In Chap­ter XV, we meet Fish, Bob­bi, Will, and the nar­ra­tor on a bus, watch­ing Lester, the bus dri­ver, get out to assist a woman whose car has bro­ken down. The woman, Miss Lill Kite­ley, appears in an over­sized coat over her wait­ress uni­form, con­trast­ing with Lester’s small­er frame. As they inter­act, the chil­dren spec­u­late about the rea­sons for Lester’s sud­den stop. They’re ini­tial­ly appre­hen­sive when Lester intro­duces Lill, as they fear her pres­ence will com­pli­cate their jour­ney to see their Pop­pa in the hos­pi­tal.

Lester’s cheer­ful demeanor seems to illu­mi­nate the sit­u­a­tion despite the children’s moans about anoth­er adult’s intru­sion. Lill’s aware­ness of the kids’ expres­sions shows her per­cep­tive­ness, and she engages them with gen­tle inquiries. The ten­sions among the chil­dren sur­face through snarky com­ments aimed at Lester’s ten­den­cy to pick up strays, high­light­ing their reluc­tance to share their adven­ture with an out­sider. The chil­dren share a fab­ri­cat­ed sto­ry about Lil­l’s role, attempt­ing to con­vince her of the legit­i­ma­cy of their jour­ney while cater­ing to Lester’s under­stand­ing.

As Lill takes a seat beside Lester, her keen obser­va­tion picks up on the bruis­es on the kids’ faces, which she humor­ous­ly remarks might indi­cate they’re “bad kids.” Bob­bi quips that they are mere­ly “mis­fits,” to which Lill responds with a smile, indi­cat­ing she’s ready to blend in rather than judge. This scene encap­su­lates the chil­dren’s cama­raderie and their bond with Lester, even while deal­ing with the pres­sure of an unex­pect­ed com­pan­ion.

The chap­ter con­cludes with a mix of appre­hen­sion and accep­tance, as the chil­dren pre­pare to con­tin­ue their jour­ney with Lill, who seems more adapt­able than ini­tial­ly per­ceived. The inter­ac­tion show­cas­es the dynam­ics of their group as they nav­i­gate rela­tion­ships and the com­plex­i­ties of their sit­u­a­tion.

In the heart of a seem­ing­ly remote for­est which turns out to be Cen­tral Park, Addie grap­ples with a pre­vail­ing fear of aban­don­ment by Luc, only to find the city’s sky­line reas­sur­ing­ly close. Luc’s ethe­re­al pres­ence and a for­mal exchange soon lead to a poignant request to dance, a moment filled with spec­tral music and shared mem­o­ries, sub­tly high­light­ing their intri­cate and painful rela­tion­ship. Luc, who once asked if he was a dev­il or dark­ness, mon­ster or god, now appears not with tri­umph but with an unfa­mil­iar sad­ness in his eyes.

The dance serves as a metaphor for their com­plex bond, filled with love, resent­ment, and unful­filled desires, where the absence of actu­al music does­n’t deter the vivid sen­sa­tions of shared mem­o­ries and places they seem to recall togeth­er. As the dance ends with Addie’s real­iza­tion of her long­ing for free­dom, Luc’s inabil­i­ty to release her expos­es the roots of their con­flict: pos­ses­sion and a mis­un­der­stand­ing of free­dom and attach­ment.

Luc reveals his manip­u­la­tion of Addie’s life by orches­trat­ing her rela­tion­ship with Hen­ry, illus­trat­ing the depth of his con­trol and his per­spec­tive on love as some­thing triv­ial com­pared to his con­nec­tion with Addie. Despite his asser­tions, Addie’s expe­ri­ence with Hen­ry has shown her a dif­fer­ent truth about love’s worth, chal­leng­ing Luc’s dis­dain for human emo­tions and affirm­ing her belief in love’s endur­ing val­ue.

The con­ver­sa­tion between Addie and Luc inten­si­fies as Luc’s intentions—both to demon­strate his own neces­si­ty and to triv­i­al­ize human connections—are revealed, along with the chill­ing real­iza­tion that Hen­ry’s time was always lim­it­ed by their deal. Addie’s res­olute denial of Luc’s claim over her and her love illus­trates her growth and inde­pen­dence, a resis­tance against cen­turies of manip­u­la­tion.

The chap­ter con­cludes with a dra­mat­ic depar­ture and a moment of solace for Addie, only to be shat­tered by the real­iza­tion of lost time. This crit­i­cal inci­dent under­scores the sto­ry’s themes of con­trol, free­dom, love’s com­plex­i­ty, and the inescapable nature of cer­tain bonds. Luc’s omi­nous promise lingers as a reminder of the inevitable con­fronta­tion that lies ahead, fram­ing the nar­ra­tive with­in a time­less strug­gle between desire, auton­o­my, and des­tiny, set against New York City’s ever-watch­ful gaze.

In the serene silence of The Cotswolds, Eng­land, on the eve of the 20th cen­tu­ry, Addie finds her­self enveloped in the tran­quil­i­ty of a snow-cov­ered land­scape. Unlike her pre­vi­ous years spent in cel­e­bra­tion amidst the vibrant fes­tiv­i­ties of cities like Lon­don, Edin­burgh, Paris, and Ams­ter­dam, this time she choos­es the soli­tude of a cot­tage that, though not hers by own­er­ship, feels like a tem­po­rary haven she has carved out for her­self. Hav­ing adapt­ed to its mea­ger com­forts over the sea­sons, she looks out at the fresh­ly fall­en snow, its untouched expanse tempt­ing her out­side.

Wrapped in her cloak, she steps into the night, her pres­ence bare­ly dis­turb­ing the pris­tine snow. Rem­i­nisc­ing about a child­hood mem­o­ry of snow in Vil­lon, she mar­vels at the unchanged puri­ty of the land­scape around her, despite her inter­ac­tions with it—unlike the tran­sient snow of her youth. The snow invites her to tem­porar­i­ly aban­don the weight of her years, engag­ing in the sim­ple joy of her sur­round­ings until a mis­step sends her tum­bling, laugh­ter giv­ing way to a con­tem­pla­tive still­ness under the qui­et night sky.

Her soli­tude is inter­rupt­ed by the unex­pect­ed arrival of Luc, who finds her lying in the snow. His pres­ence, a mix of the famil­iar and the inscrutable, prompts a brief exchange that leads them back into the warmth of the cot­tage, where his effort­less mag­ic rekin­dles the fire. Their con­ver­sa­tion, veiled in the com­plex­i­ties of their long acquain­tance, reflects a cer­tain resigned famil­iar­i­ty between them. Luc’s reminder of the vibrant life out­side this seclud­ed exis­tence prompts Addie to assert her inde­pen­dence, choos­ing the con­tent­ment of her cur­rent soli­tude over the poten­tial thrill of accom­pa­ny­ing him.

Despite her refusal, Luc stays, trans­form­ing their inter­ac­tion into a moment of shared his­to­ry and spec­u­la­tive futures. As they con­verse by the fire, Addie finds her­self momen­tar­i­ly con­tent to sim­ply lis­ten, let­ting the lure of Luc’s tales of a world beyond her seclu­sion wash over her. This peace­ful inter­lude is fleet­ing, and upon wak­ing alone, Addie is left to pon­der the real­i­ty of Luc’s vis­i­ta­tion, with the renewed blan­ket of snow out­side offer­ing no answers.

Their night togeth­er, a pause in the flow of eter­ni­ty, encom­pass­es both the time­less dance of their rela­tion­ship and the tran­sient nature of human expe­ri­ence, encap­su­lat­ed in a sin­gle, snowy evening as one cen­tu­ry yields to the next.

In the heart of New York City on March 18, 2014, Hen­ry and Addie embark on a mys­ti­cal jour­ney with the Arti­fact, a seem­ing­ly ordi­nary object with extra­or­di­nary pow­ers. Their quest begins with the sim­ple act of offer­ing rub­ber bands, each col­or rep­re­sent­ing a dif­fer­ent phase of their adven­ture.

Their first tri­al requires them to tra­verse through pud­dles that aren’t mere water on ground but por­tals to a world where the ground mir­rors the sky and every­one with­in it. As they walk, their reflec­tions in the mir­rored floor rip­ple with every step, an enchant­i­ng but unset­tling expe­ri­ence. The pur­ple band is sac­ri­ficed to this watery realm, where real­i­ty seems as flu­id as the pud­dles they wade through.

Next, they face the chal­lenge of the yel­low rub­ber band, lead­ing them into a series of cubes designed to manip­u­late sound. In one, their whis­pers loop around them in an eerie echo of their words, while in anoth­er, their shouts are ampli­fied to an over­whelm­ing roar. The cubes serve as a hall of mir­rors for sound, twist­ing and bend­ing every noise.

In these sound­proof con­fines, Addie and Hen­ry are com­pelled to con­front the pow­er of their own voic­es. From whis­pered secrets to raw, unin­hib­it­ed screams, they explore the spec­trum of human expres­sion. The expe­ri­ence is trans­for­ma­tive, strip­ping them of their reser­va­tions and leav­ing them feel­ing invig­o­rat­ed but phys­i­cal­ly drained. The act of shout­ing until they are breath­less and hoarse is both cathar­tic and exhaust­ing, sig­ni­fy­ing their com­plete immer­sion in the task at hand.

This chap­ter is a tes­ta­ment to Addie and Henry’s jour­ney through the fan­tas­ti­cal, a path marked by tri­als that test their lim­its and deep­en their bond. Amidst the enchant­ments of New York City, they dis­cov­er aspects of them­selves and each oth­er, reveal­ing the pro­found con­nec­tion between sac­ri­fice, expres­sion, and lib­er­a­tion.

In the spa­cious and eeri­ly qui­et New York City apart­ment, Addie LaRue feels the pro­found absence of James, a charm­ing and cheer­ful pres­ence she nev­er real­ized filled the space so com­plete­ly until now. The mem­o­ry of a sim­ple night spent mak­ing grilled cheese and enjoy­ing each oth­er’s com­pa­ny con­trasts sharply with the cur­rent silence, mag­ni­fied by the iso­lat­ing high-rise view of a mut­ed Man­hat­tan. In an attempt to recre­ate the ambiance of their shared moments, Addie plays record after record, but the music fails to fill the void left by James. The apart­ment, large and unwel­com­ing, ampli­fies her soli­tude.

After an unsuc­cess­ful attempt to engage with tele­vi­sion and radio, all of which feel dis­tant and imper­son­al, Addie con­fronts the day’s gloomy weath­er, designed for cozi­ness and intro­spec­tion, only to find that James’s home lacks the essen­tials for such comfort—her favorite tea, fic­tion books, and a real wood fire­place. Dis­con­tent with her own com­pa­ny and the imper­son­al lux­u­ry of the apart­ment, she decides to leave, don­ning a soft plaid cash­mere scarf and set­ting out with­out a clear des­ti­na­tion.

Walk­ing through the city, Addie grap­ples with the fear of for­get­ting her iden­ti­ty, a fear that has per­sist­ed through three hun­dred years. She reflects on the desire to be remem­bered and the lone­li­ness of being for­got­ten, com­par­ing her fear to a moment from J.M. Bar­rie’s “Peter Pan,” where Peter for­gets Wendy Dar­ling. This poignant reflec­tion on mem­o­ry and iden­ti­ty leads her to the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art, a place where his­to­ry and art con­verge, offer­ing a sem­blance of com­pan­ion­ship to Addie, who feels like a soli­tary muse­um her­self.

Inside the Met, Addie nav­i­gates famil­iar exhibits until she finds her­self in front of a sculp­ture named “Revenir,” fea­tur­ing five mar­ble birds poised for flight. The sculp­ture, par­tic­u­lar­ly the fifth bird, cap­ti­vates her with its detailed crafts­man­ship and sym­bol­ism of return, mir­ror­ing Addie’s own long­ing for con­nec­tion and return to moments of joy and pres­ence with James. Through this jour­ney, Addie’s day encap­su­lates a deep med­i­ta­tion on soli­tude, mem­o­ry, and the tran­sient nature of rela­tion­ships against the back­drop of a vibrant but momen­tar­i­ly sub­dued New York City.

In Chap­ter XV of “The Com­ing Race,” the nar­ra­tor con­tin­ues to explore the soci­ety of the Vril-ya, shed­ding light on their cul­ture, val­ues, and tech­nol­o­gy. At the sug­ges­tion of his host’s daugh­ter, he adopts the dress of the Vril-ya—excluding their dis­tinc­tive wings, which allows him to blend in and vis­it the town with­out draw­ing unwel­come atten­tion. He learns about the city’s size, its agri­cul­tur­al wealth, and the Vril-ya’s kind­ness towards ani­mals, hint­ing at a deeply inte­grat­ed respect for all liv­ing beings with­in their soci­ety.

The chap­ter delves into the soci­etal norms and tech­no­log­i­cal advance­ments of the Vril-ya. It high­lights their use of vril-pow­ered vehi­cles for trans­porta­tion and the main­te­nance of neu­tral, cul­ti­vat­ed lands between Vril-ya com­mu­ni­ties for com­merce and com­mu­ni­ca­tion. The nar­ra­tor is struck by the Vril-ya’s advanced agri­cul­tur­al tech­niques, their val­ue of birds for music, and their absence of domes­tic ani­mals like dogs and hors­es, now viewed as obso­lete due to tech­no­log­i­cal advance­ments, espe­cial­ly the inven­tion of wings and air-boats.

A sig­nif­i­cant part of the chap­ter focus­es on the Vril-ya’s phys­i­cal and cul­tur­al char­ac­ter­is­tics, such as their health prac­tices, lux­u­ri­ous lifestyles, and the phys­i­cal beau­ty that remains unmarred into old age. Their edu­ca­tion sys­tem, which empha­sizes moral and intel­lec­tu­al devel­op­ment, reflects a soci­ety aimed at elim­i­nat­ing strife and com­pe­ti­tion, favor­ing a serene equal­i­ty rem­i­nis­cent of a more spir­i­tu­al­ly advanced civ­i­liza­tion.

The nar­ra­tor also com­pares the skull shapes and moral dis­po­si­tions of the Vril-ya with those of ancient human races, dis­cussing their peace­ful dis­po­si­tion, absence of con­flict, and the har­mo­ny in their inter­ac­tions. This dia­log between Zee, Aph-Lin, and the nar­ra­tor pro­vides a cri­tique of the nar­ra­tor’s own world, high­light­ing the Vril-ya’s dis­dain for the strife, com­pe­ti­tion, and inequal­i­ty that plague human soci­eties.

The chap­ter clos­es on a philo­soph­i­cal note, with Zee and Aph-Lin express­ing their views on the ulti­mate goals of civ­i­liza­tion. They con­trast the Vril-ya’s pur­suit of col­lec­tive hap­pi­ness, tran­quil­i­ty, and enlight­en­ment with the destruc­tive, com­pet­i­tive nature of human soci­eties, mark­ing a clear dis­tinc­tion between the two races’ visions of progress and the mean­ing of life. The Vril-ya aim for a har­mo­nious exis­tence that aligns with what they believe to be the con­di­tions of divine beings, fur­ther empha­siz­ing the utopi­an ide­al of their soci­ety com­pared to the con­flict-rid­den human world.