Young Writers Society

Alan deeply sighed, rubbing his dried fingers over his face for the hundredth time. He thought he could wipe away the grime, but it only seemed to make it worse.

Dirty. That was what he felt. In more ways than one, though it felt strikingly obvious after his horrendous treatment towards his best friend. He had to do better and make this right, but these things were never easy.

Alan had to be careful. He couldn't be careless with his words and actions. He had to make this right...

Starting with himself. Taking another deep breath, he took the setting sun as a sign to finally get up on his feet so he could head back to camp and face the music, so to speak. He didn't want to cause any more undue worry, especially not from Lyall, who Alan knew showed his love by endlessly worrying.

Trudging through the hand, Alan kept his head down, going through the mental list of priorities. One, he should clean up and care for his hand that was swelling with pain right now, but a cold dip in the water would help with that immensely. That should only take a few minutes, which brought him to his second priority: help the others with practical manners. At least, the best he could, even if it was only small tasks, like set up bed rolls, fill up water, clean plates. Whatever. It didn't matter. He needed to pull his weight, stop being... well, useless.

Third: Alan needed lots of time to think. Think about what he would say to Lyall to make things right. He needed time to deeply reflect, realy think about his friend, what he was going through, how he perceived all this. A little empathy went a long way, and it was the least Alan could do considering the stress he put him through.

And finally: Alan needed to act. To be there, fully present, and do better.

That one, he was still figuring out, since there wasn't exactly clear-cut steps to follow. But he was sure he'd figure things out along the way, one step at a time.

Kneeling down by the pond, Alan rolled up his sleeves and dipped his hands in the cool water, biting back a sharp inhalation of breath. The relief was simultaneously painful but pleasant. It would have to do for now.

Alan watched the sand and grime float away from his fingers, the water washing away feeling of being dirty. He pulled his hands out from the surface, inspecting the knuckles on his right hand.

For being a musician, Alan thought he'd be more careful than this. But it seemed he had stopped caring altogether. Other sentiments were much more important than his ability to play an instrument.

There was movement at the corner of his eye, and careful steps taken through the reeds to his left. Alan was quick to turn towards the source, and he didn't exactly have any expectations, but recognizing that it was Lyall approaching made him freeze up, unable to do anything but stare.

Yes. He did want to see him. Of course he did. He just... well, he didn't actually know. Should he have accounted for Lyall approaching him earlier? He figured they-- Lyall-- needed space, considering his timely departure. Alan was still only on step one of his four-step process of "doing better," and he'd really rather not fuck this up with impulsivity or rash words.

Briefly disappearing behind him, Lyall stepped around him, then knelt down at his right side. His movements were silent and measured. He offered no greeting, not even any eye contact as he held out a hand, open palm expectantly facing skyward.

Well. Okay. So they were doing this now. Well, here we go.

"Lyall..." Alan called out gently, but he didn't get very far in his spiel.

"Shut up," Lyall said in a tired mumble. He kept his gaze attentively fixed on Alan's hand as he reached over and took it in his own.

He didn't need to be told twice. Quiet, Alan flicked his eyes between his hand in his and Lyall's stony expression, slowly putting together that Lyall was... healing him. He was mumbling words, attention fixed on the frankly minor injury Alan sustained from the punch-- which again, as a reminder, was from him punching Lyall's jaw.

Which was also healed, he noted. Thank goodness. Relief flooded through him in the knowledge that his friend didn't have to suffer through the injury he gave him, occurring at the same time as Lyall actually healing him. A tingling warmth spread over his hand, a glow of light overtaking his knuckles before completely disappearing, along with the pain.

Any trace of injuries had completely disappeared, but it left behind a mark: a deep realization that this was how Lyall cared and loved. It wasn't by words; it was by action. What Alan had interpreted to be annoying overbearingness and loss of autonomy was in fact... love.

In retrospect, he should have known this. From Hild expressing similar sentiments of being inconsistently overbearing, to Lyall ferociously leaving everyone behind to "fix" a situation-- he had shown all signs of this since the beginning of their friendship. And now, with him overlooking all his actions under the guise of protection, and setting aside their conflicts so that he could use his new healing abilities to help Alan... It was annoying, but--

How could he not feel loved?

Finally, the soft glow over his skin dissipated completely.

Lyall remained still for a second, his hand still supporting Alan's own. His brows twitched inward, regret flashing in his eyes. He let go, but... Alan wished he hadn't.

"Lyall," he tried again, calling his name softly as an invitation to speak.

Gaze flicking up to meet his, Lyall gave the barest of nods. "Alan," was all he murmured in acknowledgement.

Alan pressed his palms together, appreciatively nodding back as he set his hands back on his lap.

Things were still... tense. And not everything needed to be said-- at least, not right now. Alan didn't want to be crass or rush this conversation when the moment wasn't right.

And so, for now, he opted for a simple and sincere, "Thank you. For everything."

Because maybe Alan hadn't expressed appreciation enough. But knowing this was how Lyall showed he cared, he wanted to make sure that he was seen. Seen, heard, and appreciated. Even for the small things, and even when times were tense.

The hard lines of Lyall's brows and mouth softened by a little. His friend nodded once more with a gentle, "Get some rest."

Then Lyall rose to his feet without a word. He quietly picked his way back through the grass to rejoin their group.

Wistfully, Alan glued his gaze at the back of Lyall's head, watching him hastily pace himself back to their camp. He couldn't drop his stare until he met with the others, at which point, Alan turned away, not wanting to draw more attention to himself.

He spread his right hand in front of him, curling his fingers. Healed, like nothing happened. A part of him wished that he could get something to mark this, like a scar, or a broken bone, or... something. Something to remind him to not do anything like this again.

Sighing, Alan cleaned himself up, splashing cool water on his face to carry away the day's regrets. With each new splash, a new piercing thought clambered in, ricocheting in his head.

Lyall is always staying strong, wanting the best for everyone. But who's staying strong for Lyall?

Splash.

Lyall is a natural leader, able to respect the social norms and rules governed by society very well. He is a well-mannered, charming, brilliant man that I wished I could be, but never could.

Splash.

I mocked him, calling him a perfect angel. But he did the same for me.

Maybe we are not so different, after all.

Rubbing his face, Alan flicked away the last of the water, taking a deep breath as he steadied himself on his feet. He had a lot to work with, a lot to think through. So many things and people to worry about, but...

The list of priorities was obvious to him.

Number one: Lyall.

After all these years, James had really been hoping some things would've changed. He hadn't seen Carter in years, and seeing him on a screen overhead of all things felt surreal. He almost felt like he'd imagined it; like the DMV stole his visage, wore it like a mask, and puppeted him around for an annoucemet, just to pour salt into a still-open wound.

Sure, it hurt differently than it did three years ago. James had changed. Circumstances changed. Carter, he'd thought, would've changed. And yet, somehow, Carter still ended up someone in influence, and James ended up as a pawn. Or at the very least, helpless to change his own situation.

It all felt like a cruel joke. One with no punchline, and no levity. The only thing he was left with was a knot in his stomach and an old sadness dug up from past pain. If he could have reached through the sky, past the screen, he would've.

That was one thing he'd never gotten with that loose thread, between him and Carter.

Closure. And he didn't think standing in a courtroom counted.

It hurt him to think that all of this was making sense now. Him, being on Auslanii in the first place - among celebrities and political figures. Him, on camera, while his torment was made entertainment. He'd thought it was for the world to see, but he knew hours of footage was cut for the sake of a TV slot. Where did all of that go? Who filtered all of it? Did it all pass through Carter's eyes? All of it?

He wished he wasn't making so many assumptions. But Carter wasn't the type to hop in as a guest. If he was in this... he already had a role in the DMV. And if he was calling the shots with this event...

He had to be the Game Master.

It explained the trap doors. The trap floors. The fucking acorns.

And of course, he had to reveal his face in such a nonchalant manner. No pleasantries. No seeing James himself, face to face. It was just business. Like they never even knew each other.

James hadn't expected it to hurt this much.

In the desert, the sky was full of stars. Even though the island was unfamiliar, the sky stayed the same. He recognized constellations and stars he'd been able to view from Auslanii, which meant they really couldn't be far. He knew it didn't profit much to consider the magical mechanics of it all, but he had to consider something.

And he'd rather think about magical improbabilities than the abosolute insanity he was witnessing in his peers.

Maybe he was just as far gone and had no right to talk, but he felt like the past 48 hours had produced a bizarre development in everyone's behavior. Some of it was promising, and some of it was woefully worrisome.

Alan was... something. James wasn't dull, though he sometimes pretended to be when it came to sensual nuance, but there was something about how Alan was carrying himself with anyone who took the bait. Normally, Alan had a bad habit of slipping out innuendos, and James had thought perhaps it'd been unintentional because of his perceived innocence. But something had to have shifted, because ever since this event started, it felt like Alan was leaning into that inclination immeasurably more. Uncomfortably so.

It didn't help that he'd overheard some of Lyall and Alan's conversations. Things were heated in more ways than one.

The last thing James knew about where Shane and Alan stood was... vague, at best. And now he found himself wondering if something had happened. If not on Shane's end, then clearly on Alan's.

It was something he'd have to follow up on. But by god was he growing a list of things to follow up on.

Hild, despite the interest, was getting pushed down the list below her brother.

Something was going on with Lyall. And though James had suspicions before...

Night had fallen over the landscape like a dark blanket. The sky was a midnight blue, and the darkvision was something he was still getting used to. It allowed him to still see the details of the oasis they'd found camp in. The feathery grass around the water swayed in a small breeze. The half-submerged trees still stretched tall enough for shade, but they almost looked like figures of their own. Or they would've, had they been fully shadowed.

Eve, Clarity, and Alan were asleep a few feet from the water.

There was no need for a fire. The moon was full, the night was warm, and Lyall's own head of soft-glowing hair served as a light, not unlike Hild's had the night prior.

It saddened him knowing that the two of them were distancing from one another. Especially when the DMV was doing everything they could with visible tells to show that they were inexplicably connected.

Lyall sat near the edge of the water, on the other side of the oasis pond, gaze fixed on some distant point. James had been walking softly around its edges in a restless patrol, but as he approached Lyall, he decided to sit down a few feet from him.

He felt like he owed Lyall an apology.

"Lyall," James said softly. "I don't think I've been fair to you."

Blinking back to full alertness, brows furrowing, Lyall quietly glanced sideways at him in questioning.

"Of all the friends I've made on this island," James said quietly. "I've left you out of the loop the most. And I know that you care, despite the length of this season. I know that you've been on the recieving end of too many late messages. And I'm sorry. I know you value our friendship, even in its start. And I think I've withheld trust when you've extended it freely."

He paused, tucking his legs up.

"I have a hard time trusting people," he said. "Which probably isn't news to you. But I think it's hindered me from appreciating your friendship as much as you deserve. And I want to be a good friend to you. I don't want to force it, and I want it to just happen. But sometimes I'm not sure how to do that."

Letting out a small sigh, James looked over to Lyall with a small, sad smile that didn't meet his eyes.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Lyall that he was worried. Worried about whether he could trust him - or that James was falling back into old patterns. He didn't think that Lyall was fake, and he didn't think he was duplicitous. Not intentionally...

He just didn't know him well enough to know if Lyall was as much like himself like he feared him to be: just enough of an idealist to believe he could be a hero.

But instead, James wanted to offer what he wished he'd had in the year before he threw his own life away.

A friend that would stay.

And that meant loving freely, and leaving open the possibility for harm again. He didn't want to believe that Lyall would cause any - but he hadn't wanted to believe that about any of the others, either. And it was harder, this time, giving the benefit of the doubt. But he knew it wasn't fair if he didn't.

It wasn't fair to Lyall. He didn't deserve that.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about anything that was going on," James said softly. "And that you had to hear it from someone else."

Lyall let his own gaze drift down to the dirt, setting his jaw as some hurt showed through his unsure expression. He shifted in place, seemingly uncomfortable all of a sudden, and didn't settle fully again for another minute.

"I..." He cleared his throat, turning his head away fully. "Thank you," he murmured, "James. I appreciate the...acknowledgement."

"I know it doesn't change how it happened," James said. "But I want to aim for better communication. I know, on my end... it can be sorely lacking."

Lyall absently nodded. Then eventually murmured, "Something we can both work on, then. Not to worry."

"In an effort to do so," James said, more gently. "I... I guess it only makes sense to ask what you already know. So I can fill in the blanks."

Brows quirking, Lyall slowly turned another inquisitive look his way. "...Now?"

James let out a sigh.

"I... we don't have to. But at this point, I've given up on the illusion that there's any privacy," he said. "The world already knows. And anything the DMV doesn't want it to know, they'll censor."

"No, I..." Lyall huffed out a quiet sigh himself. "I know that. I just figured... Well, sure, we're awake anyhow, but it's been a hell of a day. We don't have to dive into it right away."

James looked out at the desert. He understood what Lyall meant, but--

"I don't expect to have easier ones", he said faintly. "And I wouldn't mind it. But I understand if you're too spent to, or don't have the capacity."

With a slow nod, Lyall looked away again. But his eyes were more attentive this time, and his mind may as well have been audibly whirring, it was clear he was already thoroughly reviewing what he did know.

"I knew about the dream tampering as soon as the issue touched myself," Lyall began, "same with the monster problem..." Scrunching his nose, he waved a dismissive hand. "The Tula problem was a genuine surprise when that reached me, in addition to what I believe was referred to as 'water poisoning' and 'skin bleaching'..." He trailed off, then raised both hands and brows in inquiry.

Ah. So he'd been given something of a vague summary, then. But it was unclear.

"The water wasn't... poisoned," James said plainly. "At least, I don't think so. But I had trouble trusting what to consume for a while, because I'm pretty sure they put a lot of laxatives in something I ate. And there was a day where I only drank water, but it made me extremely emotional."

It felt weird to say it like it was, but at this point, he felt too numb to really think about how bizarre and upsetting it all was. It'd happened, and there was nothing he could really do about it.

"The skin bleaching was more of a dye," he went on. "There was a bath bomb. It turned my skin pink. I know I may not look like someone who uses bath bombs. But now I really won't be one."

He tucked one leg up, propping his arm over it while he supported his weight behind his back with his other hand.

"I also used a facemask that gave me a second degree burn," he said. "It healed quickly, of course, but it still hurt. And then with Tula..."

He let out another sigh, but this one longer than the last.

He was glad that Tula had been distracted the past week or so with her sister around, but he didn't know what Tula was up to now, or if she still hated him without reason.

"She showed up after I assaulted Oliver," James said. "I don't have evidence to prove it wasn't a coincidence, but she's been working to make me miserable ever since she's been here. I think a lot of the other stuff I mentioned was because of her tampering. She also bugged our cabin, and..."

He looked over to Lyall a bit wearily.

"Is this too much?" he asked.

Because there was more. And he knew it was a lot.

Lyall shook his head. "The more detail, the better."

That wasn't exactly an affirming or comforting response. Instead, it sounded more like Lyall was taking the information in to use it for something. Otherwise, he wouldn't be worried about "more details" being "better."

So... did that mean James was right?

He hoped he'd have a chance to ask later.

"As much as you're comfortable with," Lyall amended with a quiet sigh in his voice, catching onto James's hesitation.

"She's captured me twice," James said after a long pause. "Once in my own home, where she threatened my family's safety and took pleasure in my humiliaton by making me impersonate a dog. The second was through a portal - by which I think she trapped my front door - and it took me to what was in simplest terms, a torture chamber. She trapped me and shot me, and not unlike everyone else in the world, I think she was fascinated by my healing process. And then she let me go."

A pause.

"I... think," he said, quieter. "That one's... fuzzier, now."

Lyall stared wordlessly at him. So, it had been too much, hadn't it?

"A..." Lyall's brows furrowed. "...a dog."

That's what he was hung up on? God. Of course it was.

"Yes," James said wearily, feeling his soul die a little inside.

And there was footage of it somewhere, too. But he couldn't bring himself to mention that. He didn't want Lyall digging that up, if he had the means to. James wanted to pretend it didn't exist.

Turning back to the water once more, Lyall tiredly scrubbed both hands over his face. "And... As far as life updates go, is that all you want to share?" He dropped his hands to his lap. "Which, fine, that's up to you whether to divulge or not." He then softened his voice as he added, "Just know that I can handle anything more you do want to share, alright?"

James rubbed his face for a second, then realized his hands were still gloved. With a huff, he pulled his hand away and started taking the gauntlet off.

"My past month's been more eventful than my past year," James said. "And that's saying something."

"It really does sound like you've been endlessly cycling between the various layers of hell," Lyall said quietly with a nod.

"No surprise they put me there literally," James said. "Just to stay on theme."

Lyall huffed a wry laugh.

James set his gauntlet at his side, and then started working on the other one.

"You know visitor week, right?" James asked.

"No," Lyall said flatly, drawing up his knees and resting his cheek in his palm, "tell me all about that."

James narrowed his eyes at Lyall, with just a hint of amusement.

"Well, you know about the wendigo situation, I think," he said. "Which -- well, the maze event preceded that, but... I think that story's best left short. The wendigo lived in my head for a night, and then found me in person. Now he's dead, Aaron's free and has to relearn to live life with chronic sickness, and I'm..."

James set his other gauntlet down and then spread out his hands in a bit of a ta-da gesture.

"Newly improved," he said. "Thanks to the wendigo, I can create metal armor from my own bones. So. That's nice."

It wasn't, really, but sarcasm helped. At least, in this moment.

Lyall quirked a brow. "Pluses to balance the minuses, I suppose."

"I would've been content to never have learned that about myself," James said. "But if I'm forced to look on the bright side, I suppose it counts."

"And." Lyall drew little circles in the air with his free hand. "That was the only drawback to visitor week?"

James squinted.

"Nnnnno," he said with a sigh. "They... shipped in my ex."

"Of fucking course," Lyall drawled with shared disappointment.

"Yeah," James said. "It's been..."

He pressed his lips together, trying to find a kinder way to put things without publicly defacing his ex-girlfriend on TV.

"She's basically been harrassing you, right?" Lyall asked bluntly after a short pause.

"I... sure," James said weakly. "She's not very good with um. Boundaries."

Lyall snapped his fingers and pointed a finger gun at him. "Friendly suggestion: restraining order."

"I... I don't think that's necessary," James said weakly.

Lyall just lifted his hand in a shrug. "That's purely up to your discretion, my friend."

Right. His discretion.

So far his discretion really only resulted in her doubling down, but he didn't want to escalate things if he didn't have to. He didn't hate Ingrid, but...

"If she still manages to hunt me down after the DMV is over," James said. "I'll consider it."

Pursing his lips, Lyall nodded slowly. Then cracked a faint smile. "Just consider it, yes. For your own sake, alright?"

James managed a wince of a smile, and he nodded.

"There is something you should know about her," James said. "If she ever approaches you."

Lyall's grin quickly dropped. "What," he said with a tinge of dread.

"She can manipulate people's emotions through touch," he said weakly - knowing that without further explanation that Lyall might be able to piece together things about their former relationship and Ingrid's nature.

And, indeed, Lyall straightened as he turned over every implication, eyes narrowed in thought. Nodded once. Then, casting him a side-eye, tilted his head James's way with a rather pointed eyebrow raise.

James shied away from the eye contact, letting his eyes drop to the ground.

"Just keep your distance," he said emptily. "Like I'm trying to."

"Which." Lyall shrugged both shoulders. "Not to sway your final decision, but. The restraining order could really help that 'keeping your distance' bit."

James nodded again, only once.

He knew Lyall was right - he just didn't have the space to think about that right now. There was too much else taking up space.

"Avoid the ex, then," Lyall summarized simply. "Got it."

"That was all for visitor week," James said. "At least, for me."

"Great." Lyall shook his head. "Well. Not great, these things in and of themselves. I." He inclined his head. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," James said.

And for a moment, the two of them fell back into silence. James, feeling the ache of sharing so much, and Lyall, undoubtedly processing it all. He knew the both of them had much to think about, but it almost felt tangible in the air between them.

The silence went on for a while, until James finally broke it.

"It's been a long time since I've heard how you're doing," James said softly, turning to look at Lyall.

Lyall glanced back, brows raised again with a tired grin. "Honestly not as much happening on my end," he answered, "and you've been going through it."

"I don't think using me for comparison is helpful," James said. "I'm pretty sure I'm a statistical outlier."

Lyall snorted. "That, my good man, you certainly are."

"That is to say," James went on. "Whatever it is, I hope you don't feel the need to dumb it down for me. Pain is still pain. Trouble is still trouble."

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Lyall quietly nodded. "...I know," he murmured, gaze shifting a bit as he deeply contemplated. James was in no rush, though. And he waited until Lyall was ready.

"Right, then," Lyall eventually spoke up again, voice still quiet. "On the subject of visitor week..."

He grew restless, fidgeting in place, and running his hand back over his hair. Visibly struggling for a moment to find the words. Then he drew in a breath and went on, voice growing heavier, "Kaya and I are... no longer. The engagement's off."

James's face fell in shock and empathy.

Gods, he'd had no idea.

"I'm so sorry," James said softly.

Meeting his eyes once more, Lyall mustered a weak grin for a fleeting second. "In hindsight, I. Should have anticipated it." He shrugged a shoulder, and turned back to the water in front of them.

"You saw it coming?" James asked gently. And he could only assume that meant Kaya had been the one to call it off.

"I think." Lyall let out a slow, shaky breath, pressing his hand over his eyes. "I ignored the signs," he muttered. "It was my fault."

James felt his heart ache for Lyall, and he frowned.

"Do you mind if I come closer?" he asked quietly.

There were at least three feet between them. Now it just felt wrong.

Lyall only moved his hand away from his face by an inch with a confused, "What?"

"Just... I've never been big on hugs, but you seem to appreciate them," James said. "If you want one."

Letting his hand drop completely, Lyall turned an unsure frown back toward him. James inched a little closer, scooting in the sand.

"That's really not necessary," Lyall sighed, but made no move to maintain the distance.

"Hugs are never necessary," James said, opening his arms. "But they still help."

Lyall hesitated, for a long moment. Debating with himself now. The stubborn set of his jaw eventually melted away, though, and some hurt slipped through the crack in his composure. He averted his gaze as he tentatively leaned in, loosely putting his arms around James.

James pulled Lyall in gently, giving him a firm hug. Lyall drew in another breath, then sank into the embrace as he exhaled slowly, tightening his hold only slightly.

It was almost a minute before he withdrew again with a thickly mumbled, "Thanks, mate."

"I'm sorry to hear about Kaya," James said, pulling away. "I know I didn't know much about her, or your relationship. But I know it hurt."

"Thank you," Lyall said again, mustering a sad yet appreciative grin for just a second. "It's... I appreciate you, James."

James nodded.

"Was there... more?" he asked softly.

"Was there?" Lyall echoed quietly in thought. He blew a raspberry. "Well. I apologized to my sister for acting like an arse at the start of the wendigo debacle. I can't be sure if she mentioned anything, though I trust you may have picked up a few hints there. And no doubt you heard about Alan's... episode? That was..."

He cleared his throat. Guilt dulled his gaze as he said lowly asserted, "That was my fault. I used his charm magic impulsively in the maze. He suffered the consequences for it..." And he trailed off, the subject visibly starting to weight too heavily on him, even now.

And James wasn't sure there was anything he could do to lift the weight either. The consequences were real. James knew enough now to piece together that Lyall had manipulated both Tula and Alex to get their victory, and Alan was left to deal with the remnants of their personalities altering his psyche. And Lyall had used Alan's powers on Stravos too.

No wonder Alan was unstable. Sure, he appeared to be "back to normal" in many ways, but James had a feeling that the subtler changes were still around, and he didn't know how much of it Alan was embracing or trying to actively rewrite.

"I know you really care about him," James said.

Yes, they'd argued earlier, and it'd gotten loud enough for everyone to overhear. But people didn't have arguments that loud unless they cared enough to put in the effort. Anger wasn't always an indication of hatred. It was also an indication of hurt.

It seemed the two had hurt each other, perhaps more than just the instance after the maze.

"Have you two talked about it?" James asked.

He didn't need to know the details, and he didn't want to. But if it was a subject that had been avoided, that could be a contributor to the current tensions he was witnessing.

"Yes," Lyall answered, glancing down at his hands. "He wasn't... bothered by it. Somehow." He took in a sharper breath and went on, "I do believe those are all the highlights on my end. So, consider yourself up to date, my friend."

Well.

That was worrying. For Alan, at least, that he wasn't bothered. How much did his charm magic alter his brain anyway?

"So -- if I can ask -- are you saying he forgave you?" James asked.

"He did," Lyall confirmed, his puzzlement growing more evident. "Alarmingly fast, and without question."

James frowned.

"I mean... it's a great show of grace to extend forgiveness, for sure," James said slowly. "But... did he not seem... worried?"

Lyall turned and met James's eyes again. "So you find it odd too? Concerning, right? That he wasn't, I mean."

"Either he knows something about his powers that we don't, or he's not worried about the after-effects on his mental well-being," James said quietly. "If it's the latter, then... yes. I find that concerning."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Lyall nodded once as he considered this. "...I can't say for sure. And I didn't want to press and make him freak out, so." He eventually shook his head. "He semed to recover fully, though. I used my share in the prize to ensure it, and he was. He was still Alan when he got back." His frown deepened as he added in a mumble, "Did I inadvertently make him forget anything?"

Well, that was news to James.

"Possibly," James said quietly, briefly looking over his shoulder, over to the other side of the pond where the others were sleeping. Alan, in particular.

"He has seemed..." James hesitated. "Different."

Lyall hummed, following James's line of sight. "I have a feeling that's separate from the maze disaster."

James looked back at Lyall.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes," Lyall said firmly. "It's..." He hesitated.

"If it's personal to him, I don't need to know," James said softly. "I'm just... worried, is all."

"He's sane," Lyall assurred him with a nod, seeming relieved himself for the out. "He is still Alan."

Right. Whatever that meant. Did Lyall really know Alan? Say the DMV really did reverse the damage of the maze's aftermath. What was causing Alan's reckless behavior now?? Was that not equally concerning?

But James knew it wasn't his place to press on the matter. He wasn't close with Alan, and Lyall clearly wasn't comfortable discussing Alan's personal situation - nor should he be. So, like he often did, James would have to sit by either until a door opened to speak into the situation or until things got out of control. And, well... he really hoped they didn't get out of control.

But he had a gut feeling they were already about to. And Shane was going to get caught in the crossfire.

He was already so invested in Alan...

"I'm glad he has you as a friend," James decided to say after a moment.

With another incline of his head, Lyall answered softly, "And I'm glad to likewise call him friend. The Norns are good for something, after all."

"Guess so," James said with a hum, turning his attention away from their sleeping comrades and back to the desert ahead of them, and the full moon overhead.

"And I'd like to say the same about you," Lyall warmly added after a short lull. "You were spot on when you said I quite value your companionship. Hostile circumstances notwithstanding, I'm glad we finally found opportunity to really talk again."

James felt a hint of a smile tug at his mouth.

"Me too," he said softly.

And for a little while, the two of them sat in silence.

The night was quiet. There was only a faint sound of distant humming from insects in the distance. If his previous day hadn't been so perilous, and the future so uncertain, maybe he would've been able to more deeply appreciate the brevity of the peace they were sharing. Just in that moment.

But there was another burning question, and he felt like if he didn't ask, he might not get another opportunity like this to.

"I have a suspicion that you've been recruited by the DMV," James finally said after a long silence. And he knew it would feel like it came out of nowhere. But he didn't know how else to preface it.

He was better at just saying things outright.

"And before you tell me if I'm wrong or right," James went on. "I just want you to know that regardless, it doesn't change the fact that I want to be your friend, and I care about you."

There was a long, tense pause on Lyall's end. He kept his gaze fixed out over the water, clenching his hands uncertainly.

"Perhaps revisit that matter after our time on island hell is over," he eventually uttered, resignation heavy in his voice. "See how you feel then."

Ah.

James's heart sunk.

So not only was it confirmation, but Lyall was already anticipating closing the door to friendship before the DMV was over.

Such was the pain of keeping an open heart, James supposed. He'd hoped that Lyall might be more honest, but...

"You know about my history, right?" James asked.

Lyall shifted in place. "Basically the whole world does."

"Then you know about Carter Haddon," James said.

"The name's appeared on occasion, yes," Lyall said, nodding slightly.

"We were best friends," James said. "Before I blew the whistle."

A beat of silence.

"And," Lyall evenly prompted.

"And," James said. "Despite what happened..."

James looked away, out at the desert. Distantly, at the sky.

Knowing that Carter was listening.

"I still love him like a brother," James said. "And if he ever came around, I'd be willing to put in the work to repair things again. If he wanted."

Lyall sat quiet with this, letting it sink in, weighing a response. But never seemed to find a proper one.

After a very long silence, James decided to make it plain.

"And for the record," he said. "You are immensely more deserving of that kindness than Carter."

Drawing in a breath, Lyall abruptly got to his feet. "I'm going to..." He pointed with one hand and turned himself in the same direction on his heel. "...watch that side of the pond, now. Cover more surface area that way. Ta."

James turned and watched as Lyall walked away.

He wondered if he'd said too much. Borne too much of his heart out in the open, or if Lyall just didn't know how to recieve it.

But regardless of how Lyall reacted, James had really meant what he said, and he intended to follow through on his own words. He tried to never say anything he didn't mean, nor make promises he didn't intend to keep.

When Lyall was curving around the edge of the pond, James finally looked away, deciding to turn his attention back to their surrounding. Keeping watch, as they were supposed to.

All the while, though, he found his eyes drifting back to the sky, where he'd seen Carter's face, looking down on them.

He really did mean it. He was willing to give Carter a second chance.

He just hoped Carter didn't abuse the invitation.

Carter cut the live feed back to Kazimir and Clanny, who were currently in the company of ten different tiny mice they'd made allies. It was stupid, but it was the "wholesome" entertainment that kept people coming and gave some levity between the near-death experiences and the violence.

He idly spun around in his chair, letting the live audio feed play in the background.

Kazimir and Clanny never talked about anything that really mattered. It was all fluff, really.

He kicked against the floor and his chair rolled to the side back to the cameras monitoring Lyall's party.

More specifically, James.

That fucker.

Did he really think Carter would let that kind of bleeding heart bullshit make it on TV? Did he think it would improve his image or something? It was borderline libel. The only reason it wasn't was because Carter cut the cameras to someone else.

Of course James would use it as a manipulation tactic - and he'd be sincere about it, too. Carter knew exactly what he was doing. Get their guard down, get all buddy buddy, and then he'd try to throw Lyall to the wolves if Lyall didn't do what James wanted.

It took one to know one.

Carter cast his gaze over the multiple screens and camera feeds across the island, tilting his head to the side.

There was one more day of this challenge, and he didn't think the players had been really challenged enough. Not enough to produce fruit.

"Ivar," Carter called, looking back at the brooding tree of a man at the opposite end of the monitoring room. "I'd like to bring a tempest to the mountain. If you could have it start stirring when the first group gets to the mountain, that'd be wonderful."

The lines of Ivar's broad shoulders drooped a bit with a put-upon sigh. "Of course you would."

This guy. So dramatic. He could at least have the decency to keep it to himself. This was his job. It wasn't like he signed up for this as a volunteer position without pay.

"Drama pays the bills, Ivar," Carter said. "You heard Mireya and the Trieus."

Ivar hummed. "Yes, the stonks," he replied seriously, "I've heard."

Carter turned to face the screens, hiding a small smirk at hearing the silly language come from Ivar's mouth.

"Right," he said. "We keep the people entertained, we keep our investors, we keep getting paid."

"And we maintain lowly positions that are beneath us," Ivar muttered, "in a wasteful industry."

"Hm," Carter said. "If that's what you think of all of this, why take the job at all?"

Somehow frowning even deeper, Ivar glanced sideways at him. "As you said: drama pays the bills." He turned back to the monitors in front of them.

Ah, yes. Even "gods" had bills to pay, it seemed. He'd already heard Ivar's whole "I used to be a god" shpiel.

Yeah. Sure you, did Ivar. Carter knew the real story. Politicians weren't gods. They were just people. Besides, what Ivar accomplished wasn't anything worth lauding. He almost wiped out the mage population in his home country. For clout.

Carter looked over at Ivar with visible condescenscion.

Oh how the mighty had fallen.

"Spare me your worthless judgements, boy," Ivar grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I haven't said a word," Carter said.

"You didn't have to," Ivar insisted. "Your thoughts are excruciatingly loud."

"What is it you're hearing, exactly?" Carter teased.

"What is your end goal, then?" Ivar asked flatly. "A meaningless cycle of suffering out of lingering resentment over a man who no longer is worth anything to the rest of the world? A good use of resources."

Ugh. This again.

"Don't act like you're not waiting for an opportune moment to get revenge yourself," Carter said.

"I have to bide my time," Ivar said lowly, standing straight again with his hands folded behind his back.

"Yeah. You do," Carter said. "And I don't."

"It would seem that way," Ivar agreed evenly. "What with your impulse control comparable to that of a child."

Carter spun his chair around and faced Ivar more squarely.

"Do enlighten me on how you would more strategically take advantage of my situation if you were in my shoes," he said.

Ivar cast him a slight sneer. "Not bother with things such as acorns and merely pushing clouds around. What purpose do these tediums serve you?"

Hmph. Ivar couldn't see the purpose of it because he cared too much about his image and the image of others. But the beauty of someone's image is that if you played your cards right, you could control how others percieved you.

The acorns were a distraction. If people thought he was petty and settled for the small things, and if they thought him impulsive and small-minded then they wouldn't have reason to suspect he'd be working in the background to ensure James's future post-DMV was set to destroy him. He was content to have people think he was just a petty Game Master who'd at most throw temporary troubles James's way.

And, sure, it was fun too.

But more than anything, he wanted to wear James down. And that required several, repeated instances outside of his control to get his guard really down. Carter knew how resilient James could be.

That's why he had to hit him so hard.

He needed James hopeless enough about his future that he would accept it.

"You know, Ivar," Carter said. "I'm sure you made a great politician because you understood politics, strategy, and power. But I'm not sure you actually understand people."

Ivar tilted his head back, sighing up at the ceiling now. "Please, explain to me my own successes and failures, child," he said flatly. "How I played my own game."

Carter raised a brow.

Oh. So Ivar was accepting open judgement now? Just a minute ago, he wasn't. What a turn-around.

"It's simple, really," Carter said, even though he knew Ivar's request was actually rhetorical. "You got greedy. Power is a delicate balance, and fear will never control someone as well as love and trust. It's just human nature. You crossed a line when you got greedy. It got too personal. It's no wonder they kicked you out. It's one thing to vilify a dangerous mage, but to vilify all mages? Now you've just damned someone's father, mother, daughter, son... And I guarantee you, that's just never going to fly in the long run. That's how we get revolts and revolutions. Activists and all that."

He spun a finger as he spun around in his chair again, turning his attention back to the live feed.

Eh. The mice were boring. He switched it to Hendrik, Robin, and Stravos. They were still a hot mess of arguing, but at least it was entertaining for a few minutes before it got old.

"Sometimes," Carter said. "You have to be content to play the long game, and wait. But I suppose, with someone of your - advancement - waiting feels like a card you can't play."

A beat.

"What I mean to say is, you hurt people's feelings, Ivar," Carter said. "All news is good news until it gets you cancelled."

He only received a low, long-suffering groan from the other side of the room in response.

Carter let himself grin in self-satisfaction. Ivar was so pathetic, it was hilarious. He stayed turned towards the screens.

"Your long game, then," Ivar prompted again after a moment of silent stewing.

"Ah, you desire to know it," Carter said.

"The ultimate goal of it," Ivar clarified.

"See, if I tell you," Carter said. "I'll jinx it. You know how these things go."

"I'm surrounded by children," Ivar muttered darkly.

"Come on," Carter chided. "Don't act like you don't understand. Us two - well, we've hardly formed enough trust for me to share that kind of vulnerable, close-to-the-heart type of thing with you, don't you think?"

Turning his head, Ivar leveled him with an unamused stare. "I gave you your little rain clouds," he muttered, turning for the door. "Enjoy your useless games, Haddon."

Carter twiddled his fingers in farewell.

"Enjoy your useless digging, Ivar," Carter muttered.

Yeah. He knew Ivar was going to try to dig something up on him. It wouldn't be anything anyone else didn't already know, though. Because yes. Carter was that careful.

Connie hadn't read a fantasy story since he was ten years old. It was quite good for that tender age, though he had outgrown the liking, instead opting for grounded reality, such as existential philosophies. Furthermore, Connie had not consumed fictional media-- including, but not limited to movies, television shows, or plays-- since he was twelve years old. He did entertain timeless classics from time to time, but it seemed that his preferences for high-fantasy stories had vanished with the start of puberty.

With that in mind, it was quite the pleasant surprise to be transformed into a high-fantasy adventure story. A surprise, but quite frankly, also a nuisance. It was quite challenging to maintain his dietary macros in a constrained and strict environment, and there was more than once instance in which he had to ask himself: "Will eating this plant kill me?"

A challenge, indeed. Though, he was certainly partaking in a surplus of exercise through serene nature, hiking through pleasant woods for the whole day, only stopping to meditate.

Peculiar. Meditating conjured a deep, spiritual connection not only to nature and his body, but to his magic essence as well. Or perhaps he was inspired to write poetry, embedded with nature, fantasy, and magic.

Connie only noticed that his appearance had changed because he was admiring the still water of the lake, which reflected back on him. His ears were pointed, his hair longer and luscious, his body taller and slimmer. This must be the DMV's doing.

Peculiar and more peculiar. Connie was far more invested in trekking down the water, consuming the sweet berries foraged by the riverside, then spend the remainder of the morning meditating by the waterfall.

There was an announcement, which Connie of course listened to and digested, but he acclimated himself back to the important manners here: meditation.

But he was not able to steel his concentration when there was a tear in the sky, a bright portal appearing from thin air in front of him, spitting out Cyrin Bridger, who splashed into the shallow water. Droplets sloshed on Connie's face, but he remained still by the edge of the riverbank, unflinching.

Cyrin had visibly changed since the last time Connie had seen them. Their ears had turned pointed and elven, their dark hair was kept in an elaborate crown braid, and they seemed even taller. They were tucked into a barrel roll as they tumbled into the water, and they quickly recovered, getting back to their feet in the knee-deep water of the river. Seeing Connie, they raised a hand in friendly greeting.

"Hello, Cyrin," Connie greeted amicably.

"Hello, Connie," Cyrin greeted, stepping out of the water and onto the riverbank. The water was quickly drying from their dark stealth armor. "Good to see you again."

"Indeed," Connie simply said, leaving it at that. He brushed his hands to rest comfortably to his side, contemplating what Cyrin Bridger's entrance means for him. He had no desire to partake in the event's activities, after all.

A small, lighthearted smile quirked at Cyrin's lips. "Have you encountered much trouble so far?"

Connie considered the question, reflecting on his troubles the past day and a half. "The salmon are quite skittish. I was not able to catch any," he answered.

"It's a difficulty," Cyrin agreed. "How about monsters along your path?"

"Monsters," Connie repeated, contemplating the word. "What does that word mean to you?"

"Magical creatures that most people fear," Cyrin said. "Sometimes out of danger, sometimes out of misunderstanding."

"I cannot say I have encountered any, or any other creature or persons." Connie paused. "Except for you, but I would hardly call you a monster."

"I aim not to be," Cyrin said with a tip of his head and something like amusement. "I ran across a frost giant in the tundra. Luckily, there was a puzzle that allowed me to open a portal in time and escape. I had no choice over where I went, though, so I hope it's not too much trouble that I intruded on you here."

How strange and unfortunate.

"You did not choose your destination. Therefore, you had no intention to cause me trouble, and thus, I am not troubled," Connie said pleasantly with a nod.

"Would it bother you if I joined you?" Cyrin asked. "There's strength in numbers, but if it would, I'll leave you be."

It appeared that Cyrin was seeking company. Of which, Connie did not mind.

"I am neither troubled nor bothered," he answered with another nod, inviting him to side beside him on the riverbank. "You may join. I do not mind the company."

"Thank you," Cyrin said warmly, joining him. "It's appreciated."

Cyrin's presence was quite peaceful. Connie was attuning himself to nature, listening to the water lap over the rocks below him, feeling the tug of the breeze on his skin, sensing his new companion's rhythmic breathing patterns. The sun filtered through the leaves overhead, shining down on their faces, providing warmth and comfort.

Inner peace.

About an hour had passed, but neither of them had moved. It was a pleasant surprise to see Cyrin settling into the quiet peace, but no doubt a quiet storm was swirling in his head. Perhaps it was not so peaceful after all.

"Is your goal to hike the rainbow mountain and obtain the prize?" Connie asked, deciding to entertain conversation.

Cyrin inhaled softly, straightening his seating position. "I don't know," they said. "It isn't right now, at least. They want us to fight each other over it, no doubt, and I'm not interested in that."

"There will always be misguided people who want nothing more than to see others suffer," Connie said calmly. "Suffering is a disease; it is infectious. It may grab its hold on you, but only you can choose to spread it." He turned to Cyrin, expression sober. "You may hike the mountain with the intent to win the prize, but it does not mean you must fight others."

Cyrin nodded after a moment. "True. There seem to be more of us who would rather team up with whoever they cross paths with than fight them."

"I must ask again: is your goal to hike the rainbow mountain and obtain the prize?"

Cyrin took their time in thinking again.

"Yes," he said.

Connie nodded. "Are you traveling alone?"

"That depends," Cyrin said. "Would you go with me?"

Connie hummed. That was his next proposal, but it appeared that Cyrin was thinking ahead.

"You are correct that there is strength in numbers, and your company is quite pleasant," he mused. "Yes. I can accompany you in your journey."

Another smile flickered over Cyrin's face. "Thank you," they said. "I won't be going alone, then."

"When would you like to leave?" Connie asked.

"Whenever you feel ready to move on," Cyrin said. "I understand it's very serene here."

It was indeed. However, if Cyrin desired to obtain the prize and leave the discomforts of this island, then time was of the essence. Connie was swift on his feet, brushing down his robe in one stroke.

"I am ready," he said with a nod to Cyrin.



Connie did not need a compass. Not because he was attuned to the natural forces of the world-- which, regardless, was true-- rather, because it was difficult to miss the mountains that jutted from the sky, a rainbow spiraling downwards.

They walked in silence, and it was quite nice. The trees thinned, as did the trail, merging into a coarse sand that crunched under their shoes.

Cyrin was indeed pleasant company, but after another silent hour, it occurred to Connie that perhaps they wanted to discuss the storm brewing in their mind.

Starting with these fantasy monsters.

"Were you attacked, Cyrin?" Connie asked, breaking their long stretch of silence as they hiked through the woods.

Cyrin hummed softly, tearing their gaze away from a tree. "I was. Frost giants are known to defend their territory, and I happened to encroach on one's cave."

"Are you hurt?" Connie asked.

Cyrin shook their head. "No, I'm not injured, luckily. Only some bruises I can't really feel."

"Were you by yourself?"

A slight shadow passed over Cyrin's face. "Not yesterday. I started the event with Clandestine, but a blizzard struck and we both lost each other in the whiteout. I couldn't find where she went once it lifted-- her footprints were hidden, and the snow was much deeper than when it started. I don't know if she's safe or not."

How troubling.

"That is quite unfortunate," Connie said in response.

"It is," Cyrin said, a little more softly. "I hope she found someone else."

"Perhaps..." Connie began, but trailed off as a different pressing matter suddenly surfaced. He was unable to walk, his feet sinking into the sandy ground at a slow but steady pace.

Unfortunate indeed.

"Cyrin," Connie calmly called, grabbing his traveling companion's attention. "It appears I have sunk into quicksand."

Cyrin immediately stopped in his tracks, staring at the ground that was swallowing up Connie's shoes. Thankfully, it did not quite get past his ankles since Connie was calm, not resisting against the sand.

"It appears you are," Cyrin said.

Connie stared down at his feet, assessing the situation. He gave his right foot the barest nudge, and thought the movement was subtle, it only accelerated the sinking.

Of course. This was what the written "spell scrolls" were for. He supposed he could use one now.

And so, naturally, Connie closed his eyes and began to meditate.

"Do you need a hand?" Cyrin offered. "I have a rope that I could use to tug you out."

"Much appreciated. I would like to try this first. Please hold," Connie instructed amicably, eyes still closed.

"Sure thing," Cyrin said.

Even with his eyes closed, light faded in his vision as he willingly entered his mind palace. It was not a place he liked to visit during daylight hours while he was meditating, but it was imperative that he visit so he could remember the exact wording.

Though, in the future, Connie noted to not discard contents given to him in his bag. He was a strict minimalist, but had he not discarded it, he would not have needed to enter his mind palace.

Fortunately, he had the meaningless words memorized.

Connie reached through the floating space of empty void that circulated the walls of his mind palace, pulling out the parchments he had discarded. There was one spell he had thrown away called "Misty Step" that may come in handy.

With a low voice, Connie repeated the words, almost like a mantra.

Gracefully, he sprung in the air with a gust of wind below his feet. Connie floated in the air above the trees for a mere moment, noting that there appeared to be a vast desert in the near distance that they were approaching. Gravity overtaking him, he softly landed back on the coarse dirt.

"Thank you for your patience," he said with a nod to Cyrin.

Cyrin nodded, looking impressed as they carefully stepped around the quicksand patch, joining him again. "Very nicely done," they said appraisingly.

"Let's both be mindful of where we step," Connie simply said in response, resuming their walk.

"Good idea," Cyrin said, examining the footprints Connie had left in the sand, as if committing the terrain's appearance to memory, before following after him.

They walked again in silence. More aware of their steps, Connie was diligently on a lookout for any traps that they could step on, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The dirt crunching under their shoes turned more and more fine until they were trekking through coarse sand.

Connie glanced back at Cyrin, noting the long silence again. He was content with no words being exchanged and quite preferred that; however, this treatment seemed unsual, or at least, out of the ordinary. From what Connie knew of Cyrin Bridger, they were charismatic with a positive media personality. This was, of course, according to Remus, who often reminded him to take note of Cyrin, as he was a celebrity "role model" that Connie may "learn from" this summer.

Connie was not an expert of human disposition, but it did not take an expert to understand that Cyrin appeared to be troubled.

"What is troubling you?" he asked, straight to the point.

Cyrin's gaze flicked back to him, away from where they'd been staring ahead distractedly. They looked surprised for a moment before they shrugged.

"I'm concerned as to everyone's well-being," he said. "Especially the friends I haven't seen in a few days." He paused. "I'm sorry. Did I worry you?"

"I do not get worried," Connie answered.

Cyrin nodded. "Not that, then. I'm sorry it was noticeable."

Curious, Connie asked, "Why are you sorry?"

Cyrin shrugged again. "If it's noticeable that I'm out of it, others who do worry about that will often give themselves unnecessary anxiety on my behalf. Which I'd rather not inflict on anyone."

Connie could not say he agreed, but he was only one man. However, this was not about him; this was about Cyrin and his perceptions of others.

In which Connie felt he must clarify: "I also do not get anxious."

"I'm glad this doesn't make you worried or anxious," Cyrin said, sounding a little relieved. "Thank you for asking anyway. I'm just distracted with thoughts of how everyone else is doing, where they're at, whether they're safe. I realize it's made me a little quieter."

It was an insightful explanation. Connie could not help with this, but he still had the foresight to ask, "Would you like to talk about something else to distract your distractions?"

Cyrin nodded thoughtfully. "That could help, if you don't mind."

Connie took a moment to contemplate possible subjects of relatability. They were fellow scholars and appreciators of the arts, though Connie had been told that he ought to explore different avenues of conversation topics, even if these were the only subjects that did not bore him.

Aside from their brothers, there was one subject that came to mind that connected the two of them.

"I heard you obtained my magic from the maze event," he mused. "How did you like it?"

Cyrin grew more alert at that. "It was incredibly fascinating," he said. "It was also perfectly suited for what I needed to do at the time. I had no idea everyone's mind palaces were so personalized and vivid."

Connie nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Dreams are an extension of our minds, which is an extension of our bodies."

"Indeed," Cyrin agreed. "It was very interesting to see those mental consciousnesses manifest physically. Each one felt fitting to the person, too."

"I can see how this would be fascinating to you, since you do not dream," Connie commented.

Cyrin glanced back at him, giving him a longer look.

"You know about that?" they asked curiously.

"Yes," Connie answered with a nod. "Every night, I can sense when others are dreaming. However, I have never received that indication from you."

"I never considered that you'd be aware of that," Cyrin said after a short pause, where he seemed to be in careful thought. "But it makes sense."

"Would you like to experience a dream?" Connie asked pleasantly.

Cyrin opened his mouth to answer, but he seemed to be lacking the words for a moment, and he closed his mouth again.

"I might," he said in a quieter tone.

"I don't quite understand," Connie pressed. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"Yes," Cyrin said, a little louder and more suddenly. "If you were willing."

"If your company at night is similar to your company during the day, I am more than willing," he amended with a nod. "At night, I often meditate by myself in my mind palace. Unfortunately, I cannot show you a real dream, as that does not pertain to my magic. However, I have received feedback that my mind palace has ethereal characteristics that is reminiscent of a dream, hence why it is also called a dreamscape. I can transfer your resting mind into mine, if you would find that entertaining."

Cyrin nodded. "I think that would be interesting. I'd be glad to take you up on your offer."

Connie nodded, focusing on their careful trek through the thinning woods before turning back to Cyrin with another important matter to discuss. "What are your thoughts on collaborating with other team members? There are others nearby."

"Are they people who are friendly with or trusted by us?" Cyrin asked. "If so, yes. If not, I suggest we avoid them."

"Do you trust James?" Connie asked instead.

"Yes," Cyrin said.

"Then I suggest we team up. At night, I will pull him into my dreamscape so we may discuss. I will also pull you in as well, though I fully intend to give you a proper 'dream' after this fantasy event is over."

Cyrin smiled slightly. "Sounds like a good plan to me. Thank you."

Connie inclined his head to affirm their plans. "You are welcome."

Leilan shut his eyes against the blast of light from the imploding portal. Even though he couldn't see it, he thought he knew exactly what was happening-- powerful magic suddenly out of balance was shifting to the stress imposed on the system as best it could. He felt a powerful tugging, and he lost his footing on the grass for a moment, feeling himself pulled in. But just as it seemed like it was going to suck him in, the force acting on him vanished. The air stilled, and the glowing light through his eyes went out. He opened them to see their clearing suddenly empty. No passageway to a volcanic inferno. No friends or strangers around him. Just him and the forest.

And one of the other party. Hild.

Stunned, Leilan looked around, locking eyes with her in confusion and shocked silence, which he was the first to break.

"Are they all--" he started. "Gone?"

Eyes wide as she sat straighter in the underbrush, Hild scanned around them. "I... Was it that unstable?" she murmured, slowing pushing herself to her feet.

"He only leaned on it," Leilan said disbelievingly.

"There might have been a time limit on it," Hild said as she began pacing, "like with the confetti portals."

Leilan wasn't so concerned with the why it happened as much as he was that it had happened at all. A disappointed feeling sank over him as he watched the space where the portal had been.

"It all happened so fast," he murmured.

He hadn't even had time to think about what Alexander had just admitted to, or the chance to catch up with Shane, or to really say hi to the other group, or to clear up any antonishment on his identity. They'd all been together for two minutes, at the most.

And now the six of them could be anywhere.

"I don't imagine we'll have time enough to find them all again," Hild said in thought. "Not if we hope to accomplish anything during the event."

Leilan slowly turned back to her.

"No?" he asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

She stopped in her tracks and glanced back with confusion. "'No' what?"

Right. That "no" wasn't technically grammatically correct for what he meant.

"You think we won't be finding them?" Leilan clarified.

"Ah." Twisting a little on her heel to scan the trees again, Hild pointed in a seemingly random direction and began walking with purpose. "I suppose I can't really know that we wouldn't perchance run into them on the way. Presuming we can locate this rainbow mountain within the remaining alotted time."

Leilan was too torn to follow immediately, and he glanced back at the empty clearing, not quite ready to leave it behind yet. Maybe he was hoping for it to reopen, that there'd been some mistake and the Powers That Were had just finished fixing it. He didn't know if he seriously hoped for that to happen. But either way, it didn't reappear.

"Right," he agreed reluctantly, starting to walk with her. "Could still happen, if we're all headed to the same place."

"Though." Hild glanced curiously over her shoulder. "Are you keen on staying here for the remainder of the summer?"

Leilan blinked. "Well," he said with a slight chuckle. "I haven't had the best time here so far, but I figure it's only fair that I relieve someone else of their time here."

"And it will likely only worsen from here," Hild said with a light hum. "What's 'fair' is hard to define, really."

His faint smile turned a little sad as he shrugged. "I know. I've seen the show. I figure there's people in need of escape."

"James is determined to give that escape to a mister Aaron Keller," Hild explained, looking ahead in time to duck below a low-hanging branch. "Has the show informed you of his situation at all?"

"He's..." Leilan paused in thought. "The one who could become a wendigo, right?"

Hild nodded once. "Correct. Our party already came to an agreement on the matter. Might we likewise be able to count on your alliance?"

Leilan nodded. "Of course. It should go to whoever needs it the most."

She gave another measured nod. "Appreciated." Then seemed content to let silence fall fully between them as she marched along.

Leilan scanned the forest as he followed, not seeing any threats or signs of danger. Good. He felt a little less safe without his armor.

"You're siblings with Lyall, right?" he asked, more warmly. "I talked a bit with him. He seems cool."

"I am," Hild answered evenly, "and he's a good man." She cast Leilan the faintest of grins. "He seemed somewhat disgruntled during official introductions. Had you intentionally mislead him?"

"Not intentionally," Leilan said with an amused laugh. "Well. He didn't seem to know who I was, and it was funny to see him so unaware with all the hints there. So I may have made some oversimplifications and sweeping statements in introducing myself, but no lies were told."

"Interesting," Hild said with a quiet snort. "Especially since he likes to boast how worldly he is."

The forest floor began to slope upward, and the two eventually found themselves traveling along a stream.

"Do you think he'll be miffed when I find him again?" Leilan said with a laugh. "I did mess with him a bit."

Hild shook her head, grin broadening a bit. "No, you'll quickly find yourself in his good graces again."

"Good," Leilan said with a smile. "We had something friendly going on."

"Another thing he'll very soon brag about," Hild said in with a feigned sigh. "In addition to having danced-- only once-- with royalty."

Leilan grinned. "Wait, that's right! I completely forgot that happened."

Hild sighed. It almost sounded wistful. "That evening was truly a blur."

"It only has to happen once for it to count, I suppose," Leilan said.

She sighed again with slightly more annoyance. "And it'll last him a lifetime."

Leilan grinned. "He did admit to having a ego that was dangerously inflated."

"At least he's somewhat self-aware," Hild muttered, slowing to a stop. She scanned the trees, eyes slightly narrowing.

Leilan stopped beside her. "Something wrong?"

Another short silence stretched over the forest.

"...I thought I heard something closeby," she answered simply, picking up the pace once more. "You're armed, correct?"

Leilan nodded, putting a hand over his belt's sheath. "I have a sword."

"Which you'll be able to wield sufficiently?" she furthered with a quirk of her brow.

"I believe so," Leilan said. "I've already had to here. We were all fine."

She hummed with a mildly impressed nod. "Excellent."

The two of them moved on, and whatever Hild thought she'd heard, she didn't seem to notice it again. As much as he listened, he didn't hear it either. Once some time had passed and their surroundings felt more secure, he spoke up again.

"Is Shane friends with the people in your earlier party?" he asked. "He seemed comfortable with you all."

Finally glancing back again, Hild actually smiled this time with full warmth. "Yes, all four of us are on friendly terms. Though, from what I've observed, he's closest with James."

"That's good," Leilan said, matching the warmth in her smile. "It makes me happy to see it."

She hummed. "When did you last see Shane?"

"About a month and a week ago," Leilan said. "Before each of us left for our DMVs."

With another hum, Hild seemed content with this information and offered nothing else for the time being. There was a sense of her tunnel-visioning on their new objective, as she often did in the snippets of her he'd caught on the show.

"It feels much longer than that, though," Leilan reflected. "That time's a long time to miss someone."

There was a hint of hesitation when Hild glanced back this time. "It... can be."

Leilan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It's. It's relative, I suppose." Shaking her own thought, Hild seemed to deeply consider this. Then must have debated a response, because it took a short silence until she went on a bit awkwardly, "I'm sorry it's felt so long for you."

Leilan searched her face for a moment out of the corner of his eye. Hmm.

"You're right, it is," he agreed. "I guess I shouldn't say it's felt eternal. I haven't been seeing him quite that often lately, anyway."

"I don't mean to minimize..." Hild quietly sighed. "Childhood friends, you said?"

Leilan smiled gently at her to reassure her that it was fine. "Yeah. I've known him since we were both seven, and our families are in close connection, of course, so we grew up around each other in a way."

"I see." Hild folded her hands together. "You two do seem quite close."

Leilan grinned softly. "You might have guessed it from the tackling, yes."

"Vaguely inferred," she replied with a hint of playful dryness. "Purely conjecture."

He let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, we're rather close. I trust him wholly and completely-- he means a lot to me, and I'm glad he's in my life, even though we're both busy people who can't see each other as much as we'd like. He's a special friend."

"It must have been nice, then," Hild replied gently, "receiving the offer to finish out your testing here."

"I mean, it wasn't an offer," Leilan chuckled. "But I would've accepted it regardless."

She inclined her head, gaze flicking out to the thinning trees around them. "Right."

"I do think they've got their reasons for arranging it that have nothing to do with their generosity," he said. "Whether it's publicity, special plans, or just the desire to inject new drama into the show. But whatever their reasons, I'm still glad it had the effect of reuniting us again."

When she glimpsed back at him over her shoulder again, something akin to approval flashed in her eyes. "They're likely to try weaponizing your friendship in some form or other," she said with sudden severity. "I trust, though, that you don't need reminding to stay on your guard, for both your sakes."

Leilan nodded, more solemnly. "I'm worried they might," he said. "And I'm already worried for Shane, whether they try that or not. They've proven themselves willing to mess with people in all kinds of ways."

"In various ways that are not compliant with the Genoova Conventions," Hild confirmed.

Leilan cracked a dry smile at that. "Exactly. Hence my concern that while they're willing to let us have our happy little reunion, they're also happy to throw problems our way."

"They'll prove your concern quite warranted rather soon." Scrunching her nose, Hild shrugged. "Possibly as soon as this event, actually."

Leilan rubbed at his face. "Would they have the opportunity to do so?"

"Your sword has already been of use at least once, yes?" Hild asked in turn.

"Yes," Leilan said. "Though it had nothing to do with Shane."

"It doesn't have to," Hild countered simply. "Not even two full days on this island, and they've already thrown your way bizarre dangers that warranted a sword to begin with. They'll find ample opportunity to threaten your friendship in the next day and a half, if they so desired."

...Was that even possible?

He'd never had something that had put his friendship with Shane at risk, and that was after eighteen years of knowing each other. That wasn't because they hadn't been tested, either-- they'd been through high school drama and a vicious ex, the difficulty of choosing different life pathways, long-distance friendship, political strife that wore at their mental health, and now dead parents, for just some examples of hard times they'd gone through together. An island could be another hard time, but it couldn't actually compromise a relationship that steady in any meaningful way.

"I'm sure they could try, and might want to," Leilan said. "But I doubt they'll manage."

Hild nodded resolutely with a simple, "Good."

At least she didn't challenge him on that. That would've felt painful.

Leilan was about to add more when suddenly he heard a very unmistakable, very familiar barking. He immediately stopped in his tracks.

"...I think that's my dog," he said slowly.

Several paces ahead, Hild stopped and cast him a concerned glance. "Your dog?" she echoed incredulously.

"My dog," Leilan confirmed, looking around wildly. "He's a border collie named Pinto. I brought him here."

Turning on her heel, Hild rushed past him towards the source. "You brought him here?"

"No, not to what I thought was a war zone!" Leilan exclaimed, running after her. "I brought him to the island, just like Shane and Hendrik brought their pets, but I was transported unknowingly here like the rest of you. I didn't even know whether he'd made it along with me."

She pushed her way through dense underbrush. "A new friendly warning for you, then: pets are now fair game to the DMV. As you saw, Mister Shrimp was likewise dragged into this most recent mess."

"For Saints's sake," Leilan muttered, but he didn't have the time to add on to that, because the ground was suddenly no longer solid under his feet. And he was also being yanked upwards at a frightening speed.

Leilan let out a shriek he wasn't proud of. But what was he supposed to do when he found himself snatched up like he was a doll and God was a vengeful kid taking out their anger on their toys-- shout with delight? Certainly not.

He found himself, inexplicably, pinned in a net in close and uncomfortable quarters with Hild, twenty feet above the ground and dangling from a branch. With both hands planted on his shoulders, Hild forcefully held him out at least an arm's length out. Which was not easily found space, in a net drawn so tight. Leilan's face pressed against the rope.

A shuffle was heard overhead in the trees, but nothing could be seen.

"A disappointing waste of my trap," a man's voice said somewhere from above them.

"What?" Leilan breathed, struggling in the net. But that only made things more uncomfortable, and he winced as Hild's knee accidentally knocked into his shin.

Hild muttered a quick apology. Her grip on his shoulders slipped, and they fell back against each other.

A figure fluttered down from the trees, half visible, and transparent enough to see through him to the forest behind.

It was Jay.

"Or maybe not," Jay said. "Who are you?"

"Mister Mournsky," Hild greeted gravely. "We'll entertain any conversation when we're back on the ground."

Jay narrowed his eyes at them.

"And why shouldn't I leave you here? It's less competition for me," he said.

"What if we're not competition?" Leilan said quickly.

"Why should I believe that?" Jay questioned just as fast.

Leilan threw up his hands, as much as he could in the tight space. Which of course meant accidentally punching the net. Ow. "Because we just ran the opposite way of a mountain, and the goal of the event, all to seek out a dog? Because obviously we're not hellbent on getting it? Because we might have some different priorities for these three days?"

"Hild," Jay said, looking past Leilan. "Who is this?"

Her glare intensified, nose scrunching slightly with disdain. "I stand by my earlier declaration," she bit out.

"Fine," Jay said, looking to Leilan again. "Who are you?"

"I'm with Hild," Leilan said. "Both as in an alliance, and also what she said."

Jay's expression was blank and unchanging.

"Since it seems we've failed to build trust I guess I'll be going, now," Jay said.

Hild's glare turned aghast. "Now, hang on," she squeaked, "you can't initiate an interaction-- with an ambush, of all things-- then pin this on us!"

"I'm only interested in winning the prize," Jay said. "And right now, you're not helping."

"You won't even give us the chance help," Leilan exclaimed. "Bit hard to do anything at all up here."

"You could start with explaining who you are," Jay said flatly.

Leilan frowned indignantly.

"Would it be any consolation," Hild said diplomatically, pressing her eyes shut with a frustrated wave of her hand, "that we've all agreed that, no matter who among us obtains the prize, we send Aaron Keller home? Per James's prompting."

There was a short pause.

"...You mean that?" he asked.

Opening her eyes again, Hild leaned closer-- as close as the net allowed, anyway-- to level him with another severe look. "And, quite frankly," she added sternly, "I have little reason to go home so soon, when I still have an idiot brother to watch after here, in addition to new friendships to maintain."

Jay huffed.

For a moment he was quiet as he stared at them in calculation. Then, he floated over with a summoned dagger in hand and sliced the rope with one swing.

Leilan had the self-control to not shriek this time as they both tumbled from the net trap, crashing through branches and then hitting the ground with such force that he wondered if his spine had snapped. With a shocked yelp, Hild landed roughly on top of him, then scrambled off.

"Where's my dog?" Leilan wheezed, even though that was probably only the sixth biggest question to answer at the moment.

Jay pointed off into the trees.

"Tied to a tree," he said. "I kept him from flying off."

"Flying..." Leilan started. Jay just shrugged.

Oh. Right. Shrimp had had wings-- wings?-- which he had not at all gotten to comment on and had just taken in stride.

"...Is he winged?" he asked incredulously.

Before Jay could answer, Hild pushed off of Leilan to her feet to level Jay with another hard glare. "We certainly didn't need you for that," she huffed, brushing the dirt and leaves from her clothes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jay said flatly.

"I do have a sword," Leilan said, sitting up, "and a desire not to fall from great heights without warning."

Jay just stared at Leilan. "Cool," he said.

So he was just as blunt and cold as the show made him seem. Leilan shook his head.

"Kindly retrieve his dog," Hild demanded, "then we may be on our way."

Jay looked between Leilan and Hild and then rolled his eyes with a sigh. A split second later, he disappeared.

Leilan looked back to Hild in his absence.

"You okay?" he whispered softly.

Tilting her chin up in a somewhat defiant manner, she merely hummed an affirmative. Then murmured, "Sorry for..." And gestured vaguely at him. "...squishing you."

"You're good," Leilan promised. "I lived."

The barking returned, and Leilan looked up to see something he wouldn't have imagined before today. Pinto, flapping on bird wings with his tongue happily dangling out, and a rope connecting him to an invisible Jay, who also appeared to be flying.

He'd seen it all now.

"Pinto!" he shouted, beckoning at his feet. "Down, boy!"

What followed next was him being tackled by a barking ball of fur and feathers. Pinto barreled into him with a happy yap, and Leilan's hands got slobbery with dog kisses. Despite the baffling situation, he found it in him to grin.

Jay reappeared a few yards off, standing on the ground, watching. Folding her hands neatly in front, Hild cast him a still-mildly unappreciative glance when he appeared.

Leilan put a calming hand on the back of Pinto's neck, ruffling the fur there.

"Thank you," he said, deciding bitterness wasn't the way right now.

Jay nodded. "Sure," he said stiffly.

"We best get going now," Hild said evenly, turning on her heel.

Wordlessly, Jay floated after her, levitating over the ground. Leilan did the same, though he stuck closer to Hild than to Jay.

Just like that, it got pretty quiet, pretty fast. Pinto was the only one of them making any noise as he tagged alongside Leilan. With a hand patting his dog's head, Leilan decided to let it rest. Conversation seemed unpopular rather than merely awkward, and he wasn't one to make unpopular decisions.

Night watch. It was one of the most important, most dangerous roles to volunteer for. The closer they were to the mountain, the more dangerous the beasts became.

There were five of them total. Eve was hoping that she could keep watch with either James, Lyall, or Clarity, but Alan was adamant that he help. Interestingly, he did not volunteer after Lyall, though perhaps that was not surprising news considering their rather egregious yelling match earlier that afternoon.

Even in the stillness of the night, Eve realized she was glaring at Lyall, who she could hardly even make out in the darkness, curled up and asleep. The events of today were... tense, to say the least.

She was separated from James, Hild, and Shane, but her incessant worries were eased after she studied Lyall's map. Though, he was a new source of uncertainty altogether. Eve still did not trust Lyall; she didn't trust anybody who worked for the DMV, even if they both had similar motivations. She took a big risk to even tell him who she wanted to protect, but considering their knowledge sharing was transactional, she interpreted this as a quid pro quo.

Eve would help protect the people he cared about if he helped protect the people she cared about. And, conversely, she would hurt the people he cared about if he hurt the people she cared about.

Finally, Eve peeled her daggering glare away from the aggravating man, her hard gaze instead settling on a different, entirely new source of aggravation: Alan, who was sitting at the other end of the pond, away from the camp.

They had spoken a few times in the past, and she would be remiss to say that Alan wasn't compelling and intriguing, since he exuded an air of selfless, optimistic idealism-- which, frankly, Eve found suspicious, because no one was that altruistic and gracious. The few times they chatted, she kept her guard up, and even if he was humble and strangely charismatic, he thankfully respected her boundaries.

That summarized her notes on Alan. And, of course, she had an entirely new page devoted to the people who were close to him. Eve especially kept a close eye on ties relating to Hild and Shane, observant and hyperaware of any shift in their dynamics that was fluid and ever-evolving. Eve did not care for petty drama that the show maximized for engagement, but there was one relation in particular to Alan she had kept a closer eye on this past week: Lyall.

It was glaringly obvious that he and Alan were remarkably close despite the short time spent together, which was suspicious, but Eve quickly caught on that this seemed to be a theme of Alan's: to draw people in with his suspiciously kind words, ensnaring them in his trap of supposed friendship.

Perhaps that was a heavy exaggeration, but considering the inconsistent behavior coming from Alan recently, she was justly skeptical of his true antics.

Why did he severely underreact to the after-effects of his post-maze psychotic episode? Why didn't he say anything when he was stung by the venomous scorpion? Why did he so obvious and openly flirt with Lyall while he was dying of a lethal sting?

Eve was missing information. Normally, she would note these observations and simply move on, but now that she was becoming more intricately connected with Lyall-- who, again, she did not trust-- she needed to know more information about him.

Lyall was stubborn. He spoke like a politician, deflecting and answering questions with even more questions, avoiding freely sharing information. "Knowledge is power," the Trieus would often say, and Eve would be remiss to say they were wrong.

If she wanted to gain more information about Lyall, then she had to collect this information indirectly, targeting those who would know most about him. And with it just being her and Alan awake, so soon after a heated argument with his friend without any closure...

Now was a perfect time to collect this information.

Silent, Eve stood up, alert as she focused on approaching Alan with light feet. She was careful to move across the camp, not disrupting the peace by making any sudden noise. Perhaps she should have made herself known sooner, however, since her sudden presence seemed to startle him.

Another bad sign. Alan was not alert, and therefore not an appropriate candidate to keep watch.

Flinching, he bit back a weak wheeze as he squinted up at her from the ground, mustering a half-smile.

"Hey, Eve. Sorry, I didn't see you approach," he murmured.

SKipping the pleasantries, she asked, "May I sit with you?"

Alan paused, hesitant eyes moving from her, the ground next to him, then back at her. "Sure, yes," he finally said, to which she responded by bending down, folding her legs under her as she settled into a comfortable position.

He stared at her, uncertain. Which only made her feel even more uncertain, though Eve knew that she instigated this, so it was his right to feel unsure of where to go from here.

He cleared his throat. "Is there..."

"Why did you not say anything?" she cut in curtly.

Alan's mouth was still open from talking, but he slowly closed it as he processed the question. "Are you talking about the scorpion sting?"

"Yes," Eve answered, trying not to sound too impatient, though she thought that was painfully obvious. "That was a fatal sting that you could have died from. Did that thought not occur to you?"

Finally, a shadow of solemn regret washed over his expression as he stared down at the ground in front of them, in a daze. "No, it did," he murmured. A few seconds passed, and he did not elaborate. Just as she was about to press, he then added: "I suppose I didn't want to feel any more of a burden than I already am. I'm sorry for needlessly causing you to worry. I realize now that it was very careless of me."

This time, it was Eve's turn to slowly process. She thought, perhaps, he would be defensive, considering how argumentative he was with Lyall just mere hours ago. And when emotions were high, she could dig deeper, asking him about his relationship with Lyall so she could piece together a bigger picture.

But here, now, with Eve-- who was practically still a stranger to Alan-- he was openly apologizing and admitting vulnerability. She hardly knew what to do with this, especially since this was never even about her.

"And thank you for helping me, by the way," Alan added, his gaze now settling on her, which she found to be rather uncomfortable. "I was so out of it, so I didn't get to properly thank you. I don't think I could have made it down the plateau by myself. You have very impressive magic."

Eve flicked her eyes to him a few times, her lips pressed together with tight tension.

Did he just... compliment her?

"That's..." she began under her breath, but she trailed off, sudden movement catching her eye towards camp.

James was awake.

It took a long time for James to be able to fall asleep. But when he finally did, he found himself "waking" in Connie's dreamscape.

See, normally, this was fine. He'd begun to get familiar with the experience ever since Connie had begun pulling James into his dreamscape to avoid nightmares. But the past few nights, Alex had stopped giving them, so it wasn't necessary.

So, sure. Yeah. It was still a little jarring.

"Hello, James," Connie greeted, criss-crossed in all-white, sitting on the ethereal paint-like floors that moved thickly and slowly.

James, lying on the "floor" in the same position he'd fallen asleep in, slowly sat up so as to feel more normal.

Okay. So Connie was at least within range to enter his sleep and pull him into Connie's mind palace. So Connie couldn't be too far.

"Hey," James said a bit slowly.

He didn't know why he looked around like there was something to see. It was just more paint abstractions.

"I brought you here to discuss the proposition that we combine groups," Connie continued amicably. "You are close to us, since I am able to pull you in."

James nodded.

"I assume you sense those I'm with as well?" he asked.

"I do," Connie confirmed with a nod. "But I am only discussing this with you because you are my friend."

James blinked, and a faint grin pulled at his lips. Connie had a way of being endearing without trying to be.

"Right," he said. "Well. I'm open to it. I don't think anyone in my current company would be opposed."

"I am in the company of Cyrin Bridger," Connie continued. "He has the intent to win the prize. Will that be a problem?"

Ah.

"Well," James said. "I... I wanted to get the prize, if possible, and give it to Aaron, actually."

"I see. This may be a conflict of interest," Connie hummed. "May I bring Cyrin in so you two may discuss a compromise?"

"Sure," James shrugged.

The next second, Cyrin suddenly spawned into the dreamscape. Momentarily confused, they sat up from their laying position, but seemed to understand where they were when their gaze settled on James and Connie. Still, they scanned the shifting painting-like scenery with pleasant curiosity, gaze flicking between the moving colors.

"Hello, Cyrin," Connie greeted with a nod of his head, otherwise unmoving. "As promised, we are all here to discuss merging groups."

"Of course," Cyrin said, crossing their legs. They then looked to James with a more solemn expression. "Hey, James. How have you been?"

For a moment, James kind of missed Connie's ability to skip past pleasantries and go right to business. Mostly because he didn't know how to answer that question in a way that felt real at the moment.

"Alright," he said anyway. "Sounds like we're not far from each other, and we're both planning on going to the mountain for the prize, from my understanding?"

Cyrin hummed, nodding. "Yes, but I'm not planning on having it for myself. You?"

"Same," James said. "I was planning on giving it to Aaron. Who were you wanting to give it to?"

"I think he could use it, if leaving is what he wants," Cyrin agreed. "Mostly, I was interested in keeping it out of the hands of someone who might use it to kick out someone who doesn't want to leave out of malice. I could certainly offer it to him."

James nodded. "I think of all of us on the island, Aaron has endured the worst and wants to go home the most. I think he deserves a break."

"He really does," Cyrin said. "It sounds like we can team up, then. Are you with anyone else?"

"Yes," James said. "Currently I'm in the company of Lyall, Alan, Eve, and Clarity."

"I imagine they'd all be on board with this, too," Cyrin guessed.

"We've come to an agreement, yes," James said.

Cyrin nodded. "Alright. We should try to meet up as early in the morning as possible. If we only have a day, we don't want to spend too much of it trying to find each other."

"Agreed," James said.

"Safe wandering," Cyrin said with quiet sincerity in Ren.

James smiled softly.

"Safe wandering," he echoed in return.

There was a short silence before Connie spoke up, asking, "Is that all?"

"I think so," Cyrin said, glancing back at Connie. "If the two of you want to keep talking without me, you can return me to normal sleep."

"Yes. I will wake you up shortly, Cyrin," Connie replied amicably.

He did not exchange further goodbyes or allowed Cyrin to reply, since Cyrin vanished into thin air after he spoke. With a neutral expression, he then turned to James.

"I will not take too much of your time," Connie said, diving straight to the point. "However, it has been a few days since we have talked. Would you like to partake in small talk?"

James quirked a smile.

"You mean you want to 'catch up?'" James asked.

"I would like to know how you are doing," Connie answered instead.

James nodded, and his smile faded slowly. Yeah. So he didn't want to partake in "small talk" after all. James had a feeling.

"I'm... alright, overall," James said a little more hesitantly. "There's been a lot on my mind. I'm still processing a lot of it."

"Would magical creatures be part of that list?" Connie asked neutrally.

James huffed through his nose.

"You know, I wish they were," James said, looking down at the ground. "I ran into a lot of those the past few days, but its... just more fighting, is all. I don't know. It all blends together."

"Is fighting a normal occurrence to you?" Connie asked.

James scratched the back of his head, thinking for a moment.

"It's becoming one, I guess," he said quietly.

"It appears you have not escaped the life of a soldier, after all."

James let out a weak laugh, but it died out as quickly as it came out.

It wasn't exactly a new observation. Just a sad one.

"Seems so," he said, setting his hands in his lap.

"Would you like to partake in other small talk?" Connie asked, then inclined his head down to gesture to him. "Perhaps with 'catch up,' as you mentioned."

James managed a small smile.

"Sure," James said. "What have you been up to the past two days?"

Connie mulled this over, body still and unmoving, until he answered with, "I have spent my day meditating by the riverbank. I also sunk into quicksand."

James blinked.

"How did you get out?" James asked.

"I meditated," Connie answered plainly.

Huh. That... didn't feel like the full story, but James didn't really feel like pulling that apart.

"When did you and Cyrin find each other?" James asked instead.

"This afternoon, shortly after the announcement. He appeared via portal."

So, he wasn't the only person who'd been repositioned via portals. The DMV must've been using them to throw people around this new island.

He and Connie spent the next few minutes parsing out their locations. Comparing notes, drawing little maps, and telling one another what kinds of environments they'd seen helped create mental landmarks. After a bit, they were able to determine that they were, essentially, on opposite sides of the mountain. An unfortunate discovery, but not impossible to regroup. It'd just take a little longer. They decided that since Connie and Cyrin were the smaller party that they'd probably be able to move faster and could circle the base of the mountain to meet up. It'd mean sacrificing a bit of sleep, but with only one day left of this "trial," they didn't have a lot of time to waste.

With logistics out of the way, though, James wondered if there really was anything else Connie had an interest in talking about. He seemed like he was doing fine, at least...

"You watched the whole announcement earlier, right?" James asked after a moment's pause.

"I did," Connie confirmed.

James nodded.

No one was able to listen in on this conversation. James had to remind himself of that, even if it didn't matter to him quite as much anymore.

"So you saw Carter," James concluded.

"Correct," Connie affirmed.

"Did you know he was the Game Master?" James asked.

"I was not aware he had any affiliation with the DMV, no."

Okay. Well, that at least made James feel better. He wasn't the only one blind-sided by this.

James nodded for a moment, still trying to metabolize this information.

"It's... weird," he finally said. "Seeing him again."

"It is no coincidence he is here, James," Connie said with a firm voice. "You have at least one ally on your side."

James offered Connie a faint smile, but there wasn't a lot of heart in it.

"Thank you," James said.

And after a bit of an awkward pause, James spoke up again.

"I know you want to find us, which means you'll have to get moving soon," James said. "I'm sorry you'll be losing rest, but I look forward to seeing you in person."

"And me as well," Connie said with a nod. "I will reach you in the next six hours. In the event you do not see us, please send someone to sleep so we may communicate."

James nodded, noting that Connie assumed James wouldn't be able to accomplish that kind of quick communication via sleep. And he was right.

"Will do," James said.

"I will see you soon."

And as Connie's dreamscape faded away, James found himself somewhere between sleep and wakefullness.

He was still tired - god, he hadn't slept more than an hour, had he? - but the conversation, and the environment...

James opened his eyes groggily.

Ugh.

The sun wasn't up yet. It was still dark, but James could already feel it in his body that if he tried falling asleep again that he wasn't going to. And if he did, it'd be by the time they had to get up again. He just knew it.

With a soft groan, he rolled over. Sleeping in armor was stupid, but so was this whole event. He was going to ache anyway, but the discomfort of armor digging into different parts of his body made him ache more as he sat up.

His vision was a little blurry, but he could spot Lyall and Clarity still sleeping a few feet away. Further down on the other edge of the pond, he could spot two silhouettes sitting near each other.

Eve and Alan.

James took a moment to rub his face with the palm of his hand, and then he picked up the gauntlets at his sides, putting them back on. Without having announced his waking, he noticed Eve had already gotten to her feet.

He supposed he could do the coutesy of approaching, since he could let them know about Connie and Cyrin. Communication and all.

He got to his feet as quietly as he could manage and made his way over. Eve had pattered a few steps closer, meeting him sooner. Alan, meanwhile, was delayed to react, slowly getting up on his feet.

"What's wrong?" Eve asked urgently, voice hushed.

"Nothing's wrong," James said. "Just -- Connie talked to me in his dreamscape. He's with Cyrin. Says they're close. They'll be heading our way and hopefully we'll cross paths in the early morning."

"Connie--?" Eve snapped her mouth shut, brows furrowed. Then asked with a lower voice, "They're traveling through the night?"

"They want to join our party," he said. "Help us win the prize so we can send Aaron home."

This answer of her question naturally led to two more questions, and so James spent the next few minutes catching her up, easing her concerns, and retelling the significant details of their interaction.

It was... a lot, after having just woken up.

Appeased, Eve took a deep breath of relief, crossing her arms. "I suppose we will have to wait for them and hope for the best," she murmured, anxiety apparent in her voice.

"Hopefully they make it here alright," James voiced. "That's really my main concern, with all of these dangers crawling around."

Eve pressed her lips together, doubt growing. "Yes... there are many dangerous creatues during the day. I can't imagine what it may be like travelling at night."

"James," Alan called gently from aside, speaking up for the first time during their interaction, "why don't you get back to sleep, catch up on some rest? We have the watch handled."

James let out a sigh, glancing back at the others, still sleeping.

"I don't think I'll be able to, to be honest," he said. "But I appreciate you thinking of it."

"I won't be able to sleep either," Eve said with a sigh, then sharply turned to Alan. "You can go back to sleep, though, especially since you are still healing. James and I can take the watch."

"I..." Alan glanced between the two of them, mouth open to speak, but nothing came out. He sighed in defeat. "Are you sure?"

"It's up to you," James offered.

But... he had a feeling this was maybe Eve's way of getting Alan out of the picture. It was apparent that Alan was thinking the same thing, eyes mostly observing Eve, who was firm in her stance.

"Sure. Alright," he said quietly, mustering a nod and a smile. "Good night, you two. I'll see you in the morning."

James watched Alan walk off with just a hint of stiffness, suddenly feeling a little unsure. Alan walked off to the whole other end of the pond, beyond Clarity and Lyall, and curled up under one of the feathery trees to sleep. Very clearly, wanting to be alone. Or... something like that.

James turned to look back at Eve.

"What?" she pressed, brows still knitted together.

"It's just that Alan seems a bit... off, is all," James said. "I know he had a hard day, though."

Eve followed his prior line of sight, her hard stare intensifying into a glare as it settled on Alan. "I agree he seems off, but his damaging behavior is unacceptable. He seems to be aware of it, though."

James hesitated, brows furrowing together.

Unacceptable. It was true, in a sense, but it felt harsh. Something was stewing under the surface in Alan's head. More than he was talking about - but he hoped Alan would talk to somebody.

He nodded.

"I don't trust him," Eve continued in the short silence that followed, still staring at his still body. "He's inconsistent. He's lying about something."

"You're talking about more than just this event, aren't you?" James asked quietly.

She nodded, finally turning her attention back towards him, still serious. "Manipulative people are not always easy to spot. It takes time to detect patterns."

James frowned slightly.

He wished she wasn't right.

"I don't think he means to be," James said weakly.

Because he knew he'd said the same thing about Ingrid. And Carter. And everyone else...

"It doesn't make his actions any less manipulative," Eve replied firmly.

"I know," James said softly.

Eve crossed her arms, frowning as she settled her gaze to the other side of the lake again. "He uses kindness and romance as weapons. It doesn't matter how close he is to the person. He used these weapons on Shane, and today we both witnessed him using it on Lyall. And still, he has his hold on the both of them. We should all be cautious of him. Even if his intentions are not bad, he is still manipulating emotions in a dangerously concerning way."

James hated when he was right about gut feelings like this. He hated that Eve was only saying what he'd been thinking deep down all this time.

"I don't think you're wrong," James said quietly. "I just don't think there's much we can do about it. Neither you nor I are close enough to get through to him, and I wouldn't want--"

Frown deepening, she sharply turned back to James, cutting him off to say, "But you are close to both Shane and Lyall, correct?"

James looked to Eve with a tired, pained expression.

"Yes," he said.

Eve hesitantly turned away again, her dark hair partially covering her face. "You could warn them," she said neutrally.

"I can talk to them," James said. "But I'm not going to make it sound like Alan is a villain."

"No," she said patiently, "but if you mention all of the inconsistencies and facts, they may piece that together themselves."

James nodded, feeling his gut sink with sadness and sobriety.

"I can," he said quietly, knowing that he would need to eventually. He just didn't look forward to it.

"...Okay," Eve said with a bare nod, settled by the agreement. "I trust you."

James looked Alan's way for a moment, letting silence settle between him and Eve.

He didn't like that his life had prepared him for people like Alan. He wanted to be able to say that Alan's behavior didn't feel uncomfortably familiar.

But it did.

And it made him sad. Sad to see his friends caught in another cycle of hurt; one that he'd been stuck in for years.

Letting out a small sigh, he looked to Eve again.

"I think I need to sit down," he said.

"Oh." She gestured to his shoes, signaling for him to sit. "Yes. Of course. Please do."

James plopped down right where he was with a thunk. In contrast, Eve quietly and gently sat down with grace, back straight with her legs folded under her, hands clasped together over her thighs.

"Have you ever played that one game... it's called 'rhyme or relate,'" he said.

Eve shook her head. "I haven't heard of it."

"It's pretty mindless," he said. "It's just a word game. I say a word. You say a word that rhymes with it or relates to it. Only rules are you can't repeat words that have been said before."

"Simple enough." She hesitantly glanced at him. "Did you... want to play?"

James hummed in affirmation.

"Okay." Eve paused, wringing her hands as she contemplated a word. "Scorpion."

"Sting," James said.

"Heal."

"Peel," James rhymed.

That warranted a funny look from Eve. "...Meal?"

"Real," James said, looking over at her with the hint of a smile.

"Feel."

"Wheel," James said, trying to keep the rhymes going.

"Steal," Eve answered, seemingly also keeping up with the rhymes.

James squinted in thought, feeling his brain starting to lag. The pause between Eve's response and his grew longer.

"Is there a time limit to answer?" Eve asked.

"I'm thinking," James said, pinching his eyes shut.

"I think there should be a time limit," she muttered, answering her own question.

"You don't get to come up with rules mid-game," James said, tapping the sides of his head as if that'd magically make his brain start working.

"Well, with that mentality, who's to say that you wouldn't come up with a real answer tomorrow?" She paused, then added, "An exaggeration, of course."

"CRIME," James said, disappointed he couldn't think of a rhyme.

"Time," she deadpanned.

James flopped onto his back. He couldn't think of words that rhymed anymore. His brain was shutting down the non-essential parts, and apparently that section was one of them. The "rhyme" folder was inaccessible.

"You don't need to stay up with me," Eve said softly after a short silence. "I can handle staying up by myself. It's really quite alright. If you can rest, you should do it."

James let out a long sigh.

"I just get tired of lying down with my eyes closed without sleeping," James admitted.

"So..." Eve hummed. "Meditation?"

James snorted.

"I think that requires some kind of... you know," he said. "Intent."

"I was going to suggest 'peace.'"

James bit back a laugh, instead huffing hard through his nose.

"You sound like my sister," James said.

"Oh... do I?" Eve answered, voice softer.

"She always tells me to stop moving. To rest. You know - that I don't have to be productive all the time," he said.

Eve hummed. "Does it work?"

"She's my sister," James said. "Of course it doesn't."

"What does work, then?"

"Food coma," James said without hesitation.

Eve sighed. "That's a lot of food."

"Now you understand my dilemma," James said with a little bit of amusement.

"I just don't understand," she continued under her breath, brows furrowed together. "Where does it all go?"

James smirked, letting out a little laugh. He just pat the belly part of his breast plate in answer.

"Yes. Thank you," Eve replied dully.

"I absorb all of it into my bones," James offered instead as a comedic wrong answer.

"How dense of you," she commented flatly.

"Dense is what I would be if I was in a food coma right now," James said.

"So what does that make you now?" she challenged.

"Hollow," he said. "Tap me and you hear the echo inside my stomach."

He tapped his metal breastplate, and it let out a dull, soft ring.

"Ah, yes." Eve nodded. "No wonder they gave you armor. It has served its purpose."

"Now I just need to find out if I can absorb other metals," James joked. "It'd open up a whole 'nother food source for me."

"Consider lead. I hear it makes you quite dense," Eve said with an amused hum.

"I'll try that next time I'm faced with a deadly threat," James said.

"And also, consider to protect yourself," Eve added on, voice nonchalant.

"Hey," James said lightly. "I do."

She stole a few glances his direction. "Do you?" she pressed, voice just as light.

"Yes," James answered. "I'm just usually caught unprepared and unaware so. It's not really my fault. I'm doing my best, here."

Eve let out a quiet hum, mulling this over. "I would call that a pattern," she said with a weak shrug, "but that's just me."

James looked up at her flatly.

"It's not like I went out seeking trouble," James said.

With the exception of when he punched Oliver and Casper.

"But trouble seeks you out anyways," she finished for him.

James pressed his lips together, then let out a long exhale through his lips, blowing a raspberry.

He didn't have enough mental energy to devote to this subject in a productive fashion.

"Yeah," he said lowly. "Guess thats what happens when people have this innate desire to test how 'indestructable' I really am."

Eve was silent, her gaze lingering on him, but not commenting further.

At least she understood what he felt too: now wasn't the time or place for this conversation.

That was that, then.

Falling into silence, James fixed his gaze on the stars.

After a whole two days of this, Alex was getting mixed messages from the universe.

Stay alive. Be good. Be bad. Have meaningless sex. Let some wimp save you for clout. Be good again and be his guardian. Or something.

He knew it wasn't all that black and white, but sometimes it really did feel that stupid. It felt even more like a child's story when he was walking about a jungle as a purple man with pointed ears and white hair, while Shane for some reason remained normal. If anything, it meant that Alex was the main character. Only the main characters got the cool odd-colored hair anyway. That's what he remembered from the animes he saw growing up.

Did that mean he got a magical transformation? Hm. Probably not.

It was early morning. Wading through the jungle sucked. Alex stopped periodically to climb trees and make sure they were still headed for the mountain, but it was exhausting. The air was humid, the plants were thick, and the creatures hated him. Him in particular, since it seemed the Midean Monkeys only had a nose for his blood, because whenever they showed up they only looked at him. Thankfully, though, Shane's little illusion magic spells confused and scared them enough to drive them away every time.

It was getting old, though. And Alex knew the audience would be thinking that too. And if they were thinking it, then the directors were too.

Something was going to get switched up. Alex could just feel it.

Not sure how to initate more conversation with a normie, Alex opted for something else instead.

He started singing.



"Drag my tongue across the sand
So happy just to crawl across the land
Soon I'll be the best around
I'm gonna keep my plunder underground
Hard flesh, cold against the rain
Dust billowing around my brazen brain
Saw off all my stinking limbs
Blood dripping down my sunken monkey chin."

Shane blinked, giving him a slightly blank look in response to that.

"Was that improv?" he eventually asked, like he wasn't sure what else there was to say.

"No, that's just the verse," Alex said. "The chorus goes like: Take me to the distant past, I want to go baaaaaack."

He looked to Shane. "Then you would go 'Distant past, distant past' for the echo."

"I see," Shane said, as if he didn't exactly have the intention of doing so. "I didn't know that was a song."

"Well you can learn it right now," Alex said. "We can collaborate."

Honestly, Alex was just bored.

Bored out of his mind. And he didn't know what the hell else to talk to Shane about.

"Okay," Shane said hesitantly, as his cat flapped from the ground onto his shoulder. "Sure."

"Just echo 'Distant past' twice really low after my line," Alex said. "It's really simple. Here, I'll start: 'Take me to the distant past, I want to go back.'"

"'Distant past, distant past'," Shane echoed lowly and uncertainly.

Alex gave Shane a flat look.

"Well that was just sad," he said. "Your heart's not in it."

"You want me to put my heart into it?" Shane asked skeptically.

Alex sighed. This was pointless.

"You know what," he said in defeat. "Nevermind."

"Just-- no, hold on," Shane said, holding up his hand. "You'd like me to learn this? Is that what we're doing? I'm a little lost on the purpose is all."

"I'm just trying to pass the time," Alex said with a roll of his eyes.

"Okay. We'll do that, then," Shane said quickly, then adopted a lower, more gravely tone. "'Distant past, distant past.' Is that it?"

"Yeah, that's--" Alex started to say, but stopped when he heard someone else echo the same words too.

But from above.

"The BLEEP?" he said, looking up into the trees.

Another voice echoed it, just slightly off. Shane too stiffened, his gaze flicking up to the treetops.

Next, there was a chorus of voices echoing Alex's curse.

"Are those birds?" Shane asked disbelievingly.

"Are those birds? Are those birds? Are those birds?" the trees echoed.

Parrots.

One of them fluttered down into view, quickly followed by two others. For parrots, they were strangely colored. They were purple, of all things.

Like him.

"Well that's creepy," Alex muttered, a little quieter. "We should keep moving."

"Right," Shane agreed, while the birds were busy echoing Alex's last sentence. "They shouldn't be too interested in us, at least. Just act creepy."

But as they began walking, Alex noted the birds kept following them, hopping from tree to tree. Now, it seemed, they had an audience. A flock of parrots that, despite them shutting up, was still echoing their last spoken words.

"Saw off all my stinkin' limbs!" one of the parrots kept saying.

"Blood dripping down my chin!" another started saying, leaving out the part about the monkey.

Then another one just started saying "the fuck" over and over. Nice. It was unsettling to hear them all talking over each other as they latched on to the most violent phrases spoken, somehow. Alex wanted to joke that they were birds of a feather, but this felt like a very clear warning.

"Quick, say something nice for them to repeat," Alex whispered to Shane.

Shane cleared his throat. "My cat is very sweet, and has very soft fur," he enunciated clearly.

"Don't tell them about your cat!" Alex interjected.

"But he's something nice--" Shane started.

"Blood dripping down my cat! Saw off all my sweet limbs!" the parrots sang cheerfully in harmony.

Shane immediately clamped his mouth shut, looking extremely regretful.

"God, that's worse," Alex winced.

"It gets worse! It gets worse! It gets worse!" the birds squawked.

Then all of a sudden, they fell silent mid-sentence. The silence fell over the whole jungle, and even the bugs stopped buzzing. Alex felt his stomach drop.

That wasn't good.

From the look on Shane's face, he seemed to also know this was very bad.

Then, all the birds flew away in a flurry, caw-ing off into the sky.

Now, the million dollar question was: to run or not to run? Would running mean immediate pursuit? There was no telling what it was that scared them off until it showed themself. The only thing Alex could be sure of was that it was going to suck.

A deafening roar suddenly halted all his thoughts, echoing behind them.

Oh, hell no. Yeah. This was a "run" situation.

"Run!" he shouted to Shane, hoping that little man's flimsy legs could sprint through an overgrown jungle.

Wasting no time, Alex burst into a sprint.

Shane kept up, thankfully, grabbing the cat off his shoulder and breaking into a run. He would stumble over jutting roots or have to dodge plants in the way, but he didn't fall, and he didn't slow. From the panic in his eyes, some survival instinct must've kicked in.

Alex glanced over his shoulder.

Fuck.

A panther - leaping through the trees overhead. It had the high ground.

Alex had to think of something. He held his spear in one hand, wishing he could've been given a fucking gun for this situation instead. But he'd have to make do.

He slowed his pace, just a little bit. Maybe if he appeared to be the weakest between the two of them, he'd get targeted--

The panther took a bounding leap off a branch, launching itself down from the canopy. Somehow, it looked even huger in midair. The claws, longer than Alex's fingers, gleamed viciously in the little light that could make it through the jungle leaves. It was aiming to kill. But it didn't land on Alex.

Just a step ahead, Shane suddenly tumbled forward as the panther pounced on him from behind. The animal's claws sank into his shoulders, raking down his back. The cloak shredded, torn apart by the deep gouges, and red started blooming through the green fabric rapidly.

With a muffled scream, Shane fell to the jungle floor, collapsing under the weight.

Instinct took over.

Alex tunnel visioned on the panther. He threw the spear with intent, and it pierced through the creature's neck. Letting out a feral roar, the panther turned around and leaped for him.

Alex dodged to the side.

He only had one large weapon, and now it was stuck in the panther. Time to pull on the daggers.

He slashed at its flank as it passed, drawing blood. It whipped around, missing him with its claws as he moved to the side. Now he was at it from behind.

He aimed for it again, but it wriggled away just as fast. For a second, he missed, it missed, he missed, and it missed again. They were dancing and running around each other, but fortunately, only the panther was bleeding out.

The two of them paused, pacing around each other on the bottom of the jungle floor.

In the back of Alex's mind, he knew that Shane was bleeding out too.

"Come on," Alex goaded softly. "Let's finish this quickly, you bastard."

The panther let out a low growl.

It leaped forward.

Just as it came hurting for his chest, claws outstretched, Alex weaved to the side. As its massive head passed by him, he swung in at the soft flesh under its neck, pulling up and out with all his strength.

He hit an artery. Blood splattered everywhere. The panther let out a strangled cry, and when Alex turned to finish the job, it tried to wriggle away.

But it was too slow.

Leaping on top of it, Alex finished slicing its throat, watching the life drain from its eyes. It fell limp beneath him.

The rush of adrenaline still remained, and it took Alex a split second of realization before he jumped off the dead corpse and ran over to Shane.

The flying cat had wriggled out from under Shane's body, and was inspecting the bloody man's body. Alex shooed it away with a wiggle of his hand as he sat down on his knees, his brain already playing through emergeny procedure like his training had taught him.

Throw off the shredded cloak. Tear away the shirt. Someone had to have bandages on them, right? He had some. He dug into Shane's bag.

He found something - he didn't pay attention - something to soak up all the blood. He applied pressure, and he did it for a very long time. Maybe it only felt like forever. Finally, the bleeding was at least stabilized. He checked Shane's pulse.

Still there.

Shane was at least stable. For now.

He worked to cleaning. Bandaging. Shane probably hadn't known there was a whole med kit in his bag. Maybe that was something only Alex was supposed to know. It didn't matter. The whole thing was torn up and used by the time Alex had done all he could do, and Alex very carefully leaned down beside Shane.

With the danger out of the way, and Shane nearly dead, Alex was never going to win the prize at this rate.

There was no hope for him getting off this island.

Not if he wanted to be a better person. And... god, he did want to try.

But it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was left alone with this guy, and he never had a chance to begin with. Why did others deserve to go home more than he did? Why couldn't he go back to his old life? Sure, it was kind of depressing, but at least it was his. It was one he'd made for himself, not one he'd been forced into.

He didn't want to be used by the DMV just like he was used by everybody else.

Alex muttered a curse under his breath.

He was really sitting here thinking about how unfair all of this was to him while Shane was fighting for his life just to stay alive. If he was even fighting at all.

This wasn't fair to Shane, either, even though Alex hated to admit it.

Briefly looking up at the sky in exasperation, Alex turned his attention back to Shane, briefly checking his pulse again.

Okay, it was a little stronger this time. Just a tad.

"Shane?" Alex called, having a feeling he wasn't going to get a response.

Instead, the cat, Shrimp, meowed, swatting at Shane's very still hand. Right. He'd almost forgotten the cat was there.

"Don't do that," Alex said to the cat.

Shrimp merely stared at him with wide, unblinking green eyes. His nose was twitching, probably picking up the strong, metallic stench of blood.

Okay. The cat was stupid, as were most cats. Hopefully it didn't attack him.

Alex began to gently and ever-so-carefully pick Shane up. He didn't want to put pressure on Shane's back, and he also wanted to keep an eye on it if he started bleeding through the bandages, so he decided to carry him a bit like one might carry a toddler over their shoulder.

As he was moved, he heard a shuddering breath and a faint cry of pain from Shane, which sounded stifled, like he didn't mean to make it. He didn't open his eyes. Not quite unconscious, then.

"Sorry," Alex said quietly.

Okay, maybe over the shoulder was too rough. Not enough support. Bridal style it was, then.

Alex adjusted Shane in his arms, looking down at the guy with a sigh.

What would this dude's HP be if this were actually a fantasy game? Probably pretty low, now that Alex thought about it. Kind of depressing. Well, he was good at the spells while it lasted.

"Looks like we're traveling like this the rest of the way," Alex said, stepping over the cat around his feet. "Keep up, cat."

Fortunately, the cat was at least smart enough to understand that. That, or it was just following because Alex had Shane. Either way, the cat started hopping and fluttering along by his feet.

Now if only Alex could make it to the mountain and find some others... then Shane could get actually healed. Someone else had to have a healing spell, right?

For the final watch until dawn broke, Lyall awoke to stand guard with Miss Clarity. The hours of rest he did manage wasn't nearly enough, so he quietly paced a lot just to stave off sleep. And, try as he might, he couldn't help but keep his mind from wandering back to his argument with Alan, and James's promise of devotion.

Regret weighed heavily on him. He rewound both exchanges like a tape. Over and over. The resolutions of both stung, mostly because he knew both were his own doing. He was bringing disaster upon his friends, and himself. Again.

On his tenth lap around the oasis, he slowed to a stop to observe Miss Clarity's idle concoction brewing. It smelled like a normal herbal tea, but he was fairly certain he caught her carefully adding a few less-than-edible elements into her cauldron. Though she was clearly content to keep to herself, he still felt compelled to apologize for not taking even a moment to strike up conversation. A hint of exhaustion was no excuse to neglect a traveling companion.

Making sure to approach from where she could see him, Lyall slowly padded through reeds and offered a small smile and wave. "I don't think I've extended a proper good morning to you, yet," he said, keeping his voice low.

Clarity looked up, offering him a slight smile. "That's okay. It's barely morning. But good morning to you too."

He felt his own smile warm a bit. With a gesture to the ground, he softly asked, "May I join you?"

Clarity nodded, waving her hand around. He thought it was to invite him over at first, but then he saw she was actually redirecting the steam from the cauldron, so it wasn't blowing where he'd be sitting. "Sure."

Watching with open fascination, he settled across from her. "Perhaps it'd sound a little uninspired to an outsider," he began amicably, "but a big part of me wishes I got your magic for the duration of the maze, rather than Alan's."

Clarity chuckled. "Why's that?"

"I'm curious if it..." Squinting in thought, he waved vague circles with his hand, as if to usher along the right words. "...feels different. Like, deep down, in our bones. The way the magic courses through our veins, you know?"

She hovered her hand over the cauldron, pausing in her magical stirring of the contents. "Kaz might know," she mused. "Since he got mine, and he also has elemental magic. I'd also be interested in knowing, from an experimental perspective." She flicked her wrist, and the liquid in the cauldron began swirling again. "I wish I'd gotten a different type of magic that time, too, because all Hendrik's was good for was letting me drink vodka like it was water, and then unsuccessfully try to determine how he could make water into ethanol if there are no carbon atoms in water to begin with."

Lyall felt his brows quirk up at that. "That is unfortunate," he agreed in a contemplative murmur. "Whose magic would you have rather tried?"

"Perhaps Shane's psychometry," Clarity said. "Or Hild's memory magic."

He found these answers interesting. As far as he could tell, Shane's psychometry was a compulsory power. Which sounded like it'd be overwhelming at worst, and a distracting nuisance at best.

He wasn't inclined to give Hild's power any further consideration at the moment, he lived adjacent to it and his know-it-all dork of a sister for long enough to decide being a human database was merely an okay thing. A good benefit, but not a great one. At least, he figured his own short-term memory was shit enough to basically cancel out having such a strong long-term memory.

"Psychometry would have been fascinating," he agreed, tapping a knuckle to his chin in thought. "What about it intrigues you?"

"I feel like it could be used to learn a lot," Clarity said. "Although there's privacy concerns, and I don't really know how it works, it's interesting to consider what might be uncovered from it. There's got to be a lot of practical applications for it."

Lyall hummed. "Like... forensics?" he suggested. "Criminal investigations? Archeological finds, even."

Clarity nodded. "Yeah. I bet it'd be a great power for any of those fields."

He cracked a faint, curious grin, and tilted his head down in an attempt to meet her gaze. "Did you have anything in particular in mind?"

"In the event that I had it, I'd probably become Sherkey Homes," Clarity said. "I'd still love chemistry, but I mean, how could I have that and not use it?"

Well. If she lacked audacity the way a gentle soul like Shane did, then perhaps she could go without its use.

That said, it was rather a tragically underutilized ability. Ah, well. Such was life with a predetermined path, with little to no room to explore one's potentials to the fullest.

Grin warming with some amusement, Lyall glanced up at the sky and stroked his chin in a show of contemplation. "Private investigator Clarity Sable," he mused. "That does sound quite esteemed."

"Doesn't it?" Clarity said with a flourish. "Ah well. In another life, perhaps."

Lyall hummed, flicking his gaze down to the aromatic cauldron. "You are rather an investigator anyhow, right?"

"In the way of research, yes," Clarity said, staring into the depths of the bubbling, steaming liquid. "I suppose it counts."

Drawing up his knees, Lyall folded his arms and rested his chin on top of them. He let a moment pass them by, for the conversation to naturally rest. Then eventually asked, softly, "How did you know chemistry was something you wanted to pursue? Had you always known?"

Clarity hummed, looking back up from the cauldron thoughtfully.

"Not always," she said. "My parents are different kinds of scientists, and I studied both their fields in college. My dad's a chemist, and my mom's a geneticist. I liked both, but I always had a better time with chemistry. Every field of science has its own burning questions remaining to be answered by researchers, and chemistry had the ones I wanted to be the one to solve."

Lyall nodded absently, eyes drifting over to Alan's sleeping form in the near-distance. "...Was it expected of you?" he asked more tentatively.

"Expected," Clarity echoed. "No, actually. That would imply anyone had an interest in what I did with my life."

Lyall hesitated at that. Waited another second as he let her reply really sink in. Then felt his heart sink a bit for her.

"Then you really have forged your own path," he murmured, cracking a gentle, encouraging smile.

"Maybe," Clarity replied with a shrug, waving more steam away. "That or I'm still working on it."

Her apparent nonchalance intrigued him. Or maybe it was a front.

He also could've been wrong. Even with guardians absent in one form or another, one could still be largely defined by said guardians.

Lyall wanted to ask more on that. He really should offer something about himself in turn, actually, but she seemed content with the direction of these conversational winds.

Before he could form his next question, he furrowed a brow and carefully peered past her shoulder.

Two figures on the horizon were shadowed against the very slowly brightening sky. Unable to find any familiar features on them, he slowly rose to his feet and subtly beckoned for Clarity to do the same.

"We've got company," he quietly sing-songed under his breath.

Clarity stood and turned, squinting at the two figures.

"Do those look like Cyrin and Connie to you too?" she asked.

"Do they..." he began to echo, incredulous that she could tell from this distance. He looked rapidly back and forth between her and the horizon. "Do they?"

"Hard to tell," Clarity said. "Their ears seem different."

How could she--? Oh. Elf eyes.

Gently resting a hand on her shoulder, Lyall said, "I'll meet them halfway. Could you stay back? Just in case this isn't what we think it is."

Clarity nodded. "Just shout "acid" if you need me."

"I." He couldn't help but huff an endeared laugh. "Yes, I will do that. Thank you."

Clarity gave him a simple thumbs up in advance. Inclining his head, Lyall gave her shoulder one last light pat, then set out for the new arrivals. Feeling not too unlike a western-style showdown in his careful approach, with the sun just starting to appear behind the two across from him.

Drawing nearer, their features became clearer.

He lifted a hand, still wary as he prompted from 20 paces away, "How shall I greet you?"

"I'm down for a hug," Cyrin's voice said, a grin apparent in his tone.

Lyall felt himself smile warmly at that. "Could I inquire after your spirit animal first?"

"Jury's kinda out," Cyrin said. "But I hear the goat supporters are dwindling."

That erased all doubt in his mind.

"Don't be alarmed," Lyall called, kicking up his pace into an excited jog, "I can't burn you."

"What do you-- Oh, wow," Cyrin exclaimed upon a closer look at him, also dashing his way with open arms. "You got a makeover!"

The distance was instantly closed. Lyall practically threw himself against his dear friend, well assured that Cyrin was steady enough to not be thrown off balance by it.

"My gods," Lyall laughed, tucking his face against their chest and tightly wrapping his arms around them, "have I shrunk, or did you grow another two heads higher?!"

"Probably both, let's be real," Cyrin said with a wide grin, holding him close and tightly.

Lyall blew a raspberry, propping his chin on Cyrin's chest to look up at his face. "No, it couldn't possibly. You've definitely changed something in your dietary habits. or hit a late growth spurt."

And grew out their hair, it seemed? Clarity was right, Cyrin's ears were pointier too.

"Whatever you say, doc. You know best about those things," Cyrin said, sounding amused as they kept grinning, like Lyall hadn't noticed something crucial yet.

With his hands holding onto Cyrin's arms, Lyall stepped back to take in their elegant wardrobe. "My gods, you look like you're fresh out of a Lord of the Things book!"

Cyrin grinned wider, tipping their head in a slight bow. The locks of their long hair stayed in place with their crown braid. "And you're looking awfully good for a devil," he teased, curiously studying the small horns on Lyall's head.

Gasping with false offense, Lyall clapped his hands over top of his horns. "Dev-- How dare you, sir!"

"I'm so sorry. A fallen angel, if you prefer?" Cyrin suggested, only looking more amused.

"If the change in height discrepency is truly on both our parts," Lyall huffed playfully, "which I doubt it is, you must have cheated somehow, of course-- then would I not be more an imp? Or perhaps you are in fact a giant."

The Talian royal accompanying Cyrin stepped around them with a short and simple greeting. "Good morning," Connie said with a nod.

Lyall inclined his head with a flourish. "Your highness, hullo," he greeted pleasantly.

To which Connie did not respond or react further, still keeping by Lyall and Cyrin's side.

Lyall then turned back to Cyrin: "It may go without saying, but I shall say it anyhow: his royal highness is not a reliable frame of reference."

"Maybe everyone's got taller except for you," Cyrin sighed. "How unfair. My condolences."

Swinging around to stand at Cyrin's side, Lyall offered an arm. "Maybe you should come greet our company and confirm otherwise for yourself," he suggested with a challenging grin.

"Hmm." Cyrin appeared to give that careful thought, before pulling Lyall in for another tight hug with a cheeky smirk. "Fine, but another hug first."

Caught offguard for just a second, Lyall laughed warmly as he quickly caved and gave him one more embrace. "Fine!" he huffed playfully, "I'm amenable to such an exchange."

"Thank you for your tolerance," Cyrin said, still teasing. But they did squeeze Lyall in their arms for a moment, tightly and gently, and quietly said in his ear, "Missed you."

Heart flooding with affection that it almost hurt, Lyall clung back as though Cyrin were a lifeline. "Missed you, too," he murmured.

After tucking small into their embrace for another drawn-out beat, he withdrew again in time to catch James's approach from camp. He and Connie exchanged short greetings, then dove straight into work mode. Just past them, Lyall noted the rest of camp rousing as the morning light fell across the desert.

Day 3. The final day of this godforsaken event.

Offering an arm to Cyrin, Lyall cast him a wearied grin and sighed, "Conquest awaits, my dear Bridger."

"Then let's not keep it waiting," Cyrin said warmly, playing taking his arm.

They made it to the bottom of the mountain. Only a few more miles out from the base where it jutted out at a sharp incline, they began to enter into a dense mushroom forest. The transition between environments was jarring, but the giant, towering mushrooms at least provided shade. A small part of him was reminded of the jungles of Nye, though this felt a bit more fantastical and mysterious. There was, however, the very familiar air of danger that hung around them. That, was familiar, and it had James on edge. Now that they were in a larger group, they had more numbers to fight but they were also a bigger target. There was no sneaking, now. There was no hiding.

They were going to face whatever was on this mountain, or it was going to find them. But they planned on finding it first.

James and Lyall led in the front. Cyrin and Alan held up the center of the party, and Clarity, Eve, and Connie remained in the back. They had more support spells and potions, and they'd need more distance to do more damage.

James, however, would have to be able to get close.

As they drew nearer, they began to hear the rushing of water.

Looking up through the trees and mushrooms, they were able to spot a massive waterfall pouring out from the mountain, from who-knew-how-high.

The water billowed down, and it appeared there was a stream that let out somewhere at the bottom, beyond them.

But as their eyes followed the waterfall to the base, they landed on something much less exciting to see.

A horde of monsters were gathered at the base of the mountain.

They were still far off, but there were enough moving creatures in the crowd that it was clear: they had an army of monsters awaiting them. Some of them didn't look like they were even from this planet.

James and Lyall both slowed on approach, aware that if they drew much closer, they'd probably be detected. The rest of the group stopped behind them.

"Do you think there's another way up?" James asked, though he didn't have hope for the answer being yes.

They also were running out of time.

"Short of a conveniently-placed plane, or even a clown cannon," Lyall mused, "we likely don't have the time to reroute--"

"Hey," a voice hissed from above.

Everyone turned up their heads, and it took James a moment to spot Kazimir, disguised in mushroom-colored camouflage, hidden in the mushroom tree.

"Shut up or the whisps will hear you," Kazimir said, already beginning to climb down to them. "Follow me."

James glanced at Lyall. The doctor flicked his gaze back at him uncertainly. James just shrugged with a small smile of acceptance.

Another ally, hopefully. Kazimir had never proven to have bad intentions before - even when he did accidentally kill him. But that was old news.

He followed after Kazimir, who was leading them opposite of the mountain. It made sense, though, to fall back.

In silence, they followed behind Kazimir until he led them to a giant mushroom almost as large as a house. For some reason it didn't surprise James when the base of the mushroom had a door carved into it, and they followed through it behind Kazimir, into a largely empty room.

Except for people.

Inside, was Hild, Leilan, Jay, and... was that Hendrik?

He looked so much... shorter?

Wow. The DMV had made him a dwarf.

"Hey, Hendrik," Kazimir said as he walked in. "I found like, everyone else."

"Hmph!" Hendrik slammed his steel mug on the mushroom table, expression gruff and stern as he had to crane his head up past the table to peek at who came through the door. "About goddamn time you hauled your asses over here. You're not the reinforcements I had asked for, but you will have to do. Come in."

Lyall furrowed a brow with mild offense. "Charming as always," he murmured only loud enough for James to hear.

James withheld a grin, and he approached Hendrik first while the others filled out the room.

"We ran into many dangers along the way," James said. "How long have you been stationed here?"

"Twenty hours. It's been dogshit, comrade," Hendrik grumbled, shaking his head. "We've been deep in the trenches with no way to communicate to others, but we've been using our noggins to plan."

On the table was were crayon drawings of various shapes and colors, and it occurred to James that this was their map. Hendrik was moving little pieces of leaves, mushrooms, and acorns into specific positions, specifying what each one symbolized, talking out loud.

"We have 18 more hours until the deal expires, and no one gets sent home. We're all in agreement that twiggy will be sent home, since chap's been through hell and back. We're doing this for him..."

James pulled a stone out of his pocket and placed it on the map beside Hendrik's acorn, which was on the map where their mushroom hideout was.

That was him, and his "crew."

Hendrik gruffed out another "hmph," nodding in understanding.

"I notice some people are missing," James said. "Have you run into any others?"

"Was getting to that part." Hendrik gestured to the pile of seeds, blades of grass, and a pink flower on the other side of the mountain. "Little Miss Sunshine is a monster hunter. Volunteered to speak to all the wolves along with wolf man and crazy eyes, who is a goblin, by the way. You ever see a goblin? Green skin, little man, yellow teeth. Will bite your fingers off, but they seem to have a liking to her. They're our reinforcements. We anticipate one hundred more of these warriors to be joining our side."

James raised his brows.

"You've all been very resourceful," he said. "And that sounds like a very advantageous plan. However, there are still a few people unaccounted for."

"Yes. I was getting there, soldier," Hendrik huffed out. "Flannel, Alex, and cat eyes are all missing. You hear from them?"

James looked over to Lyall with the briefest, subtlest side-eye at the mention of Alex - the only person Hendrik called by his real name. But he said nothing. Only noted it.

Gaze narrowing very subtly, seeming to catch onto that same thing, Lyall only quietly shook his head in response to the question.

"We haven't heard from them since we saw them last - yesterday, before Alex accidentally touched a portal that magically split our party," James informed.

Hendrik deeply frowned at that. "The hell? You lost your crew?"

James understood what Hendrik meant, but it was unhelpful at its very best.

"Not intentionally nor out of negligence, mind you," Lyall countered firmly as he started digging through his satchel. "It was purely an accident."

"Only Shane and Alex were with us," Eve spoke up evenly. "Tula was not with us, and if she was not with anyone else here, it means she is working alone."

So, against them. James sighed softly.

Stepping forward, Lyall brushed aside some of the markers Hendrik had set out and smoothed out an inked map over the crayon drawings.

"The hell is that? A magic map?" Hendrik balked, walking closer and nearly shoving him out of the way so he could even see the map despite being nearly the same height as the table.

With a hand on Hendrik's head, Lyall nudged him an arm's length away with an unappreciative scrunch of his nose. "Astute observation, my good sir," he said pleasantly.

James already took in the details of the map during the short-lived argument between Hendrik and Lyall. He pointed to the two slow-moving markers on the map labelled "Alex" and "Shane." It looked like they were close, but still a ways off. From the snail-like pace, it was possible they were injured.

"They're close. Who's going to get them?" Hendrik asked, diving straight to business. "Me, Barbie-- who else? We will take a group of three."

Cyrin moved closer, peering at the map. "I'll go," they said.

"We leave now," Hendrik said with a gruff nod, taking a step away from the table.

"Hang on," Lyall drawled, tugging Hendrik back to the table. "I don't like their pace. It'd be best we send out medical aid."

"Lyall has healing spells," James informed Hendrik. "If they are injured he can bring them back to full health."

"Hmph! Good thinking, soldier." Hendrik reached up on his tip-toes to grab his hand, giving it a firm, strong, and crushing shake. "Take over my role for me while I am gone, comrade. We will return."

James nodded.

Hendrik's handshake would've been cruhing for someone without metal bones. Regardless, James let him squeeze needlessly and pulled away when Hendrik did.

Over the top of Hendrik's head, Lyall wilted slightly as he cast James an already wearied look.

"If you need backup for any reason," James said. "Have someone fall asleep, and Connie will sense their presence and reach out to you. Otherwise, good luck, and please return to us swiftly."

"I will meditate and be ready," Connie simply said, but he was already meditating at the corner of the room.

"Will do," Cyrin promised James.

"Let's rock 'n roll, boys," Hendrik said with a hand up in the air, marching to the door and signaling for them to follow.

Alex was exhausted.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. They ran out of food yesterday. He couldn't find water, either, in this weird, confusing landscape where one minute there was a volcano and the next there was an underwater world.

Carrying Shane wasn't hard, but it was tedious. And after a whole morning of it, he was getting tired. It was one thing to haul someone to the safety of a rescue crew that was maybe a few minutes away. But by god, it had been hours. Hours and hours.

They had finally come out of the jungle. Shane was still in and out of consciousness, but still alive. They were surrounded by creepy, giant mushroom trees now, and every once in a while if Alex made a sound, glowing, whispy creatures would start to flit about. It made him uneasy, and he was in no position to fight with a dying man in his arms, so he shut up.

He traveled in silence.

Everyone once in a while, he'd stop. Shrimp, the cat, would start meowing, and Alex would have to pet it just so it'd shut up too. And time Alex put Shane down, he'd usually let out some sad sound on top of it, and even though the mushroom forest was quiet, it was eerily still aside from the whisps. Unless they vocalized noise.

Alex kept moving. Shrimp eventually decided that his shoulders were suitable for perching on, to which Alex objected. But he couldn't do anything about it since he was holding Shane. So, with arms full, he had to put up with it.

Shane. Shane's cat. Neither of them were lively company. Alex felt very alone and vulnerable, and he hated it.

That was, until he heard a gunshot.

Alex blinked.

In literally any other circumstance, his instinct would be to run away from the sound of gunshots. But this -- this meant people. Someone out there, there was a person, with a gun, and since no one else was on this island except for DMV contestants to Alex's knowledge, that meant it had to be somebody who could help.

Alex started hurrying.

He couldn't exactly run, but he hastened. Walking faster. Trying not to jostle Shane too much as Shrimp perked up by his head, letting out some weird "mrrp" sound. Alex thought for a moment, if he should risk speaking. If someone was out there shooting, they were making enough noise to draw the attention of the whisps. They'd be proccupied with them.

So he risked it.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Is someone out there?"

For a few seconds, there was dead silence. And then a low gruff voice yelled back: "Alex, laddie! Is that you?"

Hendrik.

Yeah, so maybe Alex could cry from relief. So what? People could cry. That was fine. It wasn't wimpy.

"Hendrik!" he called back. "It's me! Please, I can't--"

"Follow the gunshots! These goddamn whisps!" Hendrik yelled, staggering his words with the bang of every gunshot.

"I can't move quickly! I'm trying!" Alex yelled back, not liking how his deperation was leaking into his own voice.

He tried jogging. Shane let out a pained whimper, face contorting in a grimace, and it made Alex wince, slowing down.

"Sorry, sorry," he said in a hushed whisper.

The gunshots died down, Hendrik only responding in silence. That was, until there was a defeaning KABOOM and explosion with a puff of smoke billowing into a small mushroom-shaped cloud above the mushroom trees. And even through the ringing of his ears, Alex could hear Hendrik yelling, "I'm coming, I've got you!"

Alex was huffing, still walking as quickly as he could manage towards the sound of Hendrik's voice.

"Okay," he said, but it didn't carry.

And then, bursting out of a mushroom bushel, a much smaller, stouter version of Hendrik came bounding towards him, with a massive bazooka in hand. Alex felt a strange rush of mixed emotions: a flood of relief, something like affection (love? no), and intense amusement.

Hendrik made a perfect dwarf, but he didn't think he should say that, and he didn't want to.

"Alex!" Hendrik called urgently, huffing as he came to a stop in front of him, eyes immediately assessing the damage. "Status report. Man's down, cat's alive, but are you hurt?"

Alex slowed, bending to his knees so he could set Shane down gently. Shrimp immediately hopped down, curling up beside Shane's inert frame.

"I'm fine," Alex said. "Shane's severely injured. A panther got him before I was able to intervene. I..."

He looked down at Shane, feeling a uncomfortable ball of guilt twist in his stomach. It... wasn't something he was used to feeling.

Hendrik set a firm hand against Alex's upper arm. He had reached all the way, presumably to set his hand on his shoulder, but opted for his arm instead. "You did good, soldier," he said with a quick nod. "You did good. Did you stop the bleeding?"

Alex swallowed. "Yes. He's stable," he said.

"The crew's not far from here. We can get him healed." Hendrik scowled, muttering foreign curses under his breath as he tightened his fist. "Of course, I had to split from the damn doctor." He shook his head, shaking away the thought. "We bring you to the other doc, then. She has a healing spell, and if we move quickly, we're guaranteed to get there in twenty minutes." Hendrik extended his little arms out. "I will take him from here, soldier."

"Wait," Alex said, putting a hand on Hendrik's forearm. "Just..."

And before Hendrik could move to attempt carrying Shane, Alex pulled him into a hug. He was on his knees, sitting beside Hendrik, which was the only reason they were at matching eye levels.

Hendrik froze for a second, briefly caught off guard by the sentiments, but was quick to gently wrap his little arms around Alex's waist and give him two pats. "We will talk later, yeah? I need to apologize to you."

"I know, I know," Alex said softly. "I don't care. I just missed you."

"Me too, Alex. Me too," Hendrik said lowly, then gave him another pat before pulling away, angling his head up at him with a hint of a smile. As quickly as it came, it was washed away with the military sobriety. "Now let's get moving."

"Okay," Alex said. "But I think I'm going to have to carry Shane."

"Hmph." Hendrik frowned, staring down at his limp body.

"You can take the cat?" Alex suggested. "It's tired."

"I will take the cat," Hendrik said with a nod. He patted his thighs, then said in an enthusiastic high-pitched voice: "Come here, boy!"

Shrimp didn't move or react, instead nestling closer to Shane's face, staring at his owner. It almost seemed like the cat was... worried.

Alex sighed, and he reached out, hoping to coax the cat toward Hendrik. He patted its head.

"Hey," he said a little awkwardly.

"Sorry, bub," Hendrik cut in, scooping the cat up without even needing to bend down. "There, there. I've gotcha. You'll see your paps soon enough." Hendrik held Shrimp with both arms, who was comically large in comparison. Hendrik peered past the cat, nudging his head towards the trees. "Let's go."

With a nod, Alex picked Shane up.

Just a little further.

Traveling swiftly through dense, dry underbrush, shaded by canopies overhead, Lyall quietly kept an ear tilted out to their surroundings. Cyrin-- evidently now elven in physiology? keenly scanned between the trees as well. Neither dared speak unless it was out of absolute necessity. Though they'd fallen back for now, they were still skirting the base of the mountain, where Hendrik reported an array of territorial creatures and hostile beings prowling in the shadows.

And... mushroom men? Unarmed, but with the intent to harm.

Good gods... Lyall pressed both hands over his face with probably his... seventeenth sigh in just the past hour. It wasn't even 8 in the morning, and caffeine was sadly not a luxury available to them in the midst of "roughing it".

He and James had quickly determined that the two straggler dots meandering nearby on the map were Shane and Mister Alexander. Which immediately raised many concerns. Such as, their remarkably sluggish pace, and the fact that they seemed to be traveling together.

Was it a comfort that Alexander was still with Shane at this point? He was a hunter, and offered a rather heartfelt promise of his aim to do better. But this still spoke very little about his loyalty or reliability. A man who killed things with a wicked grin such as his no doubt suffered from chronic recklessness at best, or maintained a sadistic streak at worst. Either way, his presence felt less like a comfort.

As for their speed, one of them had to be unwell.

Maybe not. Lyall just couldn't help but worry. Deeply. Shane had mentioned undertaking wilderness outings, but those were casual. Nothing of high caliber such as this. Or perhaps he had done something more hazardous, and Lyall was merely underestimating the young heir?

Well, anyhow. James, whose intuition was only proven to be dependable thus far, likewise mentioning the possibility of injury only confirmed what Lyall feared: something had to be wrong.

Dread dropped heavily in his gut when saw from the corner of his eye Cyrin coming to a stop, gaze fixed somewhere to their right. They gently placed a hand on Lyall's shoulder to halt him as well.

"Hey, hold on," they murmured, still searching their surroundings intently.

Freezing in his tracks, Lyall glanced questioningly between his friend and the forest. "What?" he prompted in an unsure murmur.

Cyrin was silent for a few moments.

"You know how there's supposed to be five people in this general area?" they finally said in a hushed tone. "Me, you, Hendrik somewhere that way--" They waved to their left. "--and hopefully, Shane and Alex, according to your map?"

Brows knitting together, Lyall urgently scanned the forest now. "Why, what did you see?"

"Not see," Cyrin said slowly. "Heard."

They paused again for a moment.

"I'm hearing an extra heartbeat," they added, almost reluctantly. "Which means there's someone else out here."

Lyall's gaze settled on one of the towering mushrooms just ahead, unable to fully process Cyrin's words because he was pretty sure that was a verbal typo if he ever heard one. Slowly, he looked back up to Cyrin.

"...A heartbeat," he echoed incredulously.

Cyrin rubbed at his eyes. "Yeah. Long story, but now I can sense those for some reason. And there's six in the area, including ours." He paused. "I think there are two closer together ahead of us, which might be Shane and Alex. One of those pulses is... faint. But now I think there's a new one that way." He pointed to their right, where he'd been staring.

Since when was Cyrin a human homing beacon?

No, shelve that. Help first, question later.

Everyone else had agreed to stay back. Thus...

Shite, was it a mushroom man? Did those even have heartbeats? Or one of those creatures they saw at the base of the mountain. A straggler.

Lyall's gaze followed the direction Cyrin's arm pointed.

"Can you..." How to ask this without sounding presumptuous. "What can you tell about it? Heartrate, placement relative to us? Anything specific like that...?"

"It..." Cyrin trailed off. "It's a little accelerated, possibly from the exercise of hiking. It's that way, but it's getting closer. Pretty close, in fact."

Well, that did not bode well probably.

Rifling through his bag, Lyall took Cyrin's hand and pressed the rolled-up map into his palm. "Keep looking," he softly urged, "I'll see what this... new heartbeat is about."

Cyrin frowned. "You'll go after it?" they asked concernedly.

Already taking steps backwards for the new presence, Lyall snapped his fingers to spark a fleeting flame at his fingertips in a show of confidence. "I can harness the wrath of a sun, and heal myself should things go south," he smoothly assured them with a grin. "I'll find you in a few, I promise."

Then he turned and fixed his full attention on the potential threat ahead, not leaving any more room for debate on the matter.

Cyrin's response was delayed, but he was sure he heard a soft "Safe wandering" spoken behind him as he left.

And it wasn't long after he parted ways with one Bridger until Lyall ran into a far less pleasant one.

Well, fuck.

The instant Casper's smug mug appeared, Lyall turned on his heel with a simple, "Nope." He couldn't spare the time for this.

"Well, look at this," Casper said, audibly sneering. "If it isn't my baby brother's little friend, looking lost in the woods."

Lyall refused to grace such a poor attempt at a jab with a proper response. Though... He slowed in his tracks, just enough to begin subtly veering away from where he left Cyrin.

"Oh, please don't run off," Casper went on, now following him-- as predicted, though it was no less a disappointment. "I was hoping my brother had surrounded himself with friends who would help counterbalance his cowardice. This is disappointing."

Hm.

Okay. The jab was a miss, but the intent wasn't lost on Lyall. This man was trying to provoke a conflict.

"Please, oh paragon of human perfection, define 'courage' for me," Lyall drawled as he picked his way through bundles of reed-like mushrooms-- a bush of them? Good gods, what manner of mutated flora was this.

"I won't waste my time. You wouldn't get it," Casper said breezily.

Lyall suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "No, please," he urged flatly, "since you're here already wasting mine."

He very briefly considered directing them both toward the base of the mountain. Only briefly. He was not proud of it, but he couldn't deny... it was a solid plan G.

Casper snorted. "Well, people who have courage don't immediately turn tail like you did. Not to be confused with people without brains, who go about monster-filled woods alone when they're too cowardly to even face another human."

Lyall actually paused at that. "Elaborate," he politely requested, finally turning to face him inquisitively.

"What, do you need it explained to you like you're five?" Casper asked innocently.

Mmmmmm okay. Fun. He's resorting to schoolyard taunts now.

Lyall folded his hands together. "Yes," he forced out through a rueful smile, "paint me a picture. To whom are you referring when you say 'too cowardly to face another human'?"

"Are you dumb? I'm talking about you," Casper said bluntly.

It was completely childish, and frankly stupid. Thus, it should have been ineffective, but... something about it hit a small nerve. Lyall couldn't help but bristle at being intellectually belittled.

Fine, arsehole. If it was a fight he wanted, then it was a fight Lyall decided he was willing to give. He might as well try and work this against the athlete.

Mental note: do not throw the first punch, if it devolves to a boxing match.

Stepping closer Casper's way, Lyall put on a breezier front. "We really ought to define 'cowardice' then. Because I'm merely trying to use my time wisely. And frankly, you're proving yourself far less worth the effort of engaging in a mere thought exercise with, than I originally thought."

Casper's smirk stayed on his face, but his look darkened, turning his expression menacing. "And why is that?"

Bingpot. Lyall felt himself crack his own smug grin.

"Your insults leave much to be desired," he answered pleasantly, "and your refusal to humor me and give any real answers is indicative of a tragically small mind."

Casper's eyes flashed with dark anger for a moment, and he took a step forward. But then his gaze refocused on something over Lyall's shoulder, and the wide, unbearably gloating grin returned to his face.

"Oh, hello," he sneered. "Been a while since I last saw you in woods like these."

Woods like these.

Burying a sudden flare of concern, Lyall put on a casual front as he glanced over his shoulder. Silent as the night, Cyrin approached warily. They must have turned back, or Lyall didn't veer as far as he should have.

"My dear Cyrin," Lyall greeted with an easy smile. But he let urgency flash in his eyes, hoping Cyrin would get the message to keep a distance. "We were just finishing up a friendly debate. So deep and insightful, it was."

But Cyrin didn't stop there, whether it was because he was disregarding the warning or didn't interpret it that way. Instead, they stopped when they were just behind Lyall, fixing their brother with a hard stare.

"The hell are you doing here?" Cyrin asked bluntly.

Casper's lip curled into a sneer. "As your little friend said, we were having a wonderful conversation. My enjoyment of it has gone down since your arrival, unfortunately."

That didn't look true. It looked like Casper was very much enjoying this.

"That's an excellent question," Lyall said amiably, turning back to Casper. "Why are you here, seeing as you're not actually a contestant?"

"Turns out they can set a price on entry into the game, for those willing to pay," Casper said smugly. "Why, does that upset you?"

"I'm sorry, you misunderstood the prompt," Lyall said flatly. "That's the 'how'. Why are you here?" Somewhat perplexed, he raised both arms in a shrug. "And, quick follow-up, why would you want to be here?"

Casper snorted. "There's a prize to win. If I get it, I can sell it to whichever of you is willing to pay the prettiest penny."

Lyall blinked, quite flummoxed. Chrysler, how was this shark related to Cyrin?

"There's about two dozen people here who are working together, with the goal of getting it for one person," Cyrin said flatly. "Even if you beat us all, you won't find people outbidding each other greedily. What do you think this is, a Wall Street auction?"

Casper hummed. "Two dozen? Sounds like a lot of people who could put together a good-sized payment. You should get started on that Go Foond Me."

Something bitter and ugly started to stir in Lyall's gut.

They had friends to address, and they were burning precious daylight standing around talking with this devil disguised as a human being.

"How about," he shot back, taking another few determined steps closer to level the bastard with a frustrated glare now, "you make the sensible decision to turn around and merely (BLEEP) off?"

The dark, sharp anger returned to Casper's face as he matched Lyall's glare.

"Because I've got a prize to find and right now, all I see are two people in my way," he growled.

Cyrin stepped forward to join Lyall at his side. They weren't in front of them, but the gesture felt protective.

"You really should leave," they said, with a hint of a threatening tone. "Lyall's right. It's the smarter choice."

Casper barked a crooked laugh, spreading out his arms to indicate their surroundings. "You'd really try me twice? At least pick a different-looking battleground if you're hoping not to die."

Cyrin pressed their lips together into a thin line as something like outrage flashed in their eyes.

Casper's prompting made Lyall momentarily freeze up, though.

"Try twice"? As in, there was... a first fight, that Cyrin neglected to mention?

Lyall promised himself he wouldn't allow the snake before him to goad him into laying hands on him first. If Casper wanted a brawl, he'd have to throw the first punch.

Sadly. Such resolutions were quickly tossed out the window when a protective instinct took over, blew up all rationality. Just for a split second. Long enough for him to impulsively react by throwing both hands against Casper's chest, forcing him back with a low, "You won't be fighting him this time, mate."

Unafraid, Casper only grinned wider at his words, passively taking a step back. "Fighting?" he asked innocently. "Who said anything about fighting? No, no. That would imply he took a brave stand." His look turned poisoned with hatred, and even though he was still glaring only at Lyall, the venom in his words was only for Cyrin. "All he did was put up a pathetic resistance."

The mental map of two long, slivered scars over Cyrin's stomach flashed to the forefront of Lyall's mind, as if cued to provide visual context; Casper Bridger was an attempted murderer.

And it was in that moment, dear viewer, that Lyall's judgement was completely clouded by a violent festering in his chest that he didn't like in the least, nor dared name.

Because it sent his closed fist straight into Casper's jaw.

For a moment, that punch was the only thing happening in the world. He heard the crack of knuckles on flesh and solid bone, saw the way Casper's head spun with the impact. And for a moment after that one, everything felt still. Even Casper's head didn't move, his expression painted with incredulous shock. The air around him felt shimmering, like there was something in it about to be broken, a calm before the storm.

And then suddenly, the rage returned to the man's eyes.

"You'll pay, you--" Whatever word insult had been about to follow in the guttural growl was cut off as Casper bared his teeth and swung his fist into Lyall's stomach at full force.

Lyall stumbled, then hacked for air as his midsection seared white with pain. But Casper didn't wait for him to regain his breath. Instead, he struck him there again, somehow even more powerfully than the last time. It left him reeling. Blinking himself back to awareness, Lyall found himself on his knees, still struggling for air.

A hand grasped his collar, tugging his head harshly, and before he knew it, Casper's fist hit him squarely in the right eye.

Stars burst behind his eyelids. Lyall weakly sank back on his haunches, his body straining painfully to keep him upright. He scrounged up enough wherewithal to then throw in at least one more swift, hard hit, aiming true for what was at eye level -- manhood.

He heard a grunt that was more angry than pained, and Casper hunched over, so he knew it'd worked.

"You mother(BLEEP)er," Casper growled through a wheeze, diving at him again and pinning him down. By the windpipe, specifically.

Rocks dug into his back as he was forced down. Really, he only felt resignation as Casper's iron grip closed around his throat.

Well. Lyall at least tried to give the shark a proper fight.



"No!" he heard Cyrin shout, their voice cutting in from out of nowhere.

And suddenly, the weight on his neck disappeared, leaving his airways clear and unobstructed. He could breathe again. The pulsing pain in his eye was gone within a second. And the first thing he could see with it was Cyrin launching himself at Casper like some heaven-sent Angel of Death, vengeance in his eyes as he knocked him off of Lyall. Casper's eye was red and purple with the beginning of swelling even before Cyrin's fist collided there the next second.

Hastily pushing himself upright, Lyall bit back a pained whine as he held an arm over his middle. He couldn't hold back a low groan, though, when his gut lurched violently with the movement. Pinned now merely by throbbing pain, his mind raced through potential next steps.

Ah, hang on. He was... a magical clergyman.

Casper fell back on the ground, Cyrin over him, and both quickly scrambled to their feet. However, Casper was barely upright before Cyrin gave him a roundhouse kick to the chest, and he doubled over again, staggering back several steps. Cyrin seized the moment, ramming into Casper with their shoulder, then elbowing him in the gut for good measure. Casper again tumbled to the forest floor, this time with a heavy groan.

After mumbling a quick healing word-- twice, since Lyall was still a bit off on the right pronunciation with the first try-- the pain radiating from his likely horribly bruised stomach dissipated.

"Cyrin!" he called as he woozily refound his footing.

Cyrin whirled around from where they were standing over a prone Casper, meeting Lyall's eyes with a mix of anger, panic, and concerned affection.

Briefly eyeing the downed Bridger, Lyall tilted his head back toward base in a silent prompt to merely run. Then took off like a shot himself.

He didn't hear their footsteps after him, but he knew that didn't mean they weren't running. Sure enough, they caught up to his side.

Did Lyall feel a tinge of shame in running like hell from a fistfight he kind of helped start? Maybe.

Should they be leading a potentially murderous narcissistic elitist back to base? Well, maybe not. But it felt logical to fall back. It'd potentially get Casper off their backs, even, having--

Lyall's resolution and long strides faltered when a sharp pang tore through his ribcage. This wasn't his usual pathetic inability to run more than ten minutes-- his lungs felt as though they were being torn apart from the inside.

He barely caught himself against a tree as bubbling pain cast flickering shadows across his vision. He retched and hacked. When he caught sight of dark splatters on the leaves under his feet, he froze. The taste of hot copper rolled over his tongue.

What the ever loving hell--

Another coughing fit overtook him. Hot blood welled up seemingly endlessly in the back of his throat.

Cyrin, too, had stopped, apparently for the same reason. He was bent over, hand on his chest as he wheezed painfully, his breathing sounding choked. He coughed, and blood dribbled out from his lips.

"It's Casper," he groaned between coughs, voice weak.

Sinking to his knees, his insides feeling effectively julienned, Lyall's vision darkened further.

Just as alertness began to slip through his fingers, little warm lights like fireflies began pulsating before his eyes. Clumsily throwing himself back to sit against the tree, Lyall confusedly patted his hands over his chest as... what looked like glitter? was dusted over himself, and seemed to take with it the pain as it faded.

He urgently looked to Cyrin, figuring perhaps his friend was granted a new magic too. Cyrin, also sparkling, appeared just as baffled as he looked back at him, wiping golden and glowing blood from his lips with the back of his hand.

"I have been tasked to find you," Connie's voice cut in. Groggily looking ahead, Lyall saw the Talian man standing straight in front of them, unshaken and unbothered. "Shane and Alexander have been found. Are you ready to return?"

"I." Lyall blinked, unable to help the open gaping for a second. "...Sure."

How had Connie found them so quickly? When? Was he--

"Your Highness," Casper said darkly behind him, and as Lyall turned, he saw the businessman with his fists clenched and dirt smeared on his face. "You're a little too late. I could stall all of your hearts to a gradual stop if I wanted. Do you know what that'd be like? To feel yourself sinking into a coma and helplessly know that afterwards, death is the only thing--"

He never did get to finish his cartoonish villanous monologue. Without any indication or warning, the force of a thousand cannons suddenly propelled his body upwards like a rocket through the air, happening so fast that Lyall nearly blinked and missed it. Casper was flung up to the sky, disappearing into a sparkling star.



Eyes wide, Lyall blankly stared where Casper had disappeared in the wide expanse of sky above.

"Are you ready to return, Cyrin?" Connie asked again pleasantly, still pressing for an answer.

Momentarily stunned, Cyrin stood up, brushing himself off as he stared in the same direction. His gaze flicked over the sky, but saw nothing. He looked to be questioning his sanity.

"Yes," they said at last. "Thank you, Connie."

Connie inclined his head as a response, and without another word, turned his heels to lead the way back.

With nary a thought nor a question-- Lyall dared not question the royal's new magical capabilities; what worked, worked-- the two sprang into step behind him.

There was brief chaos in their little mushroom shelter.

Hendrik and Alex came in like a storm. Hendrik, in particular, began shouting orders, as he was clearly worked up, and everyone else was sent into a flurry of worry seeing that neither Cyrin nor Lyall were present, and Shane was gravely injured.

So James took the lead. Because Hendrik was, frankly, losing his cool. Or rather, causing everyone else to.

He commanded Hendrik to wait to the side while he took charge. Surprisingly, Hendrik didn't object. He actually obeyed, and withdrew to the outer edge of the room with Alex, still holding Shrimp.

Meanwhile, they'd laid Shane out on a cot on the other side of the room. Hild and Eve hovered by while Hild pulled out a healing scroll, and they both read it over to make sure it was enchanted correctly. While they took care of healing, James assigned Connie with fetching Lyall and Cyrin. They couldn't be far -- they must've just missed each other. Hopefully, they didn't get into too much trouble from splitting up.

In agreement, Connie set off without another word. James assigned Kazimir to napping (which apparently came easy to him) so that Connie could communicate with them if needed.

James circled back to Shane just in time to see the glowing magical shine sparkle around his body, enveloping it in light before it faded. A new color and life returned to Shane's face as his body visibly relaxed in relief before he actually opened his eyes. When he did, it was to squint blearily around the room, gaze still haunted by the pain he must've been in.

James drew close, kneeling by the cot.

"Hey," James said softly. "You're safe now. Shrimp's over there, too. He's okay."

Shane's lashes fluttered a few times, like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"I'm not dead?" he muttered.

"No," James said. "And thank goodness, you're not. I don't think I could handle that."

Shane closed his eyes again. "Seems like a shame to me," he murmured, trying to stretch out on the cot.

James's heart dropped a bit at that, but he tried not to let it show how much that hurt to hear. He noticed, across the cot, that Hild led Eve away, and the two of them left to give Shane space.

"Well," James said a little quieter, his voice feeling more fragile. "I'm... I'm glad you're okay. Really, beyond glad. I was... I was really worried."

He tried to steel his emotions, seeing Shane like this. He could feel his throat tighten, but he wished it wouldn't.

Shane was going through his own pain, and James didn't expect Shane to know what was going on in his head. When Shane had been brought in, looking half-dead, James felt old fears resurface from when he'd been in the service. In the field, he'd lost many friends. Some of them violently. Some without ever getting to say goodbye. And in the past three years, he'd lost all of the living friends he had left when he decided blowing a whistle was more important than preserving relationships.

Shane really was one of his only friends he had, apart from his family.

And sure, they'd only know each other over a month. That was fair. He couldn't expect that much of Shane, and he knew it was unfair to put all of those expectations on him. Shane shouldn't have to feel the pressure of filling that massive, gaping wound in James's heart.

But... still.

Damn, it hurt. It hurt that Shane just wanted to die. That a part of him had decided, in the grand scheme of things, it was better to die than to face whatever the future had for him. That it was better to die than to keep feeling the pain he felt at present. That Shane was so hopeless now for it ever getting better.

James gently reached out and took Shane's hand, unsure if it was too much or too little, and too pained to really determine the difference, or if that even mattered.

"I'm glad you're back with us," James said faintly, blinking back tears. "You're... you're safe now. We've got you."

And James wasn't going to let Shane out of his sight again.

James squeezed Shane's hand.

It took a moment. Or maybe time just felt long. But Shane did squeeze James's hand back before reopening his eyes, scanning his face with a weary gaze.

"You were worried?" he asked quietly, as if it didn't quite make sense to him.

James's brows pinched together in earnest.

"Painfully so," he said. "Shane, I-- I didn't know where you were. If something had happened to you-- and, to hear that something had--" James had to stop and swallowed. "I've been living my worst nightmare. I'm just glad it's ending with you getting healed."

Something clouded Shane's expression. It looked like sadness, but also... doubt.

Shane didn't believe him? Somehow, that hurt more.

"I'm sorry," Shane said faintly. "I shouldn't have said that."

James swallowed again. This... this wasn't personal. James had to remind himself this wasn't personal.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "It's okay."

At least Shane was being honest. That was better than pretending.

"I just want you to know I really, really care about you," James said. "It's why I'm so relieved to see you."

Shane dropped his gaze briefly, and he gave James's hand another squeeze.

"I really, really care about you too," he said quietly. "I'm glad you made it here alright, and that we did find each other."

James managed a small, sad smile.

"Me too," he said, only loud enough for Shane to hear.

And while he wished this moment could've lingered longer, it didn't.

The front door was thrown open by Clandestine, who was covered in leaves and flowers and green warrior-like facepaint. Behind her was a massive crowd of green: presumably the goblins.

James looked to Shane apologetically.

"Sorry," he said. "I have to take care of this. Rest here."

Shane looked past him, and confusion spread over his face.

"...Sure," he said slowly. "Okay."

James nodded with a faint smile and got to his feet, turning quickly to meet Clandestine at the door, where Robin quickly joined her. Hendrik hopped up from his seat with Alex while Leilan and Alan gravitated towards Shane as attention in the room shifted, but James knew that he'd been given the resposibility now of leading the charge up the mountain.

Hopefully Connie would return with Lyall and Cyrin soon. But they needed to talk strategy now. They didn't have time to waste.

When Lyall, Cyrin, and Connie returned, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. They explained that they got held up by Cyrin's brother - Casper - who started a fight. Connie ended it with a spell, and honestly, that was all they needed to know. James hadn't realized that any of the "guests" would be present during this challenge, but he couldn't bother thinking about that with everyone looking to him for guidance.

He caught Lyall up to speed on their plans. They were going to proceed up the mountain as one, but split off into different teams based on powers so that everyone had evenly divided fighters and support in each group.

Hendrik had dubbed the mission: Operation Save Aaron.

Apart from Tula, Aaron was the only one absent, and they all could only hope that was because he was left out of the challenge due to his illness. Lyall mentioned that Aaron didn't even show up on the map, which was confirmation enough for all of them that he was hopefully okay.

And you know, not dead. Because if the DMV did that, they'd have an even bigger problem on their doorstep than the PR mess this show was stirring up.

When there was nothing else to plan, and all that was left was to fight, James found himself at the center of the room with Lyall and Hendrik by his side.

It all felt so dramatic - and he knew it was meant to be so - but the threats they were facing and meant to face were still real. Yes, it was for the cameras. But Shane had gotten hurt. So had he. So had many others. It was reality. It wasn't just fantasy, and James didn't know how long the cameras would keep rolling before they had someone save them.

James stood up straigther.

"Alright, then," he said, addressing the crowd of friends and allies. "This is it. I know none of us wanted this. But today we have a chance to spare someone from more suffering, and I think we all agree that Aaron deserves a second chance, away from tests, challenges, and whatever troubles we have ahead of us. I know none of us look forward to this battle, but let's remind ourselves: we're not doing it to prove our power, or for the DMV's gain. It's not about them, and it's not about what they're getting out of it.

"We're giving a gift. We're giving Aaron a ticket home. It just happens to be the most heavily guarded ticket in all of history. But if anyone can take on the challenge ahead of us, it's a group like ours."

James raised his hand over his head in a fist.

"Now let's go!" he said, leading the way out the door.

Right behind him, Hendrik said: "Let's kick some ass, comrades," but then added: "Not yours though."

James briefly flicked his eyes over his shoulder, only now realizing that Hendrik's unfortunate dwarven height put him face to face with James's rear.

...Ugh.

He ignored that comment and carried on.

On to face the horde of monsters.

War. An inevitable part of the human race. Where there is peace, there is war. And where there is war, there was... bravery, and...

Alan didn't even know what he was thinking anymore. But, yes. They were basically going to war.

Roles were given out to everyone. There were fighters and spellcasters with specialties in defense or offense. There were an assortment of weapons, from guns to swords to spell scrolls, and then there was... him. Which-- surprise!-- Alan had nothing to contribute.

James encouraged him to use his violin again, which Alan found to be a smidge humiliating considering he felt ridiculous that he was definitely going to kill enemies with a tune and a song, but whatever. Nothing happened after he strummed it anyways, outside of Hendrik barking a laugh of amusement. Fantastic.

James shooed Hendrik away, and pulled Alan aside, away from prying eyes and ears. Alan gave them all a weary stare, feeling so done with all of this.

"Listen," James said. "I know this is frustrating, but I know they gave you the violin because you can actually use it. This is a fabricated setting. You may not think it looks as helpful as everyone else's skills, but there's power in your music. And no, I don't mean that in a trite way."

James let out a sigh, putting his hands on his hips as he looked at Alan more squarely.

"And you do have other skills," he said. "You're going to be staying with Lyall and Shane giving long-distance support, but you three are also going to be the first line of defense against Tula. We have good reason to believe she'll show herself once we make a dent into enemy lines. We're going to need you three to intercept her and keep her from getting up the mountain to get the prize for herself. You and Lyall are both good with words, but if you three are unable to convince her to back down with reason alone, then use force. And if force doesn't work, then our very last fallback is you."

"That's fine," Alan agreed. "I can do that."

"I want to be clear that I understand what I'm asking of you - which is why I don't want you to use your magic unless absolutely necessary. But I know Tula can be unreasonable, and even violent," James went on.

"It's alright, James," Alan said more assuredly with a small smile, hand up placatingly. "I know the risks. I'll be fine."

James pressed his lips into a line, like he wanted to say more, but he didn't.

"It's a last resort," James finally re-stated. "A very. Last. Resort. Understand?"

"Understood. It's a last resort," Alan echoed.

Though, he'd be lying if he said he didn't at least entertain the idea. Alan only had minimal interactions with Tula, but from what he knew of her... well, she seemed batshit insane.

And to be honest, he didn't hate the idea of becoming a little batshit insane himself.

That thought circled in his mind a few times as they all finally departed, and even though Alan knew he was going to "fantasy war," it really didn't feel like it.

As they marched forward, they fell into formation. As James said, he was to be put in the back with Lyall, a healer, and Shane, a defensive spell caster. And Alan as maybe-possibly-backup-plan-for-crazy-person-so-he-could-get-a-little-crazy-himself.

Alan chose to pretend that he didn't feel uncomfortable that he and Lyall were acting cordial for the sake of group cohesion. He could tell by his silent concerned glances that there was more he wasn't saying, but the shared feelings and glances went both ways. They just had to get over this absurd fantasy event first. Then they could talk.

Assuming that nothing else came up. But it seemed like there was always something that came up, further delaying much-needed closure.

Shane stepped a little closer as they walked along. In the moment before he glanced at Alan, there was a tense, worried crease in his brow. When he did look his way, though, some of that tension dissipated, and he managed a faint, almost sad smile.

"Hey," he said softly. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling okay," Alan assured with a small smile. "Are you?"

Shane nodded, briefly glancing at Lyall. For a short moment, his smile flickered just a touch wider. "Yeah," he said, still speaking quietly. "I trust you both. I'm glad to see you made it here safely."

"Me too," Alan said instinctively, realizing too late that that answer didn't quite make sense. He wracked his brain to be more conversational, but he found he couldn't quite do it given the situation of everything. "Erm. Trust you both too, I mean," he corrected, offering a small apologetic smile. "And also glad that you made it here safely, of course. I know it hasn't been easy."

"That makes a three-way of trust and glad-tidings," Lyall offered with an amicable yet fleeting smile of his own. "And, aside from arcs, the triangle is the strongest shape found in nature."

Alan dared to glance back at Lyall, only catching his gaze for a brief second.

Well. Glad they could still trust each other.

"I thought those were hexagons?" Shane said with a quiet chuckle. "Bees use those."

"Organizationally, hexagons are the most effective," Lyall answered with another easy grin.

"A fine distinction. Consider myself enlightened," Shane said with a slightly wider smile. It lasped again into something more solemn as he softly said, "We'll all be okay. We make a good team."

Lyall's grin softened. "We'll be alright," he agreed, tone gentle and reassuring.

Shane's smile didn't fade from his face, but after a few moments, it seemed to leave his eyes to be replaced by anxiety.

After another short silence lapsing between them, Lyall fell into step beside Shane and lightly bumped elbows with him. "You're tougher than you may feel, Nurse Hawking," he added with more passion, "and we've a literal army behind us. Our chances of success are quite great."

Shane nodded, putting on the smile again, despite looking uncertain. "Right. Of course."

Some more pleasantries were exchanged, though still strained and tense, given the situation of... everything, really. Alan was listening of course, though he was mostly disengaged, not really thinking of one thing in particular.

He did find it comical that the battlefield was five biomes mashed together, and there there was a literal rainbow on top of the mountain.

They all found their places. Lyall led the way, gesturing for Alan and Shane to follow up a view point where they could gain a birds eye view on everyone.

"HOLD!" Hendrik yelled when they crossed the "line of aggression" (as dubbed on the childish crayon map), indicating that they were in the line of sight of the giant horde of monsters.

Alan peered over the plateau, unnerved by the amount of moving blobs running across the strangely diverse terrain. There were so many monsters. So many.

"AND CHARGE!" Hendrik announced, which sent the pack of angry wolves and goblins running, barreling towards the horde with teeth bared and spears ready. The others were more strategic, using spells and entering from more advantaged positions to strike.

Symphony No. 5 in C Minor.



Music notes emerged from the ground, shifting into one goblin, two, three-- dead, long, withheld. Pitter-patter, sharp, dramatic. One wolf, two wolf, three-- a storm, a cloud, dust. Men, with mushroom hats, a low roar. Clandestine-- colorful, bright, fierce. Overwhelmed, a harmony overtaken by the melody.

James and Cyrin-- a steadfast melody, a surplus of rushed notes, unable to keep up, left in the dust of the screeching windy gargoyles. Kazimir and Jay-- wet, heavy, drowning in the bass with slithering lake dragons, roaring. Hendrik and Alexander-- brassy and loud, blood on their hands, panting, as they stand on top of a cold beast, surrounded by bigger foes. Clarity and Eve-- a steady beat, constantly hit, unable to keep up to the pace of the fiery beasts, snaking around them.

Shane and Lyall were harmoniously springing into action as well. Shane used his teleportation spells to bring people in so Lyall healed them. Rinse and repeat.

Alan had to remind himself to breathe, especially when the music stopped playing, interrupted by voices.

"There's incoming wisps at our ten o' clock," Shane called out, quickly taking out a scroll. "They're fast."

Alan turned to see what was coming, though he didn't expect it to be ghostly blobs of light, like giant fireflies. Had there not been a warning, he wouldn't have assumed this was dangerous.

At least, that was what he thought until he heard the faint giggle of children in the wind, emanating from the orb lights' direction.

Stepping in front of Alan, Lyall cast a burst of flames their way with a slash of his arm. It consumed the light orbs, and Alan held his breath, anticipating the lights to disappear once the fire died down.

Bu they only floated closer, now at an alarmingly fast speed.

"...I don't know if they're scared by anything," Shane said, worry slipping into his voice. "I can't make an illusion."

Now with both arms held out protectively in front of Alan, Lyall urgently ushered him back a few steps. "[BLEEP], get back!"

And Alan did, despite Lyall backing out in front of him, because what the hell else was he supposed to do? He didn't love asking for help, but this wasn't about him.

"Teleport someone in!" Alan yelled out quickly to Shane over Lyall's shoulder.

He wished he had blurted this out sooner, because the giggling swarm of the lights were maddening loud, ricocheting around them. He was momentarily blinded by the sheer brightness of them, just barely noting that they swarmed around Shane first.

Shane tried to cast his spell, but it was too late, as a wisp broke loose from the swarm. Like an angry wasp, it hit him in the side, dying in a burst of light and heat that Alan could feel from here. Shane let out a panicked, pained cry as he flinched away and pressed a hand to his side. His clothes, already torn and weathered, had a scorched mark where the wisp had hit him.

Worry and panic coursed through Alan's veins. His thoughts were two-fold: concern that Shane was getting hurt again, and that the light seemed to flinch back at the cry.

Or did he just imagine that?

Lyall suddenly dragged Alan down to the ground with him and roughly pushed him toward tall, dense bushes. Alert, Alan steadied himself as he caught the stone cold severity of his eyes.

"Stay low," he urged in a hiss as he launched himself back into the swarm.

"Wait, Lyall--" Alan called out weakly, but he was far too late to respond. Lyall had already sprung into action.

Darting out, he weaved between some of the lights before sliding in to Shane's side. A small burst of yellow light was the only detectable indication that he laid a healing hand on the heir.

One of the errant lights broke from the swarm and struck Lyall between the shoulder blades. Caught by surprise, he pushed a wide-eyed Shane down into the dirt and protectively laid over him with a pained and furious, "[BLEEP]!"

The small tornado of lights surrounding them faltered, just for a split second.

And again, this minor detail gnawed on Alan. The lights flinched at the source of the noise-- in this case, Lyall, yelling. There was a slight pause in the laughing too, at least for the cluster closest to Lyall. It was subtle, but Alan knew the difference between a double and triple pianissimo.

The detail wormed in his head like an invasive melody, and what he used to hear as ominous giggling, he now heard as gentle atonal harmonies, humming together, like an orchestra tuning before the performance. The idea swirled in his head, whispering incorehently until it clearly said: "Play."

Then there was dead silence.

Alan briefly closed his eyes, only hearing himself take a steady breath. Opening his eyes again, he only saw darkness. That was, until the stage lights turned on one-by-one with a click, illuminating the walkway to the stage, where a music stand awaited him.

Slowly standing, Alan stared at the walkway, unsure if this was the path he wanted to follow. But he found himself walking down it anyways, the steps of his oxford shoes clacking against the wooden floor. He took a steady breath again, peeling his gaze away from the stage to look down at his hands, which held his violin and bow.

A solo. That was what he would play.

Standing center stage, Alan peered over the darkness, unable to see the audience. The spotlight was purely on him, and he may not be able to see who was listening, but he knew they were going to give him their full attention. To finally hear his song.

Czardas. Montee's famous violin piece, a timeless classic that begins as a heartfelt sonnet and ends as a wild dance.

Steadying the violin on his shoulder, Alan took another deep breath, readying his bow over the strings.

It was time that he forced others to listen to him.