored like he was fighting an invisible enemy.
I poked his cheek.
"Stop dying," I muttered.
He snorted, flailed, and mumbled, "Hnh—ramen—" before rolling away, dragging my blanket with him.
Traitor.
I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Our room was a long, narrow box stuffed with kids and futons. Light leaked through the paper window, pale and watery, and my breath steamed in the air.
Festival day or not, the walls stayed the same: cracked plaster, old nail-holes where someone's decorations had been ripped down. A thick line scratched into the wood at kid-height, marking some argument about who was taller that had probably ended in tears.
My glasses were on the crate that doubled as my nightstand, under the chipped mug where I kept my "art emergency fund" coins. Two, right now. Both small.
I slipped the glasses on. The world slid into focus: the frayed edge of Naruto's sleeve, the chipped paint on the far wall, the tiny spider making repairs in the corner. Naruto's blond hair stuck up in every direction like someone had tried to fight it with a broom and lost.
"Up, up, brats, move it," came the matron's voice from the hall. A fist thumped the frame. "Breakfast, then chores. And if I catch anyone sneaking out without doing their share—"
Her threats were always noisier than her punishments. That didn't make my shoulders unknot.
I nudged Naruto's shoulder with my foot. "Hey. Festival."
He shot upright like someone had pulled a wire in his spine, eyes wide. "Rinne Festival!"
Half the room groaned awake in sympathy.
He scrambled for his orange shirt, nearly putting it on backward. "Lanterns! Food! Games! Sylvie, you gotta see the big ring thing they put over the main street, it's huge, it's like—" He grabbed my hands and spread his arms as far as they'd go. "This big!"
My fingers felt small in his. I pulled them back to finish tying my ribbon. "If they haven't banned you from walking under it yet, I'll be impressed."
"That was one time," he said, offended. "And the wind blew it over anyway."
"Uh-huh."
We shuffled out with the others, bare feet slapping the cold boards, and lined up at the washbasin. The water bit at my skin like tiny teeth as I splashed my face. Naruto stuck his whole head in, came up sputtering, and shook his hair like a dog. I shielded my glasses with my arm and got only half soaked.
Breakfast was rice gruel and pickles. Festival day meant slightly less watery gruel, and you could almost taste the rice if you believed hard enough.
Naruto inhaled his like food had personally insulted him.
The matron watched us from the doorway, arms crossed under her worn shawl. Her eyes caught on Naruto, softened, then flicked to the window where distant lantern frames moved past on some villager's shoulders. Her jaw tightened.
"Finish your bowls," she said. "You can go look at the stalls after chores. Stay out of the way. Festival crowds are trouble."
"Yes, Matron," we chorused.
I ate slower. The warmth seeped into my stomach, thin but real. Outside, the drumbeat rolled closer.
Naruto bumped my shoulder with his. "We're gonna hit every stall," he whispered. "Even the boring ones. Even the ones with vegetables. I'm gonna win you something huge."
"You say that like you've ever actually won anything that wasn't an accident."
He brandished his spoon at me. "I have the soul of a champion."
"Your soul is made of spilled soup."
He grinned. That stupid, bright grin that made the room feel less like a forgotten corner of the village and more like a place that existed on purpose.
I looked at him and thought, suddenly, of Iruka-sensei's face at Ichiraku on that other day. The way his hand had trembled just a little when he picked up his chopsticks. The words he'd said about being grateful for quiet days because war never stayed away forever.
Naruto was still arguing with someone over who'd eaten faster. His profile was all sharp lines and stubbornness. Someday, he was going to stand on the Hokage Rock. That thought felt as solid and inevitable as the drumbeat.
Someday, or he'd die trying.
I didn't have a lot of power over war or gods or idiots in hats.
I did have two coins and a stash of pilfered charcoal.
After breakfast, chores were fast and furious, everyone moving a little quicker than usual. I swept the main hall so hard the dust glared at me and left anyway. Naruto tried to finish his cleaning early by shoving dirt under mats until I kicked his broom back into his hands and made eye contact until he did it properly.
"You're worse than Iruka-sensei," he muttered.
"Thank you," I said.
We finished. The matron grudgingly waved us toward the door. "Back before dark," she said. "And don't take food from strangers who can't look you in the eye."
Naruto darted out first, practically vibrating. I hesitated on the threshold, breathing in the cold.
The village was already transformed.
Ring-shaped frames of bamboo and paper hung over the main street, not lit yet, but bright even in daylight with swirls of purple and gold ink. Shops had dragged their wares out into the street. Kids ran around with paper rings on strings, flinging them over each other's heads. Somewhere near the river, people were hammering something into place, the thuds echoing up the alleyways.
I stepped out. Naruto spun in a circle, taking it all in.
"Okay," I said. "We meet back at the orphanage before sunset, or Matron eats us for dinner."
He waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah."
We walked together for a while, shoulder to shoulder, past the stalls being set up. A dango vendor argued cheerfully with a man selling grilled squid. Someone had set up a game where you tossed rings over little carved fox statues. The air smelled like charcoal, sweet bean paste, and anticipation.
Naruto kept glancing at me and then away, like he had an itch he couldn't scratch.
I recognized that look.
"So," I said casually, "you're going to try to win me a giant stuffed tanuki or something, right?"
He flailed. "Wh—no! I mean—maybe! I mean—I got stuff to do first!"
"Top secret important ninja stuff?" I tilted my head.
He puffed his chest out. "Yeah. Real mission things. You wouldn't understand."
My mouth twitched. "Uh-huh. Because I don't spend every day with you failing basic math problems."
"Hey!"
"You're not sneaky, Naruto."
He squinted at me. "You're not sneaky either. You keep doing that thing where your eyes go all 'I'm planning something tragic and gay.'"
I choked. "That's not a thing."
"It's totally a thing."
I jabbed a finger into his ribs. He yelped.
"Fine," I said. "We both have totally normal not-suspicious things to do. We pretend not to see each other until tonight."
He blinked. Then grinned slow and fox-bright. "Deal."
We bumped fists. His hand was warm and rough; mine was ink-stained.
Then we turned in opposite directions, as if rehearsed.
I didn't look back.
The art supply stall I knew was down a little side street near the Yamanaka flower shop, crammed between a place that sold cheap scrolls and a woman who yelled fortunes at passersby. My two coins felt heavy and useless in my pocket.
The closer I got to the market street, the thicker the crowd grew. Kids darted between adults' legs. Vendors called out their specials. A woman with a tray of ring-shaped sweets nearly lost them all when someone bumped her elbow; she swore impressively and balanced the tray with one hand.
"—just there, Ino, hang it a little higher—"
The Yamanaka flower stand was already a riot of color. Wreaths and charms and tiny potted things spilled onto the street. Rinne Festival specials: braided rings of pale blossoms, white and lavender and gold, meant to be hung on doorways as "welcoming the cycle" or whatever the pamphlets said.
Ino stood on a stool, arms stretched over her head, trying to hang a big flower ring from a hook. Her hair ribbon trailed down her back. Inoichi hovered nearby, pretending not to be ready to catch her if she fell.
"Little to the left," he called.
"I know, Daddy."
"Your left."
She froze. "That is my left."
"It is not."
"Is too!"
While they argued about directions, the stool wobbled.
I darted forward, grabbed one leg to steady it. "Careful."
Ino startled, then peered down. "Sylvie! When did you get here?"
"Just now. Your imminent death by flower stand made a very strong first impression."
She stuck her tongue out at me, but the corners of her mouth curled. "You could've just complimented my hard work, you know."
I looked up at the wreath. It was actually beautiful. "It's nice," I said. "Very… ringy."
"That's the point," she huffed, hopping down once it was secure. "If the rings aren't perfect, the whole meaning gets messed up. It's about cycles. Return. Renewal." She glanced over my shoulder at the lantern frames over the main street. "And, obviously, aesthetics."
Inoichi chuckled. "Good morning, Sylvie. Here for charms?"
"Actually…" I hesitated. "I was looking for some cheap scrap paper. Maybe a broken board? Leftovers."
Ino blinked. "Leftovers?"
"For… practicing," I said. "You know. Art stuff."
Her eyes narrowed in the way girls' eyes do when they know you're hiding something juicy and it's their right to pry it out like poison.
"For who?" she asked.
"No one," I lied, badly.
She folded her arms. "Uh-huh."
A shadow fell over us. "Whoever it is," a lazy voice said, "they must be important. You hate spending money."
Shikamaru lounged against the side of the stand, as if he'd grown there. His hair was up in its little pineapple tail, his festival yukata half-tied. Chōji sat on an overturned crate beside him, happily working his way through a paper cone of something fried.
"I don't hate spending money," I said. "I just… like it to scream when it leaves."
"That's worse," Shikamaru said.
Chōji held the cone out to me. "Want one? They're special for the festival. Spicy."
The smell made my stomach clench with sudden want. "I shouldn't."
"You helped Ino not die," he said. "You deserve one."
His chakra felt warm and soft and golden, like sunlight through leaves.
I took a fried piece. It burned my fingers and my tongue and was possibly the best thing I'd eaten all week. "Okay," I said around it. "I take back every mean thing I've ever said about you."
"You've never said anything mean about me," Chōji said.
"Exactly."
Shikamaru yawned. "What are you making?"
"Just something."
"To give to someone," Ino sang.
I glared at her. "Do you ever get tired of being nosy?"
"No," she said promptly.
Inoichi cleared his throat. "The scrap box is in the back. Help yourself to a few pieces, Sylvie. We've been trimming boards all morning; there should be some decent bits."
"Thank you."
I ducked behind the stall. There, among crates and a bag of soil, was a box full of offcuts: thin boards, mis-cut squares. I ran my fingers over them, feeling the grain. One piece was almost smooth, roughly the size of a book cover. I picked it up. It would do.
Back at the front, I dropped one of my coins into the little dish on the counter anyway.
Inoichi frowned. "That's not necessary."
"Call it a festival discount in reverse," I said. "I don't like debts."
He gave me a thoughtful look but let it stand.
The art stall wasn't far. A cramped table with brushes in jars, ink sticks, half-dried pigment cakes. The woman behind it had ink-stained fingers worse than mine.
"Cheap," I said, planting my second coin on the table. "Whatever that gets me."
She laughed. "Straight to the point, hm? Let's see."
Between us, we assembled a tiny dragon's hoard: a small, battered brush with its tip still fine; three wafer-thin sheets of decent paper; a little twist of scrap cloth with dots of dried color mashed into it.
"Press it with a damp rag when you're ready," she advised. "It'll wake up enough to stain."
"Thank you."
"Make something good," she said. "It's bad luck to waste supplies on Rinne day."
I tucked everything into my satchel with the board, feeling the weight shift. Heavy with possibility. Light with the knowledge that my pockets were now officially empty.
Worth it.
The alley behind the orphanage had a storage room nobody used much, because the roof leaked and the shelves smelled like mildew. It was perfect.
I slid the door closed behind me and sat cross-legged on the relatively dry patch of floor. Outside, the festival drum thudded again. Light filtered through the slats, striping the room in gold.
I set the board across my knees, laid a sheet of paper on top, and dipped the brush into my little cup.
Naruto as Hokage.
Not the way the stone faces looked. Not like the dusty portraits in the academy. Him. Loud and ridiculous and impossible, standing where everyone could see him and having the village look back with something other than fear.
The brush touched paper, and lines bloomed.
His grin came first. Of course it did. Too big for his face, teeth a little crooked, eyes scrunched at the corners. I drew the cloak around his shoulders, the flames licking up from the hem. I inked the suggestion of the village spread beneath him, roofs like overlapping scales.
Every stroke felt like a tiny jutsu. A seal that said: You will live to see this. You will make it.
Outside, kids laughed, and someone yelled about fresh dumplings.
I bent over the board and kept working until my neck ached.
Naruto lost Sylvie in the crowd faster than he was willing to admit.
He tried to follow at first, slipping along the edge of the street like he'd watched shinobi do. She moved quick, ducking between adults, dark pink shorts and ribbon flashing and then gone when a group of villagers shifted. One second she was there, the next there was only the back of a cart and a man arguing about the price of festival sake.
Naruto popped up on his toes. "Sylvie?"
A woman shot him a look. "Watch it, kid."
He dropped back down.
Fine. Whatever. It wasn't like he needed her to have fun. He could do secret important things without her bossy face hovering over his shoulder.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked down the street, trying very hard not to look like someone who'd just lost his best—and only—friend in a crowd.
The village was louder than usual. Drums thumped somewhere toward the river. Shopkeepers shouted about fresh skewers, good seats for the procession, discounted charms. Overhead, the unlit ring-lanterns swayed slightly in the breeze.
He tilted his head back to look at them for too long and walked straight into something small, fast, and yelling.
"Gah—!"
"Oof!"
They went down in a tangle. Naruto landed on his butt. The other kid bounced up immediately, face scrunched in a familiar scowl.
"Boss!" Konohamaru yelled. "You're in the way!"
"You ran into me, you little goblin!" Naruto snapped, scrambling up. "What're you doing?"
Konohamaru clutched a folded festival mask in one hand and a ring charm in the other. His scarf trailed behind him like a banner. "Training! Evading pursuit! You gotta help me, Ebisu-sensei's being a total drag, he says I have to walk properly in the procession—"
"Konohamaru!" a horrified voice cried.
Naruto looked up just in time to see Ebisu, pristine as a textbook illustration, pushing through the crowd, glasses glinting. He had a ring charm hanging from his belt like he'd never met joy.
"You two," Ebisu said, breathing a little hard. "Today is a sacred festival celebrating the cycle of life. Running through the streets is—"
"Training," Konohamaru insisted, ducking behind Naruto. "Right, Boss? You said a true ninja is always ready to evade enemies!"
Naruto puffed up. That did sound like something he would've said.
"Well, yeah," he said. "Ninja gotta be ready."
Ebisu pinched the bridge of his nose. "Naruto, please don't—"
"Isn't it more disrespectful to be weak?" Naruto barreled on. "If bad guys came in right now, Konohamaru needs to be able to run, right? It's training."
A few nearby adults chuckled. Ebisu's jaw worked.
"Even during training," he said, "one must show respect for the occasion. You can practice evasion somewhere less crowded, with proper supervision."
Konohamaru stuck his tongue out from behind Naruto's back.
Naruto sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if he gets caught by a real enemy one day because you made him walk slowly, it's on you."
Ebisu's left eye twitched.
He placed a hand on Konohamaru's head, steering him away. "We are going to practice bowing. Correctly. Without shouting."
"Noooo," Konohamaru wailed, dragged toward a side street.
He shot Naruto a betrayed look over his shoulder. Naruto lifted a hand in sympathy. "I'll rescue you later!" he called.
"Promise?!"
"Yeah!"
"Absolutely not," Ebisu muttered, and they vanished around a corner.
Naruto stood in the middle of the street for a moment, feeling the space they left behind. Then the crowd closed over it like a wave.
His stomach growled.
Smell hit him next: meat, grilled and dripping. He followed his nose without thinking, weaving between legs and stools, until he ended up near a stall where skewers sizzled over charcoal.
Someone else had beaten him there.
"Kiba, don't feed him yet," a woman's voice said. "You'll ruin his nose."
"He's hungry," a boy complained. "Look at him! He's wasting away!"
Akamaru—tiny, white, and the proud owner of ears almost bigger than his body—poked his nose out of Kiba's jacket and sneezed.
"See?" Naruto said. "That's a 'give me meat' sneeze."
Tsume Inuzuka glanced over. She had the same wild hair as her son, tied back in a rough tail, and the kind of laugh that sounded like she'd just heard a good fight break out.
"Well, if it isn't the fox brat," she said. "You circling my food like a stray again?"
Naruto bristled. "I'm not a stray. And I'm not a fox."
Kiba turned, grinning, with Akamaru now perched on his head. "Hey, Naruto. You coming to watch the procession? Akamaru's first festival."
Akamaru woofed, a tiny, determined sound.
Naruto forgot to be offended for a second. "He's so small," he said. "You sure he's a ninja dog and not a cotton ball with legs?"
Akamaru sneezed at him. Dog breath hit his face.
"Hey!" Naruto laughed, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Shino stood a little off to the side, hands in his pockets, dark glasses reflecting the lantern frames overhead. His expression, as always, was unreadable, but his chakra felt like a quiet, patient buzzing hive.
"Festivals are useful," Shino said suddenly.
Naruto blinked. "Huh?"
"They reveal patterns," Shino went on. "Who stands with who. Who eats alone. Which stalls still stand at the end of the night." He tilted his head. "Cycles."
Naruto stared at him.
Kiba rolled his eyes. "He means bugs like leftovers."
"I do not," Shino said.
Tsume snorted and flipped a skewer. "You kids and your deep thoughts. Here."
She thrust a stick toward Naruto. The meat glistened.
He stared at it like it might vanish if he moved too fast. "Uh. I don't—"
"Take it," she said. "You look like a strong wind could carry you off. Consider it an investment. Maybe you'll grow into a Hokage big enough to pay me back."
Hokage.
His chest lurched.
He took the skewer. "I—I will," he said quickly. "I'll totally pay you back. And then some. I'll—" He almost said, I'll make sure everyone in my village has food, then bit the words back because they sounded stupid and too big for his mouth.
Tsume just waved him off. "Just don't choke on it."
He bit in. Hot juice burned his tongue. It was worth it.
He walked as he ate, letting the crowd pull him back toward the main road. Kids darted past him with paper rings on string, trying to hook them over each other's heads. Someone had drawn chalk circles on the ground and was charging other kids two sen to jump them "for good luck."
He figured Sylvie was probably somewhere sitting very seriously at a table, doing very serious mysterious art. He'd seen the way she'd looked at Iruka-sensei that night at Ichiraku, like someone had put a crack in the sky and shown her something fragile and precious.
She drew like that. Like each line could shatter or fix something.
He couldn't draw. His stick figures looked like they'd died in a tragic farm accident. So if he wanted to give her something she actually cared about, it couldn't be something he made. It had to be something she could use to make something better.
But he couldn't say that out loud. He could barely think it without his face heating up.
He finished the skewer, sucked the last flavor from the stick, and tossed it into a barrel. The barrel already held a messy pile of ring-shaped paper scraps and incense stubs.
He told himself his heart wasn't pounding as hard as it was.
He needed a grown-up who didn't suck.
Iruka-sensei was near the square, of course. The academy had set up a little table where younger kids could write wishes and names on paper rings to hang later. Iruka hovered there like a surprisingly polite storm cloud, guiding tiny hands with his own.
Naruto hung back for a moment, watching. Iruka's ponytail had come half loose; a strand of hair stuck to his cheek. A smear of ink decorated his thumb. When a little girl's writing wobbled and she looked like she might cry, he bent and whispered something that made her giggle instead.
Naruto swallowed.
He marched up.
"Iruka-sensei!"
Iruka looked up, startled, then smiled. "Naruto. Enjoying the festival?"
"It's fine," Naruto said, scuffing his sandal. "It'd be better if there were more games where I could beat people."
"Of course." Iruka chuckled. "What brings you here? You aren't usually interested in writing wishes."
Naruto scratched the back of his head. This was the hard part.
"So," he said. "Hypothetically. If somebody wanted to get somebody else a present. For the festival. Just, you know. Hypothetically."
Iruka's eyebrows climbed.
Naruto barreled ahead. "Like, a thank-you present. For… helping with stuff. Like studying. Or getting yelled at less. That kind of thing. What would a normal person get? For that. Hypothetically."
Iruka's mouth twitched. "Hypothetically," he said, "this wouldn't be for a particular classmate of yours, would it?"
"No!" Naruto yelped. "I mean yes, but no, not like that, it's just—" He flailed his arms. "It's just a normal present for a normal person and you're making it weird, Iruka-sensei!"
A couple of passing villagers glanced over. Naruto hunched his shoulders.
Iruka coughed into his hand, looking suspiciously like he was hiding a smile. "All right, all right. A normal present."
He picked up one of the paper rings and turned it between his fingers. "Well. When you want to thank someone, you think about what they want. That's easy. But if you really want to help them, you also think about what they're trying to become."
Naruto frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Iruka said patiently, "that if you have a friend who wants to be a great kunoichi, you don't just give her candy. You give her something that helps her train. Or study. Or keep herself safe. Something that says, 'I see you, and I think you can do this.'"
Naruto thought of Sylvie hunched over her notebook, ink smeared on her fingers, muttering to herself about angles and line weight. Sylvie copying jutsu diagrams more precisely than the textbooks, even when they were wrong. Sylvie whispering over his shoulder, "No, not like that, like this," and the way his chakra finally clicked into place afterward.
"Something for her art," he blurted.
Iruka's eyes softened. "Hypothetically?"
Naruto glared. "Yes."
"There's a stall near the north end of the market," Iruka said. "Old woman with too many brushes. She usually has a few decent ones she's willing to discount for kids who look determined." His hand dipped into his pocket. "And, coincidentally…"
He caught Naruto's wrist and pressed a few coins into his palm.
Naruto stared down at them. More than he'd hoped for. His throat tightened.
"I didn't do anything," he said.
Iruka shrugged, looking back at the children at the table. "You've been paying attention in class more. You helped Konohamaru with his assignments last week. Consider it advance payment. For continued effort."
Naruto swallowed hard. "I—I'll keep working," he said. "I'll totally keep working. You'll see. I'll be Hokage and then I'll pay you back, too. With interest. Whatever that is."
Iruka laughed, the sound warm. "I'll look forward to that."
"Don't die before then," Naruto added, too quickly.
Iruka's smile twisted at the edges. For a second, something dark flickered in his eyes. Then he nodded. "I'll do my best."
Naruto closed his fingers around the money until the coins dug into his palm.
"Thanks," he muttered, and bolted before Iruka could see anything embarrassing on his face.
The art stall was exactly where Iruka had said. Jars of brushes crowded the table like strange flowers. Ink sticks lay in neat lines. A few framed pieces of calligraphy hung behind the old woman, all perfect circles and clean strokes.
She looked him over with sharp eyes. "You look like trouble," she said.
"I am trouble," he said proudly. "Do you have anything good for not a lot of money?"
Her mouth twitched. "For you, Hokage-to-be? Maybe."
"How'd you—"
"Your shouting reaches my stall every week," she said dryly. "What are you looking for?"
He hesitated. "My friend likes to draw," he said. The word felt small. "She's always using… you know. Scraps. Like trash paper. I thought maybe she should have something not-trashy."
"A noble cause," the woman said.
She dug through the jars with practiced fingers and came up with a slim brush. The handle was worn smooth, but the bristles came to a delicate point.
"This one is stubborn," she said. "Like a weed. Refuses to bend the wrong way if you treat it well."
Naruto ran a thumb over the wood. It felt… right.
He pointed at a stack of thin, good paper. "How many of those can I get with this?" He opened his fist to show the coins.
She did quick math, nodded, and counted out a small stack. Then, after a moment, she took one more sheet from the pile and added it.
"Festival bonus," she said. "On one condition."
"Yeah?"
"You bring me something she draws with it," the old woman said. "Just to look at. I'll give it back."
Naruto's chest swelled. "She'll draw something amazing," he said. "You'll see."
On a rack beside the table, strings of little wooden charms dangled: flowers, ring shapes, birds, frogs. One, a tiny frog with big eyes, hung from a scrap of faded pink cord.
Naruto grabbed it on impulse. "And this."
The woman eyed the charm, then him, and said nothing as she wrapped the brush, paper, and frog together in plain paper and tied it with twine.
When he took the bundle, it felt heavier than it should, like intent had weight.
"Don't drop it," she said.
"I won't," he said. "Thank you."
He tucked it under his arm, close to his chest, and stepped back into the river of people.
Lantern frames swayed above. The drums changed rhythm, faster now, calling toward evening. Somewhere, someone was hanging the last ring charm on the last doorway. The air tasted like smoke and sugar.
Naruto headed toward the orphanage, heart pounding, already rehearsing the words in his head.
It's not a big deal. It's dumb. Don't make it weird.
But under all that, quieter and fiercer, was something else:
I see you.
You helped me.
I want you to keep going.
He didn't know how to say any of that, so he clutched the bundle tighter and walked faster, letting the crowd carry him forward toward the night and the lanterns and whatever came next.