“And, um, what does this one mean?”

Mack, no longer Agent Chiseler, just Mack, is frowning at an abstract painting on the wall of the Wesmarch Institute of Fine Art, hand-in-hand with Rena.

“It's not meant to have a single meaning, it's up to the interpretation of the viewer. Whatever it is about it that resonates with you, that's what it means.”

He stares a while longer.

“Nope, still not getting it. Can't you just tell me the answer?”

“You know you didn't have to come with me, right?”

“I know, but this…” he gestures vaguely “art stuff is important to you. I wanted to get it too.”

“If this one isn't doing it for you, that's fine. That's just how art is sometimes. I think I have an idea where they have something you might prefer anyway.”

Rena and her parents remain close; closer-knit, really, than they had been before the crisis. More comfortable disagreeing, and able to see that as a smaller thing than perhaps it once seemed. As the Sawnes family grapples with God's apparent death and final message, and as once-criminal doctrines seep into the public consciousness, there is much respectful discussion about Dualism and Georism around the dinner table. Josephine takes the Dualist position that God's ability to act appeared to be limited by the cosmic counter-reaction His every action entailed; for all that She loved us, They could not save Themself without causing unacceptable harm to the world. David is more inclined towards the Georist interpretation that God was not forced to, but chose to, create the counter-reactions, to guarantee humanity's capacity to choose to build a perfect world, and that ultimately, the risk that God would be killed was a meaningful part of this greater purpose. Rena is uncertain which, if either, to believe. She thinks there is meaning to be found in both. All three agree that, regardless, it is incumbent on us to fulfil their last request, and ensure beauty rises from the ashes. And rise it does.

Ellis almost feels old. Last night, his washing machine broke and he spent two hours rinsing his soapy clothes off in the sink until 11pm. Then, a call from the laboratory at 5am woke him and informed him that a refrigerator was on the fritz. Half an hour later, he was in the lab moving samples over to a working refrigerator one tray at a time. An hour ago, he wanted nothing more than to go home and rest. But…

… but Rena is in Wesmarch for the night, and she has a way of making him feel a little younger than he is. She insisted that they catch up over cocktails. So it is that she and Ellis sit laughing by the bar, sifting through memories of old times and news of recent changes. She is doing well, of course. Her career seems to be advancing at a meteoric pace, and news about her and Mack warms Ellis’ heart (and, just maybe, causes a little twinge of loneliness). Ellis finishes the last of his cocktail, inadvertently making eye contact with the handsome man at the end of the bar again. He thinks he managed to avoid giving too flustered a reaction, but Rena sees whatever does make it to his expression and turns around to track it to its source. In no uncertain terms, she tells Ellis that he should take a risk.

When Rena leaves the bar for a moment, Ellis sits and ponders. Maybe his cocktail went straight to his head. Maybe Rena managed to tap something inside of him.

“Excuse me?” Ellis asks the bartender. “Would it be possible to buy the gentleman there another of what he’s drinking?”

“Funny you should mention,” the bartender says, sliding Ellis another whiskey sour. “This is from him.”

There is a café in Bexgate. It serves the best coffee this side of the rift. Thanks to a deal with Brod’s bakery, the pastries are also to die for. You can be sure of a smile and a friendly conversation from the proprietor, Yves - he’s really rediscovered his spark, and it shows in every inch of the place. You can also be sure of a treat for the eyes. Artwork covers the walls, somewhere between catching one’s eye and blending into the cosy atmosphere. The café is always filled with a pleasant hubbub of voices and the scent of coffee and something sweet. All are welcome in The Community Bean.

'This piece is one of my favourites in this collection. It may not be the most technically advanced, but the artist has managed to translate their passion for the subject matter onto the canvas in such a beautiful manner. You can get a real sense of their inner turmoil from the striking colours used, and yet seen from another angle it seems to be first and foremost a peaceful scene. See how the light from the sun catches the cap of the mushroom there. And look at the contrast between the greys and blacks of the mushrooms and sky to the bright autumnal colours of the surrounding leaves. Growth from decay. Hope in darkness. The perspective here is also unusual, as you might expect from such an inexperienced artist, but it is evocative for me of the change in perspective discussed by the artist in their accompanying dedication. There are a handful of later works from this artist, most of which focus on similar scenes of nature, but I have always had a particular soft spot for this piece. Their brash brushstrokes and choice of composition seem to me to be reflective of their emotional turmoil in the immediate aftermath of events in Bexgate at that time, where the later works are more composed and contemplative of the slightly more conventional beauty of nature. As you can see here, they wrote a rather extensive dedication to another artist well-represented among this particular collection. In fact, to compare their styles side by side you can certainly see the influences of Ms. Sawnes particular style on M. Grey’s work. More appealing to me, though, are the ways in which they differ, M. Grey bringing and building his own distinct vision and, well, perspective. Truly one of my favourites. Shall we move onto the next piece?'

'Rena Flores-Sawnes' work is distinctly informed by her dual career as artist and art historian, creating new and beautiful interpretations from the fragments of what has come before. Many of her works draw from the deep well of emotion that the Death of God spawned in so many of us, particularly those, like her, who had the misfortune to witness the events in Bexgate directly. Motifs she developed in her groundbreaking Re:birth exhibition in the aftermath of the crisis continue to haunt her work, but in striking new ways. This particular piece is a donation from the Carrel Trust. It is titled 'The Call of the Fens'. A scene of the fenlands near Bexgate, with a now-impossible flame-like sunset, and no clear differentiation between sky, land and water. There is an old hospital building, and a chapel with a little wheat-field by it. And the fens dotted with figures, each wearing their own kind of mask. Masks are an important motif in Flores-Sawnes' work, but - in what she claims is an extrapolation from her Essentialist faith - she has never given a clear explanation as to why. Each of the masked figures seems to gaze at one of the others, for some explanation, some never-attainable unmasked truth. Butterflies float in the sky. The picture is profoundly sad. When asked to explain it, Flores-Sawnes said it was an attempt to find empathy across an impossibly wide gulf interpretative gulf. As a citizen of Bexgate, she must have much experience in that.'

A painting of a family, humans and canine. There are two grandparents, smartly dressed, both smiling at their daughter. She is holding hands with a man to whom she is connected through fire and marriage – in front of them, two children, Richard and Edward. Both lean on a willowy dog, whose appearance does not betray the inelegant name these children gifted her (Garlik. Her coat does, after all, resemble the vegetable). Their faces are not yet fully detailed – the outlines of the painting are waiting to be filled. But there is no doubt they will be. Even now, the artist’s joy shines through every brushstroke.