Young Writers Society

Alistair didn't really consider himself a nerd or a geek, but he'd had the thought once or twice in the past that, yeah, sure, he could play Doongeons & Dragoons.

Yeah. No. Not anymore. Fuck this fantasy bullshit thing. There were people watching this bullshit and were dressing up -- "cosplaying" or whatever-- as their favorite character, which didn't really make sense to Alistair to begin with. Because... the contestants weren't really elves, or purple people, or devils. But he knew this was all to drive the damn engagement numbers up, and holy shit, was it working.

There was no warning from anyone on the island that the contestants were going to disappear to go to Island Hell 2.0 with a new body and new bullshit powers all in the name of having a trippy high-fantasy 3-part episode, but hey, it seemed like every weekend was worse and worse, so what was the worse that could happen?

He wished he never asked that question.

Naturally, all the visitors were left behind, but the main lobby area was decked out to a "Live Watching Party" where they get to see exactly what was being broadcasted to the public. Alistair noted that this wasn't live footage because events were supposed to be dense with drama, and broadcasting 3 days live would result in too much downtime. But... he had a feeling that wasn't the real reason.

They didn't want to show that what was really happening, didn't they? Because it was some horrific shit that they couldn't stream live to the public, especially so soon after the wendigo catastrophe?

He seriously felt like he was living in some kind of simulation. None of this felt real, and he wasn't even a contestant! He was here for Alan!

Wary of everything, Alistair joined Vik to watch the shitshow.

There was... a lot. Right away, Lyall and Alan nearly drowned. Drowned! Alistair could hardly believe his eyes; it was happening so fast, and he was speechless that it was like... they were ready to die together.

At the same time, he almost wanted to laugh from the absurdity of it all, because the editing and directing of this scene was comically bad, like straight from a telenovella-- especially because this was the introduction.

It definitely gained everyone's attention. While everyone else was more hooked or concerned, Alistair felt a drop in his stomach, not knowing if he could stomach the rest of the show.

There were good and bad parts. The event introduced Leilan, another heir of Aphirah, who was also a new contestant, since apparently the prize of "winning" this shitshow was to go home. Other groups were also doing fine, like James, Eve, Shane, and Hild, who were painted to be high fantasy bad asses. Arguably, Alistair would add Clanny to that list since she was also a nature spirit bad ass that controlled a lot of the monster population without anyone even knowing, but she hardly got any screen time, which he thought was unfair, but whatever.

This shit was not for him. He'd rather be playing Tetrisk rather than watch a too-long live-action fantasy movie with characters he actually knew. This shit was messed up and... ugh.

Alistair facepalmed from second-hand embarrassment when he painstakingly heard his brother blatantly flirt with Alexander in the dead of the night.

He loved Alan. He did. But god... sometimes, he was an idiot. And Alistair meant that in the most brotherly, lovingly way possible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his mom by the bar area, who sat next to Alex's mom. They were chatting with big grins on their faces as their sons' conversation delved into the moms. But he also saw them blink and falter, because the scene just as quickly turned to them kissing and excusing themselves from the group.

"Oh my god," Alistair grumbled, groaning and looking away from the screen. He sighed, deciding now was a perfect time to get the hell out of here. "I'm going to go on a smoke break," he announced, getting on his feet. "I'll catch you later."



Nicotine: a blessing on this earth, given to him so he could calm the stresses in his body. Inhale, exhale. Breath. Cough one, sigh from relief. Satisfaction, really, especially as he reached the butt of the cigarette.

Tossing it in the bin next to the door, Alistair drank nearly a full bottle of the blue Krokerade, hoping that this dumb "arctic berry blast" flavor could conceal some of the smell from him. Though maybe he needed something to spray on him too. Whatever. Electrolytes could be good, especially since he was sweating a storm, stuck in this asshole of hell.

On second thought, what he could really use was a shower. But that required walking past the main lobby to go up the stairs, and based on the general quietness and stillness of the group, how could Alistair not stare at the dumpster fire?

Standing at the back of the room so he could be left by himself, Alistair leaned his side against the column, hands in his pockets as he dreaded what he was about to process on the big screen.

Holy shit.

They... allowed blood to show? Like actual wounds, people... BLOOD?

Mouth agape, Alistair stood up straighter, unable to pry his widened eyes away from the outrageously grotesque open wound on Alex's leg. He barely caught wind that it was from a freak monkey, but that didn't matter. Black poison spider-webbed away from his shin, turning his purple skin a deeper hue of purple, almost black. Alex was in deep pain, even if he didn't voice it.

This was real.

Alistair slapped his hand over his mouth, still processing the implications.

It didn't matter that Shane was by his side, ready to heal him. It didn't matter that he was successful, and Alex was able to walk again, cured of death.

Just... what the hell was the DMV trying to do here? Were they trying to nearly kill everyone? Why? For what? Why?!

"Sor-ry," a voice sing-songed to his left, as someone sat in the seat next to him. "Don't mind me."

Alistair flinched, a bit startled by the sudden voice. He snapped his attention away from the horror show, eyes locked on a shade of blue.

It was Mireya, perched on a seat next to him, legs crossed as she smiled politely and pleasantly. She'd got herself a glass of wine, which she swirled absently. She seemed out of place and needlessly formal in comparison, wearing a sequined blue dress and high heels, and her gaze was bright with curious excitement.

How long had she...? You know what, it didn't matter.

"...Hey," he greeted, a half-mumble. He sighed through his nose, leaning against the column again as he distantly stared at the big screen. Idly, and out of instinct, Alistair turned his cap around so the bill was backwards, since it got in the way of his view of others.

"Hey," Mireya said cheerily. "How's the show treating you so far?"

Uncertainly, Alistair hesitated, shifting his eyes towards her a few times. He shifted his weight to his other foot, still leaning on the column. "It's... fine, I guess," he said stiffly, recalling that she had some kind of role on the show. "This isn't about me, though."

Mireya hummed knowingly. "Because you're not a contestant? You know, funnily enough, one of the visitors paid to get in on the fun. So it could be about you, I guess. But between you and me, that's a waste of a million dollars."

Hold on a damn minute.

Alistair quickly cross-referenced who he had noted on the floor and who wasn't there. It didn't take a brainiac to figure it out, considering the entrance fee was a million fucking dollars, like this was pocket change.

Casper Fucking Bridger.

Alistair knitted his brows together, staring at her. "Casper? Why does he want to go to fantasy island?"

"Oh, I'm so glad you asked," Mireya said eagerly, then leaned in to speak in a loud whisper, like she was imparting a secret. "He wants to win their prize and sell it to the highest bidder, and no one else even knows he's there yet. But!" She grinned widely. "He's not going to win, and we planned it so he'd have a dramatic fight with Cyrin and Lyall before he gets launched, missile-style, by Connie. So we just made a bunch of money, added some juicy drama to the show, and ruined an asshole's day."

Alistair stared at her, piecing this all together very quickly, but unable to accept the nonchalance that Mireya was displaying. "That's..." he began, waving an exasperated hand in front of him as he tried to think of something sane to say in comparison. He instead settled on a hushed but hissed, "That's psychotic!"

Mireya shrugged. "Well, so is he. Haven't you heard the stuff that leaves his mouth? Besides, it was his idea, and he's going to be fine."

What? No. No, Alistair was not going to explain that none of that mattered because these were real people they were talking about, not monkeys in a cage who may or may not deserve a treat.

Was... Mireya okay? Did she have empathy? Was she not unsettled by all of this? Did she not see the problem with this?

Something else was bugging him out. None of this happened yet. Which meant...

"How much... do you know will happen?" he asked cautiously, voice quieter. "Like, in general. Is everything planned? Everything?"

"Oh, some of it's a little loose and undefined," Mireya said, with a wave of her hand. "But the predictions have all held up."

Right. The DMV predictions. The all-knowing gods who controlled everyone like puppets because they knew everything that could or would happen.

"What about the..." He gestured loosely to the big screen, now showing James and Alan trekking through the desert. "The monkey bite from Alex. There was a scene of him really hurt. Did you know that would happen?"

Mireya nodded calmly. "Mmh-hmm. We took a look at the timelines and made it certain he would live. It was simple, really. All we had to do was give Shane the healing scroll, arrange the portal meetup, and then have them split up into those pre-determined groups. Really easy."

Psychotic. This was psychotic. Holy shit, Mireya was psychotic.

Alistair didn't even know what to say to her. What the hell should he say to a psycho? Probably nothing, because honestly, he didn't want her looking at his fucking timelines and arrange his life like he was some kind of lab rat.

But this was not about him. This was much, much bigger than him.

This greatly affected Alan. And how much did he know? Knowing his brother... yeah, probably nothing. How was Alistair going to break the news? Get him to open his eyes? Help him understand the psycho behavior that was so normalized on the island?

Turned out, Alistair and Mireya didn't need to exchange another word, because the big screen went on to capture the next dramatic event.

With wide eyes, Alistair watched as a swam of freakingly giant bug-eyed scorpions crawled down the dusty canyon, about to barrel themselves on to James and Alan. And with even greater shock, Alistair watched as the two fought-- or, namely, James fought, but he was getting ambushed and would have gotten eaten alive if not for his armor. Blood streaked across the air with every beheaded scorpion, but then the cameras panned to Alan, and Alistair knew he was about to do something stupid.

He was stung by the tinest fucker in the battle. Of course he was. And did he lie and say he was okay? Of course he did!

With horror, Alistair watched as Eve and Lyall came to the rescue, regrouping and healing James. For a second, the open, raw, poisoned chunk of flesh under the armor was seen for the world to see, contorting under the open air to heal itself.

Okay. So it was more than a second. But Alistair couldn't stomach it, taking in a sharp breath as he shifted his eyes away, tightly pressing his crossed arms together. A pit of dread formed in his stomach as he watched his brother continue to downplay his injury to Lyall, saying he was fine.

"Mireya," Alistair called lowly, voice uncertain. "Is Alan going to be fine?"

Mireya slowly turned to him, scanning his face. Something-- something that wasn't nonchalance or giddy excitement-- passed over her face for a moment. For once, she looked serious.

"Yes," she said quietly after a moment, matching his tone. "He's gonna be fine."

Alistair didn't know what to make of the sudden shift in energy, but he decided to trust these words. It wasn't like he could do anything else, and even if she seemed a little unhinged, Mireya was still the director of the show. She had to know what happened. Right? She had no reason to lie.

And Alistair truly would like to believe that no one-- no one on the show, no one on staff, no one watching-- would actually want Alan dead. Or anyone else, for that matter. He was thinking of worst case scenarios right now, but that wasn't an option. Or rather, not a strong possibility. Or a possibility. None.

Still, watching the scene drag on, watching Alan go on with his life like everything was normal... it didn't sit well with Alistair. He didn't even care that Alan and Lyall were weirdly flirting again; that felt so unimportant compared to what he did know.

It was like he was watching a tragic story play out, in which he as the audience member knew a critical piece of information that no one else in the story knew. He had no choice but to sit there, unsettled by the burden of knowing, despairing as he continued to see the character-- in this case, his stupid brother-- continually make the wrong choice that would worsen the situation.

Alistair wasn't sure if he was relieved or more concerned when Alan was finally caught, and the others in his party pinned him down to finally heal him. But the revelation of not having any healing spells, and seeing the panic emanate from Lyall and Eve... well, it was fucking contagious.

"Are you sure?" Alistair asked thinly to Mireya, the uncertainty knocking his voice up a pitch.

"Yes," Mireya said quickly. "Just-- just watch."

And she was right, but the part about being "fine" was still debatable. With a rising heart rate, Alistair watched Lyall heal him, and Alan picked himself up, claiming he was fine again.

"There," Mireya reassured him.

But it wasn't about the physical state of being "fine." That was never his question.

Things were heating up, becoming tenser. It was clear that Alan was bothered by this, and whatever relationship he had with Lyall was becoming strained because of... he wasn't sure. Unsaid feelings and emotions?

Or maybe that was Alistair.

He felt his chest tighten up as a sudden pang of anxiety hit him all at once. What caused it, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was the blood from the monkey bite. Or the crawling raw flesh mending itself. Or his brother's infected chest with veins of poison eating away at him. Or... or maybe...

Fuck. Shit! He couldn't control his breaths. Fuck!

With blurry vision and ragged breaths, Alistair dipped away, rushing to bee-line his way out the door. He dug his finger nails into his shirt on his chest, balling his fist to control the shaking.

He had to focus. One, two, three, breathe, focus. He was fine. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Fuck!

Alistair was barely aware that he basically had to headbutt his way out the door. A headache threatened his skull, but blinking up at the hot sun felt like a whole new pain altogether that dulled his senses.

"Fuck me," he muttered shakily, taking in a shuddered breath. Heaving in and out controlled breaths, Alistair steadied himself with his head hung low, hands on his thighs.

With his eyes pressed together tightly, he had to fight the urge to reach for another cigarette, instead opting to sink on the bench next to door. Head in his hands, Alistair breathed in the fresh air, feeling like he was no longer going to die from lack of oxygen in that godforsaken mansion.

He heard the soft click of heels getting closer, sounding like they were from someone moving in a hurry. Then a lowered voice spoke.

"Alistair? You okay?"

Mireya again.

Alistair rubbed his face, shaking his head, then realizing that was the wrong signal, so he quickly nodded instead, eyes still pinched shut. "Yeah. Just needed fresh air," he muttered.

There was silence for a moment.

"Can I sit with you?" she asked, softer.

Alistair took in a deep breath, rubbing his face and pushing his hair out of his forehead. Finally letting his hands fall to his lap, he only spared an upwards glance up at Mireya.

She actually looked... guilty.

So, maybe she wasn't psychotic after all.

"Sure," he murmured. "I just..." He sighed deeply, elbow on the armrest as he idly adjusted his cap, staring at the pink flowerbed next to the bench as he mumbled, "Sorry. I'm fine now. I just needed a moment."

"You're okay," Mireya said quietly as she sat down, smoothing her dress over her legs and folding her hands in her lap. "I, uh..."

She trailed off, and her brows pinched together as she dropped her gaze to the ground. For a moment, she almost looked confused.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. "I wasn't thinking about how that must have been scary for people in the room. You're not someone tuning in for shock value, you're watching family there."

Alistair sent a few hesitant glances her way, but found that he couldn't hold eye contact. Not that they were both even trying to look at each other. This whole interaction confused him, and he was a little weary of the whiplash between Mireya caring and not caring, though he had a feeling she wasn't even aware of this swing.

"These are real people," he said, trying not to mumble, but his words came out a little stiff. "This isn't a circus act. People are getting hurt. I can't just... be shocked or entertained. These are real people with their own histories and families. I don't know..." Alistair sighed, idly turning his cap back around so the bill could cover the sun on his face. "I just don't get it. It's sick."

Mireya didn't look up, wringing her hands out.

"I know they are," she said, a little hollowly. "It's just... this is reality TV. This is what happens."

"But..." Alistair felt his own voice crack from the exasperation he was trying to hold back. "They aren't actors. No one signed up for this. To suffer and get hurt."

"They did-- sign," Mireya said stiffly, like she was grasping at straws. "They had to sign an extensive contract about permissions, liabilities, waivers, all that. What you mean is they didn't know about this ahead of time. They weren't supposed to."

"But what-- does that even make a difference? Aren't they forced to be here?" Alistair went on, agonizing discomfort in his voice as he felt a little desperate himself.

Was she seriously trying to justify this behavior? Who was she trying to convince: him or herself?

"Don't you think all of this is just so..." He grimaced, tightening his jaw as he threw his hand in the air, grasping for an appropriate ending to that sentence. "...I don't know. Fucked?"

"I mean, it's questionable," Mireya said, looking up and making an explanatory gesture with her hands. "But it's just way better not to question. This isn't mindless torture, if that's what you're assuming. Everything here's got a purpose."

Alistair stared at her, feeling desperate for her. "Have you ever even talked to them? Do you know for sure that they'd say the same thing?"

"I've..." Mireya trailed off, but it sounded mostly out of confusion. "I mean, hardly? It's not part of my job to talk to them."

Mouth agape with astonishment, his head hung longer, waiting for her to continue. She did not. "You're..." A weak, anxious laugh slipped out of him as he readjusted himself on the bench from sinking too low. "You're only proving my point!"

"Your point?" Mireya asked worriedly, throwing up her hands helplessly. "What's that supposed to be?"

"Do you even know about the damage you're doing?" Alistair blurted out, finally feeling the threatening headache gnaw at him. He sighed in defeat, sinking on the bench again. "I know I'm just some random guy, but... my brother is in there. And you're just..." He scrunched his face, circling his hand in the air. "Messing with him, just because. All because it's entertaining. It's like a really fucked up zoo, and they don't even know it. I can't stomach watching."

Mireya pressed her lips together, looking upset as she straightened and crossed one knee over the other. She didn't immediately leap to her own defense, though. Instead, her expression only got more conflicted.

"I don't like that part," she said finally. "I have a job, though. I'm very good at it. And I can't be good at it if I don't do what's asked of me."

There was so much flaw with her logic. And had Alistair been more emotional, maybe he would have thrown all her logic out the window. The most heinous acts were done by people who were good at hurting others-- but that didn't make it right or justify their acts.

"If you don't like your job, why are you even here?" he asked instead, though he felt like he already knew the answer.

Mireya shrugged. "It's the best-paying job I've had, ever. By a lot. People do worse for much less."

Oh my god, Alistair thought, staring at her, dumfounded. Mireya is brainwashed.

Okay. So not a psychopath. Just... led astray. By money. Of course she was; greed ran this stupid world. But at least there was... hope? She didn't seem totally lost. Maybe she just needed to be told a little...

Common sense?

"So you'd ignore your morals to get a bigger paycheck?" he challenged casually.

"I mean, only to a certain extent," Mireya said, now sounding uncomfortable. "This is about within my limits. No one's actually getting hurt."

"I don't know about that. I saw some nasty gore," Alistair muttered, deciding to gloss over the claim that no one got hurt when he had also explained that people were suffering.

"It's-- it goes away," Mireya said hurriedly. "We wouldn't be running a show where they were just stuck with terrible injuries, damn. That's not the point."

He gave her a questionable side-eye. "Didn't some guy die last week?"

Mireya winced. "That wasn't according to plan. That was a contestant, not us, anyway."

"So what you're saying is that other people could die, also not according to plan," Alistair said flatly.

"I--" Mireya inhaled sharply. "That's always true, on this island or not. Believe it or not, we don't want death happening."

Alistair huffed in indignance. "Well, prove it," he challenged.

"Prove? How do I prove that?" Mireya exclaimed. "That's not the kind of thing you can submit evidence for."

"I don't know!" Alistair said just as loudly back, exasperated. "You can think for yourself. It doesn't take a genius to do the right thing. A-K-A, not accidentally kill anyone even though you know every timeline of things happening."

Mireya pressed her hands to her face. "Everyone lives," she said firmly. "If the morals won't convince you, maybe the practicalities will. Can you even imagine the uproar there would be if a contestant died under our watch? We're already getting sued for someone today, I think, and he didn't even die. We don't really like having to pay lawsuits, and we definitely wouldn't like criminal homicide charges."

Oh-kay. There was a lot to unpack here, but Alistair was beginning to realize that they were already talking in circles. But considering the layers of bullshit that Mireya was spoonfed, this was no surprise.

These things took time. And god, he would shock himself if he managed to change her mind on anything. This was way above his pay-grade, and he doubted Mireya would listen to some random guy like him.

But while he had her attention, it didn't hurt to just... draw attention to this bullshit. Especially since she seemed receptive to listening. Sort of.

"Just... think about it. If you have time," Alistair said, again trying not to mumble. "I'm not trying to get you to change your mind on anything. Just... you know." He shrugged weakly. "Think for yourself. That's all."

Mireya blinked, staring at him confusedly.

"Okay," she said uncertainly. "Uh, sure."

Alistair sighed, feeling the dull headache grab a hold of his skull. It wasn't a nicotine withdrawl headache, but it very well may be. This conversation felt like it aged him a few years. Or a decade. Something.

Normally, he was much more mannered and would not smoke in front of people, but something about Mireya's greedy motivations and her too-fancy getup made him not care. She still deserved being treated like a decent human being, of course, but...

Alistair pulled out his packet of smokes from his pocket, lifting a cigarette to his mouth. After lighting it, he took in the pleasant first breath, feeling his headache soften.

A little uncertainly, Alistair glanced at Mireya. She looked almost awkward, like she wasn't sure what she was doing here, even though she was the one who chose to be here. She took a glance back at the door, but didn't move.

Alistair felt his mind and mouth move at different speeds.

No. No, don't be dumb, don't--

"Do you want one?" he asked anyways, offering the packet of smokes for her to take. He had to bite back a groan from his own idiocy.

Mireya's gaze flicked down to the packet. She seemed to be having a mental conflict of her own, but a moment later, she did accept one of the cigarettes.

"Thank you," she said, a little sheepishly.

"Mhm," Alistair hummed, pulling out his lighter again.

He was just about to toss it to her, but instead he caught her just in time to snap her fingers. A small burst of electric sparks danced over her hand as an outdoor light flickered briefly, as it had lost power for a moment there. She held the tip of the cigarette to the sparks, and it caught quickly, starting to glow in her hand.

Lighter and cigarette in hand, Alistair stared dumbfoundedly between the light and the cigarette. "What the fuck?" he muttered, slowly coming to the realization that, shit, Mireya was one of the magical folks.

"Ah," Mireya said understandingly, as if she had just come to some realization. "Right, I never mentioned. I can control electric current and draw power from it. I can't create my own energy, though, so." She shrugged. "Nothing crazy."

Alistair inhaled another hit of the cigarette, exhaling in time for him to put the pieces together along with her explanation.

Namely, that empathy would be easier to explain to her, considering that she was a mage herself. But that was a thought to explore some other time.

"Damn. If I had electric or fire powers, I'd probably be a chainsmoker," he idly commented instead.

Mireya huffed a faint laugh. "I can say it's definitely saved me money on lighters."

"Not on cigarettes, though." He sighed. "Shit's expensive."

"Gotta love the economy." She took her first puff, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Alistair settled his gaze on her, deciding that, yep, this was what they were doing now. Talking.

"So," he began, broadly gesturing to her with his free hand, "do you normally dress like this?" He paused, cringing at his own words, realizing that sounded so bad, so he quickly added, "Just, you dressed nice for a random day of the week. As in... like, fancy. You know?"

Yeah, okay. He should stop talking now.

Alistair casually looked off to the other side, pretending to take a great interest in the tulips nearby. But really, he was trying to play it cool, since he felt the heat of embarrassment from messing up a normal conversation right off the bat.

It sounded like Mireya was cracking a faint grin, which did not help with his embarrassment. "This is pretty normal. I'd be hard-pressed to find something in my wardrobe that wasn't a blue dress, actually."

"Oh. Okay," Alistair felt, feeling like he should just die on the spot right there.

He thought maybe she'd say there was a fancy event or something. You know, something. Not fashion statements, which he didn't really know much about. But he felt dumb for only saying "yes, cool, okay," so he said the first thing that popped in his head.

"Yeah, I wear a lot of black," he casually said stupidly, again playing it cool with a well-timed puff of the cigarette.

"I figured," Mireya said. "You look cool, by the way."

Alistair gave her a hesitant glance. "Um, thanks." A pause. "So do you. As in cool, because blue."

She smiled faintly in what looked like appreciation, but it started to slip as she looked more distracted. They each took a few more puffs in silence before she lowered her hand from her face and spoke up again.

"I know the watchparty was called a 'mandatory event' for you all today," she said. "But you can stay out here for the rest of it. No one's gonna bother you." She paused, checking her phone for the time. "Or at least, if you do go back in, wait out here for the next ten minutes. Shane and Lyall will be..." She trailed off, like she didn't want to finish her sentence. "You just don't want to see anymore of that. So don't watch it."

In any other circumstance, Alistair may have been embarrassed that a girl was basically babying him, coaxing him out of seeing in what was essentially a horror movie, because she didn't think he could handle it.

But, well. She wasn't wrong. Though Alistair wasn't going to openly admit that.

"Yeah... thanks," he murmured, but he did truly appreciate the heads up. He lifted the cigarette higher. "I'll take my time with this, then."

In retrospect. An actual, physical weapon would have been wise to pack.

Though, in fairness, no one had forewarned Lyall of any threat such as several dozens of blob-like ghosts, made of pure light and energy, that tittered hauntingly like children and swarmed like giant vengeful hornets.

The hurricane of infuriating creatures intently closed in like a snare. The loud hum as mixed with their incessant laughter, and the lingering sting on his back replaced any mental functioning. Lyall was too distracted by it all to calculate any escape routes as he kept a firm hold on a frozen, wincing Shane. He needn't have tried to pin him. The Heir seemed to have decided it was safest to act as a deer in headlights, attracting as little attention as possible. His eyes were wide and alert as he scanned the swarm anxiously.

Just as Lyall was resigned to consider what exactly "game over" entailed in this surreal yet quite dire fantasy aside, rich, warm notes of a violin swelled through the droning of the swarm. Their lights flickered discordantly at first as the music seemed to disorient them.

Lyall knew in an instant who it was.

Through the chaos, he caught glimpses of the exact thing he feared he'd find: Alan fucking Alvaro, standing tall at the other side of the light storm. Eyes closed and expression drawn in concentration as he confidently played the soulful, melancholic melody of Vittoreo Moonti's Czardas.

At once Lyall was struck by a shock of panic and worry, and a flare of indignance that the idiot defied his very clear instruction to stay hidden.

The lights, flashing frantically like strobes, then dimmed. The din of their frenzied flight and mocking laughter quieted. Instinctively tensing, Lyall watched in apprehension as the creatures suddenly mellowed. The mass of beings rose and fell like the crests of waves, and their lights calmly pulsing with the song like a swarm of dazzling fireflies dancing and breathing in tandem to the beat of the song.

Apprehension gave way to bright awe at the incredible display. Then, looking back to Alan, entirely lost in the performance yet undoubtedly in complete control of the swarm now, Lyall felt his heart quietly swell with pride.

Alan was finally taking centerstage, in the spotlight he was so clearly destined for. Not only that; he had charmed the creatures with his song-- transforming a power that for so long only seemed harmful into a force for good. All this, in possibly the most bizarre yet noble way imaginable.

With both gifts, he managed to calm this storm in mere minutes.

"I might be able to help," Shane said suddenly, distracted by the spectacle. His eyes were wide and admirative as the wisps shuddered with every note. "I checked my bag when I woke up, and I had a new spell-- Amplify Sound. Maybe... if this music can affect the wisps, and I make it so the whole mountain can hear it, it'll affect all of the monsters."

Pushing off, Lyall helped Shane back upright. He kept a wary eye on the swarm as the heir quickly picked through the scrolls in his bag.

Pulling loose a purple ribbon from a scroll, Shane whispered soft magical words over it, pressing his thumb into the seal. A moment later, the very air around them seemed to shimmer, as if imbued with new power.

Then suddenly, the song was amplified, just in time for a change in tempo. The violin solo transitioned into a lively, spirited, rhythmic melody, with rapid-fire staccato notes and energetic runs. The lights bounced with the energy of the song, circling around Alan and rapidly accelerating until they exploded into sparkling stars, dazzling the air.

The fairy lights were not the only monsters affected. Now with the amplification spell in effect, Alan's song spread outside their near vicinity and into the battle below, garnering nearly every person and monsters' attention.

The monsters previously fighting now broke out into a spirited dance. The yetis were twirling one another, jumping up and down on the tundra biome, playfully sending sheets of snow and sleet in the air. The firy lava snakes on the volcanic rocks were seemingly dancing with the water dragons in the water, slithering in rhythmic loops around one another and steaming the air. Likewise, winged rock golems disbanded their sandstorm efforts, instead flying in unison like a syncopated dance.

The only monster not affected by the violin were the mushroom men. Gauging from their inability to make noise, Lyall theorized that they were not affected because they lacked the ability to hear-- which felt a little ironic, given things like wood ear mushrooms. Regardless, clever, courageous Miss Clanny was quick to coordinate the army's efforts, bolstering the wolf infantry to continue attacking.

Unfortunately, the goblin army seemed to have been distracted by the song as well, hopping and yipping with glee as they swing danced. Including their very own... Stravos, in all his frenzied, goblin-ified, unsettling-as-is glory.

With a slightly perturbed frown, Lyall tried blinking away the distraction as he stood, pulling Shane up with him.

With Alan now commanding almost the entire battlefield, there was ample opening for those on the ground to finally make the march up the mountain.

Shane's scroll fell to dust in his hands. Which served as reminder for Lyall to check the map.

As James anticipated, their victory here likewise opened up the path to the prize for those lurking in the shadows. Tula's marker on the map now blinked alarmingly closer to their own.

A door suddenly appeared out of thin air in front of them, slamming open in time for Eve to rush out, immediately snapping her head towards the Alan, the source of the music.

"Can he play the whole time?" she asked, voice dead serious as she settled her stony gaze between Lyall and Shane.

Shane exchanged a look with Lyall.

"I don't know," Shane said. "Maybe. It's a long time to play, but it seems like if anyone could do it, it'd be him. He's got what it takes."

"No truer words spoken," Lyall affirmed with a confident wink and nod.

Eve nodded, sharply gesturing towards the open dimensional door. "Step in and meet the others. I'll stay back and ensure he doesn't stop. I'll meet up with you then."

Shane took a backwards glance at Alan, admiration and affection flickering in his gaze for a moment, before he nodded and stepped forward. Just before he did, he did a quick finger salute from his temple and said, "Will do," before he disappeared into the dimensional door.

With a slight bow and hand flourish, Lyall warmly said, "Miss Eve," as he walked backwards for the edge of their overlook. "I'll be off on a side quest. Don't wait for me."

"Wait," she called, quickly rummaging through her satchel as she briskly closed the gap between them again. Brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, she pulled out a small packet of spell scrolls, offering them to him.

"A few offensive spells, just in case," Eve explained simply. "I've written the words in simplified common as well."

Unable to help his amused grin at the implication of needing to simplify it for him, Lyall accepted the scrolls with a humbled bow of his head. "A true master of magic," he said with open admiration. "Thank you."

And with that, he began the steep trek down the craggy side of their little precipice.

He paused halfway, catching his battling companions' inquisitive gazes already fixed his way. With big, emphatic waving of both arms, he motioned for them to be on their way. Hendrik, perched on top of a boulder, gave Lyall a broad salute in return. Without wasting another second, their companions on the ground determinedly began their own trek star-ward.

With a satisfied nod, Lyall swiftly picked his own way back down to ground level and headed for the general direction he recalled finding Tula on the map. Keeping his steps measured and quiet as he ducked beneath the arid trees, practically prowling amidst the bushy undergrowth.

Once again, hindsight was not 20/20. He'd had ample time prior to this event to better acquaint himself with the woman. Had he that soundness of mind, he would've been better prepared for what he anticipated to be a hostile interaction with Tula.

Alas. He had shit for brains sometimes, and he just caught the barest of hints of human-sized movement. 43 paces ahead.

Pausing, he honed in on that general area ahead, intently watching for just one more sign of life hiding in the dappled sunlight.

There. A dark head of voluminous curls, a set of horns that gracefully swept back, then twisted in upward points, and a sharp green gaze. Miss Tula traveled swiftly and deftly, the foliage around her completely undisturbed as she passed through.

Lyall kept pace from afar, trying to split his attention between tracking her and not tripping over stones and shallow roots jutting out of the dirt. When he felt confident enough in predicting her path up the mountain, he began calculating ways to gain the upper hand. Higher ground, he figured.

Tula was still in view.

Lyall steadily closed the distance.

A sharp, pained cry behind him stopped him dead in his tracks. His blood ran ice cold.

That was Hild's voice.

He whirled around, unable to smooth out the panic winding up tight in his chest as he frantically searched the trees. "Hild?!"

Indeed, his sister stumbled out into the open. Tears streaking her face, and a gaping gash cut through her thigh. Their eyes locked. She let out a quiet cry of relief and unsteadily headed his way.

Lyall no longer moved of his accord. All prior thoughts were gone. His attention was fixed solely on her. He let instinct carry him, meeting her more than halfway to steady her.

Hild threw her arms around him, shaking hands gripping the back of his shirt as she leaned her full weight on him. Quick to adjust his own center of balance, Lyall firmly embraced her in turn.

"Oh, sweet brother of mine," she cried with a shaking voice, her fingers clawing into his back.

Before he could question anything, there was a sharp, sudden pain. Lyall lost all senses for a moment, the pain far too great to process anything else. A serrated blade pierced into his back, slowly, as Hild's pained expression faded into a devilish smile. Her skin turned a deep shade of scarlet, her eyes burned greener, and the horns jutting from her forehead curled longer.

Tula.

"A back stab for a backstabber," she hissed through a pleased grin, twisting the dagger as she sunk the blade even deeper into his back. "Or as I'd like to call it: an eye for an eye."

Lip curled, he screwed his eyes shut against the searing pain. A gutteral cry slowly tore out from his throat before he finally found enough wherewithal to blindly shove her away.

"Oh, please, pretty boy," Tula continued to taunt, her iron fist still around the blade, with the push only causing her to press the blade even deeper into his flesh. "Open your eyes. They are far too pretty to not admire."

He stumbled back until he caught himself against a tree. It jostled the blade in his back, rending from him another pained shout as darkness spotted his vision. Despite every instinct screaming for him to keep the dagger where it was, Lyall grit his teeth as he shakily reached to take it out.

"Uh-uh-uh," Tula tsked with an amused smirk, clicking her tongue with disapproval.

She snatched both his wrists and raised them up, slamming her body against him so he'd be pressed further into the tree. The blade's handle jolted, sending a numbing shock up his spine straight to his head. He met her piercing eyes in a daze, at first only registering the dull sounds of knives sinking into the trunk behind him. Then, delayed, the two thin blades themselves as they pierced through his palms, pinning him to the tree.

"I would have been nicer if you listened," Tula cooed with an exaggerated pout, tilting her head as she twirled a strand of his curly hair over her finger. She sighed despairingly. "Such a shame to lose another pretty face. If only he were obedient."

Tilting his head back and writhing in agony, Lyall only had enough air in his lungs to hiss in through his teeth. Quick to react, Tula threatened another blade to his neck, the devilish smirk growing.

"My, my. Whatever shall I do? Shall I preserve this art or carve a new masterpiece?" she hummed, tracing the sharp edge of her knife along his jaw, just barely nicking his skin.

Biting down so hard he was practically grinding his teeth to keep quiet, the pain began to subside into something still throbbing yet duller. The trees around them blurred.

He was going into shock. And all he could think was: this woman was literally psychotic.

Lyall clenched his fists around the blades in his palms. Concentrated every ounce of energy, used what little awareness he had left to feed the growing fire within the furnace that was his chest. Then, this time with a raw battlecry, ignited in an explosive burst of flames.

Caught by surprise, Tula was pushed back by the explosion, the raw force sweeping her through the air. Arms out in front of her face as protection, she skidded to a stop some yards away, losing her balance and falling on her behind. Hissing as she stamped out the flame burning her cloak, Tula glared daggers at Lyall, anger coursing through her.

Gritting his teeth, he clumsily pulled on the blades in his palms, wrenching them away from the tree. Movements shaky and uncoordinated, he yanked them out before he could think himself out of it, then just as quickly ripped out the serrated dagger from his back with a pained growl.

He hastily breathed out a healing word. Relief and alertness flooded him as the wounds sealed themselves shut. Then, when he turned to face his adversary, he froze.

Tula was gone. But he couldn't trust his eyes, nor let his guard down.

Hastily, he took up the blades still stained with his own blood and held them out defensively.

"You believe yourself above fighting with any ounce honor," Lyall called out, tone amicable yet still short of breath. He took an unsure step back, constantly scanning the foliage. "I would've been amenable to settling this with a proper round of gentleman's boxing."

He was, perhaps predictably, met with only silence.

So this was the menace James was being secretly pitted against. Well. Lyall couldn't say he still didn't understand the man's hesitance to involve anybody else. Tula would do anything and everything, short of actually murdering.

Though. He had sneaking suspicions that she would go even that far with a wicked smile on her face. If she hadn't already. Her brazen, nonchalant taunts in decidedly rather intimate quarters were indicative of a seasoned sadist.

It was only after another few steps back when his heel struck something that felt inexplicably off. An electrical current violently shot up from his heels straight to his head. But it didn't linger, and he was allowed to stumble back just one more pace before he hit something... Some sort of invisible wall.

The bump spurned on a phantom pain where she twisted the dagger. Wincing, he spun around to assess. He was startled when he hit another wall he couldn't see. With increasing panic, he reached out to both hands and found himself somehow completely boxed in.

Must have been another one of those damned spells.

Perfectly timed, Tula faded into view from thin air in front of him, arms crossed with a smug smirk. "Missed me?" she taunted with a tilt of her head.

Lyall determinedly pointed the knives her way, unsure if the box was a one-way situation like tinted windows. "Not in the least," he answered, forcing his voice to stay steady.

"Then you'll like what I have to hear. I would like to strike a deal," Tula said pleasantly, catty eyes still smug as she clasped her hands behind her back, pacing around the perimeter of his invisible barricade. "You'll have no choice but to listen, dear." She tilted her chin down, innocently prodding, "You are quite good at that, aren't you? Listening?"

Leveling her with a hard stare, Lyall fought to conceal the way her words rubbed like salt on still-fresh wounds. "I can be," he replied, following her with his eyes, "since you've so politely requested my attention."

"Good boy," she cooed, smirk growing as she resumed her pace.

Angling his chin up, Lyall visibly bristled.

"You of all people know that decisions cannot be made without context. Allow me to paint you a story, then," Tula continued. "After all, you're almost halfway through your island time, and you've already made an impact."

"As opposed to," Lyall cut in, "yourself? I've hardly seen you around."

"Uh-uh-uh," Tula tsked again, finger tapping her ear. "Listening. You can listen, correct?"

Forcing a more relaxed posture, Lyall pressed a shoulder to the side of his invisible prison. "I much prefer a conversation," he drawled. "A two-way street. A fair and even exchange of dialogue."

"Patience, dear," Tula scolded. "I'd like to hear more of your pretty voice after I tell you about Hild." Sinister smile growing, she continued on her villainous monologue. "Such a rambunctious one, isn't she? Poor older brother can't tell her what to say or do. She's quite clever; she even knew about me before you did. How embarrassing."

So, it was obedience she wanted? Well, she wasn't going to get that. With a determined set of his jaw, Lyall stayed quiet as he leaned forward with his arm propped up against the wall.

"Hild is fairly low-profile, isn't she?" Tula continued on, finger tapping her chin as she feigned contemplation. "If something dreadful were to happen to her, her oh-so-few loved ones would shed a tear, say their eulogies, then..." She shrugged innocently, exaggerating the gesture with both palms in the air. "Well, I suppose they would simply move on, wouldn't they?"

Ah. The aforementioned threats to his inner circle.

Gaze darkening, Lyall drew in a slow, calming breath. Then lamely wheeled a hand with a dull quirk of both brows, silently prompting her to simply continue.

Tula hummed in amusement, carrying on with her spiel. "Of course, this is unlike your lovely friend, Cyrin. Such a delightful soul he is. So loved, so adored-- he's practically untouchable. The world would surely despair if something dreadful were to happen to him. Wouldn't you agree?"

Lyall pressed his eyes shut. "What do you want," he said lowly.

"I do wonder, though: would there be a similar reaction for our dear James?" Tula continued with a curious hum, pacing and tapping her chin again. "He isn't quite as famous, but he has won a number of hearts. Mine included, of course." She smirked, catty eyes flicking towards him. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

He clenched a hand, digging his nails into his palm. A ghost of the damage done throbbed, momentarily redirecting his focus from the bubbling anger. "How does any of this benefit you?"

"A perfect segue into my next point," Tula went on with a growing smirk, clearly finding pleasure in his reaction. "Or rather, a question for you, since you begged me for a conversation. Who on this island would not be missed in the event of an unfortunate tragedy, is completely clueless about my dastardly acts of fun, and has a special place in your heart?"

An angry fire flared up in his chest. Lyall bit his tongue, refusing to grace her with a real response.

"I wonder," Tula continued with an innocent hum, "if this person is easily distracted? Perspective is everything, and I am dying to see through their eyes."

He narrowed his gaze with his lips pursed, silently picking apart the odd statement.

"...You're not truly a contestant," he said slowly.

Tula stopped in front of him, chin tilted down to level her piercing glare on him. "And neither are you," she said neutrally, watching him carefully.

With forced flippancy, Lyall huffed through his nose. "Of course I am," he countered evenly.

Tula crossed her arms, a sinister smile creeping across her lips. At the same time, the violin melody filling the air faltered, leaving brief silence in its wake.

"Smile, sweetie. You're on camera," she said pleasantly, tapping the corner of her eye.

Tensing with initial confusion, Lyall slowly straightened. "What," he began, but trailed off as it all hit him at once.

Pounding his fist on the wall of the cage, he urgently glanced past her at the ridge where the music had stopped. "What do you want from me," he growled, glowering back at her.

But still, she didn't respond outside of a smirk and a satisfied sparkle in her eye, reveling in the silence.

Lyall looked back up to the treetops. Then hit the side of the box again out of desperation.

"Alan fucking Alvaro," he said, heatedly staring into Tula's eyes once more, "do not stop, for anything."

Tula didn't move, not in the slightest in her smug expression or biting glare.

He should've yielded sooner. Not have dug in his heels for even a second. But dammit if he wasn't going to first run through every possible way out of this before giving in to her unspoken demands. He still had his pride.

But then the music resumed. Quieter and unsure at first, but then continuing on with the same intensity, violin notes ringing in the air once more. Good, yes.

Tula's smirk grew wider, more pleased. "He is quite vulnerable right now, isn't he?" she mused.

"Don't you fucking dare," Lyall darkly warned.

"Thank you for listening, dear. I said I'd like to make you a deal." She tilted her head, observing him.

"Tell me," he repeated, his desperation starting to slip into his voice now, "what you want from me."

"I won't hurt him," Tula started with forced gentleness, "because you will instead." She flourished a hand in front of her. "Both of you have a weapon of choice: words, which you will use against him. But don't worry, pretty boy. Sticks and stones may break his bones, but words will never hurt him."

Could that be leveraged. Surely there were loopholes, workarounds. She wasn't offering a contract to sign... But she had an immeasurably invasive way of ensuring he held up his end of the bargain. She had access to every nook and cranny of his life, every waking minute if she wanted, through his own eyes.

And Alan could still be watching this exchange right now. This was a distraction with dire consequences for their friends at worst. And a bridge burned between Lyall and the only other person on the entire damn planet who understood at best. Things were still tentative between them right now...

Lyall pressed his eyes shut, and slowly breathed out.

Calm down. Keep this in perspective.

This was the least she could ask of him. And a few more hurtful words didn't have to mean anything. Especially in dire straits such as this.

Steeling his resolve, Lyall opened his eyes again, slipped on the mask and said, "Deal."

Tula closed her eyes for a brief second, opening them again with villainous smirk, astute eyes meeting his. She nodded once, wordlessly signaling for him to continue.

"What," he impulsively said in contestment anyway.

"What did you want to tell your friend?" Tula went on with exaggerated patience.

Much as he hated standing in a damned box, conversing with a war criminal, this was buying everyone time. He could grin and bear this. Draw it out if he could.

Was this buying time, though, or further causing distraction? He glanced up to the outlook once more.

Hands gripping the hilts of her knives, Lyall rolled his eyes heavenward in n real irritation with her tone, he calmly yielded, "I'm not just a contestant. I am this DMV's recently appointed test administrator." He looked back to Tula, his eyes dark. "Make of that what you will."

Tula tsked. "That's not all. You have more to share."

He huffed impatiently, knowing full-well what she meant. "What more is there?" he asked anyway.

"You were just telling me your true thoughts and feeling about him. A more-than-mild distaste, if you will," she answered amicably. "Why don't you elaborate further?"

"Whom," he said stubbornly.

"Alan Alvaro," Tula finally said directly, sinister smile growing. "He is watching now. But I would also be happy to recap what you said, if you prefer."

Lyall tensed. The fear he'd momentarily abated rearing its ugly head again.

So, she wanted to burn that bridge now?

"To recap," Tula went on with a steady voice, "Lyall Ashlund confessed his jealousies. Namely, his envies and resentment towards someone with great talent that everyone adores. Manipulation was the foundation of the friendship: to win the heart of an idolized idealist with the intent to tear it apart, watch you lose everything."

It was all bull.

...Maybe not. But her speaking on his behalf was actually the better route. Easier to claim as falsehoods, rather than trying to bury words he would have said himself.

So Lyall refused to argue or add anything. Carefully watching her for any indications that she'd change course and leave.

He wondered how long this box thing would hold.

And so Tula continued, spitefully dogpiling the lies with a venemously friendly voice. "You should have heard the names he called you. A narcissistic control freak, a dirty whore, a gold digger who fucks for money--"

"That's--" Lyall began in an enraged hiss. He tightened his grip on her daggers, shutting his eyes to block out the red in his vision.

"Stop," he started again, flashing an impatient grin, "taking the words out of my mouth. I can communicate just fine on my own, thank you very much." Now, how to not dig himself into a deeper hole... "I was merely observing Alvaro's lack of resolve. How he's so utterly clueless, he doesn't even know what he wants. Just a leaf in the wind, without any real purpose."

Tula lowly hummed. "Go on. That's not all you said."

Of course it wasn't enough for her. And Lyall knew it.

There wasn't a way around this. Gathering his wits about him, he determined that there had to be a way through this...

And there was a way to guide Alan through it with him.

"Just give me a second to parse through my observations," he said sharply, tone quite put-upon in a show of relenting. "This is dreadfully short notice, I need to... weave this all together in a sensible manner."

Entire books could be filled, end to end, with every conversation he'd shared with Alan in just the past month and a half alone. Lyall just had to pick a threads and run with them. He trusted Alan, clever bastard that he was, to pick them up and follow his lead with ease.

"Alan Alvaro," he began again, "must be one of the most borderline manipulative, stubborn brats I have ever met. I stand by cluelessness--"

The memory of Alan actually headbutting him flashed in the forefront of Lyall's mind.

"--he really could stand to use his head more," Lyall smoothly went on. "Pragmatically speaking. But that doesn't change the fact that he's a schemer when it comes to gaining attention. His endless flattery, ostentatious displays of affection. They're all a ruse-- red herrings if you will-- to make everyone so enamored with him, they lower their guards." He paused momentarily, before adding in a vaguely bitter mumble, yet a sincere internal revelation, "Myself included."

The violin continued playing steadily from the ridge in the distance. Good. This was in fact buying time.

Which meant all Lyall had to do now was appease this sadistic maniac, all the while scrounging up every hint, every breadcrumb to indicate he meant none of it. What else, what else...

"Not only that," he went on, gaining a strange sense of confidence in this bizarre new rhythm, "he manages to keep eyes on him. By being a ridiculous tease. Once they're caught in his secretly fiendish traps, he continues to play people with insane ease." He spread his arms out in a rueful shrug. "And no one's the wiser. Because he's become so idolized, they no longer have the clarity to parse through what's good, what's bad, too biased towards him to see that this is all an act. No one has a single, fucking clue..."

Pressing an arm against the invisible box, he leaned forward and cracked a vindictive smile. "No one but me," he went on, dropping his voice to a dark murmur. "That's right, Alvaro. I see you. I see all your patterns, every predictable ploy. Clever, but predictable."

Was it bad that Lyall was actually finding some enjoyment out of this now?

He emphatically jabbed a finger toward the devil-shaped camera in front of him. "You built our relationship on mere manipulation. Well, guess what? Now this a dance for two. My eyes have been opened, Alan. And ever since, I've made taking you down as my. First. Priority."

Tula patiently watched the whole time, keeping still outside of her smirk slowly fading into a distasteful frown. Upon realizing that Lyall had finished his spiel, she slow blinked, opening her eyes again to narrow them towards his.

"You so enjoyed that," she commented, observing him.

Finally, it was Lyall's turn to grin smugly. "Was that convincing enough?" he asked innocently.

Tula crossed her arms, tilting her head as her stare morphed into open intrigue. "I'd like to strike another deal with you. You may find my proposal..." She paused, curling her lip as she briefly looked away, before returning with her gaze with the same smirk. "Amenable."

His own grin faded, and he felt his skin crawl just a bit under her curious gaze. "I'll decide that for myself when I hear it first," he said evenly.

Tula's smirk only grew, her unsettling, unblinking stare piercing through him. "You were sent by your group to stop me, weren't you?"

He pursed his lips. "'Pends," he hummed, knowing there was no way to convincingly deceive her. "Is it working?"

"Depends on if you are amenable to my deal," she answered with a light gesture of her hand. "In return for your time and knowledge, I will not pursue the trek up the mountain, I will pay no mind to your dear friends, and I will not hurt anyone for the duration of the event." The edge of her lip curled upwards as she flicked her eyes up and down his body. "Including yourself."

Lyall suppressed a shudder, feeling her gaze rake over him. "What knowledge?"

"Physician knowledge." She tilted her head ever-so-slightly the opposite angle. "It's always been my dream to learn from a doctor."

He adjusted his grip on the knives, angling his head slightly to the side with open skepticism. "...Physician knowledge?" he echoed.

"Do we have a deal?" Tula asked instead.

"Does this..." He scrunched his nose with disdain. "...dream of yours involve these?" And held up her daggers.

"No," Tula answered patiently, stare unwavering.

Though still doubtful, Lyall slowly nodded. "Fine."

Holding her intense gaze, he held out a hand-- surprised when he was able to reach through the invisible barrier. Pleased, her smirk widened as she reached out, retaining her unrelenting eye contact as she firmly shook his hand.

"Deal."

The tides of the fight were turning. Alan finally stepped in, charming the horde of monsters out of violence.

It was bizarre. It was a miracle. It was the opening they needed, and they didn't have time to waste.

Clandestine, Alex, Robin, and Robin's "pack" of wolves stayed back to fight off the horde of monsters. Their collective monster-fighting experience was being proven as they worked together to subdue and strategically take down the mushroom beasts remaining that couldn't be entranced by the song. Alan would be thanked liberally once this was all over for creating the space they needed; until then, they had to march on.

They made it to the first level up the mountain, following the multicolored road up to a clearing where another monster awaited them. In front of a passageway where the rainbow path let into a tunnel through the moutain was a large, floating eye. It had a massive eyeball facing them, and four different stalks branching off of it with separate bulbous eyes at the end as well. As they all approached, its center eye widened, and its pupil centered into a slit.

They could spend time all beating this thing to bits, but James was aware they still had a whole mountain to tackle.

They had four hours now to make it to the top, and it was going to be a long, long, non-stop trek. They couldn't afford to all stop and waste their energy in battle after battle.

As the creature of many eyes opened its maw of razor-sharp teeth, James turned to look at Shane, who stood at his side. Then his eyes flicked to Leilan.

He knew a little bit about this creature thanks to his brother - who was thankfully a fantasy nerd. He knew just enough to delegate this.

"Leilan," James said. "This creature is protecting the passageway. It's mostly capable of long-distance spells that paralyze, frighten, and confuse. You have speed, right?"

"Right," Leilan confirmed, resting a hand on his sword.

"Use it to get close and avoid its gaze," James said. "Shane, can you hang back and give support? Distract it so we can get by."

The two of them exchanged a glance, then both nodded, as Leilan took a step forward and Shane took out his illusion scroll again. Leilan stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders in circles for a short moment, then suddenly whizzed off in the direction of the monster.

He sped around it as a moving blur, never staying in one place for long enough, and as much as the monster turned and pivoted, it could never seem to look at him directly, and only found the spot where Leilan had been a moment before. He was too fast, to the point where he was out of focus in James's vision, like the lightning-quick flutter of hummingbird wings.

Next to him, Shane activated his scroll and raised his hands high. Out of nowhere, fireworks began to burst around the monster in distracting, painfully-bright colors that also hid their party from view. The many-eyed creature was completely lost, unsuccessfully trying to locate Leilan while getting repeatedly disoriented by the lights.

This was their chance.

James mouthed a "thank you" to Shane, knowing he was too busy to see it. He let the others forward once more, taking their window in sneaking around the creature and hurrying into the passageway.

They started running again. Up, up, up, and the incline only grew steeper. The pathway that cut into the mountain led back out of it again - the very pathway which they walked on, defying gravity itself. Their pace slowed as they collectively began to tackle the incline, some of them slowing more and more and falling to the back of the group. James was aware that Hendrik, especially, had been cursed with shorter legs, therefore hindering his speed.

This time, they didn't reach another clearing before a creature found them.

Rolling down the side of the mountain - as if anxious and just waiting for the opportunity, a massive, dinosaur-like creature slammed down onto the rainbow path, blocking their way. It uncurled like an armadillo, its outer shell reinforced by something hard and jagged: likely impenatrable.

The creature swiveled around with a roar, scraping the path with its claw as it turned to challenge all of them.

Seeing the like-kind in powers as he stared the monster face to face, James prepared to step forward, hand on the hilt of his sword.

But he felt a hand reach out, settling over his.

"Kazimir and I have this under control, comrade," Hendrik said gruffly behind him. "Go on and win that prize."

Kazimir hurried up to James's other side, already stretching out his hands, creating a charged string of elecricity between them.

"We'll take care of the 'dillo," Kazimir said, stalking slowly forward.

"It's called an armadillo, boy," Hendrik scolded, readying his guns.

"Don't care," Kazimir said. "Looks killable to me."

And at that, he rushed ahead, charging the beast as if they were equals. The monster lowered its head to the ground, waggling its spiked tail and opening is mouth as if to snatch Kazimir up. But Hendrik was covering him: he shot at the creature first, causing it to inch back just enough for Kazimir to leap up into the air and jump up onto its head, slamming down with a powerful burst of electricity that everyone could feel pulse through the air.

And then a burst of thunder.

Now Kazimir had the creature's attention.

With bullets flying, and Kazimir atop the dinosaur-monster, James was able to hurry ahead - leading the others off the rainbow path just long enough to take a rocky offshoot that led past the battle.

They climbed up first, then back down and around, eventually leaving yet another battle behind them - and a very noisy one at that.

A clock appeared in the sky.

Not unlike the one in the volcano, this one started counting down. It was at 03:00. Three hours left.

They hurried again, managing a jog on the constant uphill climb. James was starting to feel the exhaustion of lack of food and water, and as they gained altitude rapidly, he felt it in his lungs too. He was breathing heavier.

The gap between monsters this time was longer. They eventually fell back into a hurried walking pace, all too out of breath to exchange many words as they trudged on. They stopped only once for water, but even still, it was for no more than a minute. They persevered as the path grew steeper and steeper, and finally - someone let out a massive sigh of relief as the path started to level out again.

But the relief was short lived.

Ahead of them, the path curved up - into and under the waterfall, leading up into the mountain, and presumably, a straight-shot to its peak.

But right under the waterfall was a massive, floating brain surrounded by black tendrils.

In the back of James's mind, he could remember watching Petrus play some video game, and the phrase that came to mind was: The Elderbrain.

A creature that could control people's minds.

The first person that came to mind was Hild.

They had just enough distance that the floating entity might not yet have influence over them, so James looked over to Hild, meeting her eyes.

"Hild," he said with huffs of breath. "This one... you might be immune to it."

Hild's eyes lit up with the thought.

"Is this brain resistant against magic?" Eve asked.

"I think so," James said. "But I think it can also mind-control anyone within close range. So direct strikes would be difficult to manage."

Eve nodded. "I can stay with Hild to fight this."

"I don't think this one will be an easy fight," James said. "You'll want more backup. Someone else who can hit it up close."

"I can direct my chemicals right there without having to get close myself," Clarity said, holding up a vial. "This thing probably doesn't like hydrochloric acid."

James nodded.

"I don't imagine so," he said, looking again to Hild for confirmation.

"That should work," Hild agreed with a sharp nod.

"Good luck," James said to the three of them, as they already stepped into action.

Eve was first. She summoned a booming thunder spell beside the brain, sending it topping to the side and away from the opening. With its attention drawn to them, Hild, Eve, and Clarity ran down the pathway to draw it away from the final passageway into the mountain.

The brain tried to pull away from their hits, but with Clarity and Eve both hitting it on either side, they kept it cornered while Hild drew closer and closer.

James watched in tense admiration - grateful, but worried; worried for everyone and himself as he led the dwindling group under the waterfall.

They came out of it drenched, and the air began to cool as they climbed up into the mountain. The rainbow path turned to stairs, and the staircase spiralled up into a dark, unlit stairwell. The only light pouring in seemed to be from somewhere at the top, where it let out; a dim, warm light somewhere in the distance.

Their footsteps were loud in the stairwell. James's armor clanked and echoed. Their wet shoes squelched against the hard stairs. The sparkling glow of the rainbow under their feet turned dull, and the silence was filled with their huffs of breath as the air grew thinner and thinner.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, there was light.

At the end of the staircase, it opened up to the very peak of the mountain. The first thing James was hit with the wide, blue expanse of the open sky. The sun was bright, and close, and warm. It was setting. Somehow in the climb they'd missed the view, but here they could see over the whole island, over every environment, to the very edges of its expanse.

In the distance, James could even see what looked like a small, familiar island in the distance.

Auslanii.

But there wasn't much time to take in the sights, because the moment they all made it out from the stuffy staircase, they found themselves looking up at a giant star.

Well, it was sort of a star. But upon a much-closer look, it turned out that the "star" was actuall a five-pronged creature. The top point served as some kind of "head," and it looked like this was the last horrific entity guarding the small shelter behind it, under which there was an actual glowing, shining star hovering over a pedastal.

This game and their pedastals. But James had reason to believe this one wasn't a trap like the former.

This one would end the game.

It'd send them all home.

Well, not home. But back to Auslanni. Out of this hell, and at least back to and devil they knew.

The star-creature (which had the uncannily human-like face of a man) smiled in a grotesque manner as it towered at least two stories over them. Lifting one of its limbs, it revealed its "points" could shape themselves into weapons.

It had created a massive sword jutting out of its "arm."

"Finally," it said in a voice that sounded more robotic than human. "My challengers."

James closed his fists, aware that this monster was foreign to the compendium of creatures that even normal fantasy fans might know about. Who knew what it had up its sleeve.

An unsuspecting hand reached out in front of James, stopping him from moving forward. It was Connie, who had otherwise been silent and neutral the entire journey up the mountain, steady gaze fixed on James.

"Do not fight," he warned, lowering his hand. "You are done fighting. We will take care of this instead. Please locate the star."

And while a part of him desperately wanted to hang back to make sure his friends truly were alright - he knew that this was all what it was leading to from the beginning.

James had to get the star.

He had to do right by Aaron. This was the closure both of them needed. This would send him home, and just maybe, James wouldn't have to bloody his hands anymore.

Just maybe.

With a nod, James determined to leave this to Connie, Cyrin, and Jay - ones who remained. Behind him, he saw Jay had already vanished, Cyrin had their daggers in hand, and Connie was preparing a spell.

A shower of fireworks exploded from Connie's hands, raining down on the star's guardian. Cyrin manuevered around the creature, dodging swipes of its weapons and launching spinning daggers back at it.

In the show of light, James ran. He tucked right under the guardian's legs. Its sword swung forward, away from him, and at Connie instead.

James didn't get a chance to look back and see what happened, because he was already out on the other side. He had to keep going forward, and freedom was only a few more yards away.

The shelter was just at the very edge of the peak.

Sprinting as fast as he could, he climbed up the shelter's three steps up to the pedastal. With no hesitation, he took the levitating star in both hands, praying that upon touching it, it meant all of this would be over.

It meant all of them would be okay.

All of these dangers...

His gauntlets felt warm. The star in his hands lit up, blinding him. It felt like the star was going to melt in his hands, but instead, it was he who melted away.

In a poof of confetti.

"AMAZING!"

Mel's voice came through the scene, the confetti transition revealing her on the stage with her arms spread out, glorious red gown sparkling. A dense stage audience was barely caught in the darkness of the background, but the roar of applause and gratified high-pitched whistled said otherwise.

"Phew, wow! That was an event!" Mel continued, hands on her hips as the clapped subsided. "I have the pleasure of hosting the end finale! Are you ready to see this event's winner, everyone?!"

The audience roared again. As Mel smiled and waved, a pair of heels clacked on the stage. Mireya stepped in with a beaming grin, wearing a glittering, sequin-covered dress that was-- of course-- blue.

"I'm ready," Mireya singsonged, taking her seat next to Mel. "Oh, this is so exciting. Three days of intense adventure have all led to this!"

"My gosh, yes!" Mel giggled. "There's soooo much to unpack. We have so much to uncover: romance, battles, drama galore! But first, we obviously should talk about our winner! What do you think, Mireya? Should we bring in our ~star~?"

Mireya grinned. "I can hardly wait. Let's do it!"

A glorious trumpet fanfare played as the heavy red curtains were lifted, revealing a stiff James, clutching the glowing star. No longer in his finely sculpted armor, he was now standing in an oversized hot-pink t-shirt and baggy sports shorts, with his hair in disarray.

"Lovely to see you again, James!" Mel chirped, beaming by his side. "Your hair looks so lovely. Compliments to your hairdresser!"

James blinked slow and hard, muttering something unintelligible before he turned his attention to the star in his hands, looked back up at Mel, then hesitantly sat down in the chair that spawned behind him.

"Hi," he said stiffly.

He should've expected this to happen. Some interview bullshit. It'd been long enough.

"Congratulations on your victory!" Mireya said brightly. "How are you feeling? Glorious? Triumphant? Mighty? Heroic? All of the above?"

James blinked again.

"Successful," he decided to say. Because he was hoping, at least, that this "star" he was holding really would purchase Aaron's freedom.

But truthfully, he was mostly exhausted.

"As you should!" Mel grinned, clapping her hands together. "We've got a lot of fun content to cover with you today, James! And the whole world is watching! Say hi to the cameras!"

James's vision, now returned to normal, blurred as he looked in the direction of the stage lights behind the cameras, and he had a feeling his gaze was unfocused and, in fact, not in the camera.

"Hi," he said again. Only because he was told to.

"What do you think, Mireya? Are we ready to move on to this week's highlights with our star?" Mel asked.

"More than ready," Mireya agreed. "Let's get on with it!"

A three-dimensional projection took place high in the air, pixels rearranging to form a picture. Scenes played in quick succession: James' confession that he had a crush on Hild, Alan being handsy and kissing Alexander in the dark, Alan and Lyall openly flirting with one another, and a tender hug and emotional exchange by Hendrik and Alexander.

Talk about emotional whiplash.

So that was what James was picking up on with Alan? Also, James wasn't sure he needed to know that Alex had apparently slept with him. And... whatever was going on between him and Hendrik.

"Wow! So much has happened in one week. What are our fans saying on Twooter, Mireya?" Mel asked.

"I've never seen so many ship names thrown around in the same twoots," Mireya said. "Our Shalan and Hendrex shippers are up in arms and devastated! It's a win for the Jild fans, at least, but not so much for the Jeeves fans. The Lylan and Anex fans-- the latter being a newer and smaller fanatic group-- are fightinggggg, too."

Right. James forgot that there was a population of people existing in a different level of hell where they discussed people's romantic partnerships with an unhealthy passion that should've been redirected to their own personal lives. He merely stared emptily in the vague direction of the camera.

The project reshaped to form the next scenes. These scenes were played one after another quickly, not allowing much time to process. They mostly consisted of near-death experiences of... practically everyone.

A disclaimer took up the bottom one-third of the screen, flashing: "NO ONE WAS PERMANENTLY HURT IN THE MAKING OF THESE VIDEOS."

His life was a parody. This was proof.

Mel huffed. "There sure was a lot of epic fantasy moments in this event, wasn't there, Mireya?"

Did these qualify as 'epic fantasy moments?' James remained silent.

"It's just as we planned!" Mireya said brightly. "Everyone had a chance to shine."

"Yeah! There were so many kick ass scenes, too!" Mel chirped.

The next scenes consisted of adventures done by the group, dramatic fantasy music playing too loudly to hear anything else. It included James, Hild, Eve, and Shane stopping the volcano from erupting; Lyall, Alan, Leilan, and Alexander draining an underwater city; Connie sending Casper into the sky; Alan's violin performance to repel monsters; and of course, highlights of their final battle.

"What was your favorite part, James?" Mel asked.

James blinked. His eyes had glazed over.

"Hm?" he asked, missing the question.

"Wow, that's my favorite part too!" Mel exclaimed. "What about you, Mireya?"

Mel must've been reading from a script. Made sense.

Mireya had a grin plastered on her face. "I'd have to say that was mine too."

The next scenes were more dramatic. Somehow, even more dramatic inspirational music played in the background, this time emphasizing key dialogue moments. Scenes included the argument and fight between Lyall and Alan; a heated showdown between Cyrin, Casper, and Lyall; Tula stabbing Lyall multiple times; and Alexander's dramatic confession about the nightmares.

James stared at the screen, trying to rewind what he just saw.

Wait a damn minute.

James leaned forward, his stare intensifying on the now blank display.

"Ooh, I see you're interested by the drama too," Mel said with a waggle of her brows.

James turned to look at Mel with a piercing stare.

"Who's letting Tula [BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP]?" he asked sharply.

"Oh, will you look at the time! It's time to cut to the ceremony!" Mel said excitedly.

They were just going to breeze past this?

"Congratulations on winning Week Four's grand event, James!" Mireya exclaimed.

Confetti sprayed everywhere as another trumpset fanfare played dramatically. James felt the pain of the dissonance between their plastered smiles and his own anger.

"So," Mireya said, as a drumroll sound effect played. "Who's this prize going to, James?"

"Aaron," he said.

Because he had to at least see this through before burning bridges. Get Aaron off this hellhole first.

More confetti sprayed as a giant colorful banner with Aaron's name unfurled from the ceiling, dropping balloons.

"Woooooo! Congratulations, Aaron!" Mel said with bright grin. "Let's bring him in!"

"Rise 'n shine!" a chipper voice said, who Aaron immediately recognized to be Ethan.

At the end of his exclamation, the blackout curtains were pushed out from the curtain rods by his bed, harsh fluorescent lines streaking his vision.

Ethan was grinning, standing by his bedside and waving. "Up and at 'em, sport! It's midnight, but hey, it's always a good time for a night walk. You ready to go? You look energized."

With disgruntled muttering, Aaron wilted back, flopping an arm over his face.

Where did this man find all this... absurd energy? And why did he have to be so obnoxious about it?

"Alright, yeah! Let's put on some tunes to get you amped," Ethan continued on with a fist pump, pulling out his phone from his pocket, already distracted as he tapped the screen to unlock. "What's the, uh..."

"No," Aaron mumbled with a weak wave, "no tunes."

"No tunes. Got it." Ethan slipped the phone back in his pocket. "You already amped to go on a night walk, then?"

No. Aaron was still exhausted.

What was Ethan's goal here, anyway? To turn him into a nocturnal creature? True, Aaron liked this time, since there were usually fewer people out and about to be bothered by.

He squinted up at the blurry ceiling. Was it night time? He'd last track.

"I'm ready," he eventually groused, pushing himself up onto his elbows.



Aaron was resigned to admit-- not aloud, mind you-- that Ethan's constant, exhaustive string of encouragements and praise as they went along, wasn't truly bothersome. Ethan was actually somewhat discerning about these kinds of moments, and let plenty of silences draw out for auditory rest.

And, when he did speak, it was with a lightness that helped Aaron gladly accept it as background noise when it was merely endless rambling.

It was after the usual number of laps around the staff housing, that Ethan veered them off onto a wide path through the trees. And it was just a little farther along that he revealed he was taking them to Mel's studio, then offering a goolf cart. Aaron declined, politely, since it wasn't far and he felt he could use the physical push.

Though. Given the fact that it was such a short distance, the backpack slung over Ethan's shoulder was a point of confusion. Surely there was no need for things such as snack packing, or medical supplies. There was no cause to suspect an impending emergency, nor did Ethan mention an ongoing one.

The thought was enough to keep Aaron alert from there on out.

"Why at this hour?" he suddenly asked. "Is Mel working?"

With a toothy grin, Ethan lifted his palms to gesture jazz hands. "A surprise," he said with a waggle of his brows before lowering his hands. "Do you get a lot of surprises? Birthday surprises, maybe?" He hummed. "Hey, when's your birthday, anyways?"

"No, nor those," Aaron answered smoothly, "and October 13." He paused. "What of. Yours. Your date of birth."

"Oooh, October 13th. Right, yeah." Ethan nodded enthusiastically. "I gotta remember that one. Mine's real hard to forget. It's January 1st. I was born the same day as the earth."

"Perhaps," Aaron hummed. "Who can say for sure? No one in this day and age."

Ethan grinned and just barely poked his elbow against his side. Even while he was being silly, he was still trying to be gentle. Which Aaron appreciated, since he was never much one for a lot of physical touch to begin with. And his physical consitution ever since the Monster had finally left him, was quite compromised.

He had an abnormally high pain tolerance, and he did not like to exaggerate if he could help it. But, he was fairly certain that his ribs could very well crack at the slighest bit of pressure at the wrong angle if he wasn't expecting it.

This to say: thank you, Ethan.

"If anyone can, you can!" he exclaimed. "Aren't you a scientist? Now that the crazy dude in you is no longer around, you can go on to do sciencey things."

Aaron mustered a weak smile. "Not that kind of scientist," he said. "There isn't a lot of overlap between what I study and the history of the earth."

Ethan snapped his fingers in front of him, mouth open and grinning. "Oh yeah! That's right. You're a pharmacist, right? Yeah, that's not really earthy. Unless you give medicine to the earth. That doesn't sound like a real thing, though."

"We," Aaron offered, "draw it from the earth? So, you're not completely wrong in connecting medicine back to the planet. Especially in the medicinal uses of herbs and other raw materials in traditional treatments."

Ethan stroked the stubble on his chin, nodding like he was deeply considering this. "Yeah. No, yeah, definitely." He turned and smiled at him. "Hey, mind if I ask you something random?"

Aaron blinked uncertainly. Ethan for the most part remained thoroughly unhindered conversationally, able to hop erratically between subjects with seemingly no connecting points without a second thought to conversational whiplash. So it raised a hint of concern that he felt the need to ask this time.

"Please do," Aaron eventually answered.

Ethan retained the gentle smile as he asked, "How does it feel to be free?"

Nodding slowly, Aaron looked back ahead to the studio in the near-distance. "That's a good question."

It was still surreal. He was still waking up tense from the expectation to hear the invasive voices again, to feel Con ripping apart his memory for whatever shreds of information he could use. Then Aaron would feel only exhaustion when he was met with a silence that he hadn't known for years. Awash in...

"Relieved," he answered in a sigh.

"And a follow up-question," Ethan continued with a waggle of his brows, "what's the first thing you're going to do for fun when you get home?"

Aaron hadn't thought of that, actually. He had forced himself out of the habit of planning ahead, that he figured he'd spend the rest of his summer here. In Jay's company, as well was Ethan's, which he wasn't opposed to, in all honesty.

Since Ethan was asking, though, he gave it a long moment of thought.

"Potentially ask Ava out for a coffee," Aaron said in an odd bout of wistfulness-- confidence, even.

"Oh, nice!" Ethan grinned, slowing to a stop in front of the studio's door. "Well, that day can be today, 'cause she's waiting inside for ya."

And, in the blink of an eye, Aaron felt this wistful confidence completely wilt.

He stared blankly at Ethan. Then turned on his heel.

Ethan laughed, stepping in his way with another goofy grin. "Wait a second. You'll want to go through those doors. Once you step through, you'll never want to step back. Trust me." He slid the backpack off his shoulder and offered it to him with a smile. "I packed all your belongings for you. You know, you travel kind of light, so I put in some extra stuff for you I think you'd need." He nudged the backpack in his hands. "You're going home, Aaron."

"Going..." Aaron glanced down at the bag, instinctively taking it in his hands.

Ethan nodded. "Home. Yeah. With Ava." He paused. "But that's unrelated... Sort of."

Aaron couldn't help the cautious look he cast the other man. "This isn't... a joke. Is it?"

Wistfully, Ethan smiled and shook his head. "Nope. You can go through the door and see for yourself. Jay is waiting for you. You'll have a few minutes together before they call you on the stage." He hummed. "Now you know why I had you put on your best sweater, huh?"

"It's not even mine," was all Aaron could think to say in response as he turned back to the door.

"And you look great," Ethan said with a grin. "Now: are you ready for freedom, round two?"

No. He was frankly terrified by what that entailed. It was one thing to choose wrong and thus fail, because he was under duress. By someone else's prompting.

It was another entirely to potentially choose wrong, and fail, fail others, all by his own volition. Nothing influencing his decisions but himself, really. It was a level of responsibility, he realized, that he'd been happy in a way to hand off to someone else.

But... By this logic, any ensuing successes could likewise be fully accreditted to him. Such as his friendship with Jay, maybe a friendship-- maybe something else-- with Ava, decisions in career path...

Aaron hefted the bag over his shoulder and reached for the door handle.

"Oh, and Aaron?" Ethan called.

Pausing, Aaron looked back.

Ethan smiled warmly. "See you later, buddy. Have a long, happy life. You deserve it."

Oh.

Oh! How could Aaron neglect this?

Stepping back, he held out a hand with a full, sincere smile. "Thank you, Ethan Bennett," he said warmly. "I hope to see you again, too, and wish only the best for you and your family."

But instead of taking his hand to shake, Ethan high-fived it and said, "You too, Doctor Earth." He grinned, gesturing to the door with his chin. "Now go get that cup 'o coffee."

With a more assurred nod, Aaron pivoted back to the door once again. This time, easing it open and stepping in. It was dark inside, except for some computer monitors on desks along one wall, and a line of lights that directed him to a backstage room. Which he only knew because the door was clearly labelled as such.

He barely took in any other details as he entered, attention quickly fixed on his friend on the other side.

Jay turned to him, and his normal stony expression actually softened for once. He looked relieved.

"Aaron," Jay said, standing up out of his folding chair. He looked a little ragged, wearing a colorful poncho that swallowed him like usual, but there was a weariness in his movements, and Aaron spotted a leaf sticking out of his dreadlocs.

"You're okay," Jay said. "I was afraid you'd been sucked into the event as well."

Oh god, was Jay just... Literally just returning from the event? Was he not allowed time to recover?

As he closed the distance, Aaron gestured vaguely around Jay's head to indicate the leaves. "You're not hurt, are you?" he asked.

"No, no," Jay said dismissively. "I'm fine. You can't hit something that's intangible. I'm good."

Aaron let out a short, relieved breath. "Good. Yes." He nodded. "Logically, yes. However. I still like to be sure." Because he wasn't always intangible.

When Jay made no move to brush himself off, merely standing around awkwardly like a beanpole... in a television studio, sans bean plants, Aaron let out another huff. Amused more than anything.

"You're a mess," he stated blandly, "sit down."

Jay stared at Aaron blanky, then looked down at himself.

"I don't think sitting is going to fix that," he said plainly.

"It will with the physical exhaustion," Aaron countered.

Jay let out a sigh, but relented with a small shake of his head. He sat back down in his chair, stiffly, looking like he wanted to say something but wasn't saying it. Aaron took a seat beside him and merely waited.

It took him about three seconds before Jay blurted: "Did you see the livestream?"

Aaron set his bag on his lap and hugged it to his chest. "Yes."

"So you know we got the prize for you," Jay said. "You have a ticket out of here. You'll get to leave and go home."

Aaron nodded. "Yes." A beat. "I know."

"Okay," Jay said, leaning back into his seat and finally starting to relax. "Good. Good. That... yeah. I think that happens soon, then."

"That's what I'd been told just a moment ago," Aaron agreed with another nod.

"Did they tell you when you're leaving?" Jay asked.

"They..." Aaron frowned slightly. "...I presumed today? Hence." He wiggled the backpack. After a slight hesitation, he added, "With Ava, apparently."

Jay's eyes widened at that, and there was a very rare, seemingly uncharacteristic small smile that appeared on Jay's face in surprise.

"Wait, for real?" he asked.

Huffing, louder this time, Aaron rolled his eyes. "Yes. It doesn't make sense to keep her here when the reason why she was brough here to begin with is leaving--"

"So you're going to ask her out, then, right?" Jay asked, his small smile growing into a real one.

As much as he wanted to appear quite put-upon, Aaron couldn't suppress his grin. "Eventually," he answered, "maybe."

Jay smiled even bigger. It was the biggest smile Aaron had ever seen on him. He didn't think he'd ever see Jay this happy. And it wasn't even for his own sake. Aaron had to laugh, simultaneously amused and a bit incredulous at his level of investment.

"Do it," Jay said. "I know she's going to say yes. You'll have to uh--"

His smile faltered, falling away rather quickly.

"--stay in touch," Jay added a bit more awkwardly. "So. I can. Yeah. You have my number already."

"Obviously," Aaron said without hesitation. "...I will just need to acquire a phone when I'm back."

Jay winced.

"You should ask the DMV if they can give you money for one. They've done enough to you. They can at least do that," Jay said.

Acting purely on prideful instinct, Aaron opened his mouth to decline the idea. Paused. Snapped his mouth shut as he thought it over, then conceded with a nod.

"You could probably ask for anything at this point and they'd be obligated to give it to you since you're well within your rights to sue anyway if you wanted to," Jay added.

Aaron huffed a dry laugh at that. "Bearing in mind my own personal resources," he countered. "But, you're right. On the principle of the matter, anyhow."

"No, what I'm saying is; you should be greedy," Jay said. "Literally. Bleed the fuckers dry. They won't even feel it, they're so damn wealthy."

"Excellent points," Aaron agreed in a more contemplative hum. "Yes... I shall certainly seek to."

"Good," Jay said. "While you're at it can you ask them to give me 20k? I want a new car."

Aaron nodded seriously. "Anything else?"

Jay shrugged. "Maybe make it 50k so I can make a downpayment for a house."

"Done." Aaron started a mental list of these demands. Then glanced at Jay in further prompting.

"That's... yeah that's good for now," Jay said with a nod.

Aaron nodded as well. "Very well. If anything else does come to mind, you may of course reach out anytime. Once I have acquired a cellular device."

"Right. Get on that first, then," Jay said.

There was only time enough to faintly grin in response, before Mel called his name from the other side of... one of the four walls. An obnoxious neon sign which read "COME ON DOWN" suddenly flashed on to their right, indicating the door to the studio.

With one more shared glance, Aaron swung the backpack to his shoulder again as he rose. Jay had gotten to his feet, watching Aaron stiffly.

Was... Should they shake hands? Jay wasn't a hand-shaking type. Aaron wondered if... a hug would be more appropriate/appreciated. Given the precedent set by Jay not too long ago.

With admittedly rod-like arms himself, Aaron haltingly extended a silent offer.

Jay stared at Aaron for a moment, but then nodded to himself as he drew near, wrapping his arms around Aaron with the rigidity of a nutcracker.

Yes. This was a proper embrace. Like two nutcrackers. In an attempt to make it less so, Aaron lightly patted Jay's back.

"Take care," Jay said as he pulled away.

"You as well," Aaron replied, inclining his head as he stepped back. "I'll be sure to stay in contact. And closely watch your chronicles of continued suffering." He gave Jay's shoulder one last awkward pat. "Rooting for you."

Jay flashed a wince of a smile.

"Okay. Go out there," he said, pushing Aaron's shoulder away. "They're waiting for you."

The reminder made Aaron grimace slightly. But with a final nod, he bowed out into the studio. Immediately, he was met with blinding rainbow lights and an attack of colorful confetti hitting him in all directions. A roar of applause filled the air, and as Aaron continued to take careful strides towards the center of the stage, he realized there was a large overhead banner with his name on it.

Well. It was indubitably a big deal to him, but there was no need to make a show of this--

No, wait.

"Woohoo! Congratulations, Aaron!" Mel clapped cheerfully. By her side, Mireya gave him some celebratory finger guns. "I'm sad we didn't get to hang out more, but I'm happy that you get to go home and rest!" With a bright smile, Mel moved to the side, revealing Ava behind her. "Oh, you're both going back home together, by the way. Isn't that great?!"

Blinking, Aaron tried his best not to visibly blanch. He offered a weak wave to Ava first. "Thank you," he answered stiffly, looking to Mel.

"Don't thank me! Thank this guy!" Mel exclaimed, gesturing to James sitting towards the back of the stage.

He was holding what looked like a glowing orb in his hands, but he looked disheveled. Much like Jay, it appeared neither of them had been given a chance to clean up.

With exhaustion clear on James's face, he rose to his feet, giving Aaron a nod with the sharpness of a soldier.

"Aaron," James said. "Good to see you."

Aaron nodded, more tentatively. "You as well."

He wished he had the presence of mind to pay attention to Mel. She had been kind to him, and Aaron didn't want to be rude.

But he was frankly too hung up on the fact that he didn't even know anyone here that well-- beyond Jay. Yet, here this tank in human form stood, clear signs of having waged a literal war dirtying him from head to toe-- and won-- for the sake of a total stranger who gave him no reason to care even an ounce.

"I'm... glad you're on your feet. It'll be good for you to go home. Away from all of this," James said quietly.

Then he held out his hand, offering Aaron the glowing orb.

"I think this is yours now," James said.

Letting out a short breath, Aaron carefully reached for it. It hummed in his hands, shining brighter like a ball of pure energy. Then it slowly faded away until there was only a slip of blue paper in his palms that bid him "Bon Voyage!" in cheerful cursive. Beneath that was the printed voyage information, as well as his name to further confirm this was indeed for Aaron.

Looking back up to James, Aaron silently stared for a moment, at a loss for the words. A mere "thanks" actually felt insufficient, but it was all he had.

In the silence, James offered Aaron a wearied smile.

"Any last words, Aaron or Ava?" Mel asked.

Aaron managed a nod. Looking the other man straight in the eye, he said with all sincerity and humility, "Thank you, James."

"You're welcome, Aaron," James said in return.

"Say byeeee, Aaron! We love and miss you!" Mel said brightly with a grin and a wave, just in time for a giant, purple, swirling portal to appear out of thin air.

"Yes! Bye Aaron!" Mireya said, waving both her hands in the air.

Eyes averted, Aaron weakly waved back.

The portal led out to the deck of a ship. Ava slid in to stand beside him, cracking a quick smile.

"I still don't understand this place one bit," she said brightly, "but I got back a buddy out of it--" She tilted her head toward the portal. "--and this weirds me out to no end, but it leads to sunshine, so. Ready?"

Huffing out through his nose, Aaron nodded. "It's best not to think too hard on it, honestly."

He set his sights on the portal; his path back to complete freedom. Drew in a steadying breath, nodded resolutely, then took his first confident step forward in ages.

"Ready."

Alan awoke with a jolt, his eyes not yet adjusting to the dark as he heaved in thin breaths, shaking with adrenaline. His mind was still on time with the music, standing on the stage, performing for no one in particular to hear. There was no transition when he was suddenly yanked away, collapsed on the floor of his...

He blinked rapidly, recognizing the familiar shapes.

His... room? He was back in his room?

Alan only took a few seconds to reorient himself, trying to make sense of what was happening or why his room looked a little different-- but frankly, he couldn't piece it together in time, or maybe ever. But it didn't matter.

Was everyone else okay?

Frantically skittering to his feet, Alan rushed to the door, pulling it open with such force that the doorknob nearly slipped out of his fingers, door almost slamming against the wall.

He came face-to-face with... Leilan? Doing the same thing as him: wide-eyed, staring at each other, doorkob in hand.

"Leilan?" Alan blurted out, trying to piece this together.

"Alan?" Leilan asked confusedly, staring at him for a moment before he took a look around the hall, and realization seemed to dawn on him. "Oh! I think I got sorted into your cabin."

"Wh--" Alan stammered, but nothing else came out.

Okay. So. Leilan was here. And there were four doors in the hall, not three. Did they... get new cabin mates? Where was Cyrin? With someone else?

"Yyyyeah," he said slowly, eyeing the other two doors. "It seems so..."

If there was a shake-up in cabin assignments, he wondered who else he lived with.

As if the universe could read his thoughts, the door next to him opened. And with mild surprise, Alan watched as Lyall came into view-- relieved to find that he had returned to normal in the body he was familiar with.

Brows drawn and eyes darting between both ends of the hall, Lyall wore the same intense confusion as the rest of them. His gaze first settled on Leilan, which only served to further discombobulate him.

So... Lyall was here too. They were still cabin mates. This was good. Alan had to set aside the storm of tense thoughts and emotions he held for his friend, instead focusing on the situation at hand here.

"Are you alright?" he asked Lyall, then hesitantly flicked his gaze over to Leilan. "Both of you?"

Lyall whirled around. The tension in his shoulders released only slightly, and he only managed a slight nod in answer. "Yourself?"

Alan simply nodded back in response, mostly searching Lyall's eyes and expression for what he was not saying. There seemed to be a lot, as a mix of emotions faded in and out of his face as they both made eye contact again. In the split second that occurred, it was like they both were trying to analyze each other, but came up inconclusive.

With a faint shake of his head, Lyall was quick to turn an attentive look back to Leilan. "My friend, how did you fare?" he murmured with open concern. "Any lingering injuries?"

"None," Leilan promised, giving himself a look-over. With the armor gone, he was now in what must be his normal clothes-- a red polo shirt, white jeans, and casual sneakers. "I'm perfectly safe. I assume you're both okay too?"

They both confirmed they were, then suddenly, the door opposite of Alan's opened and out stepped Alexander, a fluffy towel in hand.

Okay. So. Alexander was their final cabin mate. This was... well, Alan didn't know what to make of this. It was something.

Everything that happened next occurred while Alan was in a daze. Alexander announced that he was going to shower since he was quite filthy, and truth be told, Alan totally agreed with the sentiments. Not that Alexander was filthy, but that all of them could use a wash.

Then there was a scream out the window. It was Hendrik, going on about how he was upset that he was put with "crazy eyes," whoever that was. The yelling turned to some back and forth between him and Alexander, and soon enough, that turned to an invitation. To sleep, and to shower.

It didn't matter. Alan had already checked out. He was itching to get away, leave... go somewhere else.



Night walks. It had been a while since he went on one.

Unlesss... no, wait. That wasn't right. Alan had taken a few night walks the past month. Right? Right. Just not by himself. Truly himself.

Night walks, by himself. That, it had been a while.

...Well, maybe not entirely. There were also a few times this month he was by himself, walking at night.

Night walks, by himself, with a sound mind. There.

As Alan quietly crunched his shoes against the soft sand, he thought back to the last time he walked by himself, hours on end, only surrounded by nature. The distant shoreline of the ocean sounded foreign but familiar, as did the gentle tugging and whispering of the salty breeze. He was being guided then, liberated now.

Circles. Never-ending circles. A gridlocked, dead-end, stalemate. It felt like no matter what he did, who he talked to, or what he thought, it was all for nothing.

None of it mattered. The world would keep spinning without him.

Alan didn't really know what prompted this line of thought again, but once again, it ate at him like a leech on his skin.

What was he, if not a dutiful son? A devoted companion? A friendly presence? A proficient musician? An ambitious artist?

It was frustrating to not know. So maybe he did let the critique get to him; after all, there had to be some semblance of truth in what others saw in him.

A con artist? A whore? A manipulator? A lost opportunity?

Priorities. He had to retain his priorities. He said he would, and he was committed to it, but Alan knew that they always changed, sometimes by the day. He had to be more consistent.

It was only yesterday that he vowed to make Lyall his first priority-- and all the reasonings behind this statement still held true. Alan royally fucked up, and honestly, he was beginning to wonder if his guilt and shame were now plaguing him with hallucinations, and he had to seriously ask himself if he was literally going insane.

He had to apologize. And he will, first thing tomorrow morning.

Because, sweeping aside the shame, Alan dared to consider a temporary-- a truly, very temporary-- alternative.

Tonight, Alan would prioritize himself.

What this looked like, he had no fucking clue. But he was insanely exhausted, racked with emotions he couldn't understand, but it was uncomfortable, and he didn't really know what else to do, who to turn to, where to go...

He couldn't just... run away again. There wasn't even anywhere to go. It was an island.

O cruel world, is this your way to torment me? he thought to himself, peering up at the vast night sky, stars shining back down on him.

In a daze, Alan trudged up the steps of the mansion, weakly pushing himself through the doors. Inside was eerily quiet and dark, though that was as expected, considering it was quite late. He felt his body move on his own, taking silent steps up the stairs, taking a familiar right, eyes out for the second door on his left.

For a second, a warm feeling of deja vu ran down his back as he swore he heard Lyall incredulously shout out, "So this is your grand plan?" as he knocked on the door. But the empty Lyall-less space beside him said otherwise.

Alan really needed to get him out of his head.

The lock on the door clicked, slowly and hesitantly swinging open. A head peeped out, and upon recognition, the door swung open fully.

"Hey man," Alistair said with his hair a tousled mess, his brows creased together with confusion and worry. "Damn. You're back."

Alan only managed to give his brother the barest of nods, wishing he felt more relieved than the empty apathy he felt inside.

Alistair frowned slightly in the silence that followed. He looked over his shoulder hesitantly, then back at Alan, the concern now overshadowing the confusion. He stepped forward, quietly closing the door behind him.

"You okay?" he asked softly, searching his eyes.

Alan sighed, leaning in and hanging his head low until his forehead perched on top of his Alistair's shoulder. "I don't really know," he murmured in reply, voice hollow. It was the cold, hard truth.

After some hesitation, Alistair softly patted his back in return, letting a silence hang in the air.

And Alan was grateful for it. He pressed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath.

He should say something else. He should. But he couldn't. Wouldn't. Didn't.

Nothing else came to mind.

"Do want to step out and take a smoke break with me?" Alistair asked, dropping his hand and breaking the silence.

Alan huffed out an amused puff of air, slowly standing upright again. He squinted at his brother, fingers reaching under his glasses to tiredly rub his eye.

"That shit's so bad for your health," Alan said with a light scoff.

Alistair quietly scoffed back, shoving his hands in his front pockets as he murmured, "Yeah... I know."

Alan smiled faintly, briefly twisting his head to gaze upon the giant arched window at the end of the hall. The full moon hung brightly in the sky, casting a gentle light that complimented the warmth of the room.

"Yeah... okay." Alan turned back to his brother, smiling more sincerely. "Let's go."

Cyrin was in a completely new cabin. Sure, his room was the exact same down to every detail, besides the wendigo damage having suddenly disappeared. But his cabinmates were different. When he'd stepped out of his room into the hallway, he'd seen a confused Clarity doing the same, and they'd exchanged a baffled look. Jay and Connie appearing a few moments later was even stranger, but it also cleared up just what had happened. Their cabins-- and the people they were assigned with-- had all changed at the end of their first month.

They couldn't help but feel sad about it. It wasn't that he didn't like his new cabinmates, it was that he'd really enjoyed being with Alan and Lyall, and he hadn't known he'd be losing that at the end of his fourth week. It felt a little more painful after having been away from them for three days before this one, too. They knew their friends were still here, of course, but somehow it was still disappointing.

Cyrin had been alone in their room for some time before they got the thought to text each of them. However, they were only halfway through a message to one "Dr. Blazington McSparkles" when he heard the very man himself shouting from outside the cabin.

"CYRIN BRIDGERRR!" Lyall called with despair at the top of his lungs. "Why do the Fates continue to torment us in this way?!"

No need to text, then. Instead of setting his phone down like a normal person, Cyrin threw it at his bed and hurried to the front door. It wouldn't break.

Lyall, standing out on the beach, had hardly closed his mouth when Cyrin swung the door open.

"A few hours apart and you're wailing like a cat left out in the rain," they teased, but immediately held their arms open.

Lyall spun in place at first, up and all around until he finally found Cyrin. Breaking out into a broad, relieved grin, he clung to Cyrin in an instant.

"I resent the imagery," he huffed, trying his best to sound put-upon, "and thus accept the comparison begrudgingly."

"Hmm." Wrapping their arms around Lyall, Cyrin pretended to give it thought. "I don't see the problem with my metaphor, admittedly."

"The problem arises where," Lyall countered, "clearly, I have far more dignity than the comparison suggests."

"If you say so, you drowned cat. Get inside," Cyrin teased, guiding Lyall in and closing the door behind him.

Despite their lightheartedness, they took a good moment to scan their friend for any signs of distress. Lyall hesitated at the door, mumbling incoherently at the ground as he carefully toed off his shoes.

"Damned sand," was all he muttered.

So if he wasn't well, he wasn't showing it, beyond his sandy woes.

Lyall had to have been affected by what had happened with Casper, though. It made no sense for him not to be. And just the memory of it-- his brother flying at Lyall in a violent rage, hands clawing for his neck-- made Cyrin's blood run cold all over again. That was even more the moment where, while they'd been hacking up blood, they had realized with dread that maybe they didn't know if they were going to get out of this. The feeling of Lyall's heart racing with panic right next to him had turned that dread into a nightmarish fear.

They had to thank Connie for both their lives soon.

Instead of saying this, though, Cyrin watched Lyall carefully and slowly remove his shoes with a slowly-fading smile.

Nudging his shoes aside, Lyall then turned his quiet attention to Cyrin, quickly circling around him before taking their hand to lift their arm.

"I have no damned clue how this magic works," he said, the lightness in his tone replaced by a hint of weariness as he scanned over Cyrin, "but I just want to be sure you aren't still harboring any wounds from our little misadventures."

Cyrin shook their head. "No," they said honestly. "I'm not hurt."

Lyall warmly rested his hands on their arms as he met Cyrin's eyes. "Good."

Cyrin opened his mouth, hoping the words to finally ask about their situation and hear how he was doing would show up. They didn't. So all he could do was carefully glance around the living room-- empty, since everyone else was keeping to themselves-- and knowingly, quietly ask, "Are you okay?"

Lyall nodded once. Hesitated. Then, tilting his head, he scrunched his nose uncertainly. "I was going to say, 'yes,' but that would've been a glaring lie," he admitted in a mumble. His eyes turned attentive again as he gently asked, "What about yourself?"

Cyrin sighed quietly. "I'm equally incapable of pretending to be completely fine."

"Well, then," Lyall said with a soft snort. "I..." He lifted a hand in a shrug. "I'm honestly not sure what else to do right now. We only just got back..."

The young doctor shifted in place a moment, scanning the cabin's sitting room uncertainly. "Want to sit?" he asked with strange levity. "I could use a sit. We practically faced a bloody war. We deserve a sit."

Cyrin cracked a bit of a sad smile as he gestured towards the couch, sitting down. "It's the least thing they owe us."

Following suit, Lyall took the space beside him and sank into his side. Practically deflating with a long exhale. Cyrin wrapped an arm over his shoulders, letting him rest there. It felt nice to have a friend who seemed to like this kind of physical comfort. They'd thought themselves more or less neutral about that kind of thing, but maybe that was only because they'd gotten used to not having much of it. Now that they did... they had to admit, it felt right. They were glad for it.

He let the silence rest between them for a while, paying attention to the way Lyall's heart beat now, no longer rushed by panic. He counted a hundred heartbeats before he spoke up again.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For Casper. He shouldn't have done that-- any of that-- to you, and I wish I could've stopped him. Our bad blood should've stayed between the two of us."

There was a slight delay in any response. Lyall turned his head, resting his chin on Cyrin's shoulder to fix an intensely worried gaze on the side of his face.

"You, my friend," he murmured gently, "should not be apologizing on his behalf."

Cyrin swallowed.

"His problem is still with me," they said. "You shouldn't have had to experience the consequences of it. I never meant for that to happen."

Sitting straighter, Lyall tilted his head slightly as he carefully considered them.

"Cyrin, I'm inclined to believe," he said slowly, "that you're entirely missing the point here."

Cyrin blinked.

"...How?" he asked.

At this, Lyall frowned. He opened his mouth, closed it, then glanced off.

"Alright," he eventually tried, clapping his hands together once, "I have a theory. And, please, correct me if I'm wrong, because. I'd rather not be wrong about this sort of thing."

Cyrin had a feeling they knew where this was going. He nodded slowly, swallowing again.

"Okay," he said finally. "Go ahead."

There was another brief pause, this time as Lyall seemed to search the ceiling for the words. Then, with a weary huff out through his nose, let a mix of worry and sadness and anger show fully in his eyes as he looked back to Cyrin.

"Has Casper... intentionally threatened your life already?" he asked, voice just above a mumble.

There it was. Cyrin took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm even as an ache shot through his heart.

Saints, they'd known the question was coming, and it didn't scare them any less now that they had to answer it. Their lips had been sealed about it for long enough that it felt wrong to say anything about it now. Even having shared that tiny sliver of the story a week ago, it was agonizing to admit to this much.

But he should. Lyall had guessed it, and after what had happened, he owed him that much honesty.

"Yeah," Cyrin said faintly, hearing their voice as if someone else was speaking the words for them. "He did."

Lyall gave the barest of solemn nods. He rested a hand on Cyrin's shoulder. "Then he should not still be your problem," he said, quiet yet firm.

Cyrin felt frozen in place. No, he could be trembling, actually. He didn't know. He couldn't tell.

"Is that why you punched him first?" he said quietly at last.

"It is," Lyall answered, with a hint of regret now.

Cyrin's heart was too heavy to speak for a few moments, and his lungs felt too tight to inhale the deep breath of air that he needed. A suffocating feeling he couldn't name was weighing him down.

"I wish he hadn't said that," he murmured, looking into Lyall's eyes. "He wanted you to do that. I didn't want you to get hurt."

Brows furrowing, Lyall held his gaze with open concern. "And I just want you safe," he said emphatically. "Which, in this case, would mean putting away a could-have-been murderer."

Cyrin stared at him, their thoughts buzzing around too much to make full sense of it.

"Putting away?" they asked slowly.

Lyall stayed silent, giving them a moment to let it sink in.

Cyrin did know what he meant by the words, but... The suggestion had him reeling. Never had he thought it was a viable course of action.

"Lyall, I..." he started softly, before regretfully but surely shaking his head. "No. It doesn't work that way."

Lyall drew in a short breath. "And why not?" he patiently asked.

Helplessly, Cyrin waved their hand that wasn't currently resting on Lyall's shoulder, trying to collect himself. "I can give you about three reasons," he said faintly.

There was a fourth, but that was another can of worms he didn't want to dig around in today.

After a beat of quiet, Lyall inclined his head. "Alright. Hit me."

"One," Cyrin started carefully, "everything would fall apart at the slightest utterance of an accusation. It's no secret that Casper and I are each other's greatest competitor at the highest level of gymnastics, and we don't get along in public any more than we do in private. You don't need me to summarize the drama. The point is, if I alleged he nearly killed me, I wouldn't have time to finish my sentence before I'd be overwhelmed with people calling it defamatory speech and accusing me of trying to boost my chances by ruining his reputation. And this is all before this could even make its way to a court."

Lyall glanced off, lips pursed in thought as he thought this over, waited a moment. Then gave a small wave for Cyrin to continue.

"Two," Cyrin went on softly, "even if for some reason this did end with a verdict in my favor... I don't want Casper in prison."

This was more difficult to explain to an outside perspective. They inhaled, thinking over their words carefully.

"There's a saying that the last place a Ren person wants to be is in an Aphiran prison cell," Cyrin said slowly. "It's not a joke. If Casper and I didn't come from money, if no one knew who we were, both of us would have been, statistically, around three times more likely to die at the hands of Aphiran police than to graduate college. He'd be treated horribly, and that's not something I'm willing to sentence him to. I don't have the heart for it."

Again, Lyall stayed quiet. His posture wilted a bit, but he nodded his acknowledgement and waited. Cyrin wondered if he'd ever heard this spoken so plainly before.

"Three..." Cyrin hesitated. "This would apply if there was a legal battle and I lost it. Which seems a likely scenario, given that it's been too long, and I don't have any evidence of it happening. I'd have the burden to prove it, and there's no way that I could. But trying and failing would provide Casper with all he needs for a defamation countersuit, and then I'd be the one in trouble. Possibly even at risk of ending up in prison myself." He shook his head. "Maybe it's nice to think that all I'd need to do is be brave and come forward about it. But that's not how it goes. These are courts of law, not courts of justice, and the law is cruel." He shrugged defeatedly, as a lump formed in his throat. "Welcome to the Aphiran judiciary."

Lyall looked like he wanted to say something, but again opted for silence for a moment. He turned his gaze to the wall ahead of them, bobbing his head slightly as he seemed to process.

Then finally murmured in response, "Okay."

Cyrin blinked, scanning the side of his face.

"'Okay?'" he echoed quietly.

Lyall sighed sadly. "It's clearly a losing battle," he said. "One you've already given quite a bit of thought toward, it seems. So, I won't cause a needless kerfuffle over it any further."

Turning a somber smile back to Cyrin, Lyall took their hand in his and gave it a warm squeeze. "I'm sorry there isn't more that can be done to help you."

Cyrin squeezed his hand back, but he kept his gaze on Lyall's face, softening his expression with solemnity.

The response still confused him. Especially the casualness that last sentence was spoken with. He wasn't led to believe Lyall would give up so easily on this.

"Is there something you're thinking that you're not telling me?" he said softly.

Lyall huffed a wry laugh. "There are a million other thoughts that I'm not telling you. But only because they're not related to this, and thus not important right now."

Cyrin didn't accept the answer immediately. Their gut was still telling them that there was more to it. But if there was, it would be too difficult to press for, and Lyall had probably had an even worse day than Cyrin had had. They couldn't do that to him right now.

"Alright," they said quietly, pulling Lyall a little closer with their arm as they squeezed his hand again. "Thank you for hearing me."

Leaning into his side again, Lyall cracked a fleeting grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Anything for you, my friend," he said with all sincerity.

Cyrin attempted to smile as well, but they knew it didn't reach their eyes either. He wished Capser had never showed up on the island. How could the DMV let his brother hurt Lyall? Would they have let him kill him if Cyrin hadn't been there? Would they have let him kill them both if Connie hadn't been there, too?

There was no accountability for this type of thing. Just another brawl in a forest that no sound came out of if there was no one around to hear it.

"Ah," Lyall eventually piped up again, "there is one related thought." He glanced at Cyrin. "Only if you don't mind."

Cyrin nodded, unsure what this could be. "Go on," they said.

Lyall hesitated, but slowly went on, "I'd noticed not too long ago... scar tissue over your abdominal region. One seemed indicative of a more accidental cause. But, the other..." He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Seemed more intentional."

Cyrin pressed his lips together as well, as he nodded again. Right. He'd forgotten Lyall had had a full view of those recently.

"One of those was shrapnel," he said carefully. "From the car wreckage. A large shard of glass, or even metal. I couldn't tell you which."

His memory had turned hazy from the fear there. That, and whatever the jagged material had been, it had been too embedded in his flesh for him to tell what it was.

"And the other was from a hunting knife," they added faintly. "It was a drive back from a hunting rite of passage that I had to join him on. The gear was still in the car when we crashed."

A longer silence drew out between them.

Lifting their still-joined hands, Lyall pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the back of Cyrin's. "That should never have happened to you," he murmured, voice thick and eyes shining with sorrow. "I'm so sorry."

Cyrin resisted the urge to drop their gaze to their hands, instead meeting Lyall's gaze more intently. This felt... perfectly unexpected. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Certainly not unappreciated. He hoped-- he couldn't know, but he hoped-- that some inkling of how much Lyall meant to him showed in his gaze or expression. He didn't want Lyall to be guessing at how far that affection extended. Not when they'd told him things they'd expected to have to take to the grave.

Without lowering their hands, or looking at them, Cyrin slowly, gently intertwined their fingers, letting Lyall's thumb rest over the back of their hand where his lips had briefly been. He took a careful, deep breath, keeping his eyes on Lyall.

"It never should've happened to you, either," he said, in a tone so soft it was almost a breath. "On my life, I promise that it never will again. He might want to, but he won't lay another hand on you. You are too good and kind of a soul to have to fear for your safety from such a monster."

Setting his jaw, Lyall was only able to hold their gaze for a second more, before averting his eyes. He held on firmly as he slowly lowered their hands, attention fixed down on that.

"I--" He cleared his throat. "I would like to offer you the same promise of loyalty." He mustered a tired, close-lipped smile, the affection still clear in his eyes. "I know on the most technical of terms, he is your family, but I'd slug him again in a heartbeat. Anyone, really." Lyall gave his hand another slight squeeze. "Anything for you, my dear Cyrin."

Cyrin managed to return the faint but sincere smile as he held on tight. "You're very dear to me too, Lyall," he said gently. "Whatever power of fate is tormenting us is also the one that got me to meet you. I have the feeling that I'll be counting that among my blessings for a long time to come."

Casper might still be on the island. But so was Lyall. And for a moment, that was all that mattered.

The interview was finally over. Aaron was going home. And now that he was out of that studio, James had matters he needed to address.

He'd seen some things in that montage that disturbed him. They were things he knew the DMV wouldn't bother addressing. It was going to be glossed over, they would say it was part of the testing, no one would care and if they did, it'd never make it past the courts. And all of that was only in regards to the outward response.

James was worried about the people. Lyall, in particular.

It took him a while to march back down the hill, away from the studio, through the plaza, and back to the cabins. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been held up during the "show," but he had a feeling that after the past three days' events, everyone would still be reeling even thirty minutes later.

There was much to process, and if everyone was as much a mess as him, then they'd all have to clean up too.

He passed Tula's cabin first. But just as he walked up to the front steps, he stopped himself short of the porch, letting his brain catch up to him before his feet carried him forward.

Context. Time and place was everything.

Tula cared about winning. She hated him. And right now, she's just lost to him.

There was no way she was going to hear a word he had to say at the moment. Trying to have a conversation with her now would be entirely and painfully unproductive. She had no emotional maturity or capacity to put aside her petty ways and have an adult conversation. And she wouldn't be open to even starting one right now.

He shook his head. Turning away, he marched past the cabin, deciding to save the mess that was Tula for later.

Who he really needed to talk to was Lyall. And as luck would have it, he saw Lyall stepping out of the cabin across from Tula's.

Wheeling around, James looked at the cabin, then at Lyall, then at the cabin he expected to find Lyall in. With a split second of confusion, he shook it off and waved to grab Lyall's attention.

Hesitating by the front door for only a millisecond, Lyall called with a mix of bewilderment and relief, "James!" Then rushed out to meet him halfway.

James hurried to meet him in the middle, and decided to open his arms to welcome an embrace. Not giving it a second thought, Lyall brought his arms around James's shoulders, holding on tightly. James hugged tight in return, waiting on Lyall to release when he wanted to.

Lyall was quick to withdraw, hovering his hands over his arms as he quickly yet intently scanned him. "Dear gods, man," he uttered. "Are you hurt? Did they at least let you heal?"

James let out a dry laugh. "I'm healed, yes. Looks like you had a chance to clean up?" he asked, looking up to Lyall's hair, now returned to its normal, clean and fluffy state.

Giving him another once-over, Lyall huffed wryly as he quickly patted himself down. "I... Frankly, I don't rightly know. Magic? Probably. Either way, it wasn't quite my own doing."

James tilted his head. "Huh," he hummed in acceptance. "I suppose that's the least surprising thing to happen lately. But. Regardless. I'm... glad."

A pause.

"I think," he said.

There were pros and cons to having the evidence of a significant traumatic event fade as quickly as they came. James knew that all too well.

"Logistics," Lyall said with a dismissive wave. "You, my friend, clearly have not benefitted from such a bizarre resolution." A pause on his end. "You smell like horse shit."

James nodded with a shrug. "Yeah. Sorry about that," he said. "Now you've got the smell on you too."

"Bah!" Lyall waved it off with both hands. "What's another minor trial among many shared between friends?"

James smiled faintly, but there was a knot in his stomach ever since he finally saw Lyall in person. He hesitated.

Lyall seemed like he was going somewhere. Maybe now wasn't a good time. He'd rather do this somewhere private. Somewhere calm. After they'd all had a chance to breathe. But he wanted Lyall to know he cared.

"It looks like you're busy," James said. "But... could we talk later? Maybe stop by my cabin tomorrow evening?"

It was late. They'd had a long three days. The sun would be up in six to seven hours, and he knew people would want to sleep between now and then.

The bravado faded a bit into concern. Lyall set his hands on his sides as he studied James. "Of course," he murmured in answer with an emphatic nod. "Yes, anything for you." He briefly glanced off. "I was just trying to locate Cyrin."

James looked back at the cabin that Lyall, Alan, and Cyrin lived in.

"Is he not home?" James asked.

"Are any of us here?" Lyall said with a dry grin in his voice.

James let out a huff. "But they're not in the cabin?"

Grin falling again, Lyall shook his head. "We've got four rooms now. All of which were filled with myself, Alan, Leilan, and Alexander. Seems things were delightfully changed up for our return."

James blinked slowly, then looked about the cabins in confusion as he scratched the back of his head.

Really? They'd moved things around? He hadn't even been back to his cabin yet, and now he didn't even know where to go.

"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry. That's confusing."

It sounded like Lyall didn't get mixed around too much, though. He was still with Alan, at least. The addition of Alex and Leilan, though, was interesting, to say the least. Leilan was a stand up guy. Alex was... something.

"Unfortunately I don't know where Cyrin is," James said. "I only just got out of the studio."

He pointed over his shoulder up the hill.

"The stu..." Lyall glanced past him, the pieces slowly clicking into place him. "Did they expect you to interview right after a war?" he asked incredulously.

James shrugged helplessly.

"I got to say goodbye to Aaron, at least," he said. "He's headed home, now."

Looking back to James, there was a spark of something hopeful in Lyall's eyes. "It worked?"

"It did," James said, mustering a small but tired smile.

"Thank the gods," Lyall breathed out, tiredly scrubbing both hands over his face. Then set them on his hips as he quietly considered James again with a cracked half-grin. "Get some rest," he eventually sighed. "I'll find you tomorrow."

James nodded.

There was a sense of relief in knowing they would have a day to process and rest - even if he didn't actually process everything. He knew they all at least needed sleep, after having three days of the lack of it. It was hard to have a productive or even helpful conversation on a sleep deficit.

"I will. You get some rest too," James said.

Lyall huffed dryly. "Oh, I will, thank you. After I've located Cyrin. Which shan't take me long."

"Right," James said. "Good luck."

Lyall bowed his head with a warm, "You as well, mate." Then bowed out, intently scanning the entire beach as he wandered down the rows of cabins.

James watched for a moment, feeling his body decompress as he let out a long sigh, and his shoulders sagged. Lyall was walking up to a few doors before he shouted out Cyrin's name and then dove into the nearest cabin, presumably discovering the one he was after. It looked like it was the one Tula used to live in. Maybe she'd been moved somewhere else.

It was for the better, then, that he hadn't gone to talk to her. It was better for many reasons, but having to hunt her down was one of them. He didn't want to have to do that. Not right now. Not after all of that.

When Lyall was no longer in sight and the space between the cabins fell silent apart from his own existence, he figured he should find his own room again, unsure if it was where he left it.

Figuring it was still better to start where he last remembered staying, he shuffled in the sand to the very end of the line of cabins, trying the front door.

It was locked.

Good, honestly. It was supposed to be. Now he just had to find out if they changed the locks or if his key still worked. He patted his pockets.

No key.

Hm. Right. He'd been... transported out of his bedroom without his keys. Or something. He had no idea, at this point, but it was inconveniencing, now. With a heavy sigh, he bonked his head against the door. Did that suffice as a knock?

Someone quietly shuffled to the door on the other side. They let a quick few seconds pass before softly asking, "Was that the distinctive rapping of a hollow steel skull against the door? Or did I imagine it?"

James wasn't expecting to hear Hild's voice of all things, but he felt a small smile form on his face.

Even if he wasn't staying in this cabin, he'd at least found Hild, and not... well, a lot of other less desirable people at the moment. No offense to everyone else.

"I have been stranded without my keys," James answered from the other side of the door. "And it appears cabin assignments have been mixed around. Is this still the cabin I belong to?"

"You'll always belong here," Shane's voice said, and a moment later, the door swung open for him. Shane had gotten it for him. His friend obviously hadn't had time to clean up, from the slight dirt smears and blood spatters on his face, but he was in his normal pajamas, and despite everything, there was a faint smile on his face as he watched James.

James, upon observing, did also have to steady himself to keep from falling forward. He had leaned against the door a bit too much. Overcompensating, he leaned back instead and ended up swaying into the doorframe a bit more clumsily than he'd have liked.

He caught himself against it and found his eyes drifting from Shane to Hild, who stood just behind him. It looked like she had a chance to find a clean change of clothes, and her hair hung damp around her face. Furrowing a brow, Hild mustered a concerned smile for James as she quietly offered him her hand.

James took it and let her lead him in. Loosely closing her hand around his, Hild lead the way to the couch in the living room. He simply followed.

"Miss Eve is upstairs," Hild explained simply, perching on the couch. "She'll join us shortly, but insisted we don't wait on her to eat."

James plopped down onto the couch beside her, and his weight dramatically made the cushion dip down towards him. He slowly took in this new information.

Eat? James looked back at the kitchen.

"Nothing fancy tonight," Shane said apologetically as he made his way back to the oven, "but I am making several trays of lasagna."

James stared at Shane.

"You're serious?" he asked in genuine surprise.

"I would never make false promises of pasta to you," Shane said.

James let out a huff of air. "Dude-- I -- did you literally wake up here and just. Start making lasagna?" James laughed.

Shane shrugged, almost timidly. "Well, I checked to make sure your room was still here first."

James looked over the couch at his friend with a sense of bewilderment and fondness, feeling loved but also understood. He knew that Shane tended to cook when he was stressed, but the way he channeled that to take care of James was still very kind.

"Do you need help with anything?" James asked.

"Eve already thoroughly assisted," Hild answered, cracking a faint grin. "There was no telling her otherwise."

James's heart softened even more.

Why was everyone being so kind? And thinking to care for him first...

"Thank you, guys," he said, leaning back into the couch with a small sigh. "This is... really nice of you."

Shane offered him a faint, soft smile as he bent down to scoop a now wingless Shrimp, snuggling the cat in his arms. "Don't mention it," he said gently.

James smiled softly in return, and Hild squeezed his hand.

With a small sigh, he finally let himself rest for a moment; content to be taken care of.

Alex looked over his shoulder at Hendrik, who was laid out on his bed, finally clean, and at least wearing sweats per his request. Alex was sat in front of the vanity, which was still thankfully intact along with the rest of his space that Hendrik was now impeding.

Although, it wasn't an unwelcome intrusion.

"Looks like we're going to be sharing a bed every night," Alex said, casting the shirtless Hendrik a glance over his shoulder. "Unless you're opposed to it."

"Hmph! Your bed's a lot comfier than mine. You want me to bring my mattress over?" Hendrik said with a gruff voice, pulling the satin sheets over him as he frowned with disdain. "Can't believe they put me with the crazy man. I need to bring my guns over here. Never trust a schizophrenic with a gun, comrade."

"I'd trust very few people with guns, dearie," Alex said, spinning in his chair.

Abruptly, Hendrik sat up with his elbows, expression quite serious as his piercing stare met his eyes. "Can I trust you with a gun?"

Alex let out a, frankly, offended sigh as he turned to face Hendrik. "Please," he drawled. "I've been licensed longer than you have."

"Hmph. Thought so." Hendrik fell flat against the fluffy pillows again. "I put a handgun under each of our pillows."

Alex's grin faded.

"You're serious," he said slowly.

Hendrik waved a hand in the air. "Monsters roam the island, laddie. Best to stay vigilant. One almost ate Bridger's head off while they slept."

"The only monster I'm worried about is Tula," Alex said.

"Cat eyes?" Hendrik called. "Obsessed church freak? Big crush on Barbie? Hmph. Harmless. Smells like drama."

Alex pouted, realizing that, despite his affection for Hendrik and their current relational development, that Hendrik was still quite a bit behind on things, no matter how "caught up" he touted to be because of the morning show.

Normally, Alex would love to spill gossip. But this felt... different.

His normal carefree facade began to drop as he tried to turn back around to the mirror before he was too transparent.

"You coming to bed or what, purple?" Hendrik called, loudly scratching his chest.

Alex adjusted a comb set on the vanity, making it parallel to the mirror.

"I don't know," he said, a little quieter, not sure what kind of feeling was coming over him.

What was this? Guilt? Shame? He wasn't used to feeling shame.

"You not tired?" Hendrik prodded, still loudly scratching away. "Been a long three days."

Didn't Hendrik deserve to know the truth? Would Hendrik even believe him? Alex glanced up at his own reflection, half expecting to see someone else. Someone more confident. More michievous. Less aware of what others thought, and certainly not caring about it.

But instead, he did find himself caring.

Caring a lot.

"Goddamn. This bed is too soft," Hendrik said sudden irritation, thrashing about. "Feels like I'm in a damn ice rink. You sleep like this?"

Alex looked over his shoulder weakly, not making eye contact.

"Hendrik," Alex said quieter. "I know you're tired but... would you be up for an adult conversation?"

Hendrik simmered down, keeping still and perking his head up. "Adult as in rated X? Or somethin' else?"

Alex sighed. "Something serious," he said. "I have... I need to tell you something. Something you deserve to know."

Now alert, Hendrik sat up straight, feet touching the floor. "What's on your mind, comrade? Is your safety at risk?"

Alexander's heart sank at that.

"No," he said, finally turning in his seat to face him. "I did something wrong."

Hendrik got up on his feet, and without warning, scooted a dense armchair across the room, floor creaking from the weight being pushed about. He stopped pushing when it reached the vanity, at which he sank into the chair, facing Alexander directly.

"Now we talk like real men," he said with a rough voice and a nod. "What did you do wrong?"

"On the second day of the DMV, I agreed to help Tula mess with the other contestants under the premise that this was all a competition," Alexander said. "In an effort to gain the upper hand, I gave several of the others on the island nightmares in the night to interrupt their sleep and the quality of their mental health. I... I regret it, now. I recognize that it was wrong, and cruel, and I wish I hadn't been so easily swayed and short-sighted."

He paused, not sure how much to add, or what kind of reaction Hendrik would have. He watched Hendrik tentatively, who had been attentively listening with a deepening frown.

"Hmph," was all he huffed out in the moment that followed.

Alex found himself wanting more.

Surely Hendrik had more to say than just "hmph." That couldn't be all he thought, right?

"That's it?" Alex asked.

No questions? No nothing?

"I don't hear an apology," Hendrik said, brows furrowing as he frowned some more.

Alex gaped.

"What?" he asked. "I-- I am sorry! What about that didn't sound like sorry?"

"Not to me, Alex," Hendrik said steadily. "To the people you wronged. Do they know about this? Have you explained yourself? Given closure?"

Alex sighed. Okay. Fine. Fair.

"Yes," he said. "Yes I-- I have. I apologized and told them all already. It was during the event of all things, but... yeah. I did."

"Did you apologize for yourself, or did you apologize for them?" Hendrik asked sternly.

"What do you mean?" Alex asked.

"Guilt is a hell of a bitch," Hendrik went on. "Even the most damned will feel it in one form or another. They justify their low acts because they apologized, or spared a potential victim, or some other bullshit. But was it because they truly wanted to get better, or did they react to their guilt?" He inclined his head, narrowing his eyes at him. "So which is it for you, Alex?"

This was a level of intensity that Alex honestly hadn't been expecting from Hendrik. But for the first time, someone was actually taking all of this seriously instead of brushing it all away with "forgiveness."

Finally. Finally. Someone who expected him to take some fucking responsibility. Someone who cared enough to push him.

"I want to change," he said honestly. "I want to be a better person. I just... I know I don't know how to do that on my own. Not without people to help me. And -- I mean, fucking call me out when it's needed."

Hendrik let out another low hum. "Now that," he began, jabbing a finger on his arm, "is what separates the good from the wicked." He set his hand back down on the arm of the chair, meeting his gaze with a serious expression. "You want to be a better person? It starts with accountability. Recognize and own up to your screw ups. Don't just feel guilty. Take action."

"That's what I want to do," Alex said. "I just..."

He let out an exasperated sigh.

"This is going to sound however awful and pitiful as it does but. I don't know if I actually know how to be a good person," he admitted. "Like, there's some shit that I think is self-explanatory and other stuff I don't know anymore."

Hendrik raised a brow. "Your folks weren't a good role-model?"

"My mother was a saint," Alex said. "And my father was a fuckboy. I'm pretty sure I landed somewhere in the messy middle."

"Nothing wrong with that, laddie. We all start somewhere." Hendrik let out a bellied chuckle. "Hell, I sure learned that lesson. Family was a real piece of work. I joined the military because I wanted to kill people. And I did. Then realized what a shitty, horrible life I was walking into." He jabbed a finger towards his own chest this time. "You want to learn how to grow, be a better person? Then look within yourself. Reflect. Journal. Think. Really think about what you want in life, how the consequences of your actions now will affect you and others around you, and how that impacts your future. You have to start asking yourself harder questions and be committed to doing better."

Hendrik had a murderous streak too? And somehow ended up like this?

For some reason, that gave Alex hope. Hope that he could change. Hope that he could be something more than this.

"I'm ready to," he said.

"And I sure as hell have questions. Number one: how the hell are you not exhausted?" Hendrik huffed. "I hear you, purple. You've got a hell of a journey. But Roome wasn't built in a day. Take some much needed rest." He gestured towards the bed. "Starting with your damn slippery ice rink."

Alex let out a faint laugh.

"It's not that slippery," Alex said with a fond smirk. "You're just graceless."

"Hmph." Hendrik frowned towards the bed. "You'd think you'd be more slippery since you're hairless."

"Excuse you," Alex said, leaning in to peck Hendrik on the cheek, causing his frown to fade away, replaced by a grin. "I'd think you'd be less 'slippery' with all your hair."

Hendrik slapped his knees, getting back up on his feet. "Alright, you slippery-slope," he said, grin lingering. He offered a hand. "You ready to get some beauty sleep?"

Alex took Hendrik's hand, and Hendrik lifted him out of the chair. Alex leaned into Hendrik's chest, resting his head against it for a moment, not in a hurry to move. Hendrik wrapped an arm around him, patting his back.

"Thanks for caring," Alex said, softer. "It... means a lot."

"Of course, Alex," Hendrik said, sincerity matched in his voice. "We all screw up sometimes. Doesn't mean I'll stop caring about you."

Alex blinked slowly, suddenly overwhelmed by the strange emotion that welled up inside him. He didn't even really have the means to stop it from happening before he felt his eyes well up with tears.

Oh god. No. Was... was he actually crying?

Geez. Was this pitiful?

"Let it out. Crying helps with the stress," Hendrik said gently, still patting his back.

Was permission all he needed? The tears started flowing down his cheeks freely. He didn't know how to feel about them. He didn't know how he was feeling. It was like pain, relief, hope, and grief, all at once.

He didn't think anyone had ever said something like that to him but his mom.

"Thank you," he said quieter, choking it out.

"Thank you," Hendrik shot back, wrapping his other arm around him into a gentle embrace. "You've got a lot of spunk, and am glad to be a part of it. You're a fine man."

Alex nodded, hugging Hendrik tighter.

"And you're the kindest freak I've ever known," Alex said sincerely.

He really meant it in the nicest possible way.

A hearty laugh bellied out of Hendrik as he slapped his hand against his back. "Now that's the nicest nickname anyone's ever given me. I like it."

It was an... unexpected morning, to say the least.

Alan didn't anticipate curling up on the tiny armchair in Alistair and Vik's room and spending the night, but stranger things have happened. Much, much stranger things.

Things felt... normal? Maybe that wasn't the word, but bickering with his brother and roasting him that he only had one shirt that wasn't black (which Alan promptly stole after said roast) felt... not unusual. It made him forget that he was on some bizarre island with even more bizarre magic that made him control monsters with his violin. Or something like that. Alistair filled him in.

It was strange. Alan wanted a chance of pace, and he most certainly got his wish. Though he already felt nostalgic for his past life.

It was familiar.

And nothing tried to kill him. That was a plus.

Mood, lifted. Clean-up, done. Hunger, satiated. Amends, in progress.

Greeted by the warm morning air, Alan briskly walked along the path towards the cabins, mentally going over his plan for the day. Obviously, he had to figure out this whole cabin shake-up thing, because apparently they had new cabin mates.

But that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. He remembered where his new cabin was, and he could vividly recall Lyall peeking out from the neighboring room. They shared a wall together again, which felt laughably poetic. Because they both had their walls up.

He was overthinking this. It was a damn room.

Apologize. Affirm. Amend.

Those were his three conversational boxes to tick. It was easy enough. Alan knew what to say. He went over it in his head, line-by-line. He just needed to take action now.

In a daze, he spotted the cabin emerge from the horizon. Daze turning more into a trance, Alan didn't take his eyes off it as he drew closer and closer, hopping up the steps and unlocking the door. There was a hum sounding in his ears that he was only acutely aware of, and he hadn't realized it had grown louder and louder until he twisted the doorknob, and the hum was replaced by a still, dead silence.

With a deep breath, Alan pushed the door open, preparing his entrance with a pleasant smile.

He paused at the doorway, door swung open as he took in the environment. The living room looked exactly the same, actually. Well, except for Leilan in the kitchen, twisting around to meet his eyes.

"Good morning to you," Leilan greeted warmly, flashing him a smile as he held up the kitchen blender, which was full of a pink-red drink. "Can I interest you in a smoothie?"

"Hey, good morning, Leilan," Alan greeted back with a smile, stepping in and closing the door behind him. "I can't say no to a free smoothie. That's awfully kind of you."

Leilan grinned, taking out a glass from the cupboard and pouring the smoothie in. "Anytime. I actually mean anytime, because when I took out the pack of strawberries and went back to the fridge later, there was another pack right there as if the fridge was giving me the chance to make another smoothie right after this. Do they seriously just magically stock your fridge with whatever you're going to need that day? That's some excellent service."

Alan did his best to stay engaged, taking his time to slip out of his shoes so he didn't track any more sand into the cabin. He eventually made his way to the kitchen island, leaning forward on it with his elbows, but not sitting down.

"Welcome to island life: where nothing makes sense, and you adjust to this bizarre new life within a week," he said smoothly, cracking a grin, then shrugging. "I figure it's magic, though I'm not sure. I've stopped questioning it, at this point."

Leilan chuckled, sliding the glass over the counter to him. "I'm getting there. The last thing they did that fazed me was when they put wings on my dog. I hardly see why that was necessary, given that he hardly knew how to use them and flew into just about every tree on our journey."

Alan raised a brow, wrapping his hand around the glass. "They put wings on your dog?" he echoed back with a faint laugh.

"They did," Leilan confirmed, laughing as well. "Some dogs could handle that fine, I'm sure. But not an overly-friendly and excitable border collie with the equivalent of canine ADHD. It was mayhem."

"Pinto, was it?" he asked with a smile. "Is he around?"

"Pinto, yeah. He's upstairs," Leilan said, his grin warming with affection. "Must be asleep for once. Otherwise this place would be a lot noisier."

"I'll have to say hi sometime, give him some pets," Alan said with a nod, then paused. "Speaking of upstairs: is everyone still inside? Like Pinto, I figure everyone is taking a rest day."

Leilan nodded. "I was unlucky enough to wake up pretty early, and I haven't seen anyone leave yet, so I assume they're all still here. I'm not sure if any of them are awake yet, but if they aren't, I can't fault them for that."

Alright. So Lyall was likely still asleep. Unsurprising.

Alan drummed his fingers along the counter, nodding. "It has been a long weekend. I'd love to stay and chat some more, especially since I still owe you that proper welcome, but I'm feeling pretty spent." He offered a small smile, picking up the glass. "Thank you for the smoothie, though. Are you alright here by yourself?"

"I'll be alright. I was planning on going out and saying hi to more people soon enough anyway," Leilan assured him, still smiling. "I'd be happy to chat later too, though, and I'll probably be back sometime this afternoon. In the meantime, get that well-deserved rest."

Exchanging another round of goodbyes, Alan took the smoothie to go and bounded for the stairs. With his free hand, he slid his palm over the polished wooden railing as he padded up the stairs, rethinking his plan.

Maybe he should grab his phone instead. Use modern technology, as one does. Where was his phone, anyways? Why didn't he use it to text Alistair last night? He really ought to think through these things more, but to be fair, he did just get transported from an inter-dimensional fantasy Doongeons and Dragoons event. So.

Alan didn't have time to dwell on that thought. On the last step, his attention was stolen when another door opened, the soft click alerting that someone was exiting from their bedroom. Alan froze, realization sinking immediately.

That was Lyall's door.

Taking shuffling steps out into the hall, Lyall was slowly and clumsily pulling a sweater over his messy bed head. When his eyes met Alan's, he froze like a deer.

Well. That couldn't make two of them.

"Hey," Alan greeted, relaxing his posture to not be so stiff. He quietly placed the glass of smoothie down on the hanging shelf that conveniently hung next to him.

Lyall absently tugged at the hem of his sweater, clearing his throat. "Ahm. Morning."

"Um. Yeah. Morning," Alan murmured, then shook his head and started again. He gestured towards him, opening his mouth before speaking, thinking through his words. "Are you free right now? I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Yeah," Lyall said faintly. Then shook himself more alert and repeated, "Yeah, sure. I, uhm..."

"If you just woke up, I can wait," Alan offered with a small smile. "There's really no rush. You can take your time."

Huffing a small laugh, Lyall shook his head again. "I'm fine, really. We can, uhm..." He scanned the hallway.

"Are you alright with talking in your room?" Alan filled in again, mostly out of strategy so that if things went south, Lyall wouldn't feel stuck in a place that wasn't his.

"Was just about to suggest," Lyall said, cracking a slight, fleeting grin as he stepped back.

"Alright," Alan said quietly with a nod, following through first since Lyall gestured for him to go inside.

His room was the same as last time, but something about it felt more harsh. Maybe it was the sunlight streaming through the window, hitting his face. Or maybe it was because they both radiated unsaid thoughts.

Neither of them were conversationally dense. And that conversation fell... flat, to say the least.

It was time to rip out the bandaid.

"Vik messaged me," Lyall started suddenly, ambling over to lean on his desk. "Said you were in the visitor wing of the mansion."

Oh.

For some reason, Alan was hung up on one tiny detail.

"Vik messaged you," he began slowly, brazenly feeling the need to know as he stood face-to-face with Lyall in the middle of his room, "or you messaged Vik?"

Folding his arms, Lyall bit the inside of his cheek. Then nodded and conceded, "I asked. Just." He shrugged as he glanced off to the side. "Wanted to make sure."

Right... This wasn't unexpected behavior. Lyall was a worrier, and Alan didn't exactly give anyone an update of where he was. Frankly, this only relieved Alan. But it didn't change the course of his plan.

Except to gently say, "I'm sorry for not updating you. I didn't mean to cause you unnecessary worry." Alan didn't give Lyall the time to respond as he went on to ask, "Do you mind listening to me for a minute or two? I have a lot on my mind I'd like you to hear."

Lyall's brows quirked slightly. "Of course." He swept an arm toward the armchair as he took the seat at his desk himself. "I'm all ears."

Sitting meant he would be staying for a while, which Alan wasn't opposed to. But that wasn't the choice he wanted to make for himself quite yet.

"I wanted to apologize," Alan began, meeting Lyall's eyes, giving him every ounce of his attention. "I was wrong. I crossed a line, and I hurt you. I said things to you that I can never take back. I let my foolish actions not only threaten my life, but also our friendship. I caused you undue stress even though you were only trying to protect me. I didn't see it then, but I see it now, and words can't explain how much I regret my actions."

He sighed, prying his gaze away to study the healthy pot of lavender next to him, preparing to say the next part. The part that was necessary, but never easy.

"I'm not expecting forgiveness, nor do I expect you to forgive me," he continued on. "It's not about that. It's not even about preserving our friendship. It's just..." Alan paused, locking his eyes on Lyall again. "I care about you too much to even think of that. I just want to give you proper closure, whatever that looks like to you."

Hands folded over his lap and shoulders sloped, Lyall looked small in the desk chair as he stared back. Both brows quirked in almost a blank expression, but with an attentiveness in his eyes that indicated he was carefully taking in his every word.

Alan knew he said a lot. There was a lot to process. The silence felt long, but he steeled himself on the path of patience-- even if he couldn't hold himself to maintain his gaze.

That changed when Lyall quietly rose to his feet, taking slow, measured steps to meet him in the middle of the room. Alan stiffened, standing straighter, watching and not knowing what to expect.

Holding his gaze steadily, Lyall took Alan's hand in both of his and gave it a small shake of emphasis as he murmured, "All is forgiven."

Well. Maybe he should have expected that.

"That's it?" Alan murmured, not feeling satisfied by this outcome. He stared down at their hands, knitting his brows together. "That's all you have to say?"

"Wh--" Lyall scoffed, but his hold on Alan's hand never faltered. "...No, that's not it. But I want you to know that, first and foremost."

Alan's gaze traveled up to his friend again. Brows furrowed a bit, Lyall's affectionate gaze melted a bit with remorse.

Alan thought about addressing the hint of remorse and drill down the sentiments of his apology. But the familiar affection won over and he said without thinking, "Well, maybe don't lead with that, next time."

Lyall huffed through his nose. "I'll lead however I want to, Alan fucking Alvaro. Now was that all that was on your mind? Before I speak."

Alan pressed his lips together into a thin line, but it didn't stop the amused smile from cracking. He shook his head, giving in to the smile. "No," he said quietly. "One more thing."

Sometimes, words were not enough to properly convey the full sincerity of their meaning. Actions took precedent instead.

And he knew Lyall greatly appreciated physical affection.

He slipped his hand away from his, wrapping both arms around Lyall's shoulders, pulling him into a hug. There was a mere millisecond of delay before Lyall brought his arms around Alan's back. Alan gently squeezed his friend, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he rested the side of his head against Lyall's. Letting out a soft breath, Lyall sank into the embrace, tightening his hold as he tilted his head to press firmly against Alan's.

"I've missed you," Alan murmured softly, lips an inch away from Lyall's ear. He gently stroked his thumb against his back, feeling so much lighter knowing that things between them were mendable.

Lyall then let out a small laugh. "Hasn't even been a full day," he mumbled.

Had it only been a...? It didn't matter. "Yeah. I know," he breathed out.

Lifting a hand to gingerly rest over the back of Alan's head, Lyall tilted his head down to press into his shoulder as he squeezed a bit tighter. "...I've missed you, too," he murmured.

There it was. Those four words were telling enough. It was mostly what Alan needed to hear, really.

Amends, done. Friendship, restored. Energy levels...

Fuck, he just got so tired again.

The weight was lifted, but his body felt heavier. Still, Alan steeled his resolve, forcing himself to stay present with his friend, especially during such a treasured moment.

A bit sleepily, all the while chasing the fleeting thought that he could excuse himself for just a moment so he could throw a pitcher of ice cold water over his head, Alan pulled away, hands traveling up his shoulders to Lyall's collar. It was slightly crooked from the hug, but with careful adjustments, Alan straightened it out.

"Now," he said with a smile, back to meeting his eyes, "was that all that was on your mind?"

Letting his hands fall away from Alan's back, Lyall tucked them away in his sweater pockets, watchful gaze trained on his friend as he idly adjusted his collar. There was a hint of exhaustion in Alan's smile that Lyall felt weigh on his own shoulders.

No doubt, the both of them-- everyone, really-- needed far more rest to fully recover.

Soon. Lyall still needed humble himself and make things right too.

"Alan," he started, earnest as his own smile faded, "I am sorry. Even in the heat of that moment, I shouldn't have spoken of your character the way I did."

"Already forgiven," Alan said with a smile, brushing off his shoulders, not quite letting them fall to his side yet.

"No," Lyall huffed with slight amusement, "please. I politely request you shut up and let me finish."

His smile turned more amused as Alan slightly narrowed his eyes at him, then let his hands roll off his shoulders as he glanced back at the chairs. "Alright then. Do you want to sit?"

Lyall just shook his head and pressed on, "You're an obstinate, prideful ass with a clear track record for completely idiotic, oft nonexistent logic."

And just like that, Alan's gaze fell flat. "How long have you been sitting on that?" he murmured.

"Ages," Lyall smoothly answered.

"Wow," Alan said with no enthusiasm.

"But," Lyall continued, unable to help his amused grin as he lightly poked at Alan's chest, "you are also clever and beautifully strong-willed in a way that I feel most don't appreciate as fully as they ought to. And I want you to know, I appreciate it. More than you could possibly know. That it has never once been my intention to make you feel useless in any way. Because you are the furthest thing from it."

"I know it wasn't. I didn't mean what I said. I don't think I truly thought you ever did," Alan said with a gentle voice, turning away with wistful self-reflection. "So, you don't have to worry about that."

Fucker couldn't just take an apology like a man.

Leaning slightly to the side to catch his attention once more, Lyall quirked his brows. "Alan," he called softly.

Alan caught his eyes, tilting his head with a slight smile. "Yes, Lyall?"

"I didn't mean what I said, either," Lyall murmured, steadily holding his gaze now with a more rueful smile. "I don't resent you for any of that." More deliberately, he said, "I am sorry for taking out my stress on you the way that I did."

Alan sighed through his nose, appreciative smile growing more sincere. "Me too," he said just as softly. "And I'm glad we can make amends. Our friendship means more to me than you can ever know."

Taking in a short breath, Lyall warmly patted Alan's shoulder then glanced down at the floor. "I am too," he said softly, finally letting relief and gratitude wash over him fully. He let his hand drop back to his side. "And, I promise you, the next time you drive me up the wall with your antics, I will be honest." Glancing off, he scrunched his nose. "Hopefully in a less volatile way, but that's less a promise and more a vague goal."

"That makes two of us, holding each other to it," Alan said with a smile, lifting his hand to Lyall's chest, gingerly drawing out a diagonal line on the left side of his chest. "Cross my heart..." He drew the second opposite diagonal line over the first one, making an 'X'. Then poked the center, eyes flicking up with a more amused smile to finish with, "And truly, not die."

Tilting his head, Lyall snorted with a wry grin. "A bit soon for that, mate," he mumbled, unable to hold back a laugh despite himself.

"Yeah... figures." Alan huffed out a laugh, ruffling his fingers through his hair as he took more notice to the books on his bookshelf. "I concede: it was stupid. I was feeling frustrated about everything and didn't think things through." His hand slipped back to his side as he met Lyall's gaze again, softly smiling. "Thank you for looking after me."

Which reminded Lyall of another thing that really struck him during their argument-- in addition to Alan's fist.

Inclining his head, Lyall likewise glanced toward the bookshelf. "Of course. Though. I recognize that looking after someone and bearing down on them is a fine line to walk. One that I don't do too well with most of the times." He briefly paused, swallowed, then forged ahead: "Just the thought of... losing you is too great to bear. I'd hate to..."

And suddenly if felt as though the ability to express his thoughts had abandoned him entirely. Lyall shifted in place, unable to find somewhere comfortable for his gaze to settle again. Something like guilt pressed in on his lungs like water.

Then there was a soft thud behind him. Whizzing around, Lyall realized Alan had invited himself to sit at the foot at his bed, strangely focused on the satin sheets as his hand brushed over it. In the drawn out pause that followed, he turned his head back to Lyall, attention fixed on him again.

"Sorry for interrupting," he said apologetically, then hesitated, hand broadly gesturing to the rest of the bed. "Um. Do you want to sit?"

Lyall blinked. Something about Alan's hesitance in this kind of offer... felt so oddly out of place and far more amusing than it had any right to be. Yet it was still very distinctly Alan.

Was it weirdly intimate? Most definitely. Did Lyall currently have the capacity to kick into mental overdrive over it? Absolutely not. So, deflating with a huffed laugh, Lyall shuffled over and neatly took the spot beside his friend.

"I know this isn't easy to talk about," Alan said with a gentle voice, hands perched on top of his lap, his gaze turned to fully focused on him. "And you really don't need to break open everything with me. I'm perfectly fine with your company as-is, and I'll continue to treasure you with or without an explanation. I know you'd say the same about me, too. The sentiments go both ways."

Lyall nodded slowly, trying his best to crack an appreciative grin.

Alan used that word a lot. 'Treasure.'

It was very rare that Lyall encountered its use in this way, let alone so often and by a singular man. And Alan very much practiced what he preached in this matter. Consistently showing up for agreed-upon activities at ungodly hours, going out in the mornings for drinks he didn't quite enjoy as much himself because a friend loved them, spending days on end planning a recovery day for someone else's heartbreak...

Surely the lack of work on the island provided an overabundance of time, but Lyall was certain the ultimate effect was the same anywhere else. Which was, those in Alan's inner circle never went a day without feeling how much he adored them. Where he didn't treat them the way loved ones ought to be treated.

Treating others the way Alan ought to be likewise treated. Lyall wondered how often that level of care was returned to him.

Then he was finally able to pinpoint that like-guilt feeling. It wasn't just guilt. It didn't leave the same sour taste in his mouth the way normal guilt did.

Lyall felt shame.

And that was what he couldn't bring himself to speak aloud. He couldn't bear to lose Alan to anything in this cruel, insane world. Be it sickness or gigantic mutated bugs. Worse than these, though... Lyall didn't want to be the cause himself for finally driving Alan away.

Just like with Kaya.

"I can't believe I haven't asked," Alan said, interrupting his train of thought.

Lyall blinked his friend's face back into focus. Alan had patiently been waiting for Lyall to respond or react, but as the silent seconds trudged by, he had shifted into a more comfortable position, knee bent towards the bed so he could face Lyall more directly. He smiled when he caught Lyall's attention, resuming to ask: "With everything going on... how have you been doing?"

Alan paused, flicking his wrist like he was swishing away a thought. "Outside of the situation between us, I mean-- which we've more than addressed." He dropped his hand to his lap again, softly smiling as he met his eyes. "Consider this your daily check-in."

Typical Alan "no, how are you really" Alvaro.

"Tired," Lyall said honestly. He playfully elbowed Alan's side. "More than that, though, miffed. I'm not actually done with my humbled spiel."

Alan huffed out a puff of air, watching him for a moment. "Alright," he conceded, waving for him to continue. "I'm listening."

"I'll try to summarize this last bit," Lyall said, huffing a quieter laugh, "since you've listened to me drone on long enough already."

Reaching over, he took the liberty of clasping his hand around Alan's again and holding it close to his own heart. "Neither of us are perfect. By a long shot. We both have blind spots. So, it's an absolute must that you're honest with me. Whatever bullshit I'm trying to pull on you, tell me. Set boundaries." He hummed with genuine amusement. "I'd rather it didn't come down to it, but please punch me again if you must."

He gave Alan's hand a slight squeeze. Dropping his gaze, he finished in a soft yet resolute murmur, "I cannot be the cause for yet another loss in my own life."

Alan was still, somber sobriety washing over him, taking in every word. Processing. But instead of responding, he took action first, hanging his head lower and leaning in, perching his forehead on Lyall's shoulder. He took in a deep, shuddered breath that moved with his chest. His fingers curled against Lyall's chest, bunching his sweater against his palm.

"Can you do the same for me?" Alan mumbled, hardly audible.

Pressing his eyes shut, Lyall drew in a slow breath. Gave his hand one more squeeze when the affection swelling in his chest spilled over completely. He pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the top of Alan's hair.

"Cross my heart," he whispered.

And for however long, they sat quietly. Well and truly at rest within one another's comfort. Lyall tilted his head, gently pressing his cheek to where he kissed his beloved friend, and slowly exhaled. Letting the warmth of the moment completely wash out any lingering hints of shame.

Until Alan frustratedly groaned, "Lyall."

Blinking his eyes open, Lyall furrowed a brow at the wall across from them. "Alan?"

"How do you keep making me so exhausted?" Alan mumbled, letting out another miffed groan. "It's still morning..."

What? How did Lyall...?

The memory of winding up stuck beneath a suddenly-drowsy Alan on the couch, not long after Ooktoberfest, flashed to the forefront of Lyall's mind. And he couldn't help but bark out a deeply amused laugh as he reached over with his free hand and wildly ruffled Alan's hair, which Alan was quick to slap away.

"You are a ridiculous man," Lyall said affectionately. "And we are both going to take another long sleep well into the evening now, if we can help it."

With hair like a bird's nest, Alan sat up straight, face flat and unamused, though apparent with clear exhaustion. "I'm not the ridiculous one," he said simply as a weak comeback.

"Of course not," Lyall retorted teasingly.

Dropping Alan's hand, he then scooted farther back and nodded for him to follow. And he did. Sort of. Alan flopped back and rolled closer to the mountain of pillows, quick to throw-- one-by-one-- the excess of pillows towards Lyall's side. Laughing, Lyall caught what he could and patted them flat beside him.

"I don't understand how your bed is so much nicer, and also--" Alan snapped his mouth shut to glare at one of the plush decorative pillow, chucking it to the floor instead. "How do you have so many of these?"

Quirking both brows, Lyall did his best to bite back another laugh. "I politely requested them for the absurdly extravagant room I never asked for to begin with," he answered smoothly.

Taking one of the pillows tossed onto his side, Lyall dropped it behind himself to flop back onto, face up to the ceiling. Then patted the space beside him. "Take it up with housekeeping if you've got a problem with it."

"I'm sure it's all one big coincidence that they give you an absurdly extravagant room," Alan said nonchalantly, patting down a singular fluffy pillow. He fell back to his back, but then rolled to his side, elbow propped to hold his head in his hand. "Just like how it's a big coincidence that they supply you with endless hair and skin products, right?"

Lyall gasped with mock indignance. "Extrav-- Sir, I'll have you know those are necessities."

"You know, I had a thought the other day, wondering how long you'd last in a more rugged environment, assuming there aren't any threats," Alan mused, smile growing wider. "How long would you last?"

Smiling at the ceiling, Lyall lifted a hand an tilted it back and forth. "Ehhh... Three days?"

Alan hummed. "That's a good bit of time."

"Compared to a whole month?" Lyall scoffed. "It's truly not."

"I'm not comparing it to anything," Alan said with a smile.

"Well, I am," Lyall lightly retorted, folding his hands over his middle.

"I'm simply extrapolating." Alan picked on the edge of the loose sweater fabric that laid on the bed, poking at it. "Just thinking of future events we could do together. Find out what works, what doesn't." He shrugged, smile growing. "Note to self: four days in the wilderness does not work."

Lyall playfully eyed him with suspicion. "Cease your scheming, you villain," he said with a pout.

"But there are so many other possibilties that are so much more obvious, more fitting," Alan continued on enthusiastically. "For example: music. Not only to create, but to enjoy. There are ample opportunities to listen to concerts, whether it's classical or something else. Though the 'other' category leads to other exciting opportunities, like finding out what music styles you don't like, and what music styles you like to dance to."

Expression settling into one of relaxed fondness, Lyall happily listened. Then finally piped up with a quick, "Dance." Snapped his fingers. "That's another excellent opportunity. We should do that more."

Another time, though. Later. Much later. After they'd slept for a decade straight. Lyall was frankly also exhausted.

Alan hummed, letting his head drop down to the pillow again. "That's a great idea," he said, scooting in closer. Effortlessly, he leaned his head in the nook of Lyall's neck, resting his hands over the top of Lyall's arms, just over the side of his chest.

He took in a breath. Then said more quietly, "It'll be a future date."

Lyall, who'd just let his eyes drift closed as he contentedly sank into the warmth, was suddenly awake again.

'Future date.'

Alan could have said 'day', but chose 'date' specifically.

This should have troubled Lyall. Thrown him for a loop. Made him uncomfortable, concerned, something. By all accounts, neither of them should be even remotely ready to consider something new.

...So why was there only a quiet fluttering like anticipation in Lyall's chest at just the idea?

He chose to hold onto that feeling. Let the thoughts pass him by, fade entirely from view. None of the why's mattered.

With just a second's hesitation, Lyall tilted his head sideways. Letting his nose gently poke into his hair as he brushed his lips to the top of Alan's head. Drew in a breath, then whispered with all sincerity, "It's a date, then."