Series Content Advisory
Scriptures of Nokternum is a dark fantasy story involving grief, trauma, violence, death, coercive control, forced experimentation, and bodily alteration. Some chapters address past suicide, abuse, blood, severe injury, and psychological manipulation. Additional chapter-specific warnings are provided when necessary.
Chapter 20: “What Rage Was Meant to Do”
Event Date: May 24th, 2010 - 7:18 AM CDT, Earth
Breakfast did not fix anything. Kaostar resented that less than he expected. The bread was warm. The preserved fruit was too sweet in the familiar way of Harrow’s kitchen.
The tea had gone lukewarm. Across from him, Harrow ate as if eating had always been a reasonable thing to do after the dead returned altered, afraid, and walking. Morning showed in thin lines around the repaired door. Pale light slipped through the cracks and crossed the floor, the table, and the folded cloth near Kaostar’s hand.
Kaostar took another bite because Harrow was watching just enough to know whether he did. Not enough to humiliate him. Enough to be irritating.
“You are staring,” Kaostar said.
“I am confirming you remember how chewing works.”
Kaostar looked at him. Harrow lifted his cup.
“Reassuring so far.”
“I should kill you.”
“You have threatened better people before breakfast.”
“I have killed better people before breakfast.”
Harrow’s expression did not change.
“Yes.”
The word landed without flinching. Not forgiveness. Not accusation. Fact.
Kaostar looked down at the bread in his hand. Harrow let the silence sit until it stopped being only silence and started becoming the next door.
“Now tell me what he wanted you to do.”
Kaostar’s eyes lifted.
“Lightstorm?”
“No.”
Harrow set his cup down.
“Metatronas.”
The name changed the cave. Not loudly. That was never how Metatronas worked. It entered like a draft finding the smallest crack in a sealed room.
Kaostar’s hand closed around the bread. The crust broke beneath his claws. Harrow noticed. Did not apologize.
“What did he want you to do?” Harrow asked again.
“I don’t know.”
“That was fast.”
“It was true.”
“It was incomplete.”
Kaostar’s lips pulled back slightly.
“You have become bold with age.”
“I have become tired of asking the wrong questions.”
Kaostar leaned back. The chair complained beneath him.
“Harrow.”
“No. Listen first. I am not asking what happened to you. I am not asking what Lightstorm said. I am asking what the situation tried to make you do.”
Kaostar stared at him. The cave seemed to narrow around that sentence.
“What the situation tried to make me do,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“That sounds like one of your careful phrases.”
“It is.”
“I hate it.”
“I assumed.”
Kaostar looked toward the door. Beyond it, the path curved back to the edge. Silas waited somewhere out there. Not close enough to overhear. Not far enough to become absence.
Kaostar’s jaw tightened.
“It tried to make me find him.”
Harrow waited. Kaostar’s claws flexed once.
“Which him?” Harrow asked.
Kaostar looked back. The answer was there before he spoke it.
“Both.”
Harrow nodded once. No satisfaction. Harrow’s nod carried no triumph. He looked tired.
“Lightstorm,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And Metatronas.”
“Yes.”
“To rescue one.”
Kaostar’s eyes flashed.
“To find him.”
Harrow accepted the correction.
“To find one,” he said. “And punish the other.”
Kaostar’s hand struck the table. The plate jumped. The folded cloth shifted. The cave did not.
“Do not make that sound unclean.”
“I did not.”
“You are.”
“No,” Harrow said. “I am making it visible.”
Kaostar stood. The chair scraped back hard enough to echo. Harrow did not stand. Kaostar’s shoulders lifted. His pale spinal markings gave one faint pulse beneath his coat and vanished.
“Metatronas took him.”
“Yes.”
“Altered him.”
“Yes.”
“Put electricity in him like a wrong organ. Told him I was a thing wearing Darkshyne. Left him terrified enough to attack me.”
“Yes,” Harrow said.
Kaostar snarled. “And you want to discuss strategy.”
“Yes.”
The sound that left Kaostar filled the cave, low and animal and too large for the room Darkshyne had once called home. Harrow let it fill the cave. Then he said, “Your anger is real. That does not mean it is unclaimed territory.”
Kaostar went still. The words struck with surgical cruelty.
Harrow continued before Kaostar could turn away from them. “Metatronas knows you are angry. He knows what Lightstorm means. He knows what happens when grief is made to feel late. He knows because he built half of his access through that knowledge.”
Kaostar’s claws opened and closed.
“Do not turn Lightstorm into bait.”
Harrow’s face hardened.
“I am not.”
The answer came sharp.
“Metatronas may have.”
Kaostar’s fist hit the table again. This time the old wood cracked at the edge. Harrow looked at it. Then back at Kaostar.
Kaostar’s chest heaved.
“Lightstorm is not a strategy.”
“No.”
Harrow stood slowly.
“Which is why you cannot let Metatronas be the only one treating him as a person.”
Kaostar’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. Harrow stepped around the table, but not closer to Kaostar than the room allowed.
“You told me Lightstorm left alive.”
“Yes.”
“You told me he did not intend to die tonight.”
“Yes.”
“You told me something beyond the ridge watched.”
Kaostar’s eyes narrowed.
“I did not use the word watched.”
“No. You described it.”
Kaostar looked away. The ridge returned in memory. The pressure beyond trees. Not pursuit.
Not attack. Not mercy. Something patient enough to let pain finish speaking. Harrow watched his face.
“There were signs before the forest?”
Kaostar’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Moonleaf. The arena. Pennsylvania. Los Angeles. The cliff. The tea shop. The rainline.”
Harrow absorbed the list.
“Different places. Different witnesses?”
Kaostar’s eyes moved toward the door again.
“Yes.”
“Silas saw some.”
Kaostar’s expression closed. Harrow did not push immediately.
“He saw enough to know it was not only inside me,” Kaostar said.
“And the other?”
“Arcana felt something.”
Harrow’s brow tightened.
“Another witness?”
“A kitsune.”
“Reliable?”
Kaostar paused.
“Emotionally? Unfortunately. Technologically? Catastrophic.”
Harrow absorbed that with the seriousness of a man receiving battlefield intelligence.
“Then we keep him away from anything with a battery.”
“That will not help.”
“No?”
“Electronics find him like doomed animals seeking confession.”
Harrow looked at him. Kaostar looked back.
“I am not exaggerating.”
“I suspected you weren’t.”
Kaostar exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Arcana felt something like a candle burning underwater.”
Harrow’s brows drew together.
“That is specific.”
“He is specific in inconvenient ways.”
“And Silas?”
Kaostar’s gaze sharpened.
“What about him?”
“He witnessed the rainline.”
“He stayed out of it.”
“Good.”
“He saw me return.”
“Good.”
“He may know what I do not.”
“Yes.”
Kaostar’s mouth tightened.
“This is not his.”
“No.”
“Then stop trying to drag him into it.”
“I am not.”
“You are naming him.”
“Because he may already be in danger.”
The room went quiet. Kaostar’s body changed. Not toward rage. Toward fear.
Harrow saw the difference and softened nothing.
“If Metatronas arranged signs where Silas could witness them, then Silas is already adjacent to the design. If the pressure beyond the ridge observed who stopped at the edge, then it knows he was there. Refusing to name that does not protect him.”
Kaostar’s claws dug into his palms.
“He came because I allowed it.”
“He came because he chose to.”
Kaostar flinched. Harrow stepped carefully around the sentence.
“You told me the difference mattered.”
“It does.”
“Then respect it here too.”
Kaostar looked toward the door. Silas was at the edge. Cold, probably. Waiting because he chose to.
Not because the hug had claimed him. Not because Kaostar had earned him. Not because Kaostar’s need was a command. Kaostar’s hand moved toward the folded cloth on the table.
Stopped.
Harrow saw.
“Kaostar.”
“No.”
“I was going to say less than you think.”
“No.”
Harrow waited. Kaostar’s voice came lower.
“If I bring him in, I am using him.”
“Possibly.”
Kaostar looked at him sharply. Harrow held his gaze.
“That is why you ask.”
The answer did not release him. It made the responsibility clearer. Kaostar’s throat worked.
“I could leave him outside.”
“Yes.”
“I could tell you what I remember.”
“Yes.”
“I could decide his part does not matter.”
“You could.”
“And if it does?”
“Then you will have decided for him.”
Kaostar’s eyes narrowed with pain. Harrow’s voice remained even.
“I am not telling you to bring him in. I am telling you not to make the choice smaller by pretending it is only protection.”
Kaostar looked away. Old questions remained on the wall behind Harrow. Old questions scratched and darkened by age.
CAN THE DEAD RETURN?
WHERE DOES POWER COME FROM?
WHAT MUST I BECOME?
A crack still ran through BECOME. Kaostar hated the wall for remembering the shape of his old ignorance. He hated it more for still being relevant. Silas’s voice from the morning returned.
Then we ask later. Kaostar looked at the door.
“No.”
Harrow’s face changed slightly.
“No?”
“I will not bring him in.”
Harrow nodded. Kaostar stepped away from the table.
“I will ask him.”
The words felt worse than command. Command would have been easier. Asking meant the answer could refuse him and still remain real. Harrow’s eyes softened.
“That is better.”
“I did not ask for approval.”
“You received it anyway.”
Kaostar snarled faintly. The sound had less force than before. He turned toward the door.
Stopped.
Looked back at Harrow.
“You will not speak first.”
Harrow nodded.
“I will not.”
“You will not make him feel obligated because the older person in the room decided the young one should help.”
“I will not.”
“You will not say this is for me.”
Harrow’s expression sharpened with understanding.
“No.”
Kaostar’s hand closed around the door handle. The mapped scar stretched pale across his palm.
“I ask.”
“Yes,” Harrow said.
Kaostar opened the door. Morning entered colder than before. The path outside lay quiet beneath gray light. Dew softened the grass. The trees held still.
Kaostar stepped out. Harrow remained inside. Not following.
Good.
Kaostar walked down the path far enough for the cave to fall behind him but not far enough to reach the edge. He could see Silas through the trees before Silas looked toward
him.
Silas stood near the old leaning oak, his faded charcoal hooded jacket pulled closed against the cold, toolkit strap across his chest, and hands tucked into his sleeves. His ears were angled against the cold. He had not sat. He had not paced enough to mark the ground. He had remained near, but not at the center of the path.
Exactly where he said. Kaostar stopped several paces away. Silas looked him over once. Not inventory.
Confirmation.
“Still here?” Silas asked.
Kaostar’s chest tightened.
“Yes.”
Silas nodded.
“You ate?”
Kaostar stared. Silas’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Harrow?”
“Worse.”
“Ah.”
Kaostar looked back toward the cave. Then at Silas.
“I need to ask you something.”
Silas’s posture changed. Not alarmed. Attentive.
“The answer can be no,” Kaostar said.
Silas waited.
“The hug does not answer for you.”
Silas’s eyes softened slightly.
“I know.”
“The fact that you came to the edge does not answer for you.”
“I know.”
“The fact that you may be in danger does not make helping me your duty.”
Silence. Silas lowered his hands from his sleeves. Visible. Cold-reddened at the fingertips beneath violet claws.
“What are you asking?”
Kaostar forced the words to remain exact.
“Harrow and I are discussing Metatronas. What he wanted the situation to make me do. The ridge. The rainline. The signs.”
Silas’s ears angled forward.
“You witnessed some of it.”
“Yes.”
“You may know something I do not.”
“Maybe.”
“I want you inside for that part only if you choose to come inside.”
Silas did not answer quickly.
Good.
Kaostar hated the waiting. Respected it. Silas looked past him toward the cave. Then back. “Inside as witness?”
“Yes.”
“Not as proof you are safe?”
“No.”
“Not as answer?”
“No.”
“Not as replacement for deciding what you already want to do?”
“Not as the person responsible for stopping me?”
“No.”
Silas’s fingers released the violet cord beside his jacket pocket. His hands dropped open at his sides. Kaostar’s mouth tightened.
“No.”
“Can I leave if it becomes too much?”
“Yes.”
“Can I refuse questions?”
“Yes.”
“Can I answer only what I witnessed?”
Kaostar swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Will Harrow understand that?”
“Yes.”
Silas studied him.
“Will you?”
The question struck harder because it was fair. Kaostar’s claws flexed once.
“I will try.”
Silas nodded.
“That is not yes.”
“No.”
“Good. I believe it more.”
Kaostar almost smiled.
Almost.
Silas looked toward the cave again.
“The edge moves?”
“If you choose.”
Silas breathed in. Then out.
“I choose to come in.”
Kaostar felt something release in his chest. Something else tighten.
“I am sorry.”
Silas tilted his head.
“For asking?”
“For asking when danger is already near you.”
Silas’s expression shifted.
“You did not create the danger by asking me to name what I saw.”
“No.”
“And not asking would not make me unwitness it.”
Kaostar looked away. Silas stepped closer by one pace.
Stopped.
“Lead,” he said.
Kaostar turned. They walked back together. Not shoulder touching. Not far apart.
A distance chosen for walking, not comfort. At the cave entrance, Harrow stood inside and to the side, as promised. He did not fill the doorway. Silas paused before crossing the threshold.
Harrow inclined his head once.
“Silas.”
Silas’s ears flicked.
“Harrow.”
“You may leave at any time.”
Silas looked at Kaostar. Then back at Harrow.
“Good.”
He entered. The cave changed with him inside it. Not worse. Not easier.
Changed. Kaostar noticed the way Silas looked first at the exits. Door. Back alcove. Side passage.
Then at the table. Then the old wall questions. His gaze lingered on them. Kaostar felt exposed in a way he had not expected.
Silas did not ask. He moved to stand near the wall, not sitting until invited, not placing himself between Kaostar and Harrow. Harrow gestured toward the table.
“Sit if you want.”
Silas looked at Kaostar. Kaostar gave a small nod. Silas sat at the edge of the table, angled toward the door. He placed both hands openly on his knees.
Harrow resumed his seat. Kaostar remained standing for one breath too long. Then sat. Three people at the old table.
Food still present. Water cooling. Folded cloth between Kaostar and Harrow, now also between Kaostar and Silas. The cave did not collapse under the addition.
That felt important. Harrow folded his hands.
“Silas, Kaostar says you witnessed the rainline and some of the signs before it.”
Silas nodded.
“Only what you witnessed,” Harrow said. “Nothing you guess because the room wants an
answer.”
Silas looked at him. Something in his shoulders eased by a fraction.
“Yes.”
“I saw enough to know he was not inventing it.”
Kaostar looked at him sharply. Silas did not look away.
“I didn’t think you were,” Silas said. “But it mattered that the room saw it too.”
Harrow’s gaze moved between them.
“What did you sense?”
Silas rubbed his thumb against one claw.
“The rainline was wrong.”
Kaostar almost huffed. Silas glanced at him.
“Profound, I know.”
Harrow’s mouth almost moved. Silas continued. “It did not feel like weather. Not even strange weather. It felt like a room had been built inside the forest and someone forgot to include walls.”
Harrow leaned forward slightly.
“A contained effect?”
“Maybe. But not fully contained. More like a boundary pretending to be natural.”
Kaostar’s eyes narrowed.
“That is what it felt like?”
“To me.”
“You said noise covered something.”
Silas nodded.
“The arena. The music. The crowd. All of it had left a bruise in the soil, but beneath that there was something quieter. Waiting.”
Harrow’s eyes sharpened.
“Waiting for what?”
Silas looked at Kaostar. Kaostar’s jaw tightened.
“Me.”
Silas did not confirm immediately. Then said, “For what you would do.” The cave went cold in a way that had nothing to do with spring. Harrow’s expression did not change.
Kaostar’s claws pressed into the table. Silas continued slowly. “I don’t think it was pursuit.” Kaostar looked at him.
“You said that before?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Silas’s thumb rubbed harder against the claw.
“Because you had enough.”
Harrow said nothing. Kaostar absorbed the answer with difficulty. Silas looked toward the door, as if measuring the path beyond it.
“It stayed back. Maybe it was watching what he chose.”
Harrow’s gaze lowered. Kaostar’s breathing changed.
Silas continued. “When Lightstorm left, the pressure did not follow him in a way I could feel. It did not lunge. It did not tighten. It stayed.”
“Stayed where?” Harrow asked.
“Beyond the ridge. Or behind the event. Hard to tell.”
“Behind the event,” Harrow repeated.
Silas nodded once.
“Like someone leaving a door open and waiting to see who panicked first.”
Kaostar stood so fast the chair fell backward. The sound cracked through the cave. Silas stopped speaking. Harrow did not move.
Kaostar turned away from them both, shoulders heaving. His markings pulsed once beneath his coat. Rust-red containment bands along his forearms darkened. The table edge where his claws had rested bore fresh gouges.
No one spoke.
Good.
If anyone had spoken too soon, he might have broken something larger. Lightstorm as door. Lightstorm as bait. Lightstorm as person.
Lightstorm walking away alive while something waited to see whether Kaostar would make grief useful again. Kaostar’s voice came low.
“He did not need to command me.”
Harrow’s eyes lifted. Kaostar turned back.
“He only needed to arrange what I would want.”
The words left him colder than rage had. Rage had direction. This had architecture. The sentence entered the cave and stayed.
Harrow nodded, once. There was no triumph in it. Only grief.
“That is what I fear.”
Kaostar laughed once. It was not humor.
“I wanted to find him before I knew he was alive. I wanted to kill Metatronas before I knew this. He only had to put both wants in the same room.”
Silas’s ears lowered. Harrow said, “Yes.” Kaostar looked at him.
“Do not yes me.”
“Yes,” Harrow said again, quieter. “Because if I soften it, you will hear comfort and not warning.”
Kaostar’s mouth trembled with rage.
“Lightstorm is alone.”
“Yes.”
“Altered.”
“Yes.”
“Afraid.”
“Yes.”
“You are telling me not to go.”
“I am telling you not to move at the speed Metatronas prepared for.”
Kaostar’s claws spread.
“That is cowardice.”
“No,” Harrow said. “It is refusing to become the first mechanism in someone else’s machine.”
Kaostar’s eyes flashed. Silas spoke quietly.
“He may be counting on Lightstorm moving fast too.”
Kaostar turned toward him. Silas did not shrink, though fear moved through his aura like wind under a door.
“If Lightstorm thinks you might come after him,” Silas said, “and if he still half-believes what Metatronas told him...”
“He may run harder,” Harrow finished.
Kaostar’s face tightened. Silas continued, “Or strike first.” The cave did not soften the words. Kaostar looked at the wall.
CAN THE DEAD RETURN?
WHERE DOES POWER COME FROM?
WHAT MUST I BECOME?
He hated the questions. He hated the boy who wrote them. He hated that Metatronas had answered them better than anyone else, in the worst possible way. Kaostar looked at the crack through BECOME and wondered whether the wall had been warning him or inviting him.
Harrow followed his gaze. The old wall seemed to wake beneath their attention.
“Those were questions from before you knew who was listening,” Harrow said.
Kaostar went still. Silas looked at Harrow. Then at the wall. Harrow’s voice stayed low.
“You wrote them believing the world had refused to answer. Metatronas found you by becoming the first answer that did not flinch.”
Kaostar’s throat tightened.
“He listened.”
“Yes.”
“He let me speak of Lightstorm.”
“Yes.”
“He did not tell me to move on.”
“No.”
“He did everything right.”
Harrow’s eyes hurt.
“Except love you.”
The cave seemed to lose air. Kaostar looked at him. Harrow did not take the words back.
“Metatronas understood grief,” Harrow said. “He respected its shape the way a thief respects a lock.”
Silas’s hands tightened around each other. Kaostar’s voice went quiet.
“He made destroying me sound like honoring him.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
“No,” Harrow said. “Not fully. But I know enough to say this: if he used love once, he will not hesitate to use reunion.”
Kaostar closed his eyes. Reunion. The word felt obscene for what had happened in the rain. No embrace.
No safety. No simple miracle. Only Lightstorm alive, terrified, altered, angry, remembering the creek and leaving anyway. Kaostar opened his eyes.
“What do we do?”
The question surprised everyone. Most of all him. Harrow looked toward Silas. Silas looked toward the path.
Kaostar noticed. Noticed that neither of them answered first. They were leaving the first shape of choice with him. He hated that.
Needed it. Harrow finally said, “First, we refuse to move at the speed he prepared for.”
Kaostar’s jaw tightened.
“I hate that answer.”
“I trust it more because you hate it.”
Silas added, “We also warn the people near the signs.” Kaostar looked at him. Silas did not smile.
“Arcana?”
Kaostar’s ears shifted.
“He will walk directly toward wrong electricity and apologize to it.”
“Then yes,” Silas said. “Warn him.”
Harrow nodded.
“And Moonleaf.”
Kaostar frowned.
“Moonleaf is not—”
“Moonleaf witnessed signs. The owner saw enough to be careful. It is part of the path now whether you like it or not.”
Kaostar hated that too. Too many places becoming relevant. Too many people near the storm. Too many names that were not tools, not functions, not bridges to burn.
He looked down at the folded cloth. Then at Silas.
“You can still leave.”
Silas blinked.
“I know.”
“You should.”
“I know.”
“That was not agreement.”
“No.”
Kaostar looked away. Harrow said, “You cannot protect people by removing their choices and calling the absence safety.”
Kaostar snarled softly. “I preferred you before breakfast.”
“You had lower standards before breakfast.”
Silas’s mouth twitched despite himself. Kaostar caught it. The small almost-smile did something terrible and necessary to the room. It reminded him that Metatronas had not built everything.
Not yet.
Harrow stood and crossed to the wall. For a moment, Kaostar thought he would touch the old questions. He did not. He stopped just before them.
“Do not answer these today,” Harrow said.
Kaostar looked at him.
“They are old questions.”
“Yes.”
“They are mine.”
“They were yours before you knew who was waiting to exploit the answers.”
Kaostar’s eyes narrowed. Harrow turned back.
“Today, ask different ones.”
Silas looked up.
“What different ones?”
Harrow counted them quietly, not with fingers, but with weight.
“What does Lightstorm need that does not make him easier to control?”
Kaostar went still.
“What does Kaostar need that does not turn him into pursuit?”
Silas’s ears angled toward Harrow.
“What does Metatronas gain if anyone moves immediately?”
No one answered immediately. They did not gleam. They did not promise power. They did not sound like rescue.
They sounded slow. Their slowness made them painful. Kaostar’s voice was low.
“And if waiting costs him?”
Harrow’s face tightened.
“Then we live with the fact that there may be no clean answer.”
Kaostar’s claws dug into his own leg. Harrow continued. “But moving blindly may cost him too.”
Silas said, “And if he chose distance, chasing could turn distance into terror.”
Kaostar closed his eyes. Lightstorm turning. Electricity breaking loose from fear faster than intention. 'Stay away from me.'
'You don’t decide where I’m safe.' Kaostar opened his eyes.
“I will not chase him today.”
The words nearly broke in his mouth. Silas lowered his gaze. Harrow did not look relieved.
Good.
Relief would have been insulting. Kaostar continued, “I will not hunt Metatronas today.”
Harrow nodded once.
“What will you do?”
Kaostar looked at Silas. Then Harrow. Then the wall.
“I will warn Arcana.”
Silas’s ears lifted slightly.
“I will have Moonleaf watched or warned without turning it into a fortress.”
Harrow nodded.
“I will write down every sign in order before memory starts making them obedient.”
Silas looked at him sharply. That was good. It had come from him. Kaostar hated that he felt something like steadiness.
“I will not answer taps, voices, lights, rain, or anything wearing Stormy’s language unless there is proof beyond wanting.”
The cave seemed to listen. Harrow’s eyes softened.
“That is a beginning.”
Kaostar’s mouth twisted.
“It is a miserable beginning.”
“Most real ones are.”
Silas looked toward the old wall again.
“The pressure wanted first panic.”
Kaostar followed his gaze.
“Yes.”
“Then this is not that.”
No one made the sentence larger. It was enough as it was. Then the repaired lamp near the back alcove flickered once. All three of them froze.
The cave went utterly still. The lamp steadied. No second pulse. No third.
No rain smell. No voice. No electrical scent. Only an old lamp, a cold morning, and three
bodies that had learned too much to trust coincidence easily.
Kaostar’s claws had already extended. Silas’s hand had gone to the edge of his toolkit. Harrow’s gaze remained on the lamp. For several seconds, no one moved.
Harrow did not pretend it was normal. He also did not let it become instruction. Then Harrow said, quietly, “Do not answer yet.” Kaostar’s breath came sharp.
The lamp did not flicker again. Outside, morning continued with obscene patience. Inside, the old wall questions watched from stone. Kaostar looked at them.
Then at the door. Then at Silas. Then at Harrow. The first move waited everywhere.
For once, Kaostar did not give it what it wanted.
~ To be continued ~
