Young Writers Society

With the fear of a monster hunting him down gone, James finally felt free to roam the island again. And by gods, did he need it; to get out of the cabin, to be in the fresh air. To feel less cooped up and insane. All it took was a day of it to make him feel like he was trapped again. House arrest was kinder than a prison, but he hated feeling like he couldn't leave somewhere of his own will, even if it was safety related.

James decided to do something on his own for once that didn't involve running. He went to the plaza. He got some tea at the coffee shop. He propped up and started reading a book, even if it was one he'd read before. And it was nice, too, until Ingrid had to show up out of nowhere, ruining his afternoon by virtue of existing in his presence.

And it got worse when she approached his table, took a seat across from him, and ignored the fact that he was ignoring her.

Did this all feel a bit petty, perhaps? Immature, maybe? Would it be better to tell her to go away nicely? Or was it too much to expect her to get the hint?

There was a tense silence where he could feel Ingrid staring through his skull, just waiting for him to look up from his book.

"Come on," she said with a sigh. "Are you really going to be childish with me?"

James only glanced up at her.

"Last I recall," he said. "I told you not to seek me out, and I explicitly told you what I'd do if you did. I don't think I need to remind you."

"That was also before I knew you were apparently on some crazy old man's hit list," Ingrid said.

"No need to disrespect the dead," James said, turning a page.

"Are you serious?" Ingrid asked. "James, people are saying that the guy tried to kill you. Or worse. And no one's giving a straight answer for what happened when he tried. Just 'the danger is eliminated.' But hell if I know what that means."

James slowly looked up at her from his book, unimpressed at her fishing.

She knew full well what it implied. She didn't have to do that much guess-work. For all he knew, she'd already gotten the answers she needed to piece together what happened, and she was just playing dumb to force him to say it aloud. To force vulnerability that she hadn't earned.

And yet, it'd be easier to just say it than to keep playing cat and mouse like this. He didn't have to play her game.

"I killed him," James said cooly, looking back to his book - which he was in fact not reading, but was still pretending to. "That's what that means."

Ingrid stared at him, and from the corner of his eyes, he could feel her pent up frustration increasing. Even without touch, her anxiety was palpable. And exhausting. So much tension wound up in one woman. How could Ingrid stand to exist?

A long silence passed, as if she expected him to say more. He didn't.

"That's it?" she asked.

"I am not obliged to indulge your curiosity," James said flatly.

"It's not goddamn curiosity," Ingrid said more curtly.

Ah yes. Here we go. Yes, Ingrid. Take the mask off. He'd been waiting for this.

"You literally killed a man and you're out here wearing a tshirt that says 'For-shore' and reading a book about--" she paused, squinting at the title and tilting her head to see it. "Alpaca farming? Is that book even legible? It looks water-damaged."

"It's not much different than reading without glasses," James joked in monotone.

But ah. She hated when he did that.

Ingrid reached over and slapped the book out of James's hands. James narrowly dodged her touch as he ripped his hands away and pushed his chair back with his legs. The chair legs squealed across the pavement and the chair toppled back under his weight from the sudden movement.

Far more dramatically than he'd intended, he fell back onto the concrete, legs flying up over his head as he rolled back out of the way.

Well. Way out of the way.

James grunted as he rolled onto his side, trying to pick himself up to his feet as normally as possible. But at this rate, he'd already made a scene of all of this without really meaning to. And Ingrid, of course, was livid about it. She was on her feet, holding the crinkled book in her hands as she pointed it down at him accusingly.

"Why won't you just talk to me?" she asked, waving the book around. "Can we really not have a normal conversation like grown adults?"

"Sorry if I don't feel like talking with you about how I had to kill a man," James said dryly, with no real intents to be sorry. He got to his feet, noting that the chair was now very dented. The legs were bent and deformed, making it so it really couldn't be sat back up again.

"So you're just going to ignore that it happened at all?" Ingrid asked. "Like, what the hell is going on? What happened to the James that makes a fuss about injustice? You don't just take it like this."

James honestly didn't even feel like arguing with her. Three years ago, she'd been telling him to stop making a fuss. Now she was demanding he did. She was going to argue whatever served her best, and in this moment, she apparently thought appealing to his moral compass was going to get him to open up more or something. But he wasn't going to.

"Can I have the book back, now?" he asked. "It's not even mine."

And he regretted saying that, because Ingrid's expression turned almost crazed.

"That's right," she said venemously. "It belongs to Hild. I'm sure your crazy shippers online are having a field day with this little easter egg. Those people are insane. You two have known each other for what - not even four weeks?"

Okay. Maybe now would be a good time to just walk away. The book wasn't that important. James started to turn to leave.

"You're just going to walk away from me now, is that it?" Ingrid spat. "Is it because you know I'm right? You really think that emotionally walled up robot is going to do anything for you?"

James started walking. This was not going well.

"You've always needed help with your emotions. Even now you're just stuffing them down. I don't know why you keep regressing like this, but you have to listen to me," she went on. He could hear her starting to follow.

"You need to let yourself feel it. Let me help you," she said.

But James knew what that meant.

Her hand went to reach for his arm. He pulled away. She reached further, and he dodged her swipe, bending backwards. He expected her to try again, but she suddenly froze up, standing rigid and pulling her hand away as her eyes fixed on someone else.

James slowly stood up, not sure if this was some kind of trick. He didn't look to see who it was on the off-chance that it was.

"Hi," Eve's voice came from behind. "Is everything okay?"

Oh thank goodness. Someone was here. That meant Ingrid would hopefully be less insane.

"Yes, everything's fine," Ingrid answered before James could. "We were just having a--"

"One-sided argument," James butted in, taking a long step back from Ingrid.

Ingrid shot him a subtle glare. James, now at least out of immediate arm's length of Ingrid, looked over to Eve, who looked as she usually did: drowning in a loose dress with her tote of art supplies over her shoulder. That, plus a frown. Directed at Ingrid.

James wondered how much she saw.

"Well, the argument's over, now," Ingrid said more firmly. "That said, I don't think you and I have met. You must be Eve."

"Are you a visitor?" Eve asked evenly instead.

"Yes," Ingrid answered. "My name is Ingrid."

"If there's a problem," Eve continued, "you can take it up with Dante. He oversees visitor disputes."

Ingrid bristled, letting out a small sigh. She seemed to relax after a moment, but James was pretty sure it was just for show. He eyed the book still in her hand.

"No dispute here," she said.

Eve turned away, now locking eyes with James. "Do you want to take our language practice inside or outside?"

James briefly side-eyed Ingrid, who was clearly hiding her annoyance at Eve having turned attention away from her.

"Outside," James said. Even though they hadn't scheduled anything for today - well, they did now. If only as an excuse for him to get away from Ingrid.

Eve nodded, stepping away towards the main path to lead the way. "Alright. Let's go."

Relieved that it was that simple, James was happy to abandon the book for some peace. He followed after Eve, glancing at Ingrid over his shoulder. She didn't follow, but she did watch them with her arms folded, putting on a hurt expression, even though he knew she was really just angry.

Not wanting to rub it in or be unkind, James just gave her a small nod farewell, and then looked away, falling into step beside Eve.

"Was she giving you trouble?" Eve asked in Vietance, gaze strictly fixed ahead.

"A little," James admitted. "I was about to leave, but I'm grateful for your interference. I have a feeling she wasn't going to drop it."

Eve knitted her brows together, glancing at him. "Why was she bothering you?"

James let out a long sigh, and he looked up at the sky, letting a small pause pass as he wished for just like. One thing to go his way. Couldn't he have one day where something incredibly stressful or awkward didn't happen? It was always something.

Now he had to explain that his abusive ex-girlfriend was trying to hound him about his "feelings." Particularly about his most recent wendigo-related trauma. Woo-hoo.

And then there was the whole I-think-she's-trying-to-win-me-back thing. But that didn't need to be said.

"We were in a relationship three years ago," he said. "It ended poorly. Now she thinks she's here to fix me like she's my big intervention."

Eve paused, staring at him neutrally for a longer moment. "Oh," she said softly. Then added in Common, "If that's the case, her methods seem... unconventional."

James shrugged.

"It downspiralled pretty quickly," he said. "I wasn't exactly helping, either."

"Do you..." she began, trailing off, but then starting again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about, really," James. "I'm not interested in reconnecting, and I've made that clear to her. She just doesn't like it."

"Oh, I know, I figured," Eve cut in quickly. "That's-- that's not what I meant. I just asked in case you..." She sighed, pressing her lips together again as she stared intensely on the cobblestone ground, following the path towards the gardens. "I'd like to know if you want to talk about anything, in general. In case you're interested. About anything."

James slow-blinked, turning to look at her for a moment.

Ah. She wasn't referring to what happened with Ingrid. She was talking about the last few days. The morning after the initial confrontation, Eve had come over and joined him and Shane at the cabin, keeping him company. Not much was said between the three of them, at least, on his part. But he'd taken comfort in their presence, even as he was admittedly very distant that day. He felt a little more grounded at present, but... still.

"You just have a lot going on," Eve continued on, filling the silence even though only a few seconds had passed at most. "I don't think it's fair that you do. Of course the DMV would bring in someone like Ingrid to cause you discomfort." She sighed, tilting her head down just enough so that thick strands of hair fell over her shoulder. "I just wish there was more I could do," she finished softly.

James turned to her, offering a small smile.

"Giving me an easy out back there helped more than you think," he said. "Things like that might seem little to you, but it was pretty big for me."

Eve exchanged a few timid glances his way, tucking her hair behind her ear. "...I'm glad it helped," she said quietly after a brief hesitation.

James smiled a little brighter, noticing that Eve seemed a little uncomfortably shy. He shrugged again, hoping to ease some of the awkwardness.

"Hey, any excuse to get away from an angry ex," James said. "It works."

"Has she been bothering you a lot?" Eve asked. "So far this week, I mean."

"Well, lockdown day aside, she has been going out of her way to find me," he said, thinking back to like, the few times he'd been out and about and somehow she always showed up. And then she came to his door, too.

It was all too convenient.

Squinting off ahead of them, he hummed.

"Now that I think about it," he said a little more confidently. "I think she might be stalking me. To some degree."

Eve's expression washed with grave seriousness as she stared at him, frowning with concern. "That's..."

"Not normal?" James offered. "Indiciative of, perhaps, a slightly unhealthy obsession?"

"Concerning," Eve finished instead. "Has this been happening nearly every day?"

"Well, it's only been three days," James said. "...Four. Four days. But yes."

"Four days of ruthless stalking and harassment," Eve said flatly with a disbelieving look.

"Calling it ruthless makes it sound like she's stalking with intent to kill," James said. "That person's not around anymore."

Hm.

Too soon? Too soon.

James grimaced at himself.

"Sorry. That was in poor taste," he said quickly.

"...That's okay," Eve said with a deep breath. She shook her head, brows creased together with even more worry. "This week has been so bizarre, but I've been saying this every week. And to think we're only one month into the summer."

James let out a long sigh, looking up to the sky.

Gods, it really had only been one month. Two more to go felt like two more years ahead of them at this rate.

"At the rate things are currently going," James said. "I'll have developed five new talents with all the stress I'm under."

A beat.

"Or I'll just die," he joked darkly, realizing that probably wasn't the most helpful thing to say when he saw Eve's genuine concern.

"I -- not actually," he said with a weak, forced smile. He patted his chest. "Can't actually die and all."

He wanted to add: "As far as I know," but figured adding doubts right after an attempted reassurance would give him a net zero effect.

Eve gave him a lingering side glance, sighing. "I hope not. Though with everything going on, it almost appears as if the DMV is testing this."

It took a significant amount of self-control not to go: "Nooooooooo, really?" in the most sarcastic was possible. Instead he said: "Yeah. I'm pretty positive it was."

Eve was quiet for a moment before softly asking, "Do you think it's all a part of their magic testing efforts?"

James pursed his lips in thought, then cast a look over his shoulder, noting a small drone that had been following behind them.

"Putting people with powers like mine under extreme stress and convincing them it's entirely real is not one of the most ethical methods of discovering the limits of one's magical capabilites, but it is arguably one of the oldest and most reliable," James said. "So. Yeah. I do."

And at that, it seemed he'd sufficiently killed the conversation. Because if it'd been going anywhere, Eve did not try to take it further, and they proceeded to walk on in silence.

For a moment, James wasn't sure how serious Eve was about actually doing a language lesson, or even hanging out in general. It'd looked like she'd had other plans until she ran into him and Ingrid based on her bag full of art supplies, but she also didn't mention meaning to go elsewhere either. Normally, James knew Eve to be a creature of habit. Even though he'd only known her for a month, she'd already become very predictable, save that one time she ran out of his house and disappeared that one time.

Hm. Maybe he should finally ask her about that...? Was now the time?

Speaking of, there were quite a few things he meant to ask her about. Like why Cyrin's (borrowed) dream magic hadn't worked on her in the maze. Why she'd suddenly stopped freaking out about the monster issue, when she'd been so visibly livid about lesser things prior. Why did she take control when he and Cyrin were coming back with Aaron? What was going through her head?

She was such a private person, James didn't really know. It was fine, considering how little they'd actually known each other, but there was something about it that felt more like secrecy than privacy.

It was... just an inkling, really.

Finally, they made it to the garden. For a moment, he'd forgotten they were going there in the first place, but when Eve found the nearest bench to sit down and rest, he had a bit of a moment. A "what am I doing with my life" moment. What a time to have one, if any.

"We don't have to practice language if you don't want to," Eve said, staring up at him. "But I'm open to doing so if you want."

James sighed. He'd spaced out for a moment, hadn't he?

"I don't know if I'm in the right headspace for it, honestly," he admitted. "I think translating will require more brainpower than I currently possess."

"Oh." She paused, straightening up. "That's okay. We don't have to do that." Another pause. "I can, erm... leave you to it, then. I just said that as an excuse."

"I know," he said. "But now that we're here, we can also just. You know. Talk. Like normal, instead of in vietance."

"...Right. Yes," Eve said slowly. "Normal."

"Unless you had other plans," James said with a shrug.

Eve shook her head and quickly added, "No. No plans."

"Yeah. Me neither," he said. "I haven't been up to much since the whole wendigo crisis. Besides my usual morning runs, eating everything in our cabin within reason, and uh..."

He paused, lifting up his hand and turning his palm upward.

"Practicing a new ability that developed after that whole confrontation," he said.

Eve stared at him with a slight inward draw of her brows. "A new ability," she echoed. "Related to magic?"

"Yeah," he said. "I was able to temporarily form a metal skin. Or shell. I'm still not quite sure how to describe it. Scales, maybe, though they don't look it when fully formed."

Eve furrowed her brows more, her stare increasing in intensity.

"I've been... practicing," James added. "Since it happened."

"Practicing forming metal skin?" Eve pressed.

James nodded.

She hesitated. "Can you do it at will?"

"Partially," James answered. "Right now I can only sustain it short-term on small portions of my body."

"Can you show me?" Eve asked.

James nodded again and lifted his hand up, taking in a deep breath as he set his focus on drawing from the metal beneath his skin. It took a moment, but he could feel the metal multiplying, stretching out of his bones, piercing through the skin to the surface. He was growing more familiar now with the sensation as it surfaced like scales at first, then it coalesced into a semi-rigid, metallic shimmer like a glove. He only formed it over his hand, making it look something like a gauntlet.

"I can keep this up for five minutes at most, right now," he said. "Less, if I were to do it over a larger surface area."

Eve kept her stare on his hand, her face stony and unreadable. "How did you discover you had this ability?" she asked evenly.

Too casually, James said: "When Constantine tried to bite me, my body said no."

"Your body acted in defense," she deduced softly.

"Yes," James agreed.

"And-- you said you've been practicing?" She lifted her gaze back up to meet his eyes. "Why?"

James could've given a completely transparent answer, but there were plenty of others that were truth-adjacent enough without being completely vulnerable, so he decided to filter a bit.

Especially with them being on camera.

"Better to understand an ability so I can control it," James said. "It's the responsible thing to do."

He curled his fingers into a fist, then straightened them again, showing the flexibility of the metal skin. Eve seemed fascinated by it, as she was staring at his hand very intently. A bit amused, he formed an "okay" sign with his fingers to see if she'd react at all. That only seemed to get her to bashfully look away instead.

"I hope it doesn't hurt," she said quietly, now too-focused on how the tulip bed in front of them swayed in the breeze.

James looked down at his hand, pursing his lips as he sighed through his nose.

"Not really," he lied.

That was one thing about this new power that was different, but bearable. Because the metal had to pass through his skin to form around it, his skin was always being pierced, to some degree. It was also constantly healing, so it was like a fight between his ever-reproducing skin and his immovable, metallic bone-matter.

It was a bit grotesque, it he thought about it, actually. The fact that his real skin was like a constantly moving fleshy mass underneath.

"At least, it doesn't--"

Suddenly, Ingrid sprang up out of nowhere like some phantom out of the bushes behind them and slapped her hand on Eve's shoulder. James felt his skin harden even more, as if Ingrid's sudden presence tapped into the same trigger Constantine had - to shield himself. The metal skin sprung up over his arms and shoulders, melding together up to his neck.

At the same time, James felt a spring of panic as Ingrid made contact with Eve's shoulder, knowing that it was only with the intent to alter something within Eve's emotional psyche.

But...

Eve stared at her hand for a solid second before quickly brushing it off, frowning with obvious distaste and annoyance. "Have you been following us?" she asked evenly, standing up and glaring at her.

"Something's wrong with you," Ingrid said instead, her gaze narrowing accusingly as she too, got to her feet, towering over Eve with intent.

Eve narrowed her eyes at her, and with a sigh, shook her head and turned away. "You are not worth our time. Let's go, James."

James sat stiffly, awkwardly stuck frozen for a moment as his brain processed the utter nonsense of what was occuring compiled with the mounting worry and confusion.

"I knew something was off about you," Ingrid went on. "My magic didn't work on you. Why?"

Eve only managed to take two steps away before she froze in place, whirling around with sheer confusion and indignance as her glare intensified towards Ingrid. "You used magic?" she hissed.

"Don't look so upset about it," Ingrid snapped back. "It didn't work anyway. I had a feeling it wouldn't."

Eve glared at her some more, and a stiff silence passed. She shook her head again, motioning a hand in front of James to grab his attention. "Let's leave," she said to him again, more urgently this time.

James finally got to his feet, shaking his head quickly as he came to her side.

"Of course," Ingrid said. "It's in character for you to keep making friends who keep secrets from you. Like that worked out before."

James cringed slightly, following behind Eve, who had started walking away at an ever-increasing pace.

It was a low blow, even for Ingrid, to insinuate Eve would end up being like Carter. And it was unfair to bring it up like that regardless. Still, though. It... stung. More than it should've, hearing it from her.

At the very least, Ingrid didn't follow this time. Not visibly, at least. He couldn't speak to how much sneaking she'd be doing after she was out of eyesight, but it felt like he and Eve had finally gotten some distance again when Eve came to a stop once more. Their hasty escape had since been spent in silence.

It was a long walk, though. Eve took James all the way back down to the beach, past the cabins, behind her own. That was where the stable was for the alpacas Clandestine, Hild, and Alan had been caring for, but James had never ventured there out of his own volition. At least, not until Eve led him there now. For some reason.

Perhaps she'd merely chosen it at random. Any place was better at the moment, it seemed.

Stopping outside of the outer fence, glancing at the lazing alpacas sleeping atop each other in the open stable, James wondered if he should just call it quits now and go home. Hide in his room again. It wasn't like he had places to be, anymore. After the hellish first month he'd had maybe it was better he just...

Well, isolation wasn't the goal, but it certainly seemed like a more foolproof method to avoid Ingrid again. She was becoming more and more of a nuisance with each passing day. And the fact that visitor's time was extended after the whole wendigo debacle...

Maybe it was a blessing for those who'd had loved ones come visit. But for him, it was at the least, incredibly inconveniencing.

But theeeeen Eve led them into the stable.

She closed the stable doors behind her, and it shut with a heavy thud. With the windows shut, it was quite dim in the shed outside of sunlight pouring out of the crack of the windows, but this was quickly remedied when Eve pulled on the string of a singular lightbulb in the center of the stable, flooding the room with light again. She stared at James, frowning with deep concern.

Why did this feel like a recurring interaction? Fleeing somewhere. Slamming a door, or a stone, or something behind them. Why did this keep happening?

"What magic does Ingrid have?" she asked, diving right into conversation.

James stared at her, frankly not quite on the same page.

He was tired. But he supposed she deserved to know this, at least. Considering Ingrid had harassed her.

"She can alter people's emotions through touch," James said.

Eve released an impatient sigh. "And from what I can see, she often does this without consent. Correct?"

"...Yes," he said. "Well."

He hesitated, not really sure how to speak about it now, since he didn't know how often Ingrid did it these days. There were instances he suspected she was trying to, but it was so hard to prove anything.

"Yes," he decided to say again for the sake of simplicity. "Sorry that she. Uh."

Well, he wanted to say he was sorry she'd done it to Eve. But from what he saw, it seemed like Ingrid tried, but failed. Which would've been a first.

"It didn't... affect you," he said slowly. "Right? You're okay?"

"...I think so. Yes," Eve answered, straightening up and forcefully relaxing her posture. "I'm okay. Are you?"

Not so easy of a question to answer these days, but he'd keep it simple, again.

"Yeah," he said. "Just sorry you got pulled into that whole mess."

"It's fine. Really. It's fine. It's not your fault," she said quickly, then sighed and crossed her arms. "I can't imagine what she tries to pull on you when you're alone. I hope she doesn't bother you too much while she's here."

James nodded, glancing over at the alpacas in the corner. Upon their entry, the alpacas had stopped napping and begun observing. Well. Staring, really.

Was it better than having a TV audience? With the alpaca's empty eyes locked on them, he wasn't so sure. But maybe his head wasn't in the right space.

"Yeah," he said a little slower. "That's why I've been trying to avoid her, best I can. It's easier to just... do that."

Though it was proving more difficult than he thought it'd be.

"That's why I took you here," Eve went on. "Though... your cabin is probably safer."

"If you think farm animals will be an effective Ingrid deterrent," James said. "You're quite sadly mistaken."

She had dated James for some time. And, well. James loved animals.

"It was more that there's some semblance of privacy here, while also staying enclosed. But... you're right, this isn't an Ingrid repellent." Eve rested her gaze at the closed doors, furrowing her brows. "We don't need to stay here. I just wanted to have a brief conversation with you. That's all."

James nodded.

"It's appreciated nonetheless," he said, then cast another glance at the alpacas, Lilly and Lolly. They were still staring curiously.

Eve nodded, moving towards the doors again to open wide. James hesitated again.

"Eve," he said quietly. "Why didn't Ingrid's magic work?"

She only managed to open the door an inch before she froze in place, stepping away to just barely let the doors fall into its closed position again. "She was quick to place accusations. Perhaps she used her magic incorrectly," she said steadily, slowly turning back around.

Well, that James knew wasn't true. Ingrid was incredibly skilled with her magic. That's why it happened so often undetected.

But it felt like Eve was deflecting. There was something else going on, and it felt oddly similar to a few of their prior conversations around magic. In particular, the instance in the maze, where she wasn't affected the same way.

James pressed his lips into a small frown, letting out a sigh.

The only things he knew of that interfered with regular magical occurences were anti-magic abilities or technology. If there was a third option, he'd never heard of it, but he had a feeling it wasn't that obscure. It was just... shameful, maybe.

James reached over and closed the stable door fully. Both Lilly and Lolly let out a bleat.

"What, is it something you carry on you?" he asked. "For protection purposes?"

"No. No, it's nothing like that. I don't carry anything like that," Eve answered apprehensively.

"It's fine if you do," James said. "I'd understand. A lot of people who run in circles with powerful magic-users do."

"What would that even look like?" Eve asked with a slight tilt of her head.

James blinked. "It's... okay, that's not what I'm trying to get at," he said. "What I'm asking is; do you have anti-magic belongings or powers?"

Eve stared at him. A second passed, then two, then three. And yet, she still didn't answer. But the silence was telling.

So. That was a yes, then.

James lifted his hands. "Okay," he said. "Clearly this is a sensitive subject, so, if it's--"

"I can't just tell people this!" she blurted out with a hushed voice, hands out in front of her with exasperated movements. "Not on a magic island full of magic users. Don't you know the stigma against anti-magic powers? This is the worst place to reveal or say anything!"

James kept his hands up, placatingly. "I'm not arguing with your reasoning," he said gently. "Nor am I accusing you. I understand why you wouldn't."

Eve took a steady deep breath, dropping her hands. "Please don't tell anyone," she finished evenly.

"Don't need to," James said. "It's not my business to tell."

"Then why-- who--" Eve began, then glanced at the closed door, starting again. "What are you going to do with this information?"

"Nothing?" James said. "If you must know, I only asked because I couldn't make sense of what was going on otherwise, but I'm sorry if it felt forced out of you. It honestly puts me at peace knowing that Ingrid won't be able to mess with you. And that anyone else won't be able to either, so far as magic goes. So. Hopefully you can believe me when I say I don't intend to do anything with this information."

Although this information should have relaxed Eve, she visibly deflated, weakly crossing her arms and staring intensely at the floor. "Do you really not care?" she asked.

"I might if you'd proven your character to be malicious and conniving," James said. "But I'd be wary of you regardless of your abilities were that so. As it stands, you've only shown yourself to be deeply caring and quite considerate. So I don't see any reason to worry."

Finally, her face softened, and her posture relaxed. Still staring at the floor, she dropped one hand to her side, contemplating his words. "Thank you," she said softly. "I trust you with this knowledge."

James let out a sigh, offering her a small smile.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I know a lot of people in the world are afraid of anti-magic when they see it as a threat, but the same goes for magic-users in spaces where we're outnumbered by those without it. I don't think it makes sense to define someone by a trait they have no say in. I'd rather base my interactions off of gettin to know them as a person. At least, that's what I'm aiming for, to the best of my ability."

"...You don't let magic influence your connection to others?" Eve asked, stealing a glance towards him.

"People are more than the magic they carry," he said. "I'd like to think everyone can agree on that, but I know not everyone sees it the same way."

Eve slowly nodded. "I like that," she said sofly. "That's a good philosophy to live by."

James grinned. "It's not original," he said with a shrug. "But I like it too."

Hazel's lively steps were kicking sand into Callista's boots, and she was about ready to see how he'd feel if she dug him a grave right here on the beach and threw him in.

Seriously, she'd had enough. The glaring hadn't worked, and neither had the threats. And even after it seemed like he'd managed to put the entire beach into her shoes, he'd step with another careless kick, and there would be more fucking sand. The man needed to be stopped. Forcefully so. Perhaps by an early death.

Hazel strolled around her until he was walking backwards in front of her, facing her with a shit-eating grin. Maybe the new position would mean-- nope. Now her shins were sandy too.

"What's with the sword?" he asked, pointing to the broadsword hanging from her belt. "I didn't see anything about a Ren faire."

"Options," Callista replied bluntly. "You know, in case when I finally stab you, I decide the dagger is too boring for the job."

Hazel raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Part of my job description was regularly getting sawn in half for a while. That would make this just a normal Thursday for me."

"Really?" Callista snapped. "Are you hiring? Because you look very stabbable right now and I could be just the woman for the job."

Hazel let out a melancholic sigh. "No, those days are over. Which is sad, because it would be nice to make you disappear."

Just as Callista was contemplating how to make him disappear-- no slight of hand needed-- she heard someone suddenly cuss out the seagulls. Behind the two, there was group of three a short distance down the beach. Likewise security members, based on their uniforms. Though, none of them were actually wearing their jackets.

The shortest of the trio, brown hair cropped short and his eyes pinched shut, blindly wiped off the lenses of his shades as he ranted, "There needs to be a fucking sign! 'CAUTION: you're in the fucking drop zone'. Or, 'WARNING: the sky rats are complete asshats'!"

"However poetic and resource-efficient," the woman beside him deadpanned, "I believe any visit to the beach implies the presence of such..." She pursed her lips as she slung her uniform jacket over her shoulder, then lamely finished, "'Asshat sky rats'. So it usually goes without saying--"

"Put up a fucking sign," the angry man-- Callista was just going to mentally refer to him as Seagull Hater-- insisted. He aggressively put his shades back on-- which were now smeared in white bird droppings-- and seemed to lock his sights next on Callista and Hazel. "Hey," Seagull hater yelled, lingering agitation barely concealed, "you security too?"

"Deny everything," Hazel muttered to Callista.

"God, shut the hell up, this isn't a heist movie," she growled at him, before she shouted across the beach, "No, we obviously broke our way onto this hell of an island and stole these uniforms for it."

"You just made it into a heist trope," Hazel protested.

"I just don't want you talking at all, so I'll say whatever to make you shut up," she pointed out.

Hazel, with an unbothered shrug, seemed to concede as much.

Seagull Hater muttered as he trudged his way over to meet them. "What's your exit strategy? I've got to break out of this hell of an island, but I don't have a ride."

"It just shit on your face," Callista deadpanned.

Seagull Hater frowned deeply at that, though with a tinge of embarrassment this time. "No," he barked defensively, "this is just... a bit of SPF 50!"

"Ah, yes. The SPF 50 drop zone. We've all heard that one before," Callista said dryly.

"Well, he could have been expressing a general dislike of seagulls, with all the shouting about sky rats." Hazel sighed. "They are vermin--"

"You want me to shove you and your pasty face in the drop zone for some sunscreen too? No? Then shut up," Callista snapped.

Next to Seagull Hater, the taller man with dark, swept-back hair had the outward emotional range of a rock. Callista premptively named him Brick Wall. Eyes slightly narrowing with distrust, he spoke up, voice low, "I don't believe we clarified whether you two are security or not."

"Oh, why yes," Hazel exclaimed, before Callista had time to fire back another sarcastic remark. He pressed a hand to his heart. "So pleased to meet you. My name is--"

"--the human headache is Hazel, and I'm Callista," Callista said flatly.

"--Hazel, and my... belligrent companion here is Callista," Hazel said. "I'd say she doesn't bite, but... I'm not completely sure she doesn't."

Callista glared at him.

The short confirmation from Hazel was enough to put Brick Wall at slightly more ease. His grave expression turned merely stern.

"Great," the woman with platinum blonde hair-- Blondie-- spoke up, tone amicable. "Hazel. Callista. A pleasure." Blondie gestured to herself. "I'm Renee. SPF 50 is Atlas, and the brick wall of a human being is Mason." She then pointed past Callista and Hazel. "We were vaguely instructed to seek out something called the 'Sushi roll', but weren't given anything helpful beyond that. Yourselves?"

"Same here. I figured it was a code word," Hazel mused. "Although, I would also be thrilled if it were food."

Atlas barked a harsh laugh at that. "If they do have food at the ready for us, it sure as fuck won't be something nice like sushi."

"My mistake. Perhaps a delightful seafood burrito," Hazel went on.

Callista side-eyed him. "You were, for a brief moment in time, smarter when you were talking about a code word."

"Smart, huh," Hazel commented, a little victoriously. "Was that a compliment?"

"Don't overthink it. Your tiny brain will overheat like a computer without a fan," Callista said stubbornly.

Hazel sighed. "We were this close to making progress."

Atlas scrunched his nose. "Okay," he cut in snarkily, "as much as I love this..." He waved a hand in circles at them. "...weird flirty vibe between the two of you, I'm literally sweating to death out here. So." He gave a two-fingered salute as shoved by between them. "Adios."

"The excess of insults suggests otherwise," Mason countered flatly as he walked a wide radius around them to follow.

Callista gagged, disgusted by the idea. "Ugh. As if."

"Yeah, that would only be in her wildest dreams," Hazel added, pulling a face and following Atlas and Mason before Callista could enact on any murderous desires.

"I think it's a cute little thing you've got going. Very amusing," Renee drawled, casting Callista a slightly cheeky grin. She gave her a small elbow nudge as she passed. "We may as well figure out the sushi roll mystery together, hm?"

"As long as you never call me "cute" or allude to anything "we've got going" ever again," Callista replied.

Turning to briefly walk backwards, Renee beckoned her along with a tilt of her head. "No promises."

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Callista rolled her eyes as she followed the group.

"So!" Hazel, likewise walking backward a few steps ahead, clapped his hands together. "What are we all doing here, anyway?"

"Did you not receive a job description?" Mason asked with mild confusion.

"Oh, of course. Summer security gig on a tropical island they failed to mention was rather hellish." Hazel waved a hand. "Perhaps it's not so much of a what question as a why question, though. Why are we all here at all? Because I did read the job description, and I've got to say, it does not pay nearly enough to warrant any of our existences here."

"Beats no pay," Atlas countered with a snort.

"Try robbing a bank," Hazel said smoothly.

"I'd rather not risk deportation," Atlas growled.

"I didn't suggest you get caught," Hazel said with a shrug. "But point taken."

Renee laughed. "He can't risk it because he can't help but get caught."

"Ah, that's not the way," Hazel said sadly. "Maybe start small and work your way up. Rob a piggy bank first."

"A counterintuitive goal," Mason interjected matter-of-factly. "Given our titles of 'security'."

"True," Hazel said. "I'm used to being on the other side of the equation."

"Here's a fun idea, since you love break-ins so much: we set up an escape room where we lock you up, and the rest of us are supposed to break in and set you free, except we do nothing because we very much like you where you're at," Callista snapped.

Hazel balked at the suggestion. "I'm offended you think I'd stay trapped in there."

With a lingering grin, Renee looked between the two before addressing Hazel, "Ah, rewind a moment? You're a thief?"

Hazel shrugged casually. "Not in a way you can prove."

Renee turned a curious look back to Callista. "Where were you before here, Cal?"

"Cal?" Callista demanded.

"Answer the question, Cal," Hazel said lightly.

She glared at him. "Unfortunately, I was on the same continent as this son of a bitch."

"Thank you, Cal," Hazel said appreciatively.

Renee quirked a brow in amusement. "Allow me to rephrase: What was your job before this?"

"Palace guard," Callista said simply. "Aren't we all guards of some sort here?"

"Well, we are now," Renee amended. She slowed a bit to fall into step beside Callista. Folding her arms, she tapped a finger to her chin in thought. "Palace guard, hm? What brought you down to this level?"

Callista rolled her eyes. "Public disgrace."

"Oh, fun! Great news, everyone, Cal is the only person so far who's supplied an adequate reason for the misfortune that has brought her here," Hazel said cheerily.

"'Cal' is also contemplating your murder," Callista said flatly.

"Yes, I've heard as much," Hazel said.

"Perhaps don't plot murder publically?" Renee suggested lightly. "This is no doubt a low point in your career, but that's not to say this is rock bottom."

"Sure feels like it," Callista muttered.

"Again," Atlas said, casting a glare over his shoulder, "beats being jobless."

Hazel pointed a finger at Atlas, still-- somehow-- walking backwards. Callista hoped for a tree to manifest behind him. "And you, Atlas! What's your tragic fate that has gotten you here? Is it as grand a tale as public disgrace, or alleged breaking of a few laws here and there?"

Atlas couldn't look anymore put-upon. After a tense second of sustained glaring, he answered vaguely, "I needed a job."

"So you were jobless, yes," Hazel said. "How did that happen? Did you wake up one morning and found yourself allured by unemployment?"

Atlas scoffed. "No. I was fired. Now mind your own damn business."

Renee raised a hand. "I was likewise let go," she offered amiably. "I was security at a small museum. Budget cuts."

"Aw," Hazel hummed sympathetically. "Their loss. Now we're going to be the most fabulous security this hell of an island has ever seen."

She grinned and bowed her head with a reserved hand flourish. "I'd say 'naturally'. But judging by our histories... I'm leaning more toward 'debatable'."

"Now hold on, I haven't heard them all yet," Hazel protested, turning around to Mason. "What's your history, my dear fellow Mason?"

"Discharged after 6 years of service overseas for the States," Mason grunted in answer.

"Oh, do they have to start paying you more at seven years or something?" Hazel asked.

Mason paused, glancing evenly at Hazel. "...Dishonorably discharged," he amended.

Hazel brightened. "Now that's three of us!"

"Speak for yourself," Callista muttered. "I got an official apology."

Hazel sighed. "Fine. Two of us were sent away dishonorably, two of us were fired, and one of us got her apology, but she's still here, so obviously she's in the same boat as all of us poor souls."

If looks could kill, Hazel would have clipped into the afterlife under her stare.

"A better apology would've been a real job," Renee agreed lightly.

Callista huffed. "Well, I never would've gone back. They could've begged for me to return and I would've walked out of there with both middle fingers up."

"Which palace?" Mason asked, quirking a vaguely curious brow at her.

"At the House of Loyalty," Callista said stiffly. "I left a year ago."

Atlas snorted. "Ironic."

"Oh, yeah? Did you get fired due to extreme loyalty or something?" Callista retorted.

"That's not a thing," Atlas deadpanned.

"Well, it doesn't seem like something you had, since you're here too," she pointed out. "More likely, you're a traitor."

Visibly bristling, Atlas whirled around and started marching back for her. "You fucking take that ba--"

Side-stepping, Mason calmly planted himself between the two in an instant. Atlas stopped short of colliding with him, and quickly backed down with a growl.

Ooooookay. Nerve located.

"Was it something I said?" Callista said flatly, but more calmly.

Peering around Mason, Atlas took off his sunglasses to directly meet her eyes with a hateful glare. He jabbed his shades in her direction and said lowly, "We're only here for a couple months. So you better fucking watch yourself, lady."

"Terrifying," Callista said. "Real nice threat. I can't even tell how you mean to scare me."

"I will urge you two," Mason cut in plainly, "to keep in mind that we are to be working together for the duration of that time. Infighting will not ease the 'misery' of your situations."

"Oh, sure," Callista drawled. "Like this was ever going to be any fun to begin with."

"I never said it would," Mason countered.

Callista rolled her eyes.

"If you're going to fight," Hazel cut in unhelpfully, "as least give me the time to start up a betting ring first."

Mason cast Hazel an unamused look at that. Hazel did a helpless shimmying of jazz hands.

Renee lifted a hand. "My money's on Cal."

Atlas turned an insulted frown her way. Callista thought Renee was being pretty reasonable, considering his legs looked like her arms.

"Fabulous. Should I make the rounds on other betters?" Hazel suggested. "We could get a decent crowd soon."

Renee twisted around, scanning the beach. She hummed. "Come to think of it, we should've run into other people by now, right?"

"Maybe it's a very remote sushi roll," Hazel said.

Mason pointed his chin toward the treeline. "I see houses up the slope," he supplied.

"Any of them wrapped in seaweed?" Callista asked sarcastically.

"No." Mason turned and gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement. "But, assuming there are inhabitants, we might find someone who has seen such an improbable structure."

"Ah, the fabled inhabitants." Hazel sighed. "Have any of you seen the show? They seem to be an assembly of every kind of weird that exists on this pale blue planet."

"I watched two episodes to gauge what I'm getting into," Renee confirmed. "It's. Wild, yes."

"I've only read about the plights of the former soldier James Hawke," Mason answered, "and caught mentions of Aphirah's young royal and his 'whirlwind summer romance'."

Callista had watched exactly none of the show, but even she knew about that. The Heir it involved was one of Dawn's friends-- or close acquaintances, at least. Honestly, it just sounded like a bunch of personal drama that she'd rather stayed personal so she didn't have to hear about it.

What was his name anyway? Sean? She'd always mentally referred to him as Flannel, given how he seemed to be wearing one in most pictures she'd seen.

Atlas blinked at Hazel. "This is a what now?"

Hazel whistled lowly, seemingly after a moment of processing. "You haven't heard? Oh, this is about to be a rude awakening."

Slowly, Atlas set his shades back on his face. "Well, what's it called?" he huffed. "Maybe I have heard of it."

"Island Magic?" Hazel said. "Terribly creative on the title, I know."

Atlas's brows lowered into a confused frown. "...No," he eventually said, "not familiar. But I don't live under a rock! I at least know about the royal and the Oolympian. Because my sister won't shut up about them."

"Oh, I understand. They're both very attractive, aren't they?" Hazel oozed, his tone his own warning sign that he, too, was about to not shut up. "They've got some followings already. Though, I feel like my own favorite is--"

And then by some stroke of mercy, it happened. Hazel finally walked backwards over a fallen driftwood log that he couldn't see.

Callista snickered, but she soon stopped when she saw Hazel roll back over it and land on his feet rather than clumsily stumbling to the ground. Under their surprised gazes, he casually brushed the sand off his clothes.

"Wow, did no one feel like telling me about that? Rude," he exclaimed. "Anyway. The real eye-candy everyone's missing is--"

"Noooooo," Atlas groaned, smacking his hands over his ears, "not you too! Gah!"

Hazel pouted. "Have fun under your rock, I guess."

Atlas just determinedly marched past, tripping on the log on his way. Callista got to fully snicker there.



"I'll be damned," Hazel muttered.

Callista, for once, agreed with him. They had found their way to the so-called sushi roll. And instead of it being a filling meal, or anything of interest or excitement, it was a stupid cylindrical building, laying on its side.

Presumably, it was their stupid cylindrical building.

"This is dumb," she growled, to no one in particular.

"They could have had the decency to paint it, at least," Renee hummed.

"Like, sushi colors?" Hazel asked. "I suppose it could look ravishing in kelp green."

"Said no one ever about that color," Callista muttered.

"Yeah," Atlas said flatly, already making his way to find an entrance, "come on, man. Don't be weird about colors."

Hazel huffed, lifting his hands. Suddenly, a burst of colored lights filled the air, sparkling and flashing in all the colors of the rainbow. "What, you don't think it could use some of this?"

Glancing back questioningly over his shoulder, Atlas shielded his eyes from the miniature light show with a scowl. "Yeah, actually. The colorless concrete of this stupid building is way better."

"Wow, you have such a fun disposition," Hazel groused, letting the lights fade out as he lowered his hands.

"I really try," Atlas growled back.

Renee lightly bumped her elbow to Hazel's and murmured with a theatrical sadness, "He's got some weird, mutant form of photosensitivity."

"Aw," Hazel lamented in a whisper. "Is he a tetrachromatic? Synesthete? Can he taste the rainbow in a literal sense?"

Renee snapped her fingers. "The last one. That's it."

"I brought some Skootles over," Hazel whispered. "I'll have to see what he makes of them."

Ahead of them, Atlas growled irritably as he seemed to... wrestle with the door to the building. Renee pursed her lips.

"When he's in a better mood," she suggested.

Callista rolled her eyes as she marched up to the doorstep, nudging Atlas aside with her shoulder as she seized the doorknob. He seemed to be pushing rather than pulling when she was pretty sure the door didn't work that way.

She tugged the door, and it flew open with ease. She then proceeded to stare at him like he was dumb.

"In your defense, my philosophy is that there are no push or pull doors, only ones that you can break down on your own or ones that need dynamite." Callista stepped inside. "But unless you brought some of that, smarten up or beef up."

He glowered back at her. "I will push," he retorted heatedly, "if I want to push!" But accepted the opened door, and trudged inside.

As the others followed, Callista glanced around the space. It was a rather barebones barracks, with a half-dozen bunk beds and doors that looked to lead to bathrooms. The hum of an electric box fan filled the room, and she spotted it over by the wall, its breeze weakly fluttering the curtains. Other than that, the building was undecorated and plain, looking as colorless on the inside as it had been on the outside.

Hazel whistled. "They spared no expense."

Renee scanned the barren walls and ceiling. "They really shouldn't have," she hummed.

"Dibs!" Hazel suddenly exclaimed, launching himself onto the top of the nearest bunk, bypassing the ladder entirely.

"They're literally all the same," Callista snapped.

"Maybe this one's special," Hazel replied coolly, sitting on the edge and kicking his legs. "Only I'll know, since I have it now."

"I'm claiming the farthest one from you," she grumbled.

"How many more people are we expecting?" Atlas asked, twisting around as he counted the bunks on his hands. "Why does this feel like the fucking military? We're just security guards on some stupid island show."

Mason just quietly strode down the length of the building, assessing everything with a mildly approving nod every once in awhile.

"Well, they did have a monster," Hazel said, shifting around so it was now his back and head that were dangling from the top bunk, not his legs, so he could hang upside down. "Presumably, they have their problems."

Renee slid into the bunk underneath Hazel's. "Wasn't the monster." She paused. "You know. Offed?"

Hazel took a moment to think, although Callista was sure not a single cell of his brain was actually in use for that rare moment. "True. We all traveled here after it was, too."

Nodding slowly, Renee went, "Ohhh," seemingly with a new revelation. "We're just here for show, then."

Hazel sighed sadly. "And not even the main act."

"Well, bright side is," Renee offered wryly, "you might find the opportunity to brush shoulders with the more distinguished individuals here. Once or twice. Maybe--"

Atlas suddenly swore loudly from the other side of the building. "My things are out of order," he said, thoroughly miffed as he dug through his pockets. He looked accusingly at every one else. "You guys were behind me most of the time. Did any of you see my spare shades fall from my pocket?"

"You have spare shades and still chose to wear the seagull-shit-stained ones?" Callista asked disbelievingly.

"Well--" Atlas huffed and waved both hands in aggressive circles. "I needed to wash my hands first?"

"Don't tell me about your poor planning," she muttered.

With another irritated growl, Atlas disappeared down the corridor to the restrooms.

"Anyone know what happened to his sunglasses?" Hazel asked, once he'd gone.

"I'm sure he can obtain a new pair," Mason said indifferently.

"Or he can wash the ones he's got," Callista huffed.

Hazel shrugged. "I suppose he'll live."

Renee shook her head slightly. "Nah, he like. Needs two pairs."

"Is it the tasting the rainbow thing?" Hazel asked.

She shrugged. "Maybe."

Hazel looked like he was about to ask more, but the door to the barracks suddenly creaked open, and a young woman in the same security guard uniform as them stepped in. She was tall and slender, with dark hair, and her brown eyes shone with a curious gleam as she scanned the barracks.

"Oh, hi!" she said. "Is this the... the sushi roll I heard about? You've heard about that, right?"

Renee spread her arms in a broad gesture to the place. "Welcome," she declared a bit flatly, "to, indeed, the sushi roll."

"Oh, great! I was starting to worry I'd been pranked," the newcomer exclaimed. She had a fast, upbeat way of talking that made Callista's ears hurt a little. "You're all security too, yeah? I'm Kynina!" She stuck out a hand, even though there was no one right there to shake it.

Mason strode over when no one else immediately did, and gave her hand a singular, firm shake. "Kynina," he echoed. "I'm Mason." Letting go, he stood at attention beside her and gestured to everyone else, "Hazel, Renee, Callista. Atlas is in the back, hopefully in the showers."

Renee lifted a hand and wiggled her fingers in a wave. "Enchantée."

Hazel gave Kynina an upside-down salute. "Heya!"

Callista merely raised her eyebrows unimpressedly.

Kynina beamed. "Nice to meet you all!"

"You get fourth pick," Renee said, pointing her chin out to the bunks across from her. "Since Mason just needs a corner with a charging port, and Atlas is in a way too busy relieving himself."

"Aren't they all the same, for the most part?" Kynina asked, scanning the room. "I mean, besides top and bottom bunks obviously, and wall bunks, and ones near the fan, and ones that face the door, and-- Oh, I see, there's differences."

Mason nodded. "I highly recommend you also take into account placement relative to exits. In the event of a natural emergency in the middle of the night, for instance. Being placed closer to the main entrance, or even a window, could be advantageous. However, should we ever face an ambush, caught unawares within this building, you shouldn't be so close that you become the first target." He inclined his head once more. "Some things for you to consider, is all."

"Are you some sort of doomsday prepper?" Callista asked bluntly.

Mason tilted his head. "Your tone implies this is, in fact, something to be scorned."

"Well, don't give away all the secrets. Soon enough everyone's going to want that spot," she said dryly.

Mason blinked. "There are multiple spots with different advantages," he replied simply. "It merely depends on what you prioritize."

Atlas emerged from the back, sans sunglasses, his hair wet, and with that ever-present frown on his face.

Mason gestured politely his way. "For instance, one may value being closest to the restroom so they don't have to wait in line."

"Hi!" Kynina said eagerly, leaping past the current topic before Callista could respond, as she waved brightly at Atlas. "I'm Kynina. I hear I'm working with you all."

"Huh!" Atlas smiled with very forced cheer. "I apologize in advance." He dropped the smile. "We all suck."

Kynina glanced around uncertainly at the five of them. "I hope that can't be true," she said with a bit of a pout.

Hazel pointed at Atlas and Callista. "No, just these two."

"Speak for yourself, magic boy," Callista snapped.

Atlas pointed back at Hazel. "Yeah, speak for yourself!" he retorted.

Renee breezily waved it all off and said, "Yeah, no, it's mostly just Cal and Atlas."

"I don't go by Cal," Callista muttered to Kynina.

Looking a little baffled, Kynina just shrugged. "Well, I don't find any of you terrible."

"Just wait," Hazel said.

"Really, though," Renee said, tone turning a little more sincere for some reason, "I think Cal and At's got some shining qualities, just waiting to be found. Way deep down, under their little tough acts."

"It's not little, and neither is it an act," Callista snapped.

"I bet you're right, Renee. Maybe they're both squishy-hearted," Hazel suggested, ignoring her.

Callista glared at him. "Maybe you're squishy-skulled. Care to find out?"

Hazel held up his hands innocently in surrender, but he was still hanging upside down, so he was technically lowering them. "Just a theory."

Off to the side, Mason sighed, very quietly.

"Well, I look forward to learning," Kynina said, optimism undeterred. "I mean, about good sides and shining qualities. Not... the structural integrity of Hazel's skull."

Hazel smirked. "Appreciated."

"Maybe grab a helmet sometime," Renee hummed. "Just in case."

"That doesn't sound stylish. I'll pass," Hazel said.

Renee shrugged. "Your head, your funeral."

Kynina glanced at Callista. "Please no crushing Hazel's skull?" she asked tentatively.

Callista rolled her eyes. "No promises."

"I'll take it," Hazel said.

"Where you coming from, Kynina?" Renee suddenly asked, turning a grin back to the newcomer.

"Oh! You know, just regular old Americhihuahua," Kynina said. "The dog head part. What about you all?"

"Disgrace," Hazel said casually.

Kynina's smile faltered a little. "Oh, fun," she said, like she didn't know how to answer.

"Not me," Renee added brightly. "Just those four."

"Oh, fun," Kynina said, more genuinely.

"No!" Atlas said defensively. "Not 'disgrace'."

"You were fired?" Renee said, quirking a brow.

"You don't know why," Atlas shot back.

"I don't think people get fired for good reasons, so does it matter why?" Callista remarked flatly.

Atlas shrugged aggressively. "You don't know!" he repeated. "Maybe I was in the right, and they fired me for, I don't know. Trying to bust their asses for stealing from the company?"

Callista knew it'd be hypocritical to pretend such things didn't happen, so she settled for rolling her eyes and saying, "Whatever you say."

"Hey, I hate to say it, but he's got a point," Hazel remarked. "He could be like you, where--"

Callista made a choking gesture by clenching her fingers into a fist, and Hazel hastily mimed zipping his lips shut.

Brows furrowed, Atlas glanced between the two curiously, but said nothing.

But Renee, of course, had no problem with pressing. "Where...?" And she waved Hazel on to elaborate.

"I mean." Hazel shimmied his hands some more. "Didn't she expose that trouble Heir a while back? And got fired?"

Callista raised her eyebrows irritatedly, folding her arms over her chest. "So?"

"So, it happens to people, as Atlas described," Hazel said.

She stared blankly at him, silently willing him to shut his mouth.

"So, you two might be kindred spirits after all," Renee suggested lightly.

Callista gagged. "I hope the fuck not."

Atlas similarly audibly retched. "Why hasn't a single conversation been normal since we got here? Between all the drama island shit I couldn't care less about, the weirdly flirty hate-bickering with you two, palace guards in secret political plots--" He flung an arm Mason's way. "How was doomsday prepper's advice the most normal sounding thing so far?"

Kynina shuffled her feet. "It's really been that weird?"

"Anything sounds weird with that tone of voice and framing," Renee monotoned, leaning back in her bunk and propping up a knee on the other. "It's fine. We're fun."

"Very fun," Hazel said, much like a promise.

"Cool," Kynina said. "In that case, is this bunk free?" She pointed to a bottom one somewhat in the middle of the room.

Renee nodded. "Yeah, throw down your bags or whatever you have, settle in."

"Okay!" With that, Kynina strolled over-- nearly skipped, of all things to do-- to her bunk, sitting down and watching them from there.

"There's still six beds availiable," Hazel said. "You think there's more?"

"Oh, no," Callista grumbled.

"Could be a good thing," Atlas muttered. "Having..." He held out both arms to point at either side of the room. "...physical buffers between us. Where are you, guys? I need to find the spot farthest away from you."

"You're assuming they're better?" Hazel said, pressing a hand to his heart and looking affronted. "Why, I never."

"They don't have to be better," Atlas shot back, stalking to the end of the room opposite of Hazel. "They just need to dilute the you-ness in a room."

Hazel pouted, looking devastated. "You injure me."

"Good," Atlas declared, plopping down into the furthest bunk, regardless of his wet hair. "I'm glad. That makes me so fucking happy."

Kynina blinked. "...Dude, isn't that a bit much?"

"You're a bit much," Atlass muttered back.

Renee tapped her foot to Hazel's hand. "Maybe don't poke the bear for the rest of the afternoon."

Hazel sighed melancholically. "What other fun things are there to do?"

"There's always the matter of seeking out our higher ups for a debriefing," Mason suggested with the smalled hint of hope in his voice. Maybe. It was hard to tell.

Hazel groaned. "The people who stuck us in this sushi roll?"

"Well, wouldn't you like to ask them why they stuck us in this, as you say, 'sushi roll'?" Mason prompted, folding his hands neatly behind his back.

Hazel made a show of thinking about it. "True, some justice is in order."

Mason blinked, not seeming to understand Hazel's line of thinking, but nodded anyway.

"Good luck with that," Atlas said, turning on his side to face his back toward them. "Bye."

"Are you going to bed?" Callista huffed. "It's like, two in the afternoon."

"Fucking time zones, man," he countered. "Back off."

Callista was fairly sure his crankiness was not a temporary circumstance brought on by jet lag.

Alistair slipped out of his black pajama shirt, unfolding his normal black shirt to wear instead. They seemed like they were the same shirt, and... really, it was. One was just old. Hence, pajamas.

"Well, is there something you're dying to do here?" he asked Vik more loudly so his voice carried to the bathroom.

Yesterday, Alan talked to the both of them to discuss his own plans with Lyall. Alistair thought it was weird that his own brother would tell the other Ashlund sibling that he was going to whisk his brother away on a bromantic post-breakup vacation, but to each their own. Alistair figured this was Alan's way of saying he would be unreachable that day, since he often turned off his phone whenever he devoted a full day to someone.

That, and he wanted to hear both of them say that they were busy, probably, since Lyall would want Alistair and Vik to come.

Fortunately for everyone, Alistair and Vik were not interested in attending their honeymoon.

Because they were busy having their own bro getaway. Again, the irony was not lost on Alistair that they were both having a brotherly getaway with the other brother.

Scurrying out from the restroom, Vik slid to a stop with an excited grin and an actual list in hand. "Thought you'd never ask!"

Alistair brushed down his shirt, staring blankly at the list he waved in front of him. "Oh my god," he said with no emotion. "You have a list."

"I have a list!" Vik echoed brightly. "Okay, so I've been scoping out the plaza in the mornings while you're still asleep like a big baby. I found a singular arcade in some corner between a cafe and... another cafe. Like, damn, there are about twenty coffee shops on this island. And for what? One per contestant? Anyway. Arcade is a must." He bounced on his heels, giddy.

"Lil man," Alistair cut in before he could continue talking at a million words a minute. He scrunched his face indignantly, shaking his head as he rifled through his closet, pulling out his cap. "Has anyone ever told you to calm down?"

"Sorry," Vik said noncommittally, "I grabbed a coffee on my way back up." With a running start, he flopped face-down onto his bed.

Alistair sighed. Tiredly. He snugly fitted the cap over his head, making a mental note to not go to the cafe with him. "The coffee here sucks ass," he sighed. "But at least it wakes you up. At least, enough to make a whole damn list."

"It's not a super long list," Vik went on, flipping over to face the ceiling. "Because. It's sort of a remote island without any real destinations. Like Reeoh Day Janeeroh, or the Bahahas. But I was chatting with a lady on the filming crew. She surfs on her off days, and said there's an awesome reef on the north side of the island. So, if you're not water-averse like my bro, we should hit that sometime."

Alistair sat down on the armchair, throwing his shoes on the ground as he listened along.

Lyall was water averse? Well, that sucked, considering water was all around them. That sounded like hell. Then again, this whole island was hell.

"Also, my sister runs around the whole place. Knows every trail, and all the nature-y scenes by now. The highest point of the island is also kind of north. It'd be a small trek, but she said the view's worth it. You can see literally everything from up there. And it's kind of a personal tradition to find the highest point of anywhere and scream... whatever. Doesn't matter what. Just as long as its at the top of my lungs, then the tradition is fulfilled."

While Vik talked, Alistair was emptying the sand from his shoes, getting more and more annoyed that every fucking grain of sand found its way into his soles even after he slammed it onto the ground, trying to rid of it.

This was why he hated beaches.

"But didn't you also say..." Trying not to be so irritated, Alistair sighed and threw his hand up, waving it in the air. "Something about a performance? Didn't you want to do that while you're here?"

"Yeah, I wanted to jam out with my siblings, or some new friends!" Vik said with an enthusiastic nod. "Doesn't even have to be at the ampitheater. I've just missed doing music with other people, and here would be as good a place as any to do that."

Alistair slipped on his shoes, re-tying the laces as he considered this. He wasn't that big of a fan of creating music, but he had been surrounded by music his whole life, so what was another annoying song?

"Sure," he murmured, tightly knotting the laces and giving it a final tug. "We could do that."

Vik raised both fists in the air. "Sweet!"

"'Kay." Alistair moved to his other shoe, untying the knot to redo it. "That and arcade. I'm vetoing the coffee for my sanity. What else you got?"

Sitting up, Vik blew a raspberry. "You can't veto what's already been done." He referred back to his list. "Aaaand that's it." He shrugged. "Like I said. No destinations, short list."

"What about non-island stuff?" Alistair asked, sitting back up on the armchair, slouched forward with his elbows on his knees. "Just, you know. In general. Doesn't have to be related to the island."

Vik hummed. Taking a pen from his pocket, he scribbled something new, crumpled up the paper, then tossed it overhand like a basketball to Alistair, which he caught with one hand. "Honestly, that's really it. I mostly want to just chill with everybody, meet my sibs' friends and stuff."

Staring at the crumpled paper with scrunched brows, Alistair unfurled it, revealing a terrible drawing of two stick figures. The smaller stick figure pointed at the bigger one with a speech bubble that said "BFF". Alistair looked back up at Vik flatly. Vik had already flopped back again, and was idly waving his feet in the air. With a sigh, Alistair crumpled the paper again, idly tossing it over his shoulder.

"Okay. Who haven't you met yet?" he asked.

"Well, I've met James," Vik answered, "but only once. I figure he kind of needs some time, though. I haven't met his roomies, yet. I've met Clanny, but not Hild's other two roomies. There's Alan, obviously, and I had lunch with Cyrin yesterday, which was really cool. I already played video games with Kaz-- Oh, I should do that again sometime. You should join! He's a super cool guy, and so is his girlfriend. I think they'd find you're really cool too. I don't think I've directly talked with, uhh, Henny? And my brother insists I don't, actually. But I got to talk with Robin, too, since he's really good friends with Clanny."

Alistair found himself slouching backwards now, slumping back into the armchair with each new sentence Vik chirped out.

Man... he had so much energy...

And it was only 10am...

"Okay, lil homie," Alistair sighed. "Let me reframe. Who do you want to spend time with today?"

Flipping over to lie on his stomach, Vik smiled at him. "I don't know," he answered, "whoever we meet first, I guess."

Alistair sighed again, long and tired. Though maybe he should cut it back a bit, since there were no hard feelings against Vik. He was just tired. But he was always tired.

"Yeah, well, we can't just randomly wander around and hope for the best," he said plainly. "If there's someone you wanna see, we can make that happen."

Vik quirked a brow. His mood was certainly not dampened, but curiosity seemed to get him to chill out for a minute. "I'm good to see where the day takes us," he said, "and who we happen to run into on the way." Grinning again, he folded his arms and perched his chin on top of them. "Is there anyone you want to meet?"

Alistair adjusted his cap, biting back a frown as he had to look away from Vik's absurdly bright and pearly grin. "I don't know," he sighed. "Maybe... Clanny? She's paired with my mom, for some reason. I really don't know why."

Drumming his hands on the side of his bed, Vik beamed even brighter. "That's a great idea! Clanny's really fun. And so badass! She's an actual monster hunter-- from Nye, no less, so she's seen shit, you know? But she's so nice, you're going to love her." He hopped off the bed and dashed for the door with a hollered, "Le's go!"



Well. At least Alistair had coffee now. Shitty coffee, but still coffee. Though tempted to grab a second cup, Vik was able to resist and grab an actual breakfast instead. Which got him to finally settle a bit more. Thank god.

They clambered up the cabin Clanny lived in, and Alistair felt himself dragging his feet, not really wanting to do this. This was just his luck, to think out loud, wondering why Clanny was paired with his mom, and Vik springing into action to meet her now.

And Alistair didn't even stop him. Ugh.

"Is this a good idea?" he said a little anxiously, hovering behind Vik as he eagerly knocked on the door. "Maybe she's, um... asleep."

"At 10:30 in the morning?" Vik said, bouncing back to wait next to Alistair. "Pft, nah man."

"It's just..." Alistair released a long suffering sigh. "Who randomly knocks on doors in this day and age anyways? This feels stupid."

Vik shrugged. "I don't know. Why're you acting all jumpy about it?" He grinned breezily. "It's just a friendly drop by and 'hullo', no biggy."

Alistair bit back a groan, relenting. He tried not to feel so stiff, especially when the door opened.

Clanny opened the door, her whole face melting into a near-immediate smile, radiating like the sun. Alistair had to nearly look away from how blinding it was.

It was too early for this.

"Oh, hey guys!" she said. "What's up?"

She swished her hips a little as she spoke, and the skirt she was wearing twirled with her.

"Just poppin' in," Vik answered happily, "see what you're up to."

"Well, I was just about to go take Jimbo on a walk," she said, just as a giant, fluffy dog pushed its head between her hip and the door, panting as it looked up at them. "He's a very good boy! He'll wait to say hi until I give him the go-ahead, just in case you're shy around big dogs."

Vik brightened in an instant. "Oh my god," he said, "can I pet him?"

"Yeah!" Clanny said brightly. "He loves pets a lot. Go on, Jimbo! Vik wants to say hi!"

She pulled to the side so the giant dog could squeeze past her. The large fluffy tail was thwapping quickly as Jimbo came up to Vik, sitting in front of him with his tongue lolling out and his tail patting the porch like a drum. Vik instantly dropped to sit on the ground with him and excitedly scruffed up the dog's thick mane.

"You're the biggest fluff monster I've ever seen!" he gushed.

Uninvited, a much, much smaller puppy darted out the door, jumping between Clanny's feet to join in the greetings. The puff-ball jumped up into Vik's lap, yapping and licking at Vik's arms and face like it'd been starved of attention for months.

"Oh! Buster!" Clanny scolded. "Get down!"

But Buster did not. The tiny puppy was elated at new people and clearly did not hear her. Or did not care.

Vik was happy to scoop up the smaller dog anyway. "Nah, man, he's fine!" he assured Clanny with a laugh. He pointed between both dogs. "Okay, Buster, Jimbo." Then he pointed up between Clanny and Alistair. "Miss Clanny, Ali." He pointed at himself. "Viktor, but 'Vik' is faster." He smiled broadly. "Now we're all acquainted!"

Alistair almost commented that they had already met, but instead he mustered half a smile and a weak wave as a greeting.

Clanny let out a faint laugh, and she reached down, plucking Buster out of Vik's arms.

"I appreciate you being chill, but Buster also needs to learn manners, and enabling him won't help in the long-term with his puppy brain," Clannt said plainly. She held Buster firmly over her shoulder, patting his back.

"He'll have plenty of other opportunities to let the crazies out. I just don't want it to be on unsuspecting visitors. Not everyone is comfortable with puppy attacks."

With a small sigh, she looked over her shoulder.

"Buster can join the walk, I just need to run it by Hild," she said. "Do you guys want to join me too?"

Shrugging, Vik was happy to give Jimbo some more aggressive pats. He cast an inquisitive look to Alistair. "What do you think?"

"Um, yeah," Alistair agreed, shuffling in place and placing his hands in his pockets. "That's fine by me."

"Sweet!" Clanny chirped, her face brightening. "Okay, let me go ask Hild real quick. I'll be back. Vik, watch Jimbo!"

And without further warning, she darted back into the cabin, disappearing up the stairs with the poodle puppy yapping excitedly over her shoulder.

"Wonder what my sis is up to," Vik mused. "Think she'll hear me if I yell for her from here?"

"One way to find out," Alistair answered, kicking a small pile of sand over the porch.

Jimbo nudged his head into Alistair's side lightly, looking up at him in question. Figuring the dog wanted pets, Alistair patted the dog's head a few times, watching him pant. And drool. All over the floor. He focused on petting the top of his head, though.

Jumping to his feet, Vik cupped his hands around his mouth and suddenly yelled at the top of his lungs, "YO, HILDY! WANNA WALK WITH US?"

Alistair flinched, wincing as he rubbed his ear in pain from the sheer volume next to him. "Dude," he chided.

"Viktor!" Hild called back, at a much more reasonable volume and with a disapproving frown as she fast-approached the door. "Please, there is no--"

The younger Ashlund held his slobber-covered arms wide open. "Give me a hug, sis, I've missed you."

She screeched to a halt and quickly fled the other way. "No!" she warned, then quickly devolved into a different language.

With a brighter, almost impish smile, Viktor just chased after her. "Just twenty seconds! It's been ages!"

Alistair craned his neck to peer inside, but he decided to stay put, leaning against the porch railing. He sighed, his gaze drifting down to the big dog still by his feet, a dripblet of drool almost falling off his mouth and on to his shoe. Though Alistair moved his foot before that could happen.

Jimbo looked focused on the others inside, but upon recieving Ali's attention, he looked up and wagged his tail, panting again.

"Just me and you now, buddy," he murmured, loosely petting the top of the dog's head again. "Are your days usually this chaotic for you?"

Jimbo briefly closed his mouth, as if to suddenly become serious, then started panting again.

"Yeah," Alistair said with another sigh, scratching the back of his ear. "Thought so."

After ducking behind various pieces of furniture inside, Hild frantically dashed out the door with an excited Buster and a determined Vik on her heels.

"They're both coming!" Clanny announced happily, following behind the three with her hands over her head in celebration. "Huzzah!"

Jogging backwards to keep pace with his fleeing sister, Vik broadly waved boths arms in beckoning and yelled, "Come on, guys! Before she loses us!"

"Come on Jimbo!" Clanny said with a smile and a wave of her hand. "Come on, Alistair!"

Alistair straightened up, pulling his hand away from the dog. "Well, you heard them. We should probably go," he murmured, dumbly staring at the dog as if he could understand him.

Which... maybe he did, since he looked up at him with heavy slobbering breaths, his tail pounding against the porch floor. Though, no, that was dumb. Of course Jimbo didn't understand him.

"Alright," Alistair said with a sigh and a smile, trotting down the steps and beckoning for Jimbo to follow after.

This was certaintly going to be a day.

Not to sound dramatic, but Aaron had entirely lost his grasp on the concept of existing. Nothing felt right for what seemed like an eternity. Sounds were softer, muffled, and scents muted. Everything ached. His glasses were... somewhere that wasn't his face, because he couldn't make sense of where he even was.

He vaguely recalled Jay's and the staff member Ethan's voices as he drifted in and out of lucidity. There was sunlight somewhere, but the room was otherwise unlit.

Uncurling, Aaron squinted at the ceiling. Bleary, but the most alert he'd felt in the past... He wasn't sure how long.

He tilted his head toward the shadow that he presumed to be Jay. Barely audible, he asked, "Day?"

"Thursday," Jay's voice responded.

Hm. Aaron realized this meant nothing to him anyway, the day made no difference if he couldn't recall what came before and when.

He was sore, though, in almost the same way that followed a forced shift. Just. Worse.

There was a spike of panic in his chest at the realization that he was sent after someone. Constantine attacked. Someone had to have been hurt! Or worse--

"No one's hurt," Jay said, as if reading his mind. "'Cept Constantine. And you."

Groaning, Aaron blindly felt around for his glasses. "Take your stoat and go," he urged through grit teeth.

"Please don't make me force you back in bed," Jay said tiredly. "We'll be fine. If you sit, we can have a conversation and I promise you, it'll be okay."

Aaron deflated at even the thought of trying to fight his way out of the room. He felt so worn down, so he had to yield.

"I have some very weighty news to share with you," Jay went on after Aaron laid back down. "Do you feel like you'd be ready to hear it?"

"Why did you find me?" Aaron asked instead, flopping over onto his back again. "I told you not to find me."

"Aaron," Jay said more firmly. "Do you hear him in your head anymore?"

"I--" Aaron frowned at that. "Of course I..."

Constantine wasn't always blabbing endlessly, so it wasn't uncommon to be met with silence.

Aaron swallowed. Dryly, he realized, and his brows pinched inward as he tentatively searched his own mind.

"You shouldn't," Jay said. "Because he's dead."

Constantine's icy presence was no longer lurking in the corners of his conscious. No monstrous smile or invasive commentary at the ready.

Aaron felt he couldn't trust it, but the deeper he dug through...

His mind was completely empty. In the best possible way.

"...Gone?" he whispered tentatively.

"Completely. He's dead. Passed away. Moved on. No longer with us, apart from what remains of his body left behind," Jay said.

Aaron stared at the ceiling in disbelief. "How."

"Turns out that James fellow's quite a deadly foe," Jay said. "One that Constantine underestimated. I don't know if you want the details, but, uh..."

James?

There was a prickle of dread as a memory of the man flashed across his eyes. Sometime in the dark, Aaron had been sent after James.

Jay trailed off, looking off to the side, unsure. A fuzzy creature suddenly popped out of the collar of his poncho, peeking out at Aaron.

"He's fine, though," Jay said. "Didn't get hurt physically, I mean. Can't say he isn't traumatized, though."

"That's not possible," Aaron murmured in confusion. "How wasn't he?"

"Something about metal skin," Jay said. "That's what I heard from staff, anyway. I wasn't there to see it myself."

Aaron blinked. This only left him with even more questions.

"I did ask to check and see the dead body, though," Jay added. "After the fact. And I can confirm that Constantine is very much dead. There is... no coming back from that."

"I need to see it," Aaron said, feebly trying to push himself upright. "Not out of distrust, mind you. I just--"

"Hold on," Jay said putting a hand up. "I understand, okay? But you are not in a state to go anywhere physically. The last few forced shifts took a toll, and the doctors here are still trying to figure out what's going on now that Constantine's out of the picture."

He sat up straighter, sighing.

"Will photos and videos do for now? Can you trust that from me?" he asked.

After fighting with his own weakened state, Aaron let himself plop back in defeat. He looked back to Jay's blurry form. "...Yes," he relented quietly.

With another sigh, Jay brought his chair closer and extended a hand to Aaron.

"Here," Jay said. "Your glasses."

Wordlessly, Aaron accepted them with a slight nod of acknowledgement.

When Jay came into clearer view, Aaron saw he was pulling things up on his phone. And, uh, Meanie-Mo perched on his shoulder. Aaron stared at the animal. Normally, he would've been able to smell its presence.

"The DMV permitted me to have this footage just to show you," he said. "But it's... it's a bit hard to watch. I know you're not a stranger to violence but I wanted to give you a warning."

Aaron nodded. "It's fine," he assured him.

Jay pressed his lips together and turned the phone towards him, propping it up on the bed so all Aaron had to do was turn his head. With a tap on the screen, security footage started to play, patched together from a few different stationery camera feeds.

The footage started with none other than James amidst the trees, as Aaron recalled. But the soldier was alone, until an entirely different form dropped into view.

Aaron's blood ran cold at the sight of the familiar creature. Drawing in a sharp breath, he forced himself to study the footage closely.

Constantine must have pinned the soldier down, momentarily blocking him from view. Then the Monster reared back, revealing...

Metal skin. Literally.

The video was cut with footage from various cameras. The fight turned into a chase, then eventually a three-way conflict, it seemed, as Constantine suddenly turned his attention to the trees. Someone-- no, it had to have been Cyrin. He was the only other contestant who Constantine had fixed his sights on, and had the agility to navigate the foliage.

Cyrin was evidently a fighter as well.

Another bit of new information was James's ability to... unsheathe claws? From his fists?

In an instant, by the end of the video, none of that mattered anymore.

Constantine's death was almost a blur, but the death blow dealt by James was unmistakable. The blades of his right hand shot up through the underside of the Monster's jaws, cleanly out the top of his skull.

Aaron stared with brows knitted at the frozen video. Studied Constantine's slumped form on the ground before the soldier.

Jay turned the phone away, picking it up and pocketing it again.

"Is that proof enough?" he asked.

Pressing his stinging eyes shut, Aaron faced the ceiling again with a silent nod. "Thank you," he whispered, voice catching in his throat.

He thought he'd need more, but the video was enough. His dulled senses, though at first an unsettling disadvantage, was a welcome reprieve. And the silence in his head became a trusted comfort that he was actually rid of the invasive parasite. For good.

Aaron felt like he shouldn't trust it, that it could've been an elaborate trick. For whatever reason. But truthfully, he was too tired to deny himself this.

Jay nodded, sitting awkwardly like he didn't know what to do with the silence that followed. Tilting his head sideways once more, Aaron looked up at his faithful friend.

"Thank you," he repeated, more firmly this time.

Jay pressed his lips together, ever-the-awkward-compliment-receiver, and nodded his head again.

"So," Jay said, clearly about to change the subject. "You should know what's next for you. With... your health."

"Ah," was all Aaron could muster. He was already mentally drawing the conclusion that, since he was semi-reliant on Constantine for a time, that he would be physically compromised since he didn't die, as expected, when the connection was finally cut.

"The doctors here can unpack the details for you later," Jay said. "But... they said you've basically got an autoimmune disease. Your immune system is permanently weakened, and you're probably going to deal with chronic fatigue for the rest of your life."

Aaron exhaled quietly through his nose. "I accept."

"Seems a small price to pay, all things considered," Jay said.

Aaron nodded again, his attention drifting a bit before landing on the ferret on Jay's shoulder once more.

"...I'm sorry," he said quietly, prompted by a pang of lingering remorse. "I hadn't meant to endanger your companion."

Jay shrugged, huffing out of his nose a bit.

"He'll forgive you," he said. "Eventually."

Blinking, Aaron huffed dryly at that.

Jay reached up to his shoulder, picking the creature up and then plopping it on the bed beside Aaron. Meanie-mo crouched down, clearly apprehensive at first, but watched Aaron warily. It's tiny beady eyes were fixed on Aaron's face. Content to let the small creature be, Aaron looked back up to Jay.

"You don't have to stay," he said. "Though. I don't imagine our cabin is an attractive alternative, so. Your presence is more than welcome, as well."

"That was a really passive way of saying do what you want," Jay said. "But I'm already doing what I want, so unless you actually want me to leave, I won't be."

Aaron hummed, a bit awkwardly as he was unsure of how to more directly emphasize the last implication. But, with the assurance that he was finally safe and allowed to let down his guard, he felt his grasp on consciousness quickly slipping again.

He eventually settled for a tired yet decisive, "Good. I want you here, anyway."

And if Jay added anything else, Aaron didn't catch it. Meanie-mo's cautious approach was the last thing he observed with some fondness as he yielded to sleep once more.

At first glance, the cabin's interior was like any average living space. It was small, and filled to the brim with everyday things in the cozy kind of way. The first half of the space was a sitting room with a stone fireplace and a couch, covered in throws and pillows with folksy patterns, sitting across from it. Just past this to the left was a kitchenette, and what seemed to be a sleeping area to the right, separated by a just partial wall.

Stepping in, though, the space took on a far more personalized touch. Textiles and accent pieces on the walls came in varying, soft shades of blue-- a nice visual contrast to the warm lacquer of the log walls. Lavender clippings filled a vase on the kitchen counter, and were tastefully scattered here and there on other surfaces. A basket filled with snack foods, as well as a paper pad and pen, awaited on a sideboard behind the couch. Adjacent to that was a keyboard and standing speakers on the floor.

Lyall quietly wandered in past the tiny kitchen area to peek into the sleeping quarters. Two separate beds, likewise lush with pillows and blankets, were situated below two tall, wide windows on both walls of this corner. It was an expansive view of the forest around them, framed with string lights hanging from the ceiling.

With each new little detail, Lyall scanned the place with a quiet, deeply touched awe.

Their rooms in the cabin on the beach were infinitely more personalized in their staging. But in such an unsettling way that only complete strangers and soulless data-mining algorithms could achieve.

But this place? Arranged with pain-staking attention to every little detail by the hands of a close friend? Perhaps it was just all the buildup of excitement, but Lyall found himself without the words to express how moved he was by this gesture.

A folded piece of paper on the pillow of one of the beds didn't escape his notice. His curiosity was certainly piqued. He even had an inkling of what sentiments he might find written within, and. He'd look at it later.

He glanced back to said friend, who was toeing off his shoes by the door.

"Alan," Lyall softly called with a quiet, incredulous huff, "what...?"

Alan beamed, grinning wide as he broadly gestured around with one arm, walking towards him. "Careful," he teased, "you haven't stepped on my trap tiles yet."

Lyall chuckled, but found himself unable to fully meet his playful tone anymore. Especially when he, from the foot of one the beds, caught sight of the spread in the bathroom across the way. Fully, luxuriously stocked like an actual spa. He leaned in through the doorway to scan the labels on the salts and candles.

"I'd offer a tour," Alan said after he stopped in front of him, following his gaze, "but it looks like you already gave yourself one."

"What on earth," Lyall asked, turning another bright smile back to Alan, "possessed you to do this?"

"Well, it wasn't like I built this cabin from scratch and imported all the items into the island," Alan said with a smile and a shrug. "I only personalized it. I'm glad you like it, though. Like I said, today is your day to relax."

Typical of Alan to downplay the true enormity of a gesture. Meet-ups with friends, meals-- the full-on feast for breakfast just this morning, and now this! Perhaps because it all seemed to come to him so naturally, this level of mindfulness of others.

Even so, the way every small detail accumulated into one larger kindness...

"You really didn't have to go all out like this," Lyall murmured, quickly taking in the sitting area once more. Realizing that. He really could use a sit, actually, after a three-hour trek on a dirt path.

And Alan must truly be a mind reader, because he was pulling Lyall's hand, walking him to the couch.

"Maybe I didn't need to. But I wanted to do it anyways," he said, lightly pushing him towards the sofa to sit down. "Here, sit down. We walked for a while. You must be tired."

Lyall wordlessly obliged, dropping back onto the couch and sinking into the pillows. Meanwhile, Alan trotted to the kitchen, pouring water into a glass cup.

"Admittedly, I don't have too much planned today. My only plan is to make sure you don't have any plans," Alan said, turning off the faucet and returning to Lyall's side, offering the water to him with a smile. "That includes getting you comfortable."

Lyall accepted the glass with a murmured "thank you", and quietly sipped the water as he turned over the implications of... everything.

He wasn't sure what he expected, honestly, but certainly not this. Not this level of... comfort, to simply contemplate things for a day. Though, maybe Lyall hadn't been clearer on his own plans. Which were to simply contemplate on what had gone wrong with Kaya.

Alan flopped back on the couch beside him, having to toss a pillow to the side to sink into the cushions. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Tilting his head back, Lyall let his glass rest on his knee. "That's not such a straightforward answer," he said under his breath.

"That's alright," Alan said with a nod, resting his arm along the top padding of the sofa. "I ask knowing that it isn't."

Lyall let out a quiet breath, then tilted his head to the side to glance curiously back to Alan. "24 hours, you said?"

"Just about," Alan said with a smile. He paused for a moment, considering this. "And we could fill our time doing absolutely nothing, if that's what you want to do. Don't worry about me. I can easily entertain myself."

Straightening again, Lyall nodded.

It was a fleeting thought, and he half-expected to be wrong about Alan actually planning on staying the whole time, but Lyall figured when he agreed to this that a short "getaway" could do the both of them some good.

Yes, there was lingering guilt that he might be keeping Alan from his family. However, the potential for Alan to likewise benefit from distancing himself from the entire island population-- after so thoughtfully yet effortlessly providing as many as he could with support for several days straight-- outweighed that small bit of guilt.

Though Alan maintained an easy, sincere smile and endless empathy throughout it all, his own energies were finite. He too had to recharge, clear his head, shake the weight of everything, if only for a day.

Thus. Lyall didn't plan on spilling everything on his mind. Not yet, anyway.

He met Alan's gaze once more, which was warm and compassionate as ever, and mustered a sincere grin of his own.

"I appreciate you, Alan," Lyall murmured. "More than words can ever express."

"I already know, Lyall," Alan said with a smile as he bruhsed down a pillow by his lap. "So, no need to get sappy and express it."

Lyall grinned a bit brighter, turning his attention back down to his glass. "I'd rather remind you, anyhow."

"Eh..." Alan pursed his lips, shrugging a shoulder. "Well, I suppose I'll allow it."

"Still trying to dictate the 'when' of compliments," Lyall said with a long, playful sigh. He set his water aside and cast his friend a lighter smile as he made his way to the kitchen. "Hungry at all?"



In all their time together, the rest of this afternoon was possibly the quietest either had ever been in each other's presence. They've certainly had stretches of comfortable silence before, but this was different. Outside of any small talk Lyall initiated, Alan truly did seem content with quietly going about his own business.

After lunch, they in a sense parted ways. Taking the pad of paper and the pen from the sideboard, Lyall sat down at the kitchen island to finally record the past several days. Amidst the stress and... heartbreak, he hadn't had the wherewithal to do so in the evenings, as was his habit. So he figured this would take him an hour or so to put into written word.

Eventually, he took off his wristwatch when he caught himself checking it a few times too many.

Once he'd filled about three pages' worth of observations and thoughts, he set the paper pad back where he found it with the pen aligned to the top.

He allowed his attention to naturally fall onto the next point of interest: the potted plants scattered around the cabin.

Lyall glanced up on occasion from poking at and tending to these. He caught sight of the back of Alvaro's head through the window to the porch. Alan sat on the porch swing, either reading or writing. It made him smile a bit, seeing his friend nearby and at rest.

The keyboard off to the side was equipped with the optional headphones. Lyall slid onto the bench and plugged them in, just to keep from distracting Alan outside while he himself brushed up on some modern classics. Without his watch on, he had no idea for how long exactly he practiced. It was nice.

Then he moved to the sleeping area, to fully hide away and finally turned his entire focus to the whole point of the "getaway": find what had gone so horribly wrong between himself and Kaya. A task that he knew, even without the watch, took a few hours at least.

He cycled between defensiveness and anger at first, but he could only keep that up for so long. Deep down, he knew he had no one to blame but himself. And when he started to catch the faintest scent of singed fabrics, he had to let it go. And change his shirt.

Lyall sat up and tugged it off over his head. But actually couldn't find the energy to stand up again quite yet.

The past few days were. Messy. In so many ways. And that was a gross understatement. But it had been even surreal, when Kaya gave back the ring. It still sat on his desk back at the cabin. She couldn't have been any clearer when she said, "I'm done." And yet. Was it that easy? It felt too abrupt an ending for it to be real. Almost like a cruel joke.

Then again, there might have been a lot of contributing factors that hindered the full weight of it hitting him. Even now... he wasn't quite sure why he didn't feel it fully. Why he felt almost numb to this new state of being. Of being alone.

Ah, no. He knew what this was. It was shock. Not unlike when he'd received word overseas when his mother passed. Sudden. Hit so hard out of nowhere, that he couldn't feel the pain of it right after. Not yet. And there was no telling when it finally would.

The sun outside was starting to sink below the trees. Lyall blinked himself back to full awareness when the keyboard played from the sitting room. He crumpled up his shirt, hiding the singed edges inside itself with an embarrassed grimace, he tentatively wandered back out of the sleeping area.

Alan sat at the keyboard, back turned as he played something suitably soothing for golden hour. The song was soft, but not at all slow nor droning. It was something that would actually pair nicely with a rainy day as well.

And thankfully was something, regardless of tempo, that Alan was entirely lost in.

Lyall silently padded out, scanning the cabin for a wardrobe or dresser. Then hastily backtracked to the sleeping area when he didn't find anything, and it felt like Alan might hear him and turn around any second. Catching sight of strangely-placed dresser pulls on the wall, he realized the wall separating the beds from the sitting area was actually the closet space itself.

Thankfully all long-sleeved options. Lyall simply grabbed what was closest and pulled it on. He paused, contemplating the ill-fitting length of the arms and wondering where Alan got this, then calmly re-emerged for dinner.

All of the meals were pre-made upon their arrival. Again, all dishes from home that Lyall told Alan he thoroughly enjoyed when his friend had prompted him for favorites.

As the food was warming, he straightened at the entrance of a more upbeat and jazzy tune. At first unfamiliar, full of complex, improvisational flourishes, before officially evolving into "Just The 2 Of Us". Lyall turned and leaned back on the counter, heated plate in hand as he watched Alan sway and smile absently, embodying the music as true musicians tended to.

The song closed out with a glissando and small flourish between the highest notes. And Alan finally spun around on the bench, seeming to conclude his performance for the evening. Upon first sight on Lyall, an amused smile tugged at his lips as he gave him a quick lookover.

"Nice sweater selection. The green matches your eyes," he said with a huff of a laugh, pressing a few buttons on the electric keyboard to shut it down.

Lyall looked down at the slightly-too-long sleeves with a wry laugh of his own. "Thanks, but it's certainly not mine."

Turning back around on the bench, Alan squinted at him as he contemplatively tapped his chin with his forefinger a few times. Until, he grinned and said, "It is now."

Well, that certainly didn't clarify the source.

They shared their next meal in relative quiet. Something that Lyall never anticipated being as comfortable with. Perhaps he was simply that tired.

Their silence next to each other was interrupted after Alan had been staring at him for far too long, wearing an equally playful and smug smile. But before Lyall could call it to attention out of sheer indignance, Alan said, "Hey, Lyall. You have something in your hair. Mind if I pick it out?"

Lyall only had the chance to blink blankly before Alan dove his hand in, plucking out a petal from the side of his head. He hummed, holding the white petal with his thumb and forefinger close to his face, inspecting it.

"Strange. I wonder how this got on you," he said with playfully feigned innocence.

Lyall tsked. "Wonder no further, sir, for I'm facing the culprit as we speak."

Alan scoffed. "I only take responsibility for this one," he said, flicking the petal so it could float back towards Lyall's head.

Rolling his eyes, Lyall let out an amused huff that sent it flying back Alan's way, though he scooted away fast enough so that the petal floated down to the floor instead.

Another few moments of quietly eating side-by-side passed. By the time their plates were cleared, Alan gracefully snagged both of their dishes before Lyall had the chance to. Lyall simply yielded to the ridiculous man this time, it wasn't worth pushing back on.

A part of him still wanted to simply hide from everyone, if only to keep his troubles from weighing anyone else down. But, he'd be a hypocrite to ask Alan to view it as a way to support each other instead, then not expect himself to think the same and follow through.

Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, Lyall idly watched Alan work for a moment. Then finally spoke up once more, voice quiet, "I think I know what went wrong. Between Kaya and myself."

Alan slowly turned off the faucet, setting the plates on the sink and turning around, meeting Lyall's eyes with understanding and empathy. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, voice gentle.

Lyall averted his gaze to the counter under his hand, suddenly fearing he was too abrupt. "Only if that's alright."

"Of course, Lyall," Alan said with a smile, drying his hands. "Do you want to move to the sofa? It'll be more comfortable."

Well, it wasn't as though Lyall planned on having a cry over it, so. He quietly shook his head, which Alan took as his cue to slide back on the stool next to him, hands on his lap as he faced him directly, already giving Lyall his undivided attention.

"I don't mind listening," Alan affirmed, still with a gentle tone. "What do you think went wrong?"

Lyall turned around to similarly face Alan. "I." He paused for just a second, to intentionally set aside a few mental filters. Then answered honestly, "A mix of reasons, probably. Most of which could be traced back to the root cause of..."

Funnily enough, the root of his own troubles was excruciatingly hard to simply dig up in the presence of another human being.

But Alan wasn't just any human being. He was a trusted friend.

He put a hand to his own chest and, voice wavering only for a millisecond, admitted openly, "The root cause of myself. I was deeply afraid. Even in revealing my magic to her on our first date, it was hardly a risk. She has a beloved family member with magic already, so clearly that wasn't a reason for her to run the other way. And from then on, I was too scared to risk losing her to something far bigger than that. To so many other circumstances that are... outside of my control."

Lyall looked down at his hands, unable to meet his friend's gaze now that he was really looking at himself.

Hesitantly, he pushed on, "So. I turned my focus to preparing. To preventing any potential disaster scenario that might take her or any of my family away from me. I turned to my work, which was an easy excuse for holding her at arm's length. And, in clinging to what I thought would be a source of security or stability, I..." He swallowed thickly, and forced himself to finish, "I lost the very thing I was trying to protect."

He idly wrung his hands together. Gut heavy. Unsure of what to do with himself now that he'd laid everything out. Exposed himself.

Gods, no one ever said that being this honest made one feel so fucking small.

Alan didn't immediately react. They sat in the silence together for a seconds, time passing by quietly and idly. Until, finally, Alan moved first-- gently setting his hand against Lyall's knee, still fixing his full attention on him.

"I think how you love is so beautiful, Lyall," he said softly, deep sincerity always so present in his words. "It's selfless. Secure. Safe. And it's you. How you love is special, and I'm sorry if others don't see it that way. If you don't see it that way."

Lyall felt something-- some unwanted emotion in his chest tighten.

Alan rubbed his thumb against his knee, letting another short silence pass before quietly finishing with, "I hear what you're not saying. And I want you to know: I disagree that anything is wrong with you. Perhaps our actions sometimes result in tragedies, but it doesn't mean there is something wrong with you. You are imperfectly perfect the way you are right now."

Lyall exhaled quietly through his nose, eyes fixed on Alan's hand.

He... figured Alan would say as much. The realist in Lyall wanted to push back and argue there was no such thing as "imperfect perfection" or whatever. Simply because perfection itself was an unachievable state. And clearly there was some problem deeply ingrained in him. Everyone had problems. It was a mere reality of this world.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Lyall slowly nodded as he patted Alan's hand. Then finally mustered an appreciative grin anyway. "Thank you, Alan," he murmured. "For listening."

For everything, really.

"I should be thanking you for letting me in," Alan said with a smile of his own, pulling his hand back to rest on his lap. "There's a lot we could talk about, but... Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Lyall nodded. "Sure, anything."

Alan's smile faded as he quietly searched his eyes, asking, "Have you given yourself time to grieve?"

Blinking, Lyall stared un-processing at him. "I... I don't follow."

"That's alright," Alan said with a soft smile, holding his hands together on his lap. "Maybe it will help if I go through my line of thought for asking." He paused, contemplating this as he gazed down at his hands. "You're analytical, driven by solutions and answers. But often times, emotions don't have easy solutions or answers. I find that, when unprocessed, the feelings cloud our vision and judgement to the point that, sometimes, we're not able to see what's in front of us."

He paused again, angling his head back up to face Lyall, softly smiling before continuing. "All I'm saying is, to truly seek solutions and answers, you have to first tackle your emotions. And so I ask: have you given yourself time to grieve?"

Gaze drifting down to the floor, Lyall quietly turned the question over in his mind.

It was. Sound logic, something he could agree to on a surface level. But he felt truly befuddled by it. He'd felt the emotions, hadn't he? And grief itself was a process that he figured he had to. Ride out. It was ongoing, a work in progress.

"I." Lyall weakly shrugged a shoulder, and slowly murmured in another bout of forced honesty, "I don't know."

"It's alright. Truly. We're figuring this out together," Alan said with another gentle smile. "Maybe it'll be easier if I ask a series of guided questions instead, to walk you through it. Do you want to try?"

...Not particularly.

Lyall rubbed a hand over his face. "You don't... have to," he tried, in his most polite tone.

"I know. I want to," Alan said, full sincerity in his voice and expression, as always.

Of course.

Though he was still apprehensive and not wanting to rely on Alan like a therapist... A series of thought exercises, presented by someone who truly did understand, couldn't hurt.

Stay open, Lyall weakly reminded himself, stay honest.

"Go for it," he finally relented.

Alan nodded, setting one elbow against the counter. "Alright," he hummed. "To start off: how do you feel right now? Can you describe the emotions to me?"

"Um." Lyall huffed a quiet, vaguely bemused laugh, but obliged and tried taking stock. "I... feel worn. Mood, dampened, by virtue of subject matter..." He shrugged a bit helplessly.

"That's a start," Alan said encouragingly. "Let's go back in time a little. How did you feel the day you both broke up? Can you describe your feelings to me?"

Ah.

Lyall leaned an elbow on the counter, absently rubbing his hand over his mouth as he gave it a moment of thought. "Ahm."

How did he feel at the time? It felt like a blur of a moment in the distant past. He mentally rewound to that moment, then put it on pause to evaluate.

"...Stunned," he eventually answered in a murmur. "Confused... Hurt."

Even though he had no right to be.

"Hurt," Alan echoed, just as softly. "Hurt how?"

Hearing the word echoed back at him poked painfully at his chest.

"I don't know," Lyall mumbled, tiredly pressing a hand over his eyes.

There was another short silence. In response, Alan didn't speak-- at least not right away. Instead, he opted to reach out with another knee touch, his thumb gently rubbing over his knee. Lyall tried not to tense at what he knew was an offer to comfort.

"Lyall," Alan called softly after the lingering silence had drawn out for many more seconds.

Shifting his hand back down over his mouth, Lyall met his gaze with a clenched jaw. "...Alan," he quietly replied.

Alan softly smiled, still rubbing his knee with small, gentle motions. "It's okay to be sad," he said, meeting his eyes.

"I know," Lyall said, averting his eyes once more.

"And are you?" Alan continued. "Are you sad?"

"I--" Lyall despised the way his voice caught in his throat. How such straightforward, simplistic statements could carve such a deep hole in his chest. He answered, voice low and tense, "Yes."

There was a beat of silence. And then there was movement, with Alan getting to his feet, drawing nearer.

"Alan," Lyall uttered, pressing his stinging eyes shut, "no..."

But Alan ignored him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling Lyall into an embrace. He tightly held on to his back, one hand against the back of his head.

Lyall had half a mind to dig in his heels, push him away. He'd done nothing to earn comfort. He didn't deserve it. He couldn't have been any clearer on how he was his own undoing.

And yet... He slowly lifted his arms around Alan's back and let out a shuddering breath as he sank into his warmth. The realization of how much he wanted this hitting him with the force of a freight train.

"I hope this is okay," Alan whispered, giving him a gentle squeeze. "I want to be here for you."

Hiding his face against his chest, Lyall held on tighter. "It's fine," he managed to say, stopping short of another hitch in his breath.

Alan soothingly rubbed his his thumb against his back. "And so is being sad," he continued. "And worn, stunned, confused, and hurt. There is absolutely nothing wrong about how you feel. Your feelings are a part of what makes you, you. And I love who you are."

No.

...Dammit. This was what Lyall got for "staying open and honest". He couldn't close it back up again. Dammit.

Clinging to his friend like a lifeline, he tilted his face to the side in a weak attempt to keep from getting Alan's shirt wet with his damned tears.

Lyall did feel hurt. He felt sad. He was so tired of himself. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin, just to escape the hurricane of thoughts in his mind, the roiling sea in his chest. He wanted to stay like this forever, being quietly held by someone who understood. To stay here, free of his usual worries and baggage, if only for a few days more.

He vaguely registered small circles being rubbed over his back. He counted 11 rotations before Alan switched to counter-clockwise. 8 more rotations that way before another switch.

Lyall, very slowly and quite reluctantly, began to pull away. Gaze glued down on the counter beside them.

Following his actions, Alan pulled away as well, but just enough that he kept his hands on Lyall's shoulders, his gaze still fixed down on him. "Do you want to move to the sofa now?" he asked with a smile in his voice.

"...Sure," Lyall mumbled, still unable to meet his eyes anymore.

"Alright. Let's go. Come on," Alan gently beckoned as he pulled his shoulders up, motioning for him to stand.

Lyall slid off the chair, and quietly followed as Alan lead the way to the sitting area. Alan coaxed him to sit on one side of the sofa, only sitting down next to him after Lyall sank into the cushions.

"Better?" he asked, stacking pillows against Lyall.

Taking a couple of the pillows, Lyall set them on his own lap and leaned his elbows on them as he hid his face in his hands. In response, Alan simply draped a fluffy blanket over his legs, partially covering his arms. Lyall felt ridiculous, but didn't have the heart to rearrange anything.

"I'm alright," he mumbled, "I've... felt things now. Carry on."

Alan leaned back on the spot next to him. "I'm not going to push you to do anything you don't want to do," he said, draping an arm along the top of the sofa and tapping his fingers against the cushion. "But... I'm glad you let it out. Do you feel better?"

Lyall wasn't sure, aside from simply being even more tired. He quietly nodded in answer anyway, just to end the conversation. Then he sank a little lower with his knees drawn up to sit sideways, facing Alan. Effectively a cocoon of warmth now.

...He did still require a wash. Lyall sighed, pressing his eyes shut as he resigned himself to a warm yet dirty state on the couch. This was fine. He was fine. He just needed a few minutes to regain his bearings. Then he'll shower.

Yes. He was fine. This was what he wanted. To get the... emotions of this out of the way. Hopefully this will have been worth it, in the long run.

Alan hadn't anticipated Lyall falling asleep so fast. He had been quietly watching him, noting how he dug into the sofa, practically in fetal position while embracing the pillow. Even with the blanket draped on Lyall, Alan could sense his breathing get deeper and longer, indicating that he fell into a deep slumber.

It made sense, though, considering how heavy of a day it had been for Lyall. This day was all about him, after all. He had a full day to process, to be. There was always some distraction or another, especially since Lyall was always busying himself somehow.

And considering his confession today... Lyall knew that. He was self-aware enough to recognize that his habits to busy himself often led to being closed-off and unavailable. It made Alan's heart ache, especially since he couldn't shake off the feeling that Lyall immensely disliked this part of himself, but it only proved to him that days like these were invaluable. Days to think, to process, to grieve. And if all Lyall needed from Alan was to listen, then Alan would do this a thousand more times, no questions asked.

Just as Alan was about to contemplate what he could do to help Lyall feel a bit more comfortable in the rather small position he was in right now, Lyall began to slide.

He watched as his friend's head slowly slid down the back cushion of the sofa, inching downwards until gravity took over, and Lyall fell down on the cushions. Or rather, the pillow on Alan's lap.

Alan stared down at him, slow blinking, resisting the urge to laugh. It was almost comical, how this happened without a single flinch from Lyall. This only proved that Lyall fell into a deep sleep, no doubt exhausted from the emotional toll of today.

Alan was still discovering Lyall, which was a privilege he was grateful for everyday. And today he discovered that Lyall-- despite the shining and promising mask he wore every day-- seemed to have a hard time recognizing and processing difficult emotions. Of course, Alan didn't wish to see his friends cry. And of course, it broke his heart to see Lyall mourning, heartbroken and sad.

Lyall tried so hard to hold back tears, but... Alan was glad he let it out. He wanted to see his close friend find happiness again, but that was impossible if he never allowed himself to grieve. Emotions couldn't get ignored; they simply piled up, waiting to be spilled over.

And today, he spilled over. Which was a step in the right direction, but... that was only the surface. There was likely a container of unprocessed emotions Lyall hadn't gone through yet.

Today was good. It was a start of something new. This helped, and Alan was determined to keep doing this. To keep being there for his friend, giving him ample space and time to breathe without distraction.

Alan kept his gaze on Lyall, fully aware that he was spacing out. Not that it really mattered, considering that his friend was asleep, breaths steady over him.

Without really thinking about it, Alan lightly tussled his hair with his fingers. He first started with the ends, noting that his curls were more prominent towards the end of the strands. Lyall had straightened his hair yesterday for Hild's performance, and even though he slept through it for today, the island summer air still managed to kiss him with beachy waves.

Alan made a mental note to compliment him on this one day, telling him that he rather liked how curly and resilient his hair was despite the summer heat.

Running his fingers towards his roots, Alan gently brushed the hair away from Lyall's peacefully sleeping face, cascading it across the pillow instead. There were a few more tiny petals and leaves stuck in his hair, which he gladly picked out for him. After he moved the last of the hair away from his neck, a curious smudge of color caught his attention at the nape of his neck.

A small birthmark, unmistakably shaped as a flower.

Alan resisted the urge to hum and poke it, filing this fun detail about his friend away in his head for now. And now that he was thinking about it, there was something oddly intimate about discovering secret flower-shaped birthmarks of his friend sleeping on his lap while wearing his sweater that was too big on him.

So, Alan left Lyall alone. For now.

He glanced out the window, noting that the sun was dipping below the horizon. The cabin was getting darker, though no lights were turned on since the two of them wanted to appreciate golden hour in all its glory.

The only "light" that was on was the fireplace across from them. Though even then, there weren't too many logs in there, so the fire wasn't shining bright.

Alan's gaze drifted to his book sitting on the coffee table in front of them. He was reading Atomic Habits: An Easy & Proven Way to Build Good Habits & Break Bad Ones. Today he made great headway in the book, writing down notes while he read so that he could commit it to memory. He could continue reading it now, but...

Could he reach it...? Alan didn't want to disturb Lyall and would much rather stay rigidly in place than risk him waking up. So, maybe... with his foot, he could...?

He stretched out his leg in front of him, just barely able to touch the book's spine with his toes.

No, the book would fall anyways. Plus, it would be too dark to read. The action was moot.

Alan's gaze drifted back to the fire, thinking back on what Lyall meant by his magic. He had no idea that Lyall was so afraid of losing control of his abilities. He had no idea that there was anything magic-related to worry about, even.

As his mind wandered, it thought back to the singed sweater in the trash can that Alan came across earlier. He didn't dwell on it, simply making a note and quickly connecting the dots that this was why Lyall opted for a wardrobe change.

He wondered, though: was the sweater burning because he had a brief loss of control with his magic? Considering that today was saturated with self-reflection, and Lyall had a tendency to skirt away from tough emotions... perhaps this was all more complex that Alan realized.

But nothing in life was ever so simple. He just wanted his friend to be okay.

This was the thought that kept reoccurring as darkness filled more of the room, and Lyall's weight grew heavier and heavier against him.

Well. Alan could sleep too, though he wasn't particularly tired. That, and he wanted to look over his friend. Protect him, in a sense, since he had an episode of raw emotional vulnerability. There wasn't anything to protect him from, but Alan thought it would be nice to be there and be present, especially if he woke up soon.

Plus, this situation was familiar. How many weeks ago now was it that Alan was comforted by Lyall until he grew immensely tired and fell asleep in his arms?

Alan hadn't meant to make this look transactional, because it truly wasn't. He simply wanted to be there for Lyall, whatever that looked like. Though the irony was not lost on him.

Speaking of irony...

Carefully sliding his hand under the pillow, Alan slipped out his phone from his pocket. When they first entered the cabin, Alan had ordered Lyall to give up his phone, saying that he wasn't allowed to use it for the next 24 hours. This was all to make sure he stayed present the entire day, but now here Alan was, using his own phone to pass the time.

Which he normally wouldn't do, since he really only used his phone to reach others. But since obtaining it, he hadn't had the time to catch up on his hundreds of texts from important people.

Now was as good as any time, wasn't it?

Pulling up the texting app, Alan decided to rip open the band aid and go through the toughest messages first.

God. What did his exes have to say to him? Did being a minor celebrity of the world really warrant this much attention? He couldn't be that famous... He hardly talked to his exes, and some of them he hadn't spoken with for years.

Alan painstakingly opened Maria's texts first, trying not to relive the raw pain reflected in their last few messages together.

She only sent three texts, sent two weeks ago.

Maria wrote:Hi, you. I just wanted to say that I heard your song.

Maria wrote:I miss you too.

Maria wrote:I'm here if you want to talk.

Alan stared at the screen for too long, trying to figure out what context he was missing here. And then it dawned on him: he did serenade her, didn't he? At the plaza, during an insomniac-driven frenzy from waking up of a horrific dream of him beating her up?

Haha. That happened. She saw that. Oh no.

That was... well, he'd think through that later. After he went through the rest of the messages.

What did Santiago have to say about him? They left on amicable terms, Alan was pretty sure, though he always had a feeling that he only pretended to not get hurt by the breakup.

Santiago wrote:How does it feel to be famous now?

Well. There were certainly undertones of resentment there, considering it was always Santiago's dream to make it big in the world. Alan was almost tempted to reply.

Hm. No. Yeah. He was going to reply, just to rub it in a little.

Alan wrote:Never better. Keep watching, and maybe I'll play you our song.

Okay. Who else? Ah, yes. What did Julia have to say? His first girlfriend that he hadn't talked to in seven years?

Oh. She only sent a link to something. For some reason, that disappointed Alan, though he made a mental note to circle back to that later.

That reminded him: there was an unknown number that texted him that his phone automatically assigned to Nova as a "maybe," which was interesting, considering he had blocked her years ago and hadn't heard from her since.

Maybe: Nova wrote:hey! its nova ❤️ long time, no see!

Maybe: Nova wrote:been hearing your name pop up a lot. i've been thinking of how we ended things, and i now recognize what went wrong. i'm so sorry about what happened, alan. i love what we had and...

Alan stopped reading, resisting the urge to groan and roll his eyes as he swiped down the long wall of text. Nova said that she recognized what went wrong, but considering the wall of text, Alan doubted this.

He blocked the number, moving on.

Sighing, Alan went through the dozens of text with friends. A lot of them were pretty generic. He really only replied to two, since he was closer with them.

Sebastian wrote:Good god, man. You're killing it with the music, but you're famous because of the drama. You good?

Really? Alan couldn't be that famous...

Alan wrote:Doing good, my man. How's sax practice going? I fully expect a serenade the next time I see you.

After hitting send, Alan pulled up Yen's texts again, deciding to give her a reply as well.

Yenessa wrote:Hey! Just wanted to say that I'm rooting for you! 😄

Yenessa wrote:Oh haha, sorry! I just realized you don't have your phone, so you won't see this til you come back... still, I'm 🌱'ing for you! 😊

It was sweet. Yen was always so sweet.

Alan wrote:Thanks, Yen. You know what they say: I'll grow through what I go through. 🌱☀️

After sending that message, Alan combed through the rest of his friends' text messages, noting the dozens of links that were dropped for him to open. Particularly in group chats, there were many instances of people wanting him to read something.

Okay. All in due time. First, he wanted to see what his family said to him. These were the bulk of the messages, especially from group chats. Of course, Alistair sent him a bunch of stupid memes, which he already went through. His mom sent him dozens of messages despite him not being able to receive it, and he also received concerned messages from his aunt, uncles, and cousins.

More notably, Alan sifted through his cousins' group chat titled "The Gang" that included Alistair, Tomas, and Renzo, and himself. The group chat name started as a joke, though with Renzo now roping Tomas into the neighborhood drug dealing business, Alan half-rolled his eyes at the crudeness of it all.

The group chat was mostly talking about Alan, roasting him (no thanks to Alistair and his snarky replies), though Alan caught whiff of Tomas's million eyeball emojis and not-so-discrete sentence that he packed Alistair's bag with "various drugs" that was meant for "increased business opportunities".

Hm. Alan made a mental note of that for now.

He almost wanted to text Tomas back since he was always such a riot, but considering his wild sleep schedule, he was probably still up and would reply with lightning speed. And frankly, Alan didn't have the energy to entertain that right now.

And so Alan went on to fulfil the next natural step: open all the links that everyone so dearly wanted him to see.

There were so many, so Alan opened them all, one-by-one, collecting the tabs in his internet browser. He felt himself dread each new link he opened, seeing that many of them were related to "kiss" and "Shane Hawking". But he didn't allow himself to stop just yet, collecting all the links first before diving in.

He read each title one-by-one.

• Unexpected Kiss Between Shane Hawking and Island Magic Contestant Sparks Debate
• Kiss on “Love Island”: Royal Romance or Royal Embarrassment?
• The Hawking/Alvaro Kiss is a Barrier Breaking Sign of Hope — Here’s Why
• Aphiran Political Adviser Speaks on Scandal: “The Consequences of a Romantic Hit-and-Run are Dangerous”
• A Palace’s New Power Couple?: Biweekly Updates on Shane Hawking and Alan Alvaro
• Hope for an Heir: How an Unexpected Romance May Strengthen the House of Courage
• How the Hawking Kiss is Causing Waves in Aphirah
• As Aphirah Wrestles with Leadership Resistance, the Hawking Heir Causes Trouble
• Opinion: Shane Hawking’s Conduct on Island Magic is a Warning Sign of Poor Leadership
• Hearts Across the World are Stirred by Tender Love Story Unfolding on Island Magic

Alan didn't read through them all. Only a handful, really. But it was enough.

There were people-- articles, and televised hosts-- having real debates about... him. Him and Shane. It felt surreal, reading the article and swiping through pictures. He almost recoiled from seeing a close-up picture of Shane and him kissing, which... wasn't a bad thing. He didn't mind that they kissed, even if he wasn't really... actually...

Alan rubbed his face, having to temporarily set his phone down, taking a deep breath. Thankfully, Lyall didn't move, so his movements didn't bother him.

Okay. What else? What else?

There was a positive article he read that basically said that their "budding romance could be an inspiring move against class and nationality boundaries." Which was... hah. Dread set in, even as he zoomed in to the picture of him and Shane first meeting, when he flicked off a piece of confetti off his shoulder at the pool party. As if this was supposed to be a romanticized, fateful moment of true love.

What else?

Now Alan only wanted to read the articles that were negatively strongly worded. He wanted to know what the world really thought of him. No more filters, no more bullshit. What did they know about him that he didn't?

And so he went on to read an article from an esteemed credited critic, backed with scholarly citations, who called him a "Romantic Hit-and-Run," highlighting that the possibility of "silly, dumb, lovesick Shane getting heartbroken is dangerous" because "it will affect his capability at his job when he is so desperately needed in Aphirah."

Alan didn't stop. He read more articles, ones where he was more and more criticized and painted in such a light. The only reason he stopped reading was because his phone died, and yet, he still stared at the blank screen, imagining the words written across the device.

Slowly, Alan let the phone slip away from his fingers, falling between the cushions of the couch, somewhere. He didn't care if he lost it. The phone could be gone forever, for all he cared.

He didn't know how much time had passed. It felt meaningless, with darkness creeping around them, his chest feeling heavy with some emotion he couldn't yet identify, which was a first.

Okay.

Okay, fine.

He was going to think about this now. Alan had already given this some thought after Ooktoberfest, but he hadn't considered the implications outside of himself. Of course that was what he did. It was the selfish thing to do. Selfish, and stupid, for not considering the worldwide implications since he was messing around with an Heir.

Did it even matter? Did it even matter that Alan wasn't himself that day, during Ooktoberfest? He hadn't made it very clear to anyone, anyways. But maybe it truly didn't matter, since he went on to kiss Shane in private with his own free will.

This was his worth. A kiss. As if the peck of two lips were what fully defined a person, and nothing more. After all, an article said that the "kiss was hopeful." Oh, but not only that, but he was so inspirational, as a symbol of the lower class from an underprivileged nationality, romancing someone who was so upscale with status and power. A true inspiration, he was.

Was that really all he was good for? That was truly what was valued in the world? He was just a "silly dumb love" that sparked progressive hope for being so controversial, while also being a trending hot topic since a "nobody" had so much potential to break a fragile heart from "somebody".

But don't he dare do it! Because the world needed that "somebody" badly! So Alan ought to just give in to the demands of this perceived misconception of hope, and give this "somebody" the "budding romance" that could be so good for the world! Because that was all he was good for, apparently!

Or maybe not! Maybe he was truly bad. A rotten heart, a romantic hit-and-run, someone who played with other people's desires for the thrill of it.

So, which was it? Which mold fit him best?

Alan didn't want any of this, but he truly considered it. He thought about the sweet poem that Shane wrote him. But he also thought about the impossibility of being unable to fulfill his desires while also retaining the person he wanted to be. Yet at the same time, he also thought about how he frequently told Shane what he wanted him to hear so that he didn't upset him. And parallel to that, he thought about how easy it was to control Shane, how he truly could destroy him if he wanted to. But he didn't want to. He didn't.

Alan needed to back away. Shane was in a grieving, vulnerable state. Influencing him in any way felt like he was taking advantage of him. And Alan didn't want to manipulate him.

He should give Shane space.

That thought repeated in his head several times, echoing loudly as his mind cleared with the peace. Yet beneath the peace was a layer of hidden rot that Alan allowed himself to uncover in the stillness of the night.

He hated this, and yet, at the same time-- Alan wanted to do it all over again.

Begrudgingly opening his eyes again, Lyall realized he actually fell asleep. Which was not his intention.

And of course it was one of those sleeps that left him feeling worse rather than improved. Groggily scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried counting the lost hours of sleep that might have lead to this misery.

The hearth across from him was reduced to a pile of still-glowing embers. Not nearly enough to light the room in any way. Lyall blinked hard, forcing his eyes to adjust, and tried shaking the fog from his head. How long had he slept? Hopefully Alan had--

Ah. Wait.

With a mild feeling of dread, he sluggishly twisted around to face the source of warmth behind him. Unfortunately, it seemed he had fallen unconscious atop... his friend's lap. Aces.

Alan sat with his face tilted up to the ceiling and his arm slung across his forehead. But upon detecting Lyall's movements, he sat up straighter, bring his arm back to his side.

"Hey," Alan greeted softly, tiredly looking down at him with a small smile. "How'd you sleep?"

Frankly feeling silly, hidden beneath a pillow and blanket as he was, Lyall couldn't find the energy to move just yet. Though. He should, since...

"Bollocks," he mumbled, blearily squinting up at Alan, "how long have I kept you here?"

"I honestly have no clue. But it's fine. I didn't want to wake you," Alan answered.

Lyall pushed off the pillow and blanket, and hauled himself upright to release the poor sod. Peering over the back of the sofa, he scanned for the kitchen clock.

"Shit," he muttered, "you should've woken me. It's midnight."

"It's alright. Really," Alan said with another slight smile. "Are you still tired?"

Sitting facing the back of the couch, Lyall turned his head to study Alan's face. "I'm reaching a state of alertness once more," he lied. Then hesitated.

There was a kind of weariness in Alan's voice that was indicative of something more than physical exhaustion. Something was weighing on his friend's mind.

"I'm okay," Lyall repeated, softening his tone now. With open concern, he then prompted, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired, honestly," Alan answered with a sigh, rubbing the side of his neck as he idly stared into the glowing embers of the fireplace. "I think I'll go to sleep. But..." He turned back to Lyall. "Will you be okay?"

Lyall debated letting this go, if only until morning. Just so Alvaro could sleep.

Even so. Alan had stayed up well into the wee hours multiple occasions before, on the mere insistence that a friend didn't go unaccompanied until morning. Undoubtedly tired then too, but not this unfocused and... so void of energy.

So Lyall chose to pursue this. Gently.

"How... else are you feeling?" he pressed, voice soft. "What's on your mind, my friend?"

"Just... tired. That's all," Alan answered with a smile, but it didn't feel genuine. He tapped his fingers against his lap and shuffled his feet to be flat on the floor, signaling that he was about to get up.

Hmm... Alright, time to be a little less gentle.

"Well--" Alan began just as he was about to lift himself up on to his feet, but he didn't get to finish.

With a straight face, Lyall flopped down onto his back once more, head on the pillow covering Alan's legs.

"You can't use the same answer twice," he said, crossing his arms.

Alan simply stared down at him, blinking as his face contorted in mild confusion, looking him up and down as he slowly assessed the situation.

Lyall patiently gestured a hand up to his friend. "So? Since we're in a new habit of talking about 'feelings'."

"Lyall," Alan said with a faint laugh, shaking his head with a weak smile. "I'm fine. Really. Don't worry about me." And with that, he attempted to shove the pillow away to move just enough room to scoot to the side and make his escape.

Straightening his legs with his feet propped against the arm of the sofa, Lyall sprawled out over the length of the sofa, still draped across the pillow on Alan's legs. He folded his hands beneath his head, with elbows pointed out, thus blocking his route of escape. Then quirked both brows pointedly.

Alan stared at him indignantly, now trapped in place. "Lyall," he called patiently, repeatedly poking his stomach in front of him. "Are you... trapping me here?"

Lyall swatted at his hand, but otherwise didn't budge. "You can't prove anything." He shrugged, feigning innocence. "Mayhaps I'm just comfortable."

Alan turned, narrowing his eyes at him. They stared at each other for some drawn out moments, but then Alan moved quickly, shoveling his hands under Lyall's back to propel his lower half away from him and open a side-window to escape again. Letting this momentum carry him, Lyall flipped back and landed on his knees, then tackled Alan's side. Before Alan could regain his bearings, Lyall leaned over him with his hands planted at either side of Alan's head.

"L-Lyall!" Alan yelped with surprise, frowning as he wriggled under him, already trying to shove him away. "What are you doing? You're being dumb!"

"Perhaps," Lyall hummed. "You may be tired, but I am not. Which means." He let his hands slide out from under him, and dropped his weight flat on top of Alan. "I have the upper hand."

"Oh my god," Alan wheezed, repeatedly hitting his back with his fist. "I'm being held here against my will."

"Only until you're honest with me," Lyall clarified amiably, grinning at his poor attempt at a counter-attack.

Alan groaned in response, and it almost seemed like he was accepting defeat since he stopped hitting his back. That was, until Alan resorted his efforts into scruffing up Lyall's hair and face with his hands, pushing him backwards. Sputtering, Lyall blindly flailed until he found Alan's hands. He grabbed Alan by his arms and pinned them down over his chest.

"Bugger," Lyall muttered, trying to blow his mussed hair from his eyes.

Alan groaned and stared flatly at him, pressing his lips together as if he was trying to bite back a pout, but it only worsened it. "You're the one who attacked me. I'm the innocent one here," he huffed out, voice indignant.

"True on both accounts," Lyall agreed breezily. But still refused to yield.

Alan's pout grew with disdain as he squinted his eyes at him. "Can you let go of me now?"

Lyall hummed, putting on a show of contemplation, then chirped, "Nope."

If looks could kill, then Alan's glare was daggering. It was oddly satisfying, the ability to irk him like this. And his expression of indignation, of course, rather endearing more than anything. In the same way that a small child glared at a parent, moments before a tantrum or passionate outburst.

And that was what Alan did next. Not exactly a tantrum, but close to one, considering he then propelled himself off the couch, rotating so that both of them would spin and land on the floor. The act of suddenly-- somehow-- rolling out from under him effectively shook Lyall's hold on him, and threw the both of them on their sides in front of the sofa.

Lyall actually hadn't expected him to gain enough momentum for that from having essentially no wiggle room. This split second of surprise gave Alan opportunity to spring his own attack. He pushed him on his back, quick to be the one straddling him down this time, even pinning Lyall's hands across his chest.

A smug, victorious smile spread across Alan's face, firmly pressing Lyall's hands against his own chest as he leaned in ever-so-slightly. "Who has the upper hand now?" he teased.

Lyall only grinned back. "Not a very creative form of retaliation," he half-groaned, dropping his head back onto the floor in defeat. Though, very subtly, he toed off his socks and planted his feet flat on the wood floor with his knees bent.

"I suppose it wouldn't be very creative of me to say I'm keeping you here until you are honest with me," Alan shot back with a huff, sitting up straight and effectively putting most of his weight against Lyall's stomach.

Lyall grunted with an exaggerated wince. "T'would not," he agreed. "Though, imitation is its own form of flattery, so." He managed the slightest of shrugs.

Alan blew a raspberry, and with his grasp still around his wrists, he moved his hands to flop over Lyall's face instead, effectively giving himself a weak slap to his own face.

"Sorry," Alan said innocently, repeating the movements over his face again. "I had to teach you humility."

"My--" Lyall sputtered. "Gah! My ego!"

He well enough found a firm footing by now, however. Once again, Lyall used his feet to propel himself across the floor and, twisting at his middle, thrust his hands to the side to throw Alan off. As predicted, Alan toppled to his side, offloading his weight off him. Giving Lyall the chance to whirl around and shove Alan down onto his back yet again.

Now that it wasn't off the table, Lyall set his full weight on Alan's waist, and pinned him down by his shoulders this time. In response, Alan was quick to react, though not to destabilize Lyall. Instead, he reached out with both hands to scruffle up Lyall's hair again, frantically running his hands down his face and scalp.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Lyall spluttered and blew aggressive raspberries as he tried leaning out of ruffling range. But, by virtue of having a longer reach, Alan's grip on him was firm. The more he tried to lean away, the firmer he spread his hands out over his face, squishing his cheeks together, which rendered his speech into utterly undignified gibberish.

"Al'n--" he tried. With a put-upon sigh, Lyall grabbed for his wrists again and pinned his arms down on the floor this time.

"Aw. You said my name so cute," Alan teased with a cheeky grin, meeting his gaze with smug defeat.

Lyall frowned deeply back at him. Thankful for the lack of light hiding how his face flushed with embarrassment.

"I am--" Lyall stopped short of a voice crack. Then cleared his throat to recompose himself. "I am not--"

"Cute?" Alan finished for him, voice playfully innocent.

Narrowing his gaze slightly, Lyall couldn't help but full-on pout with indignance.

"You're ridiculous," he shot back.

"I'm ridiculous?" Alan repeated with a faint laugh. "You're the one on top of me."

Lyall opened his mouth to retort, but. Alan had him there. It did make for a terribly compromising circumstance to a potential outside observer--

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed, too late, that his grasp on Alan's hand had loosened just enough for him to pull away and...

Boop. Alan had poked his nose.

"How about we call a truce?" he offered with a playful smile, keeping his finger at the tip of his nose to waggle it in a circle.

Balking, Lyall batted his hand away. "You expect me to settle for peace on what I can only rightly perceive as a counter-attack? You must be out of your damn mind, Alvaro. Peace is no longer an option!"

"Those are some fighting words, Lyall," Alan teased. "Especially for only a poke. Are you poke sensitive?"

But he didn't wait for a response, instead poking Lyall's cheek, then neck, poking at random spots as he traveled down his shoulder and arm.

With an incredulous splutter and laugh, Lyall grabbed his hand and held it down once more. "Alan, neither of us are walking away from this in a civilized manner until you answer my question."

"Wait. Lyall," Alan said with sudden seriousness, meeting his eyes. "I have a question. Do you think I should be using my head more?"

"Certified numbskull that you are," Lyall lightly shot back without missing a beat, "yes, I strongly believe you--"

Like lightning, Alan shot up and smacked his head to Lyall's. Lyall was left reeling. Both from the shock of unexpected blunt force trauma to his frontal lobes, and the fact that Alan managed to use his entire head, yet nary a single neuron in the process.

Wholly stunned, Lyall blinked hard as he sank back on his haunches. "--Alan!" he squeaked.

"You know, I much prefer you use my first name anyways," Alan said with a playful smile, using his now-free hands to poke his nose once more before comfortably setting his hands behind his own head. "It gets confusing since my family is here too."

"Oh my gods," Lyall groaned, pinching his eyes shut as he pressed both hands over his now-throbbing forehead. "I am actually suffering from the second largest nonfatal loss of grey matter in unrecorded human history." He then held both hands out in an aggressive shrug. "And all you can think about is how I address you?"

"What?" Alan said innocently, his playful grin shining bright even in the darkness. "I asked you if I should use my head more, and you said yes. It's a simple following of directions."

"Oh, so it's now when you heed my instruction?" Lyall hummed dryly. "Fantastic. Well, riddle me this, then." With his hands at either side of Alan's head, Lyall leaned over him again. "What on earth is going on inside that big--" Shifting his weight to one hand, he aggressively ruffled Alan's hair with the other. "--empty head of yours?"

With a frown, Alan scrunched his face and turned away, picking up his hands to prepare for a counter-attack, beginning his answer with a mocking, "I'll tell you what I'm thinking." Messily mimicking Lyall's actions, he flailed his hands around Lyall's face, once more scruffing up his hair while also patting his face. "And I mean this in the most loving way possible, but..." He softly slapped his hands over the side of his face, cupping his head with a teasing smiling. "You are a stubborn brat."

Lyall sharply gasped with half-legitimate offense. "How dare--" Leaning back again, he batted blindly at Alan's hands. "Unhand my ears," he demanded, "or I'll box yours!"

"Oh my god, you're threatening my ears?" Alan said with a feigned gasp of horror that quickly drew short. He pursed his lips, pressing his hands inwards to squish Lyall's head even more. "Nah, it's fine. Please box them."

With his loudest, most insulted huff, Lyall merely did the next best thing he could think of to escape the absurd sandwiching of his face; he fell flat on top of Alan again, with his face to his chest. He could feel Alan holding a laugh in his chest as he patted his head like a dog.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are insanely easy to tease?" Alan went on, releasing faint laughter anyways.

Turning his head to face out toward the fireplace, Lyall heaved a defeated sigh in response as he sprawled out with incredible dignity and poise. "Once or twice," he said. "Has anyone ever told you that you are entirely impossible sometimes?"

"That, my good friend," Alan said with a mockingly pleasant voice, slipping one hand behind his own head for support while keeping his other hand on the back of Lyall's head, "is for you to never find out."

Cheeky.

Grinning faintly, Lyall carefully propped his chin on Alan's chest to-- Mostly stare down his nostrils, it seemed. He couldn't help but snort quietly. "Only further proving my point," he said.

Alan didn't comment further, and Lyall was content to leave it be for a moment.

To fight the urge to close his eyes right now and have another quick sleep, Lyall closely watched the way Alan's expression shifted almost imperceptibly into something contemplative.

The silence didn't last long-- maybe ten or fifteen seconds at most. Alan kept still, staring at the ceiling with a deeper focus, breaking the silence to say, "Thank you. I actually feel a lot better now."

And, just like that, Lyall was fully alert again. He blinked, at first unsure of what to say. 'You're welcome' didn't feel entirely right, since he hardly did anything.

"Good," he said softly. "Yes, I'm..." Lyall cracked a brief, faint grin. "Glad to hear it."

Alan sighed, his chest rising up and down with the breath. "Well, what happened was that I didn't want to disturb you while you slept, and the impatient itch to be entertained grew too strong. So I finally caught up on hundreds of messages on my phone." He paused, frown deepening. "Truth be told, it is mostly the references about myself from the internet that kept me up. I keep getting told that I'm practically famous now, but I didn't really believe it until then. And I didn't even get to go through everything. My phone died before I could."

Oh.

From mere hints at the fuller, broadest internet-based discussions over... themselves, to the way he gave up his ambitions for his own future in order to support his family, Alan already had such a destabilized sense of self. Both these things, compiled with the unprecedented amount of global scrutiny brought on by affiliation with literal royalty... A deep dive into the cursed Twooter certainly explained the haunted look on his face earlier.

Slowly, Lyall folded his arms over Alan's chest and perched his chin on top of them to better view his friend. When nearly a full moment ticked past, and Alan didn't seem like he'd further his thoughts on his own, Lyall gently prompted, "Good things were said, I hope?"

"Well... what's your definition of good?" Alan asked instead, unmoving as he kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Mixed reviews, then. Complicated, at best.

Lyall managed a small shrug, tilting his head slightly to press into Alan's palm. "Oh, you know," he drawled, glancing off as he thought, "your usual run-of-the-mill compliments or flattery. Like, 'oh, how his topaz eyes sparkle when he smiles!' Or, 'Blimey, that Alvaro bloke's well on his way to be the next George Augstus Poolgrin Bridgertown.' Or something even cliché but nonetheless true like, 'Alan Alvaro: Big Heart and Big Talent.'"

There was a pause, and Alan rubbed his thumb against the back of his ear, but mostly touched his hair that was in the way. "Maybe," he answered. "That could have been said, sure. Though I didn't read any of that." A beat. "I don't think my ego is big enough to want to read random compliments about me on the internet."

It truly wasn't. Lyall had only agreed to diving back into violin himself, just so he could see Alan perform again without putting him on the spot.

"You don't need necessarily ego to receive a bit of praise every now and again," Lyall hummed in thought. He was momentarily tempted to close his eyes again as he slowly deflated with the idle stroking behind his ear. "But I understand your point." He shrugged a shoulder. "I only hope that it wasn't all bad."

"I suppose that also depends on your definition of bad." Alan sighed again, more deeply this time. "I don't think it was bad, per se. Reading all that felt more like a wake up call. I think I needed a splash of reality since I lost my frame of reference for normality. It's good to have, considering we're on some weird island vacation right now."

Lyall quietly hummed again. "True."

Though, the internet was hardly a reliable frame of reference either. The better "splash of reality" would be:

"Did you have the opportunity to catch up with some family and friends, then?" Lyall asked.

"I did," Alan answered. "Just in texts, though. I caught up in everything I missed the last two months. There was quite a bit, but I replied to some, though maybe I shouldn't have since I got caught up in the moment. I didn't get any responses yet, but it was nice to connect with the people in my normal life again." He paused, softly tapping a finger against the back of Lyall's neck. "Even though an unprecedented number of people contacted me, mostly touting about the show. It was still strange to see. I haven't talked to some of them for years."

"It's interesting, what it takes to put you back on the forefront of people's minds sometimes," Lyall mused. "Enough for them to reach out again after an extended silence, anyhow."

Alan slightly sat up, reaching back to pull in the fallen blanket to bunch up around his head and use as a pillow. "What about you? How has the outside world been treating you?" he asked, padding the blanket with each new swoop of his arm.

Carefully, Lyall rolled off to lie on his back beside him. "Truth be told," he murmured, folding his hands across his middle, "I haven't even checked. I'm..." He huffed a dry laugh. "...a little scared to, actually. And anyone outside whose opinions I'd actually value, I've fallen out of contact with, so."

Alan turned his head to the side, curiously watching him. "Whose opinions do you value, then?" he asked. "There has to be some people whose opinions you value."

Lyall hummed. "I suppose there still are," he quietly agreed.

The first ones who came to mind were friends from back in an older city. People he knew from childhood well into their teen years. Whom he treasured, because they knew each other in ways no one else really could.

But these were bridges that he burned--

No. Foundations that they first took sledgehammers to when he finally confided in them his magic.

"It's," he started, uncertain. "You know how life takes you and some friends down different paths sometimes, and you simply just don't talk anymore. You're all busy. Or you've all changed. You have fewer connecting points--" He stopped short of the deeper, uglier truth of it. "Especially when things turn long-distance. Things just slip away, right?"

"Sure, yeah," Alan agreed. "That happens naturally. It's part of growing older, coming in and out of other's lives with each new chapter. Though hopefully-- ideally-- newer, more interesting people replace the ones you've fallen out with."

"Yeah. That." Lyall absently drummed his hands on his stomach. "I suppose have got a few friends. Like, real ones, you know? Lars, Charlie, Jonas, Dagmara. All of whom I met through... Kaya."

"Ah." Getting into a more relaxed position, Alan bent one knee and then propped his head up with his hand, more easily giving Lyall his attention now. "That's always so tough. I assume she's better friends with them? These situations always put an awkward dent into the friendship."

"You would assume correctly," Lyall confirmed, tilting his head to meet Alan's eyes. "There are notifications of the messages they've sent. Even after." Things breaking off. "I just..." He dropped his voice to near-incomprehensible mumble. "...haven't known how to face it all, so I've ignored them."

Even in the dim light, Lyall could see his expression wash into empathetic understanding.

"It is shocking for all involved," he replied softly. "If they value your friendship, they must be worried and wanted to reach out. But..." He sighed. "I get it. It's not easy to face head-on, even as something as simple as reading a text. It certainly doesn't help that physical distance is involved as well."

Though, Lyall would say in this case, the distance was a help. If only to more easily avoid things.

He shrugged, facing the ceiling again. "All this to say, there are people on the outside, in addition to family, who I care what they think, yes. But in a way, I have fallen out of contact with most of them. Thus I don't know what they're saying or thinking of me right now." He lifted both hands in a sort of mock-surrender to lightly reiterate, "By my own fault."

"I'm sure they'd only say good things, anyways," Alan said more optimistically, a smile in his voice. "Like how you never give up on others, always there to help another person in need. Or how friendship with you is often effortless. It's always incredible how easy it feels to be uplifted by you. Maybe it's because you keep it light and breezy, and yet, your heart is in the right place. It's just a part of who you are." He shrugged, now grinning as he continued to fix his attention on Lyall. "At least, that's what I'd say if we were apart right now."

Folding his hands over his middle once more, Lyall mustered a small grin in turn. "I..." Highly doubted that was any of their actual lines of thought at present, but he settled for, "That's a possibility." After a pause, he turned away again with a murmured, "I, ahm, appreciate it."

"Of course, friend," Alan said warmly with a smile. He paused, smile fading a bit as he searched Lyall's face even in the dim light. "It sounds like life will look quite different for you when the summer is over, then."

"Quite," Lyall quietly agreed. Then tilted his head sideways again to look curiously back at Alan. "How about you? Have you given where you'll go after any more thought?"

"Not really..." Alan briefly glanced down to brush the edge of the blanket with his free hand before meeting his gaze again. "Have you?"

Lyall huffed a dry laugh back up at the ceiling. "I'm revisiting old plans to move out of the country entirely, actually."

"Wow, a whole new country," Alan murmured with awe. "That's a big life change. Where would you go?"

"Either back to the States, or even try Renvara," Lyall said. "Doesn't really matter where, honestly. Just as long as it's far from where I am now, and that I get to take my whole family with me." Then felt himself grin faintly at the return of an earlier thought from a week ago. "Perhaps you could come with, if you're still undecided by the end of the summer."

Alan smiled again, rolling over to his back with a soft thud. "You know, I did have the thought that, if I were to move somewhere new, it'd be the States," he said through the smile, idly brushing his hair back with his hand as he gazed up at the ceiling. "My dad lives there, so it'd make things easier. And Hild is there too. And if you're there too..." He hummed, settling his arm back across his chest. "Maybe we could still be roommates."

Lyall hummed an almost wistful laugh at the thought. "That," he said brightly, "right there. That's the newest dream, the ideal outcome."

Alan grinned, rolling back to his side to better face Lyall. "Where would you want to live, specifically? What would home look like to you?"

Huffing through his nose, Lyall shrugged with a lingering grin. "I... It doesn't really matter where, I guess, when given any deeper thought. All that matters is that it's a safe place, and I have all of my loved ones near me."

He blinked, wondering if that came out... Not wrong, per se. But there was the strong, somewhat unintended implication there of Alan being among that number. Falling under the umbrella term of "loved ones". But Lyall wasn't about to take it back, especially since. Well, he fully meant it.

"But surely you have preference. I know you do," Alan pressed, then added teasingly, "After all, if you have a preference on how you style your hair every day, you must have a preference on what an ideal home looks like to you."

Lyall rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Fine," he relented, "yes. Warm weather would be preferred, as well as space enough for comfortable co-existing, whomever I might be co-existing with. But, again I emphasize, these are preferences, and not at all on the necessities list." He waved vague circles. "For example, I could well enough bear unforgiving winters for the rest of my days, complaining but genuinely happy, if it meant I could be that much closer to Cyrin in Renvara. Since Renvara would check off the necessities boxes, and of course have the bonus of, well. Cyrin."

Alan softly hummed, poking at the blanket again. "You know, Lyall," he began, "it's okay to be a little selfish and say what you want." He shrugged a shoulder, smiling. "I think it's nice of you to be so considerate of others, but I asked what you want. Not anyone else."

Lyall blew an unimpressed raspberry and nudged his elbow to Alan's. "That's rich, coming from you. And! For your information, that is what I want."

"I know." Alan huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know." He rolled himself to lay on his back again, contemplatively staring up at the ceiling. "Okay then. Ask me what I want."

"Gladly," Lyall said, turning on his own side to face Alan now. "What is it that Alan Alvaro most desires? As the ideal home, career, and choice of song-- his favorite, might I insist once again-- for a personal serenade by yours truly?"

Alan scoffed out an amused laugh, tilted his head towards him with a smile. "That's a lot of questions," he mused.

"We've got a little over 14 hours now," Lyall hummed warmly, resting his head on a bent arm. "Take your time."

"Can't argue with that," Alan said with a puff of air, returning his thoughtful gaze up at the ceiling. "Well. I was really only thinking about what an ideal home would look like for me," he began. "I think what's important to me is having a new chapter. A new beginning, one free of pressure and expectation. I can live life on my own terms, at my own pace-- whatever that looks like. I've always lived in a big city, and I honestly can't imagine myself living anywhere smaller. So that would stay the same. Of course, I'd want friends and family to be near me too, but that isn't a requirement. I can manage by myself, and I'd like to think I do a good job at staying in touch, regardless of distance. Though what is an important requirement for me is music. I'd like to live somewhere with higher energy, where music can be enjoyed in communities and groups. And... I think that's it, really. My preferences are rather simple."

Lyall nodded, taking it all in and condensing it all into a mental "Alan Alvaro Necessities" list. "So, independence," he murmured, "and a bustling art scene. At the very least. Yes?"

"That's... hm. Yeah," Alan murmured with a nod. "That summarizes it concisely."

Grinning semi-victoriously, Lyall quickly reached back for the pillow on the floor and used that instead. "Right, then," he said. "Ideal career?"

Alan chuckled softly. "No clue," he admitted. "Music hardly makes money. So, I'm not really picky. I can work with whatever jobs are open. I'm sure I'll find something."

"That's fair," Lyall replied softly. But, considering this man basically had his choice of international schools...

He gently pressed, "Assuming money wasn't a barrier, though. The perfect world doesn't exist, but..." But at least Alan dared to dream sometimes. "...If it was, and you didn't have to worry about any logistics. What would you want to do?"

Alan tilted his head towards him again, curiously quirking a brow. "That's a lot of ifs," he stated.

Lyall quirked a brow back. "These are all hypotheticals, anyhow," he lightly countered.

"Well, I don't really like thinking about hypotheticals, instead focusing on what is," Alan countered back. "It's easy to get lost on the million different 'what if' scenarios that never happened. They're not really worth my time-- but the present is."

Lyall furrowed a brow, still grinning on instinct. "Alan," he reiterated with a huffed laugh, "this entire conversation is constructed of pure hypotheticals. Why stop here?"

"I disagree," Alan said more firmly. "I feel like we are venturing more towards regret territory, versus before we were outlining dreams and aspirations." He shrugged a shoulder, lifting his hand to place behind his head. "Which I'm fine talking about too. I have plenty of regrets. Though they are quite different than dreamy hypotheticals."

Lyall felt his defensive grin fade with open confusion. "...Are dreams and regrets not one and the same?" he asked, without really thinking.

Alan stared at him with an open pause, brows pinched together with a mix of worry and concern. "No," he answered after a short silence. "They're not." He sighed, propping up his head with his hand. "Say you have to choose between decision A and decision B. Regret isn't simply about choosing the wrong decision. Rather, regret is about the pain you feel that you had to make a choice in the first place-- that to open one door, you had to close another. Regret isn't about the choice. It's about knowing that you were always going to mess up, lose, and pick the wrong decision. Because at its core, regret is the constant self-reflection and lookbacks on the endless 'what if' scenarios about the decision you had to make. What if you didn't mess up, what if you didn't lose, what if you did this instead of that, and so on. That is regret."

Regret was pain.

"Right," Lyall breathed out, feeling almost winded from the way Alan's words hit him so squarely in the gut. He had to face the ceiling again, to escape the unwarranted worry in his friend's eyes. "They pertain to choices, not necessarily dreams. I..."

Got so used to dreaming far smaller, he supposed.

"...somehow conflated the two," he opted for instead.

Of course there would have been regret, no matter which path Alan picked. Moving away to pursue a career overseas would've not only taken him from his family when they needed all the support they could get, but it was the kind of intense, academic and artistic pursuit that wouldn't leave much room for living and loving as freely as Alan wanted to.

But Alan ultimately chose to stay, to be that much-needed support for the ones he loved so dearly. And in doing so, let his own aspirations for any real, fulfilling career pass him by.

Of course the topic would only bring Alan pain.

"I can see how you could confuse the two," Alan said with a faraway thoughtful gaze and a soft hum. "Regret is also dreams that never were. Dreams are the hopeful thought of what could be, while regret is the despairing thought of what never was."

Lyall let out a quiet breath through his nose. "...In which case," he murmured, turning back on his side to face Alan, "we can just skip that question. I apologize for... getting carried away for a moment."

"It's alright. No need to apologize," Alan said with a smile. "I actually don't mind answering. I only skirted around your question because I wanted to challenge the line of thought you were following. That, and I think the answer is fairly obvious."

Lyall huffed a bit dryly. "I suppose it is. And there wasn't much thought to it, really, to be honest. It just felt nice to explore... hypotheticals."

"It is," Alan agreed. With a grin, he reached out to poke Lyall's chest. "So, what are your hypotheticals?"

"What?" Lyall mustered a grin as he lightly swatted at Alan's hand. "No, last question first, before I forget. Alan Alvaro's favorite song." He poked back at his shoulder. "Go."

This time, Alan swatted away at his hand-- though he did this by poking away at him, pushing his hand back.

After drawing out a thoughtful hum, Alan smiled and answered, "My Way by Frank Soonatra."

Lyall also hummed, but louder and with his brows raised in mild suspicion. "And this is a song you actually quite enjoy?" he pressed. "Like, one you could listen to endlessly? That is, as some say, 'your jam'?"

Alan slapped his hand over his chest as he let out an exaggerated gasp. "I'm insulted that you would even doubt my choice of jam."

With a playful squint, Lyall nodded slowly in relenting. "I trust you're being entirely honest with me right now, and shall take tentative note."

"Why?" Alan said with a silly grin, repeatedly poking at his chest again. "Should I prepare for a serenade?"

Lyall laughed incredulously, grabbing his hand in both of his own and giving it an emphatic shake. "Yes! Exactly that. As I've promised multiple times!"

"If that's the case," Alan began, wriggling a little closer with a playful smile, "then I only have one request for you, Lyall."

Still confused as to how his hand could be so cold with this humidity, Lyall fully wrapped his hands around Alan's and held it to his chest. "Let's hear it," he said with a broad smile. "I make no promises, but my ears are open."

"All I ask," Alan began softly, inching his head and hand a little bit closer to his, "is that you..." And suddenly the tip of Lyall's nose was being poked by Alan's finger. "Do it." Poke. "Your." Poke. "Way."

Indignance increasing with each unwarranted poke, Lyall's light-hearted grin quickly morphed into an unamused frown. With a huff, he shoved Alan's hand away to grab the pillow and lightly whack it over Alan's face. "Well, now I'm quite torn," Lyall said with a laugh. "Do I stay true to the original just to spite you, or shall I basically reinvent the melody altogether?"

Alan's smile faded into a flat look after he pulled the pillow down, fluffing it up with one hand. "It's a very Lyall thing to reinvent a melody," he mused, still aggressively fluffing the pillow, as if he were gearing up to prepare for an attack. Which, based on cheeky glances he gave Lyall, was even more indicative that he was.

Quirking a brow, Lyall pushed himself upright and leaned back on the sofa to put distance between them. "I rather prefer to preserve the originals," he admitted, resting his elbows on his bent knees. "Why change something if I'm rather fond of how it is already?"

Alan, however, followed his movements, sitting up to scoot closer to him, perching himself directly across from him rather closely. With one knee in the air, he perched the pillow on his lap, still patting it as he kept a close eye on Lyall. "You have an old fashioned soul. Stick to the original, then. It fits you, anyways."

Eyeing Alan's weapon, fluffed and primed for retaliation, Lyall idly bounced his heel. "That only makes me want to ultimately put a spin on it," he tsked playfully. "Don't underestimate my spiteful side."

"Oh, I know. I don't," Alan said teasingly, inching forward some more until their knees brushed next to each other.

Lyall shifted in his spot, quickly calculating potential escape routes for when Alan did choose to strike. "Hypotheticals, then," he backtracked. "What in particular did you want to know?"

"Career choice," Alan said with a loose wave of his hand as if it was obvious. "You pursued doctor path because of your family, right? But what do you truly want to pursue?"

"Ah. A fair question, yes." He idly scratched behind his ear as he glanced off in thought. "I'd actually considered a variety of potential careers. Not very seriously, of course. But thoughts crossed my mind throughout high school." He let his hand drop to rest on his knee again. "I got involved in a lot of stage plays, and thought acting might have been fun. Investigative journalism was interesting for a time. Ahm... Acrobatics? Not unlike Cyrin. Though Oolympiks-level athleticism was probably aiming a bit too high." He shrugged and waved dismissively. "Among many other little hobbies and fleeting passion projects that caught my attention for no longer than a month or less at a time."

With a slight tilt of his head, Alan hummed and smiled with open admiration and awe. "That's a lot of passion spread out over different activities. Do you have a favorite?"

Lyall hummed. Did he? They were all fun and exciting in their own ways, and got him to push himself in ways he might not have thought to otherwise. Anyway, it was less an even distribution of passion as Alan seemed to think, and more tunnel-visioning on one at a time for a sustained period until the passion more likely than not very suddenly and dramatically died, and he moved onto the next thing.

"I've maintained writing," he eventually said. "For as long as I have a way to translate my thoughts into a tangible form for posterity-- by hand or digitally-- I'll always be able to easily and cheaply keep up with it. Though, it's mostly for daily, personal journaling as of late."

"Hm." Alan idly fluffed up the pillow between both hands again. "Does that mean you've dabbled in creative fiction?"

"In high school," Lyall answered with a confirming nod. With his attention drawn back to the pillow, he had half a mind to put more distance between them. He stayed put for now. "Alongside theatre, I liked the idea of being a playwright. Had a few ideas drafted, but those wound up lost."

"Aw... How come?" Alan asked.

Lyall shrugged. Then gave in to his restlessness and pulled himself up onto the couch. "I wrote them by hand. The documents probably got misplaced in one of the many times I changed places of residence."

Alan stared up at him sadly from the floor for a moment, then turned away so he could bring the blanket together with the pillow, standing up with it. "That's just the first draft. You can always write another," he said more encouragingly, sitting closely on the couch next to him and tossing the blanket his way.

"If I recall it correctly," Lyall said, scooting sideways-- only to find himself trapped against the arm of the couch already, especially since Alan followed suit. "...it was beyond salvaging anyhow. T'was a hot mess."

"What's wrong with that?" Alan said with a smile, elbowing his side despite already being brushed up against him. "Hot messes deserve time and attention too."

Lyall huffed a slightly wry laugh. "Things I didn't quite have in abundance, once I moved to the States for a bit." Turning sideways, he rested his legs over the pillow in Alan's lap. The perfect solution to preventing a counter-strike.

Alan rested his hands on top of Lyall's thighs spread across his lap, content with the genius prevention of attack. "You've moved around so much. How many new places have you lived in?"

"I."

Now that the threat of an attack by pillow was neutralized, Lyall wriggled a bit, unable to fully settle with Alan's hands... right there.

"Quite a few times, now that I think about it. But mostly--" He shimmied some more, trying to politely but quickly remove himself from the situation he put himself in. "Mostly within Fjelstad's capital, in my far younger years." He finally slid his legs sideways off the pillow, then bumped his shoulder to Alan's. "You've been to the States a few times, right?"

"Quite a few times, yeah," Alan said with a nod, settling his hands on top of the pillow on his lap. "I haven't gotten back since... well." He huffed out a dry laugh. "It's been a decade now. Time flies. But I spent a lot of my childhood summers there." With a smile, he shrugged. "The States is nostalgic to me, and I'm a sentimental man."

Lyall hummed with a small, fond smile. "And it's rather a strength of yours," he said, "your level of sentimentality and caring." He leaned back on the couch. "Honestly, I'd like to go back to the States on holiday or something. I didn't find much opportunity to explore as much during my stay." He nudged Alan's elbow with his own. "Any places you'd recommend, or was it too early childhood to recall?"

Alan smiled back, drumming his hands against the pillow. "We both want to go back, and maybe, possibly, even live there. I do remember some places, but they are rather simple, and I think I ought to show you in person instead of simply describing it." He tilted his head up towards the ceiling with a wider smile, clearly reminiscing with nostalgia. "I spent my summers in Nueva York and have many fond memories roaming around Center Park, though."

"An essential spot, then," Lyall said, grinning as he watched his friend, "should we visit."

"When we visit," Alan corrected with a grin and a nudge of his elbow.

Lyall huffed a laugh. "When we visit," he softly amended.

Leilan inhaled the salty air, leaning over the edge of the boat as the bow sliced through the last of the water to the island. So this was it. The illusory paradise the DMV was operating from these days.

It was quite beautiful, he thought. A bit like Aphirah's island of Cinzaya, but smaller and less desert like. There were more palm trees lining the coast, and the beach sand was whiter, finer. He'd seen many panoramas and birds-eye views of the island, from the show, but it had never looked as vibrant and saturated as it did in person. He'd never seen it at sunrise before, either.

Looking at it, it was hard to believe anything bad had happened here.

Leilan heard a bark coming from behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder with a smile to see Pinto running up. The border collie's paws clacked loudly on the surface of the deck as he tackled Leilan's side. With a grin, Leilan patted his dog's head.

"Yeah, that's right, Pinto," he said with a chuckle. "This is home for the next two months."

Pinto barked excitedly.

"Hmm." Leilan made a show of thinking like Pinto had expressed something. "No, I don't think we'll be sleeping on the sand. There's probably a cabin for us."

Pinto's ears perked up.

"Yeah, a beach cabin. Won't that be cool?" Leilan grinned again. "Shane's gonna be here too. He's going to love to see you."

Pinto scurried around eagerly, trying to peek over the railing, and the sight made Leilan laugh again.

He sobered up a little, however, at the thought of Shane. He hadn't heard from his friend in a month, and it was easily one of the worst times there could be to not be able to text him. Leilan had worried a lot about the timing of the DMV testing for Shane, but since it had been scheduled a year in advance, there was nothing to do about it. It hadn't reassured him much to watch the show, either.

Shane had to be feeling so overwhelmed and crushed. From what Leilan had seen, the island had taken a toll on him, possibly even dealt him some heartache. He didn't know what to make of... any of the controversy surrounding him and the contestant Alan Alvaro, or even the news that had broken earlier this week that apparently, Shane didn't remember Alex. Leilan had reacted to that and Shane's unawareness of her on the show with disbelief, but the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't rule out that it was true. Shane hadn't mentioned Alex to him since more than a month before they'd parted ways. He'd assumed that was out of it being a sensitive topic, and he'd been happy to respect that wish, but... now, he didn't know.

Leilan hoped to hear Shane's own side of the story, though. And he hoped that he was hanging on by more than a thread.

He blinked the world back into focus as the island got ever closer, and he could see they were approaching a dock. Leilan squinted at the person standing on it, recognizing them from their sunglasses. Dante, the grounds manager from the show. He raised a hand in a wave, and Dante waved back.

As the bock docked, a ramp lowered to the boards. Pinto was dashing over it before it even connected, barking excitedly and running circles around Dante. Leilan was about to call about a warning, but the grounds manager just smiled, scratching the dog's ears when he came to a stop.

"Is this Pinto?" Dante asked, glancing at Leilan with a smile.

Leilan returned the smile as he stepped off the boat, hands in his pockets. So it really was his job to know everything, then. "The one and only."

Dante removed a hand from Pinto's head as he extended it to Leilan. "I'm Dante," he greeted. "You may have heard of me."

Leilan shook it. "I'm Leilan. You might have heard of me, too."

Dante chuckled at the joke. "Sure have. I'm honored." He clasped his hands together. "I trust you have some knowledge of the island?"

"I know a bit about what's here," Leilan confirmed. "I don't already know my way around, though."

"The cabin assignments are changing around this week, so everyone else is about to get their bearings mixed up as well," Dante said. "I'm told to direct you over there, although..." He pointed at the crest of a hill. "That's not the shortest route to your cabin, so I'm not sure why they're having you go there. I suppose you'll find out. We'll take care of your bags, though, so you won't have to haul them anywhere."

Leilan had been getting a lot better at lifting lately, so he could've handled it, but he gave Dante a grateful nod nonetheless.

"Scenic route?" he guessed.

Dante chuckled. "Honestly, every path here is a scenic route. But sure, there's probably some nice views. After you climb the hill, you'll see the cabins on the beach. Yours is the one with a fire escape on one of the balconies." He then pointed to his left. "If you need anything from me or another staff member, our cabins are that way."

"Thank you, Dante," Leilan said gratefully, as Pinto made his way back to him. "I'll see you around."

"See you around," Dante said warmly.

With Pinto in stride, Leilan left the docks, starting his walk over the sand and up the hill trail. He took it slowly, mostly because the ocean was behind him, and he kept wanting to look over his shoulder at the views. That, or Pinto would take off after a blade of grass that obviously needed herding, and Leilan would stop so as not to make it too far without him. Eventually, though, they made it to the top, and Leilan looked ahead and downward from his vantage point, searching for the cabins along the beach.

...They weren't there.

Confused, Leilan looked further side to side. When he didn't see any sign of constructions, he decided he just wasn't far along enough yet. He'd only crossed a small portion of the island, after all, and he certainly couldn't see all of it from here. With a shrug, he kept going along the crest of the hill.

He'd only made it about twenty steps when suddenly Pinto, who was trotting by his side, suddenly hung back with a whimper.

"Pinto?" Leilan asked with concern, waving him forward. "Come on, there's nothing here."

But Pinto only whined, backing up a few steps.

This was strange. His dog never acted like this.

With a confused frown, Leilan scanned the landscape ahead. It was perfectly innocent, looking exactly like the rest of the hill so far. There were no creatures, whether human or animal, and the ground looked safe of natural threats. He couldn't see any sort of cause for alarm.

"It's alright, boy," he said, taking a few more steps forward. "See? Nothing to worry about."

For a few seconds, Pinto did nothing, only watched him tensely. Then suddenly, as Leilan was about to finish taking another step, he started barking like mad.

Leilan froze when his foot hit the ground. But he didn't freeze of his own volition. Something-- a cold, eerie numbness, seemed to be traveling up his leg invisibly. Feeling a shard of panic, he tried to tug his leg back, but he didn't feel anything, and his leg didn't move an inch. It didn't even look like his muscle had flexed or done anything.

What...?

Now considerably more worried, Leilan moved his other leg back to keep it away from the spreading numbness, but it was too late. He could feel it creeping up until the entirety of his both legs and his chest felt numb. And behind him, out of the reach of whatever force this was, Pinto's barking had grown more panicked.

In a desperate, futile attempt to keep it at bay, Leilan held an arm out in front of him, hand raised against it. Soon, he couldn't feel his wrist. His elbow. His shoulder. His other arm. A moment later, he couldn't feel anything at all.

Time stopped.

Waking from the horrible memory, drenched in a cold sweat, Lyall threw himself up onto his hands and knees to steady himself. Then, sobered in an instant at the sound of shallow water around him, he yelped and scrambled back until he was pressed against a wall. It felt like ice, the cold almost stinging through his sweater.

Echoes of his own shocked voice lingered the way they would have in the high school natatorium. But this wasn't the cement floor of the swimming pool. Even with his vision, he could tell it was far darker than any academic building ever would be.

Eyes wide, Lyall swallowed thickly as he scanned the jagged, uneven walls around him. Were these stones? In some sort of cave? How did he end up in a cave? Breaths growing short and hard, he warily eyed the water around his feet.

Typically nightmares were a mercy, because at the very least one could wake from them. But this...? He was fairly certain he was awake. He couldn't be more alert.

Where was the cabin--

Shite, he thought, heart lurching violently at the realization that the space beside him was empty.

"Alan?" he called out, voice pitched with panic.

"Lyall!" Alan's voice echoed around the bend of the cavern, along with turbulent splashing. "Where are you? Keep calling out to me."

Freezing in place, Lyall angled his head slightly to triangulate where his friend was. Then dashed for the source when he pinpointed it, desperately honing in his focus on Alan's voice rather than the way the floor sloped deeper into the water.

"Alan, are you hurt?" he urgently prompted.

"I'm not hurt," Alan replied calmly. "Are you?"

Rounding the bend, Lyall could clearly see his friend following the source of his voice, hurriedly trudging through the water with his hand brushing against the stone wall as guidance. It was quite dark, and based on him distantly squinting around the room, Alan didn't seem to recognize Lyall just yet.

Though awash in relief and wanting nothing more than to embrace him, Lyall slowed in his approach to keep from startling his friend. He next turned his focus to providing a light source. "I'm alright," he answered, calming his breaths.

He rigorously rubbed his hands together to get a spark. Then, carefully blowing into his cupped hands, breathed a small flame into existence.

Now with newfound sight, Alan quickly closed the gap between them, legs quickly splashing through the water. Without wasting a beat, he reached out and brushed Lyall's arms up and down with his hands. With his own hands full, Lyall let out a heavy sigh of relief as he was able to assess his friend up close himself.

"Okay, not a dream," Alan murmured, but his gaze quickly settled on to Lyall's facial features. He quizzically searched his face until his eyes wandered up towards his head. "Or... maybe..." He trailed off, not finishing the thought as he continued to stare confusedly, still holding on to his arm.

Brows pinching with open confusion of his own, Lyall gave him a final once-over for any signs of injury. "What?" he eventually pressed, meeting Alan's strange look once more.

"Just..." Alan let out a weak laugh, finally pulling away. "Nothing. Never mind." He tilted his head down to stare at the water, which was now up to their knees. "The water level is rising quickly. Did you see an exit anywhere?"

Eyes widening, Lyall looked down at their feet. "Fuck," he hissed, panic spiking his heartrate once more, "since when?"

He just assumed that it was the ground's natural incline. He hadn't realized the water itself was rushing them. Frantically, he scanned the walls and above their heads for any exits, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

"Do you know how to swim?" Alan asked, voice calm with his attention still fixed on him.

Lyall waded through the water in mad search of a way out, now that he had Alan with him. "Did you see--" He stopped himself short. "No, sorry. Nevermind."

He rounded the bend where Alan had come from, and Alan quickly followed behind, gesturing upwards to the walls.

"There might be a crevice or opening against the walls. Can you shine light against it as we walk?" he asked, wading to the other side of the path that was winding and narrowing. The water level was quickly rising, now up to their thighs. "I can look here if you give me light as well."

There weren't. But Alan couldn't know that if he couldn't see. An oversight on Lyall's part.

Willing his shaking hands to steady, he fed the fire with another slow exhale, lighting the stone corridor for his disadvantaged companion.

"Thank you," Alan said with a smile, beckoning for him to follow him ahead. "We'll find an exit, but we have to keep moving. Can you keep giving me light?"

Turning his eyes from the algae-ridden ceiling to his friend's calming smile, Lyall drew in a breath and managed a small nod. His fears were not abated in the least, but Alan's presence bolstered him. Lyall couldn't in good conscience simply roll over and give in to the fears. Not without at least trying to fight for his friend's survival.

Gods, he hoped no one else was here. How did they even wind up here? Was this a DMV administered test? Another cruel, twisted "event"?

With the water fighting against them, they made haste to the best of their abilities. His hands still free, Alan quickly but steadily felt around for anything loose to give way. Having to hold Alan's light source, Lyall intently studied the darkness and the water around their legs. For anything that might point to a source, and thus a way out.

What at first appeared to be a disheartening dead end gradually became clearer the longer he studied it... It was a pile of loose-looking boulders and broken stones. As they quickly waded through, Lyall even dared to hope that he could sense the flow of the water rushing them coming from it.

Alan tested the rocks. Nothing gave.

No, no...

Still unable to make any sense of their situation, and now quickly losing hope, Lyall felt his own composure start to crack again. Dropping the flame, he came up alongside Alan to shove at the stones himself. When nothing budged, he frantically clawed at the smaller pieces wedged in the crevices between, managing to pull a few loose.

The water was up to their waists.

He slammed a shoulder against one of the larger stones. Maybe he was delirious with fear at this point, but he could've sworn it moved. With a determined growl, he threw himself against it again. And again. It slid sideways, only to reveal more of the same. He tried grasping a more jagged rock poking out behind it. His hands slipped from its wet surface, especially since Alan was suddenly pulling him back by the shoulders.

"Lyall. Can you swim?" he asked again, voice more grave and serious as he firmly held on to him from behind, prying him away from the wall to swivel him around.

The water had reached their shoulders.

Reluctantly facing Alan, he whimpered, "No."

For a dreadful moment, the two of them merely stared at each other as the one word fully sunk in. Lyall wanted to apologize for being dead weight. Not that it would make a difference in the end--

Gods, the end? Was this really how Death would take them? Sudden, and without any explanation?

Alan the next second reached up to the low ceiling with one hand, gauging the space and time they had left.

"It's okay. Stay with me. Okay?" Alan said calmly.

Though even he sounded skeptical of his own words. The water level was now dribbling up to Lyall's neck, and using the water's buoyancy to his advantage, Alan wrapped his hands under his shoulders and lifted him a few inches so he could more easily breathe.

Uncoordinated and harsher than intended, Lyall broke from Alan's grasp, pushing him away. "Save your energy," he urged lowly.

"There's nowhere to go," Alan said gently, reaching out to hold his arm.

"Then there's no point," Lyall insisted, voice turning thick.

"I know," Alan replied, voice still gentle. "So can we stay together? Please?"

Turning his stinging eyes up toward the unfeeling deities, Lyall let out a shakier breath. Then he met Alan's ever-warm gaze through the darkness, unable to suppress a sorrowful frown.

Because together now meant they were both facing the same wretched fate.

Unable to form an audible answer without completely breaking, Lyall took Alan's hand in both of his and quietly held it close to his sinking heart. With his free hand, Alan pushed off the wall and wrapped his arm around Lyall's waist, propping him up a few inches off the ground again.

"Do you know how to float, at least?" he asked with a small smile.

Lyall scoffed. "The ability to float less pertains to know-how, and more to water displacement..." He was wasting precious breath. Weakly, he finished, "So, yes."

Alan quietly hummed, paddling up a few more inches towards the ceiling with Lyall in tow, but the water level was still up to their chest as it was even more quickly rising now.

"Someday, I'll teach you how to swim," Alan said wistfully, peering up at the ceiling.

Lyall bit out a bitter laugh. Though being held close, he tried his best to tread with his feet alongside his dear friend's idle efforts to keep them afloat.

"And I hope the day you're unable to find the light in the bleakest of places never comes," he murmured. "It's one of many things I admire deeply about you."

Alan smiled warmly, giving him his full attention again. "In that case, I am honored that your last feeling towards me is admiration." He grazed his thumb against his palm. "Thank you for staying with me and having you be my final memory, Lyall. I'm so happy to have known you."

"Final memory." The words gutted Lyall.

And suddenly he wasn't so concerned about a slow and painful death in the form he most feared. Not as the full weight of Alan's life coming to such an unexpected end hit him full force. The whole situation, abrupt and inexplicable and terrifying, was so utterly wrong. How could the world so quickly and mercilessly snuff out possibly the brightest soul he'd ever had the good fortune of witnessing?

Their heads brushed the ceiling. The water finally crept up to their necks.

"I--" Lyall began, but stopped himself short.

Out the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something... gently lighting up in a spiral as the water lapped high at the walls. And he realized, this wasn't regular moss or algae.

How hadn't he seen the fern-like patterns in the ceiling sooner?

They had to tilt their chins up now as the water began to completely overtake them.

"Gully-weed," Lyall blurted out instead, pointing to the brightest patch, about 6 feet away. "Over there--" The turbulent water splashed over his face, and he spluttered.

For a split second, Alan only stared wide-eyed at him in questioning.

Lyall only managed a choked out, "Go!"

Then they each sucked in a breath as the water finally overtook them.

It filled Lyall's ears, dampening his senses, and stung his eyes when he blinked them open again. In the dim light of the glowing plants around them, Alan gave him one last questioning glance. Lyall lightly pushed on his shoulder in answer, and Alan was off like a shot.

With one hand pressed against the ceiling to steady himself, counting the seconds as they passed, Lyall watched intently as Alan followed the green light to the unfurling plants. He grabbed two of the longer strands as they reached down, then kicked off the wall back to Lyall, the handful outstretched for him to take.

Confusion was still clear in Alan's eyes, but he put his complete trust in Lyall anyway. For which Lyall wanted to thank him, once they were in the clear.

Lyall took one of the slimy weeds and, steeling his resolve before he could think himself out of it, shoved it into his mouth. He choked on the metallic water as it invaded his lungs, but managed to fully swallow it down. Alan was hesitant at first, but he quietly copied his actions, biting down the plant to eat.

The effects of the plant didn't have a very certain time frame. It depended on factors like ripeness, the composition of the stones they grew on, and the subject consuming it.

Just as he started to second guess his own judgement and panic again, the cave water burning in Lyall's lungs began to subside, and his choking gradually turned into erratic-- but actual-- breathing--

Or was Lyall just dying? Transitioning from the material plane to one of the nine hells awaiting beyond this suffering--

He didn't get to finish the thought, because Alan wrapped his arms around his shoulders and embraced him.

Sucking in a full breath, Lyall clung back tightly onto his beloved friend. He blinked the cave around them back into focus, felt the way the water painlessly filtered in through newly-formed gills on the sides of his neck, inflating his reformed lungs.

Relief and realization both crashed over him at once, and Alan's embrace-- firm and warm-- slowly but surely settled his racing mind and heart. Just enough for Lyall to still think clearly.

They were going to make it.

If this were a dream, then it was a very surreal, very intense dream. Whether it was or wasn't one didn't matter too much-- Alan was grateful all the same.

There was a lot he didn't understand. Why did they wake up in a cave, why was water rising, why did Lyall look different, what was this plant they ate, why didn't he say more at the last minute together, why could they breathe underwater now...

But it didn't matter. At this moment, it didn't matter. Alan was just grateful that he could live to see another day with his friend.

He took a deep breath, matching Lyall's deepness of breath. Poor Lyall was shaking, his hands clutching on to his clothes, his breath short and unwieldy. Alan held him close, feeling the gravity of the situation sink into his own heart.

They were alive. That was worth celebrating.

Though at the same time, Alan recognized now that Lyall was uncomfortable about being underwater. And yet, here they were. Alive and breathing somehow, but still underwater.

Lyall didn't feel safe.

Alan gave him a gentle squeeze, one hand behind Lyall's head, scooping in his hair as he pushed him closer into his chest. "Lyall," he called, watching the air bubble leave his mouth. The word felt garbled and jumbled underwater, though at least they could still communicate. Somewhat. "Lyall?"

Head tucked under Alan's chin, Lyall desperately clung back like he was a lifeline. He let out a short whine as he tried forcing his breathing to steady.

"It's alright. We're safe now," Alan said softly, brushing back his hair floating in the water.

Still closely holding his friend, Alan peered down the corridor of the cave, now lit up by the glowing seaweed that presumably allowed them to breathe underwater. There was only one way to go, since the side that Lyall woke up from was a dead end. This felt suspiciously set up...

Today was event day. Perhaps this was another event by the DMV. So... not a dream. Presumably.

There were still a lot of unanswered questions, but now was not the time to go over it all. He'd rather be there for Lyall.

Alan turned back to his friend and gently offered, "There's no rush. We can stay here until you're ready to move. I'm not going anywhere."

"No," Lyall said quickly, finally pulling away. Brows furrowed, he patted a hand to Alan's cheek, then shoulder, seemingly with lingering disbelief. "We ought to find a way out, as quickly as possible."

Alan searched Lyall's gaze, though it was hard to make out anything considering it was not only dim, but he couldn't see well without his glasses, which he took off his face when he felt it drifting away during his short swim.

With the lens in hand, he quietly tucked it away in a satchel-- which wasn't his, but again, now wasn't the time to question these things-- and turned back to Lyall to say, "Are you sure? There's no rush now. We can wait until you're ready."

Lyall looked ready to counter again with further insistence, but paused as he glanced down. His hand brushed the side of Alan's neck, and curiosity lit up his eyes momentarily. Then he flicked his gaze back up to Alan's face as he pressed his hand to his cheek once more.

"I s'pose I'll be your eyes," he finally replied in gentler insistence than before.

Alan smiled, squinting at him. "I can see," he said teasingly, trying not to sound too defensive. "I should be okay. But thank you."

Lyall only hummed with a hint of doubt, but didn't further comment on the matter. With one hand still loosely holding onto Alan's sleeve, he reached out to some more of the weed-like plants nearby and plucked a handful.

Alan followed suit, reaching up on the other side to pull out a few of the leaves. "How long does this let us breathe underwater?" he asked.

"Anywhere between 10 minutes to 12 hours," Lyall said with a slight wince. He closely examined the strands in his palm before eating the whole bunch. "You'd have to consume an ungodly amount of these within 24 hours before you could incur any negative side effects," he added as he chewed, "so it doesn't hurt to stay ahead of it."

Well. Alan supposed he shouldn't complain that it tasted terrible, considering that they were only alive because of this. Instead, he ate one of the smaller plant pieces first, pocketing the rest to eat later should he need it.

Then suddenly, out of the thick of a nearby seaweed mass, a man appeared. Or maybe, a fish? ... No, definitely a man, though his skin was a deep, dark purple, his ears were long and pointed, and his hair was a stark white. But the most notable thing about him was that he wasn't swimming. He was just... walking, as if the water didn't even affect him.

"Well, well, well," Alexander's familiar voice floated over to them, sounding strangely normal for being underwater. It was almost uncanny, especially since no air bubbles left his mouth while he spoke, or even breathed for that matter. "What a crazy situation to find ourselves in. Looks like you two are quick-thinking. Would've been a shame were anyone to drown down here."

"Mister Alexander," Lyall called back in complete surprise. He withdrew from Alan and pressed a hand against the ceiling to keep himself upright. "Are... How are you...?"

"I'm doing quite well," Alex said with a small bow. "Thank you for asking. And you?"

Delayed, Lyall huffed out through his nose. "Good to hear, but allow me to clarify: how are you walking as if unaffected by... this flooded environment?"

Alex's white teeth shone as he smiled wide.

"Ah! Yes, see, I've found a long-lasting solution for our predicament. As it turns out, some of our newfound local plantlife bears similar qualities to those in Nye. Fun fact, when I was a teenager, I did quite a lot of underwater diving around where I grew up on the coast before I moved inland. Among some of the plants on our isles, there's this porous sponge that finds its home in the crevices of reefs and rocks. As it turns out, the sponge has magical properties - the likes of which were discovered by a man named Bob Patterick. He named the sponge quite selfishly after himself, and it's now called the bobsponge."

Apparently procuring said sponge out from his pockets, Alan squinted at the yellowish-pink blobs in his hands.

"What is it that makes them so special, you ask?" Alex went on, despite no one asking. "They are edible, and their magical affects allow a human to traverse deep waters as if they were on land. For up to 24 hours, depending on the size of the sponge, it allows you to breathe water and function normally. Like so."

Alex did a little bow with a flourishing spin of his arm. Alan stared at him, doing his best to follow along, though he was still a bit lost on the magic properties of all the plants around them.

He didn't even really know plants had magic properties.

"For those in the crowd who are curious," Alex added after a beat. "The sponge tastes kind of like crab meat."

"Please," Lyall piped up, sounding small again, "may we..."

"Oh," Alex said with a small laugh. "Yes, yes, of course."

Walking over quickly, Alexander offered the two of them the star-shaped sponges, one each.

"Eat up," Alex said.

Hesitantly, Alan turned to Lyall for silent confirmation. Briefly meeting Alan's gaze, Lyall nodded slightly and accepted one with a hasty, "thank you."

Alan daintily plucked the other sponge from Alex's hand, holding it closer to his eyes so he could better view it. From what he could gather, it felt and looked like a normal sponge.

"So we just eat it?" he asked to clarify. "To be able to walk and talk like you?"

"Yes," Alex said. "To walk and talk, though not like me. Like yourself. Unless you have the urge to imitate me. Which, honestly, I wouldn't be opposed to."

Well. Not exactly, but...

While contemplating this, Alan realized Lyall had disappeared from his side. He peered down, realizing he had sunk down a foot, feet now touching land. Just like Alex, it was like the water around him was air instead.

So Alan plopped the small spongey piece in his mouth, biting through the porous, chewy texture that indeed, strangely, taste like crab. The effects were effective immediately after swallowing it down. He floated down to the surface, and it was like... nothing felt wet anymore. Nothing was buoyant, not even hair.

Intrigued, he cut his hand through the empty space in front of him, no longer feeling the resistance of the water along his palm. It really was like they were back on the surface with air, even though the setting didn't change. They were still in a dark cave with plants floating and glowing overhead.

"Huh," he sounded out, simply accepting that they were now walking on a land of random magical plants with magical status effects.

Stepping closer to Alexander, Lyall held out a hand with a relieved-sounding, "I thank you kindly, Mister Alex."

Alexander took Lyall's hand and shook it firmly, smiling wide as he looked Lyall up and down.

"You're welcome," Alex said. "Nice set of horns."

Lyall's grin turned blank. "Thank... you?" He frowned. "Set of what now?"

Alex reached down and tapped the tip of the horns poking out of Lyall's forehead through his hair.

"They gave you horns, Mister Lyall," Alex said.

Right. Yes. Alan noticed that a while ago too, though he didn't know when or how to bring it up at the time. Now was as good as a time as any, he supposed.

Lyall's hands flew up to cover his horns. "No, my gods," he uttered, frantically feeling over them. "Nooo..."

"Hey," Alex said, leaning down just slightly. "You look cool. Besides, I doubt any of this is permanent. Hell, have you seen me?"

Alex laughed, stretching out his hands and turning them over with a bright smile. "Look at me! I'm purple!"

"Well, it's quite a flattering color on you," Lyall said, briefly looking over his own hands before mustering another grin toward the hunter.

Alex shifted his hips in an openly flamboyant manner, looking down to Lyall with a pleased smile.

"You think so? I haven't had a chance to really see what I look like," Alex said.

"Alexander," Alan cut in gently, hoping to circle back to the main topic at hand here. "How long have you been in this cave? Maybe we can pool our limited knowledge together."

"Ah. Right. About as long as you, I imagine," Alex answered, though he let out a sigh, as if disappointed to return to serious discussion. "I don't know. Ten, fifteen minutes perhaps? It's all a bit fuzzy. I was waking up to all of this, you know."

"That's alright. It sounds like we're on the same boat, no pun intended," Alan murmured, peering down the dark stony corridor that laid in front of them. "Considering the day of the week, I think we woke up to an event. I'm sure we'll find answers if we keep walking. But, like you said..." He turned back, offering a cordial smile of assurance. "It would've been a shame if anyone were to drown. How about we all stick together as we travel? There's strength in numbers."

"Yes, please," Lyall quickly agreed, grin brightening just a little. "Why don't you join us, Mister Alex?"

"I'd be delighted to, Mr. Lyall," Alex said with a bow of his head, then turned to Alan. "Mr. Alan."

"Of course... Mister Alex," Alan replied, jumping along the bandwagon. He took a step towards the path forward, waving for them to follow. "Let's walk, then."

With a swish of Alex's hips, he fell into step alongside Alan and Lyall.

"Lead the way, human normie," Alex said.

It took a second for Alan to realize he was referring to him, though he decided to gloss over the playful insult for now. If it was even an insult. Honestly, Alan didn't really know what any of this was about.

Though, it seemed like no one did.

Alan led the way through the twisting dark caverns, following the luminescent green glow of the seaweed hung on the ceiling, like lamps providing ambiance lighting. Now that they were walking further along with more light and plant life in general, Alan could see the same sponges that they ate earlier, embedded in the crevices of the stone walls.

At least, he thought he did. It was hard to tell, but it was a good guess.

"Where were you before all this?" Lyall asked, glancing up at Alex.

Alex let out a long sigh, placing his hands on his hips. "By 'all this' do you mean--" he waved to the water around them. "--Or Auslanii?"

Faintly grinning, Lyall quirked a brow. "Whichever answer is longer."

Alex huffed a laugh at that. "Well, sir, I've had a full life up until this short stint of TV stardom, so I guess that narrows things down," he said. "You already know I'm from Nye, right? I think that's common knowledge, now."

"A very skilled monster hunter from Nye, I hear," Lyall confirmed.

"Marksman turned monster hunter," Alex added.

Well, that Alan didn't know. But he didn't really know much about Alex in general.

Grin broadening a bit, Lyall lightly bumped his shoulder to Alex's arm. "Even more intriguing."

"Frankly, I enjoy hunting game in general. The high stakes of monster hunting gets to be a bit too much for me sometimes, but I suppose it keeps things thrilling. I kinda stumbled into it, to be honest. It pays well, though, so it's a bit nice to have cushier living for once," Alex said.

Lyall hummed. "'Stumbled into it'? How so?"

"Well, you see," Alex said. "I got recruited, actually. Wasn't looking to get into monster hunting, but as a hobbyist in the hunting field, I made some connections with people in 'monster control.' The people who tend to take that career path are very interesting, if not a little crazy, and I guess it was kind of my style. Had a guy I went shooting with tell me that the Midean Natural Park was hiring, he was a retired monster hunter himself. He was able to get me in with his old boss - a guy named Mickey. Honestly, he's the best boss I ever had. Apart from how risky the whole business is, it's a great job because of the people."

"Good management and colleagues definitely make it worthwhile," Lyall agreed, folding his hands in back with a slight nod. "I believe Miss Clanny works at the same park as you. I understand the staff may be too large and scattered to the winds, but do you two happen to be acquainted?"

"You know, it's funny how that all worked out," Alex said. "Because we've definitely seen each other in passing and at the like, few group staff meetings and whatnot. But aside from that we haven't really talked to each other up until this point. Mickey's mentioned them before, and I know they've got a bit of a more buddy-buddy relationship with their boss than I do, so," Alex said, shrugging, as if he couldn't find a conclusion for that thought. "I mostly go on solo assignments. I tend to work better alone with missions that require a lot of stealth. You know - quiet sneak in, quick take-out and leave kind of deal."

"Less to coordinate, fewer opportunities to compromise yourself," Lyall said in understanding. "Hobby-turned-career that it is now, what other leisurely activities are you left with to wind down from such high-stress situations?"

Alex took in a sharp breath, pursing his lips as he looked off to the side.

"Honestly? Best way to wind down has just been one-night hookups," Alex said. "Just have a good time, sleep it off, forget about it, you know?"

Lyall's brows shot up, and his amicable smile turned blank. This also gave Alan some pause, and although he had been silently following along the whole time, he was definitely listening now.

Alex shrugged. "I mean, I do other stuff for fun," he said. "But that's the best de-stressor."

"I understand," Lyall said with a slow nod.

Alex slowly turned his eyes down to Lyall, his resting smirk fading a bit.

"Was that... too much for you?" Alex asked. It was hard to tell if he was being genuinely empathetic or condescending in his tone.

"It was an honest answer," Lyall said politely, inclining his head, "to an honest question."

"Ah," Alex said, raising his brows with a small huff of a laugh. "Right. Okay. Here's something more tame, then, for your sensibilites. I have many romantic flings in which we share a good meal and then I never see them again."

The smile Lyall maintained quietly turned a touch forced.

"I'm curious to hear what the list of 'other stuff' entails," Alan said, deciding to change the subject. "If you don't mind sharing."

Alex looked down at Alan with an almost mocking grin. "Are you though?"

Alan tried to smile back, but he was far too tired to try to make it feel genuine. "I am. But you don't have to share if you don't want to."

Alex let out a laugh.

"Fine, fine," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I like taxidermy. I think it's a nice way to memorialize great hunts if the creature's bodies can be recovered. It's also kind of fun to see people's reactions when they walk through my door."

Alan softly hummed. "Do you have a favorite one? One that you have hung up in your home?"

"You know what, I'll have to show you guys a picture of it when we're not underwater and I have my phone on me," Alex said. "But I think my best kill to date - at least, that I was able to preserve, the whole pelt wholly untouched aside from the one bullet incision - was this massive flying boar. It really was a magnificent creature. It had gone mad, though. It'd caught the Red Death and was a walking deathbringer, so it had to go. I also spared it from the slow and painful death it was already going to have without interference, and we definitely wouldn't have wanted its diseased carcass sitting around, getting eaten by all the other creatures and spreading the disease. With the Red Death you really have to get ahead of it before it spreads - but, anyway. The boar. It had these absolutely gorgeous wings. Some of the biggest I'd ever seen on a creature of its size. After, you know, meticulously decontaminating the whole thing in a very laborous process so I wasn't hosting a deadly disease in my home, I stuffed it and put it in my living room. Now it watches over my TV."

"So, what makes this one your favorite?" Alan prodded. "Was it the mercy kill? Or the magnificent creature itself?"

"It looks... really cool," Alex said, dramatically drawing out his words.

"Of course. It's a boar with wings," Alan said with a small smile. "And also an incredible feat, one to be proud of."

"I think I'm more proud of all the work that went into preserving the carcass afterward," Alex said. "The kill itself was a pretty easy one."

Alan nodded. "I can imagine that process to be difficult, given the disease. Also, how do you stuff wings?"

Alex snorted. "You don't stuff the wings," he said.

"Forgive me, I know nothing about taxidermy," Alan said with a faint chuckle. "You'll have to lay it out for me."

"What was the size of the creature as well?" Lyall piped up again.

Alex let out a cackle of a laugh. "Width-wise," Alex said, stretching his hands out wide, almost at his full wingspan. "It was about here. That thing was fat."

"Can't even imagine the size of its wings," Lyall hummed.

"You can see why it's classified as a monster, now, I gather," Alex said with a little laugh, elbowing Lyall in the side.

Lyall huffed out through his nose. "I ask because I'm mentally trying to calculate how long such an arduous process would take on such a mammoth creature."

"Oh. It took me almost a year working on it in my downtime," Alex said.

"That's quite a long time. And an impressive accomplishment," Alan said.

"An incredible amount of patience," Lyall agreed.

"Well, you have to be patient as a hunter," Alex said. "Most of it is just waiting around, honestly. The actual shooting is like, 2 seconds of that."

Lyall grinned more sincerely again. "Which makes it hardly a surprise, but no less impressive."

Alex did a small bow. "Thank you," he said. "I'll take it."

"I hope it's not too much for me to ask about your other hobbies," Alan said, making a mental list of everything Alex had mentioned so far. "You're strategic, but also charming and fun. I'm curious: do you have creative hobbies?"

"Well, I do like to dance," Alex said, then smirked after a beat. "And no, I'm not just talking about pole dancing. Social dancing is a thing."

"I know," Alan said gently. "I recall. Salsa dancing, right?"

"That's correct," Alex said, nudging Alan's shoulder. "Good memory."

"I think it's important to remember these details. After all, they're a part of who we are," Alan said, weakly nudging him back. "I suppose I'm just trying to see the bigger picture of what makes you, you. I apologize for not asking and connecting with you sooner."

"Ah, hang on," Lyall cut in, hopping a few steps ahead to walk backwards in front of them. "Another social dancer in our midst?" Tilting his head with a grin, he spread his hands in a sort of shrug. "We should take advantage of this!"

"Yessss," Alex said with a twirl of his hands at his sides. "You know, that's what I've been thinking has been missing from this whole island spectactle. They keep throwing all of these events, but they haven't yet done one with dancing! It's a travesty!"

"We don't have to start off big. Dance circles can start small, starting with just the three of us," Alan suggested with a shrug.

"There aren't a lot of three-person dances," Alex said. "Besides, I'm more accustomed to just one partner, anyway."

Alan softly hummed. "I can agree to that. As you said before, I'm adaptable."

Alex's head tilted, ever so slightly, and there was a small spark of recognition as he subtly narrowed his eyes and barely bit his lower lip.

"Perhaps we should get a group together, then," Alex said, looking back to Lyall then. "Enough to dance in pairs."

"Only if he wants to. And others, for that matter. It's just for fun," Alan said with a small smile and shrug.

Lyall glanced between the two, quirking a brow. "Why not coordinate an 'event' of our own?" he suggested amicably. "The only way we'll know is if we extend an invitation."

"You know what, Lyall," Alex said, turning to Lyall with a bright smile. "That's a brilliant idea. We don't have to wait for the DMV to initiate something fun! Besides, it'd probably go better if we put it together anyway. These past few 'events' have been embarrassing."

"An event is fun only if you make it fun," Alan teased.

"Try making it fun when you're stuck with Tula," Alex said, pointing a finger in his mouth and sticking out his tongue to make a disgusted noise. "God, she's such a buzzkill. All work, no play."

"Perhaps we can bring out her fun side," Lyall suggested with a hummed laugh.

"I don't think she has one of those," Alex said with a roll of his eyes. "You were there when we won the maze thing. She just wanted to win and then bailed. God, I felt so used."

Ah. Right. Lyall had mentioned to him earlier in the week about his 'win' from the maze event, but honestly, Alan still wasn't really following. He was in a relatively better headspace now, but at the time, there were too many unanswered questions he didn't fully ask, and he didn't feel like it was the right time to ask at the time. If ever.

He tried to recall what Lyall told him, but it was still muddied in his mind. Something about how he won with Alex and Tula's help, then used the prize on Alan feeling better.

Lyall frowned, empathy shining in his eyes. "I'm so sorry to hear that," he offered softly. Falling into step by Alex's other side, he bumped his shoulder to his arm again. "For the better we found each other now, I say."

"You're a much better team player than she is," Alex said. "Tula's -- well, she's capable. I'll give her that. When she puts her mind to something technical, she'll do it. But goddamn that woman's got zero people skills. Like, yeah, she pretends to be all girly and 'huhu! I'm just a ditzy girl with a crush on James!'"

He made a face, as if trying to impersonate her, pitching his voice up higher.

"'Oh no, James won't look at me! I'm bereft with unrequited love!'" Alex said, throwing his head back with his hand on his forehead, only to spring it back forward with his face turning serious as he scoffed. "God, she's not like that behind closed doors. I'm sick of all her stupid secrets. I don't even get the point of all of it anyway. She likes to act stupid for clout."

Huh. Alan admittedly didn't have much of an opinion of Tula, and aside from the one uncomfortable encounter he had with her from some event he could barely remember, she seemed... fine. But Alex seemed to hold strong opinions expressing otherwise.

"A shame," Lyall said with a slight sigh in his tone, "but that's her prerogative--"

Alex scoffed again. "Prerogative," he echoed. "I'm pretty sure her only 'prerogative' is to, like, I don't know, see James suffer? She's got an unhealthy obsession with him. I don't know what's wrong with her. She's literally clinically insane or something."

Lyall furrowed a brow slightly with concern. "Well, you're not obligated to maintain your alliance with her, are you? You could break ties."

"I'm literally about to," Alex groaned. "God, she's been holed up all week so none of you guys had to deal with her but she's suuuuuch an asshole at home. All she's been doing these days is moaning and complaining about her sister being around and she's taking it all out on me! What did I do to deserve this?"

"So I assume you both aren't... friends," Alan said slowly. "You certainly don't need to spend any time with her if you don't want to."

"Yeah, well, you all weren't privy to this at the start, but like, day one she tried to like, gather everyone up in that cabin like we were going to be her goonies. God, it was so pathetic. She made it sound like we were going to play the DMV game so we could 'win' out on top, you know, but as it turns out, apparently all she wanted our help for was--"

Alex let out a small scoff, sighing and shaking his head.

"Nevermind," he said after a tsk. "I'm not giving her any more of my time. I'm done with her."

Lyall pursed his lips for a silent moment before gently pressing, "If you don't mind my asking-- since, as you said, I was not privy to her true nature from the start-- what did she want your help for?"

There was a flicker of hesitation over Alex's features, and his smile waned.

"I mean, it was a stupid plan from the start," he said, not really answering the question.

"You can trust me," Lyall softly urged. "No judgement here. I just want a fuller picture, to understand what she's putting you through."

Alex stiffened a little, looking off to the side with a tense sigh.

"It's... I mean, it wasn't like she forced me to do anything," he said a little quieter. "I... I could've..."

"Alex," Alan said softly, watching him with gentle concern. "Did Tula coerce you to do something that made you uncomfortable?"

Alex pressed his lips together, looking down at the ground.

"That's... the thing," he said, his voice dropping even quieter. "It... it didn't make me uncomfortable."

But it was clear in everything about his posture and his lack of eye contact, that now he was openly carrying shame.

Alan glanced at Lyall, not sure what to make of this. He hadn't anticipated they stumble upon a clearly vulnerable topic for him. Alan placed his hand on his back to quietly assure his new traveling companion.

"Not at first," Alex said, barely audible.

Stepping out in front of them again, Lyall slowed them to a halt and tilted his head, trying to catch Alex's gaze again. "Alexander," he said gently, "I'd like to help you. But I can't do that very effectively if I don't know what we're up against."

Alex came to a stop, pausing amidst their watery landscape to look around.

"Can we sit down?" he asked faintly.

Lyall glanced about them too. "Of course..." Then, with a hand on Alex's arm, lead the way to a pile of large stones.

Alex walked over first, plopping down on the largest stone in the middle. Despite being the largest of the three of them, when he sat he curled up in a way like he was trying to look small. Lyall perched close beside him with a hand resting on his back. Alan quietly followed along, sitting on his other side while giving Alex his full attention.

"She asked me to give people nightmares," Alex said lowly. "Only James, at first. Then Shane, when they got closer. But sometimes they'd be up when I went to do it. And I'd... I felt like I still had to do something. I was bored. And restless. So sometimes I'd give nightmares to other people too."

Alex let out a long sigh, regret hanging on every word as he crossed his arms over his knees, leaning on them heavily.

"I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking about anything at all. Not the people involved, or their emotions, or even the possibility of being found out. For the first few weeks, I almost felt invincible. For just a few minutes every night, I felt like I had permission to be the worst version of myself with no consequence. Everyone was asleep, no one knew my powers, and nightmares were just dreams. Or... at least, they were to me."

Alex paused again, slightly shaking his head.

"And then, when the magic switch happened, I experienced what it felt like for someone to subject me to their worst horrors for the first time," Alex said. "Tula had my powers, and she used them on me."

A beat.

"Twice. The first time was in the maze. It was for some stupid puzzle. But I didn't realize how invasive it'd feel. Especially with knowing that it was happening. I couldn't imagine how awful it'd have felt if I hadn't seen it coming. And that's when I realized... that was exactly what I'd been doing. All this time."

Alex bowed his head low.

"It doesn't feel fair to say sorry," he said. "Not when everyone has every right to be angry. I'm sure you two know what I'm talking about. I... I did it to you too. Once or twice."

Alan was already connecting the dots while he spoke, but he hadn't given his prior nightmares much consideration yet, since he wanted to be present with Alex instead. The implication slowly sunk in now.

"I feel bad that I can't even remember how many times," Alex said with a sigh. "But... that's the answer to your question, Lyall. Tula wanted me to ruin people's sleep and push them to the edge. She said it'd make them vulnerable, so we could 'win.' But I don't think we won anything at all."

Alan listened intently, peering down at the glowing seaweed that poked out of the rocks by his feet. He waited until Alex was fully finished talking, and judging by the looming silence and his deeper breaths, he was finally allowing them time to speak.

"You have compassion and empathy," he began gently. "That's something worth celebrating. It makes you human, and--"

"I don't want to be coddled," Alex interrupted more firmly. "I appreciate what you mean by it, but I don't need it."

Alan searched Alex's face, but only for a moment, because he still couldn't see very well. That, and he was still disarmed by the fact that Alex was purple.

"I'm not trying to coddle you. Sorry," he said apologetically. "I just wanted to let you know that. I think that fact is getting lost in translation. That's all." He paused. "I appreciate you letting us know. It must not be easy to share."

"It sounds like you've had time to really reflect on this," Lyall spoke up. "And you already plan on cutting ties with Tula as a next step. Which is good."

Alex nodded.

"I don't know if it'll be entirely possible since I live with her," Alex said. "But... I'm not going to let her order me around anymore like a lapdog."

Nodding, Lyall lifted both hands in a small shrug. "Nothing says you have to stay in that cabin, anyhow. I think you can make a switch easily enough."

Alex slowly turned to look at Lyall.

"Where would I switch to?" Alex asked. "It's not like there's any open rooms anywhere else. And I'm not going to make someone share."

"You won't be 'making someone share'," Lyall countered a bit plainly, "if it's being offered."

"...is this you offering?" Alex asked.

Lyall raised both brows pointedly. "Is this you accepting?"

Alex pressed his lips together.

"I was expecting you to... I don't know," Alex said. "Be angry at me or something. Not invite me to live with you."

"Lyall, we can also work something out together. But the logistics don't really matter to me, anyways." He offered a small smile to Alex. "We're not angry, though. I forgive you."

He did have questions. Many, many questions. But now was not the time to unpeel that. It seemed that he and Alex would have ample time in the future to discuss it further, anyways.

Alan certainly wasn't going to forget.

Alex turned and looked at Alan with a small look of disbelief.

"You're serious?" he asked.

Alan nodded. "You expressed sorrow, you apologized, and you're committed to grow for the better. Of course I forgive you. Life is too short to hold grudges against people who are only trying to figure things out."

Alex tilted his head, looking at Alan closely, like he was trying to discern something. He didn't speak just yet.

Alan let out a faint huff, rubbing his thumb against his own knee. "It's okay. You don't need to believe me or even accept it now. But it's the truth. We don't have to unpack it all today. We're not going anywhere."

"Absolutely." Lyall quietly drummed his hands on his knees. "...Although. At some point-- and not to rush-- the three of us ought to get going. Somewhere. Anywhere."

Alex let out a sigh.

"...Right," he said. "Because talking about this in depth while we're in the middle of some kind of fantasy fever dream probably won't serve us well."

"Mind you, the weight of your actions are not lost on me," Lyall said, a flash of seriousness in his voice, "particularly as they pertain to Lieutenant Hawke. However." His gaze flicked sideways with uncertainty at the darkened caverns around them. "We're on borrowed time, as well as a mission for the duration of this 'fantasy fever dream'."

At that, Alex straightened up, nodding with sober agreement.

"Then I guess we ought to find out what they're expecting from us, then," Alex said. "So we can get this fever dream moving."

Sometimes - just sometimes - you could sense that something shitty was happening before you were even awake. Today was one of those days. Predictably, something was going wrong before he had any means to stop it. By any other standards, maybe everything was going right. But the fact that he was hot as hell and clearly heavily armored was a red flag, and had he any emotional real estate left over to give to another crisis on this island, he would've panicked.

But as it stood, he merely opened his eyes, already quite done with the experience before it began.

God, it was hot as the devil's asshole. Where was he?

He sat up, taking in the completely foreign landscape around him. To misquote an ancient movie classic, they weren't in Auslaani anymore.

Floating on a massive earthy island, he and Shane were slowly moving down a viscous, molten river. The lava around them was winding down from a jagged, black volcano some miles behind them, bubbling up in a manner that indicated it was dangerously active, but not on the verge of bursting.

At least, not yet.

The air, however, did taste of ash, which told him perhaps this volcano had a ticking clock. One he should at the very least be aware of, not that he could by any means stop a volcano from erupting. But, you know. It'd be nice not to die Pompea-style.

Aside from the overall treacherous landscape - to add onto his bizarre turn of events - Shane was the only one with him, and he and Shane were dressed in very odd clothes. Outfitting like some kind of fantasy wizard, Shane was sprawled over the rock wearing a green adventurer's cloak, like he'd walked out of some kind of fantasy movie. James, in turn, was wearing a set of very flashy medium-grade metal armor. Its design seemed to serve more fashion than function in some areas - as fantasy armor was wont to do - making him feel a bit imbalanced with the giant pauldrons on his shoulders. The gauntlets on his hands felt heavy, but more than anything he could feel his skin was slick with sweat underneath, sticking to all of the layers of clothing beneath the ornamental metal.

And then, of course, Shane was unconcsious.

Lovely. The DMV was drowning in rescources and this was what they used it for. He was weary of criticizing them for it.

Leaning over, he gently grabbed Shane's shoulder, shaking it a little. Already, he empathized with his friend over the imminent panic to come, whether it was fully expressed or not.

"Hey, Shane," he said steadily. "You need to wake up."

Perhaps not the most cheerful thing to wake up to, sure, but it was necessary. Sooner than later they'd need to find a proper junction in which to jump off of their lava river-raft onto the solid ground beside.

Shane rolled onto one shoulder, and his eyelashes fluttered as a confused frown spread over his face, but his eyes didn't fully open yet.

"Do I have a fever?" he muttered. "It's hotter than blazes."

"No fever," James said. "Seems we've found ourselves in the vicinity of an active volcano."

There really was no good way to put it.

"I believe this is another one of the DMV's 'events,'" he added. "A surprise, to boot. Seems they might finally be leaning into the element of 'testing,' now."

Shane's eyes snapped open, and he craned his head around until he spotted the ominous-looking volcano. Amidst the shock on his face, clear dread was spreading through his expression.

"You're also looking rather wizardly," James added after quite a long silence between them.

At least they were drifting away from the volcano.

Confused, Shane looked down at his clothes. Then James's armor.

"It's actually not a bad look on you," James added. "Throw you in a library and you'd be the lead in the next Lord of the Things movie."

Shane's lips pressed together. Which might've been his version of a smile for under these circumstances.

"I'd ask you to slap me awake, just in case, but that might break my jaw," he said.

James looked down at the gauntlets on his hands.

"It'd certainly be uncomfortable, that's for sure," James said. "But I'd never use enough force to break you."

"Appreciated," Shane said, but he sounded distracted. He was staring at James's face. No. The side of his face.

Hm. Well, now James had reason to worry. Just a little. The look on Shane's face wasn't comforting.

"You have..." Shane started to say, but then shook his head and pointed to James's ears. "Your ears are pointed. Like elves. And they don't look prosthetic."

James blinked.

What?

A bit delayed, James threw his hands up to his ears, feeling them through the padded portion of the gauntlets. It didn't take more than one touch to already discern that they were, indeed, reformed into some kind of pointy shape, and even as he grabbed them, the fleshy portions of the ear bent with the cartilage as if they'd always been there. He could even feel the nerve endings stretch to the tips.

Indeed, not prosthetics.

What kind of magic was this? Some... freaking... body modification...?

"What the hell?" James muttered, still tugging on his ears as if the tips would pop off any moment now. But they didn't.

He looked at Shane, pointing to his ears.

"Yours? Yours are normal?" he said. It was a statement more than a question, but unspoken behind it was a "why me?" that felt very transparent.

Shane immediately clapped his hands to his own ears, feeling them himself. "Aren't they?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes, yes, they are," James reassured him, pulling his hands away from his own head in reluctant acceptance.

Ears could be... well, if this was permanent, it'd be the least of his problems. They needed to refocus.

"Okay. Listen. We need to get off this raft and onto solid ground. Whatever they have in store for us, I'd rather not be on a floating lava island for it. I think I see a drop-off further down, but there's a suitable place to jump off up ahead before we reach it. We shouldn't waste time," James said.

Getting to his feet, he carefully tested the steadiness of the raft they were on. Thankfully, it seemed to be quite the heavy rock and it didn't flip under his weight. James extended a hand to help Shane up. Shane hesitated, however, looking uncertain.

"Just a note..." he started. "I try to avoid touching weapons or armor. That might be inevitable here in our new setting, so-- now you know in case I react to anything unexpectedly after grabbing it."

James blinked, looking down at his armored hand.

"I'm-- sorry," he said with a sigh. "I'll take the lead on any of that as much as possible."

Shane smiled faintly, carefully accepting James's hand and standing up. Whatever there was to read off his armor, his face didn't show what it was.

"Okay," James said, pointing ahead. "See that rocking jutting out up there?"

Shane hummed in acknowledgement.

"Do you think you can make the jump? It should only be a foot or two by the time we get there," James said, carefully assessing the slow flow of the lava around them.

"If you go first," he added, "I'll spot you."

Shane nodded after thinking. "As long as that gap doesn't get wider, I can."

Well. Here's to hoping. But hoping things didn't get worse never really worked for James. And as if the universe was wont to prove so, the rocky raft beneath them began to drift away from the edge of their lava river.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, James realized they were not going to have any good opportunities to jump. Were they? Even in drifting, the closest they were going to get to land before dying in a lava waterfall was encroaching upon them, and he needed to be decisive. They were going to go. Now. And they didn't have time to think of other options.

"Okay," he said firmly as the jutting rock approached. "I'm sorry about this, but I'm going to have to throw you."

"...Throw me," Shane echoed flatly, as he knew he'd heard James correctly, but was sincerely hoping he hadn't.

"Shane, the window is approaching," James said more urgently. "If you can't make the jump, I'm going to have to help make it for you. There's a waterfall at the end of this river. It's now or never."

"And what are you going to do? Are you going to jump?" Shane urged him.

See, under normal circumstances, James would love to take the time to explain.

But the window was here, and James didn't have time for that. So, deciding he'd apologize later when neither of them were dead at the bottom of a lava pool, he took in a sharp inhale and picked Shane up.

Shane, with no real time to react, went stiff as James lifted him off both feet. With one swing, James calculated what force was necessary based on Shane's weight to the best of his ability.

And then he flung him.

With a panicked noise of shock, Shane flailed through the air, eyes wide as he flew. But he made it over the gap with plenty of room to spare, and Shane tumbled on the rocky bank, catching himself on his hands before he would hit it headfirst. James heard a sharp hiss of pain from him.

Again. No time to think yet. James had to make the leap himself. Backing up to the edge of the rock, James felt it begin to dip slowly under his weight - but he didn't stay there long. Taking three powerful strides to propel himself forward, he pushed off of the rock and caught air.

This was the one downside to being heavier than a semi. Not a lot of airtime.

Propelled forward like a heavy canonball, James knew he wasn't going to make a clean landing. He threw out his arms, narrowly grabbing hold of the jagged rock's edge. The gauntlets compensated for some of the impact, and their pointed fingers dug into the rock as he legs dangled off the side. Lava bubbled up beneath him as he slammed against the rocky surface, metal scraping with a clang and a thump. Grunting, he pulled himself up slowly. He could feel the heat of the lava seeping through his armor on his feet, but he just managed not to get swallowed by it.

Finally over the edge, James rolled over with a huff, quickly landing his eyes back on Shane, who had rolled over to sit up on the rock, cradling a hand to his chest and taking deep, steadying breaths.

"Maniac," he muttered, but although it was strained, it was also undoubtedly affectionate and grateful.

"Sorry," James finally said, pushing himself back to his feet. He noticed there were a few hot embers of cooling lava that had landed on his armored feet. It seemed that, despite being hot enough to melt through most things, that the armor might've had some resistance to heat damage.

It was perhaps one of the only perks of this situation.

He walked over to Shane, looking down at the hand Shane babied.

"What happened to it?" James asked more softly.

"Just landed on it badly," Shane said, looking down at it and carefully flexing his fingers. His voice was pinched, but he was trying to keep it measured. "It's got an old injury. I broke a bone once and it didn't heal great. Every once in a while, I'll do something funny with it and it'll flare up again. That's all."

James's brows pinched with sympathy.

"Sorry," James said again, this time even quieter.

Shane shook his head. "You didn't know, and this feels a lot better than a third-degree burn."

With a sigh, James nodded once. "Want a hand?" he asked, offering one to help Shane up.

With a nod, Shane carefully took it with his good hand, heaving himself up with a grunt. James helped him to his feet, dusting some dirt off the shoulder of his cloak as he did so. He noticed a bag had been swung awkwardly around Shane's shoulder, getting the strap tangled up a bit with the cloak.

"Looks like they gave you... well, something," James murmured as he tugged the cloak out for him.

"God, I'm slow this morning," Shane said under his breath as he stared at it with surprise, then reached for the clasp, fiddling with it one-handedly. He lifted the flap, and inside were four parchment scrolls, each carefully rolled up and tied shut with ribbons of different colors. With intrigue, Shane lifted out one with a red ribbon.

"A library, you said," he said. "This looks like the next best thing."

James curiously looked down into the bag. It appeared to be empty, almost like an endless void, and yet Shane pulled something out of it. With a bit of dangerous fascination, James tentatively reached towards it, sticking his hand in.

He felt something and pulled it out. Quickly realizing the object was longer than the bag itself, James found himself pulling out a long sword.

He looked over at Shane, the scroll in his hand, then at the sword in his own.

If they were given these, it was only because they'd need them.

"What's the scroll say?" James asked.

Shane, momentarily distracted by the sword James had whipped out of nowhere, returned his attention to the scroll in his hand, and he carefully pulled the ribbon off before unrolling the scroll. James thought the scroll was blank, but Shane was scanning it carefully, eyes flicking back and forth like he was reading something.

"Looks like instructions to a spell," he said. "'Cure Wounds.'"

James hummed. Less out of interest and more out of dread. So, they anticipated someone would get wounds. Nice.

"The others?" James asked.

Shane tied this one up-- a little sloppily, as he was still using one hand-- while untying and looking at the others. "'Invisibility'," he said, holding up a purple ribboned scroll, then moved on to a blue one. "'Misty Step'." He held up one with a green ribbon next. "And 'Minor Illusion'."

"So, they're magic scrolls," James concluded. "They really threw us into some fantasy story for entertainment."

And though he didn't say it aloud, there were a few following curse words implied in his tone.

"Yeah," Shane muttered, rolling up the scroll. "They spared no expense, not even your ears. What is this, Doongeons and Dwagons?"

James huffed, looking back at the river of lava behind them.

"Might as well be," he muttered. "Now if only there was an objective, or some NPC to guide the way--"

With wide eyes, Shane pointed to something above and behind James's head. Whirling around, James turned and saw possibly the last thing he'd expect.

It was Shrimp. In the sky. Soaring towards them on a pair of bird wings.

The cat had obviously spotted them, because he let out a gleeful meow, banking on a gust of wind as he coasted downwards and dived towards them. Stunned, Shane held out his arms to welcome a purring Shrimp, who folded in his wings neatly upon landing. Shane held the cat close, first petting his head, then running the back of his hand over the feathered wings.

"He has wings," he said in awe and confusion. "Hawk wings."

James didn't even feel like vocalizing the level to which he was unimpressed at the visual pun in the midst of the confusion he was facing. Shrimp had wings. That alone was against nature. How did they give a cat wings? It was one thing to change someone's ears. But full-functioning wings?

He stared at the winged cat in Shane's arms, wondering how it was he was still being bewildered by things with all of the shit he'd seen already.

And then he noticed something attatched to the cat's collar. A note.

James reached over, coaxing Shrimp to turn his head with a pet behind the ears, and he easily pulled the note out of the string that tied it.

"Seems Shrimp was used as a messenger," James said, unrolling the small piece of paper in his hands.

Shane scratched under the cat's chin. "Good boy. You found us."

Shrimp purred, wings rustling as he arched his back.

Written in a fancy, calligraphic script, James read aloud: "Greetings, brave adventurers. Your quest before you will require great grit and endurance. In the heart of the Emberheart Volcano is a chamber, in which there is a hidden artifact of great importance. But first, you'll need to find the rest of your party. Proceed to Devil's Rock, to the west. In his maw you'll find your teammates in need of a rescue. Don't dilly-dally. The landscape's ever-shifting, and we'd hate for you to get lost."

James frowned at the note, trying to read over it again, but as he did so, the paper under his fingers started to burn at the edges. If it wasn't a spell, it was as if the air itself was too acrid and hot for the paper to bear.

The paper burst into flames.

With a hiss, James flung it to the ground, stomping the fire out only to find the note had turned to ash beneath his feet.

"Well," he muttered. "We'll have to remember all of that for ourselves, then."

"Emberheart Volcano, magical artifact, Devil's Rock westbound, and teammates in danger," Shane recited softly.

"Westward, then," James said, looking to the blazing sun in the sky. It was morning - that, at least, he hoped he could count on. So, if the sun was rising in the east...

"If there's 'teammates' for us," Shane said, interrupting his thought, "does that mean this is a competition, like the maze? Are there going to be people against us?"

"I have no idea," James said. "But it sounds like there are people being held captive of some sort just so we can save them, and I'd rather not have this conversation while stationary."

And true to his words, he started moving west. With a nod of agreement, Shane walked alongside him.

"If it is a competition, then we might run into others in this burning hellscape. Hopefully we won't be pitted against one another, but it may be likely," James thought aloud.

"They've likely been changed like we have," Shane said. "I'm supposed to be a... wizard? And you're some kind of fighter? I could see everyone being assigned a role of that sort."

James glanced down at himself, bouncing away from a crack that appeared in the rocks they were walking over, just before some lava seeped through.

"As if I'm not already one in everyday life," he said wryly.

Shane huffed. "They really made you develop your own armor and forced you to wear some in the same week."

"I guess my natural armor isn't pretty enough for the cameras," James quipped.

"For real, though, you look like a royal guard in that," Shane said. "Who else needs two colors of metal in the same armor?"

"I suppose if I'm a royal guard," James said. "It's befitting to have a princely wizard at my side."

"Well, I couldn't ask for a better guard," Shane said. "I'm also glad they didn't stick me in a fantasy version of a bathrobe with billowing sleeves. I'd feel ridiculous."

James snorted faintly at the thought.

"It would be funny, though," he said, looking over at Shane with a smirk.

Shane swept out an arm, flinging his cloak as he did. "I'll pass," he said, a little more pleasantly, before he shuddered. "They could've given me a long white beard, too. I've almost forgiven them for putting me on a river of lava now, since they didn't do either of those things."

"Okay, but what's wrong with beards?" James asked jokingly as he briefly stroked his own.

"Oh, your beard isn't the problem," Shane assured him. "You have a glorious beard. I'm talking Doombledore with a three-foot length of chin hair that makes our local alpacas look bald."

"If you managed to grow a beard that impressive I think I'd only think more highly of you, not consider you llama-like," James posed.

"Alas," Shane said, rubbing his clean-shaven face. "In the time it would take me to grow it to where you're at, I'd certainly have already gone white by then."

James huffed through his nose.

"My lot in life has been quite the opposite," James said. "If I miss shaving one day, I'm halfway to a beard like this the next. I'm like a cheea pet."

Shane chuckled. "Between the two of us, we represent the average beard growth rate by being on two opposite ends of a spectrum."

"You, the hairless cat," James said. "And me, dying of hairballs."

He turned to look at Shrimp.

"That was a cat analogy," he said to the cat. "So that you could understand."

Shrimp let out a pleasant mrrp, sticking a paw out his way. However, the cat obviously wanted cuddle time, because he suddenly flapped out of Shane's arms, and as Shane startled, Shrimp landed on James's shoulder, much like birds did with their trainers.

"You now look twenty percent more badass," Shane said, as Shrimp nuzzled at James's face.

James managed a small, genuine grin as he reached up to pet Shrimp.

"Hear that, Shrimp?" James said. "You just increased my badass percentage by existing. Must be nice to have wings."

Shrimp meowed happily, rubbing his head against James's hand.

Shane grinned softly as well while he watched, although he'd tucked his painful hand back against his chest now that he was no longer holding Shrimp. James hoped that the pain wasn't more than Shane was letting on. Maybe, if he could convince Shane, they could use the spell-scroll to heal it. Could that kind of magic have long-lasting effects? Or would it expire after all of this was over?

It was almost like all of this was a dream. It felt real, but surreal at the same time. The part of his brain that didn't understand was still in denial, and yet, he was living it.

James let Shrimp snuggle into the crook of his pauldron armor. The cat got comfortable by his neck, his head pressed up under James's chin as he rubbed it against James's beard, like he was a scratching post.

Letting Shrimp do so passively, James turned his focus to the landscape around them. Much like the letter's warnings, he noticed that the ground beneath them was ever shifting and evolving. As if they were walking across loose tectonic plates, the earth would occasionally crack beneath them and sink or slide away. Lava would pool up like a bubbling fountain, and they'd have to walk around or reroute to pass through, jump over, or just avoid it entirely.

"Westward" was all they had by means of directions, but James had a feeling that "Devil's Rock" was named to be on the nose. So without saying so, he found himself on the lookout for some kind of rocky shape in the distance; perhaps resembling a devil itself, or a pair of horns.

Instead, what he saw ahead was an ominous rocky cave carved into the side of a mountain wall the stretched out for miles, leading down to the volcano in the distance. The cave opened up like a mouth, and as they grew nearer and their angle of view changed, they found themselves looking into the lava-like glowing eyes of a skull.

If they were watching a movie, James wouldn't have batted an eye. It was dramatic, and befitting of a fantasy story, but having it be his present reality felt too uncomfortably foreboding. He'd already stared death in the face more times than he would've liked to in his life, but knowing that there were at least two other people somewhere inside that cave being subjected to something worthy of rescue make his stomach sink.

They'd positioned him, once again, to be a hero. This time, not by choice.

It didn't mean James wouldn't help, but damn it if he wasn't tired of seeing people he cared about suffer just to prove a point.

James led the way, helping Shane over a stream of lava that cut through their path. Shrimp seemed content on his shoulder the whole way, but as they finally came to the mouth of the cave, he felt Shrimp tuck in closer.

The cat was scared, and James could feel it. Shane, standing beside him, was visibly just as tense looking into the dark skull-like maw as hot steam poured out in sickening, acrid clouds.

Shrimp let out a low mrow, dipping under James's chin as if to question his own decisions. It felt like Shrimp was asking: are we really going in?

The cave itself had no light within, but as he peered inside, he found his eyes...

Adjusting?

Squinting, he felt confused for a moment, like his eyes were playing tricks on him. He didn't even have his glasses on. How could he see in the dark this clearly? It was like everything was light.

Slowly and gently, Shane rested a soothing hand on Shrimp's back, between the cat's new wings, and petted him.

"He doesn't want to go in," he said quietly. "But outside isn't safe for him, either. If they can put wings on a cat, they can probably place all kinds of monsters here."

"I would tell you that you and Shrimp could wait out here," James said faintly. "But I think we've all seen what happens in movies when they split the party."

Shane smiled joylessly. "I don't feel very inclined to be that character in a horror movie. Or to leave you alone, even if you don't really need me."

"Sticking together it is, then," Jame said, petting Shrimp's head with a firm comfort. "Ready to go in?"

"Ready," Shane said, petting Shrimp one last time before resting a hand on his bag.

With a nod, James led the way once more, with Shane at his side. And while he expected to get swallowed up in the darkness - he wasn't. Somehow, he could see the ground beneath him, enough to dodge the divets and uneven ground and lead Shane on the smoothest path as they went deeper and deeper into the cave. Soon enough, though, there was no more natural light spilling in, and there were only vestiges of the lava's glow peeking through the cracks where it leaking in through the ceiling or the floor.

James noticed that as the light sources dimmed more and more, Shane drew closer and closer, until he was practically riding James's tail.

Careful to slow down into a pause so Shane didn't bump into him, James turned and looked over his shoulder.

"I can see in here, somehow," he said softly. "Can you?"

"See?" Shane sounded confused. "No, I'm nearly blind."

James hummed.

"Would it help to put your hand on my shoulder?" James asked.

He didn't know why it seemed better than, like... holding hands or something. Shane was following behind, so.

"It might," Shane said, tentatively resting a hand on James's other shoulder so that he wouldn't crowd Shrimp.

"I'll walk slow," James said.

"Thanks," Shane said quietly.

With a small nod that James quickly realized Shane probably couldn't see, James slowly began walking forward again. Though he had no idea what was lurking in the shadows of this cave, he had a feeling he wasn't going to have much luck trying to sneak around in his current armor. It was, after all, clinking lightly with each step.

So, he figured they could fill the space with words. It'd give Shane something to follow, too.

"So... do the pointy ears mean I'm an elf?" he supposed.

"I guess they could've typed you as one, the same way they typed you as a fighter and me as a wizard," Shane said. "Think it's got something to do with you being able to see here, too?"

"Well, normally my eyesight is shit, so, I'm pretty sure it has to do with that," James concluded.

Shane huffed a faint laugh. "They must've wanted to get rid of contacts to preserve the fantasy feel, but didn't want to leave you blind either."

"How considerate," James said, feeling Shrimp purr against his chin.

"That would be a first," Shane murmured.

Shrimp, apparently compelled to contribute, meowed in apparent agreement. James felt himself faintly smile in response, and he scratched lightly under Shrimp's chin.

He and Shane kept a little back-and-forth going for a few minutes, mostly about how odd everything was. They both agreed it felt more like a dream than real life, but eventually they found themselves both sharing in the worry of who or what they were meant to find in this cave - along with the doubt that they'd even found the right place or not. They've been given a direction, and a name, but there was no sign saying "this is it."

Their conversation, however, came to an uncomfortable halt when they saw a bright light starting to glow from somewhere further down in the cave. It appeared that the path went downward, and the light was clearing from a lava-like source. Distantly, James could hear what sounded like the murmurs of voices echoing off the cave walls.

That, and there was a sickening skittering noise. The sound of many, many hard-shelled legs tapping and chittering against rock.

James slowed, turning back to Shane.

"Let's keep our voices down," he whispered.

It was best to approach with caution.

Shane paused. "Do you know any sign language?" he whispered. "If you do, we could communicate silently, now that I can see you."

"I know it well enough," James said. Now was not the time to explain why or how.

Shane nodded, pulling his hand away from James's shoulder to sign, Good. I'll stay silent, then.

James nodded, and with a deep breath, began to step forward as carefully as possible.

Again, sneaking felt useless, but he did his best to move quiet on soft feet, and as the path dipped down, it curved around a corner. Peeking out before he fully followed, he found himself staring down into a large hollowed out room within the cave's structure.

On an "island" in the middle surrounded by a bubbling pool of lava, two women who resembled Eve and Hild - though their features had been changed more dramatically, it seemed - stood tightly together, away from the edge.

But the bubbling lava didn't seem to be the main concern. The two of them stared out into the hot, red sheets around them, and out of the lava crawled out giant, metallic, glowing scorpions.

The only path to Hild and Eve was a winding amalgamation of shifting stepping stones, but between each step was a giant lava-leaking scorpion crawling and lying in wait.

James didn't really have much space in his mind to process the other things he was looking at.

Eve looked like some kind of noble elf. Hild looked almost like a fire elemental, with her hair glowing and flowing down her shoulder. Together, they looked like they'd stepped out of the same fantasy story with the rest of them.

The tension in the air began to rise as the scorpions circled Hild and Eve, clicking their tails against their backs and looking ready to close in soon.

Well. In this situation, James could at least divert attention. If they built him like a fighter, and he knew he indeed still had his same magic, he could handle a few metal scorpions coming his way so that Hild and Eve could get across the field of lava and onto solid ground.

James turned back to Shane, who stood a few feet behind him.

Signing, he said: Stay back and cover me. I'll take this.

Which spell should I have ready? Shane signed back.

Minor Illusion, James attempted to sign back. But he didn't really know the word for illusion. It was... something. He couldn't remember. Just have a distraction ready.

And, before Shane could reply, James plucked Shrimp off his shoulder and handed him over.

Mercifully, the cat stayed silent for the transfer. Shane first winced painfully as he took the cat in his arms, then attempted to sign something, then gave up and waved him on.

James hurried forward, leaping out into the open.

And, well, it was very loud - and that was on purpose - so, naturally, all of the existing metal scorpions swung around and turned to look at him. Which was exactly what he wanted, since it took their attention off of Hild and Eve.

He threw his hands up in the air, smiling uncharacteristically in the face of danger as he strolled up, speaking loudly: "A welcoming party!" James said. "You're all too kind! Please, come closer so we can get better aquainted!"

With all the noise he made, the attention of every scorpion turned to him. While he was glad to have their attention, he wasn't content to just have their eyes on him. So, deciding to initiate and draw them towards him, he ran forward and stepped on the nearest scorpion, grabbing its tail with both hands. Pulling up with as much force as possible, he ripped the scorpion's tail off.

This resulted in a mild explosion of lava erupting from the scorpion's dead body. The splatter hit the metal of his armor, and he shielded his face with the now-dead creature's tail.

Ah. Yes. Now all of the scorpions were dashing to him.

But just as they all herded up the narrow walkway leading to him, Eve held out a piece of paper in front of her - a scroll - and read something in a foreign language out loud.

Instantaneously, a reddish cloud appeared before him, just a foot from his face, and what looked like spectre-like daggers spun in a dangerous whirlwind. All of the scorpions had been caught in the cloud, letting out a chorus of horrid screeches, like metal scraping against metal. Inside of the cloud, all of the scorpions began to explode one after another, leaving a large, bubbling splatter at James's feet of fast-cooling lava.

Just as quickly as the cloud of whirling daggers appeared, it was gone. Fading out of existence, the pathway between Eve, Hild, and him was finally clear - now it was just littered with the bodies of dead metal creatures. Some of their dented, splintered metal bones had shattered into the lava and were melting into the heat.

"It was exactly as described," Hild commented as she quickly and sure-footedly hopped the shifting stones to meet them.

Cautiously, Shane stepped out to join James, Shrimp in his arms. "Whatever that was, that was impressive, Eve," he commented in awe.

"It was a spell, I think," Eve murmured, kicking a carcass that was in the way into the lava. "Are you both okay?"

James tossed the scorpion tail he was holding over his shoulder into the lava.

"Fantastic," he said. "Good to see you two. How long have you been here?"

"29 minutes," Hild answered, "give or take. Technically, probably longer than that. It depends on whenever it was we were unceremoniously dumped here." She offered a faint grin as the pairs closed the distance between them, amusement sparking in her eyes. "Thank you for your assistance, Sir Hawke and Shane the Green."

James looked over at Shane over his shoulder, letting out a huff of a laugh. Shane grinned softly. Hild had already acknowledged what Shane was clearly supposed to be: a wizard.

"Seems like you two had it sorted," James said, looking back at them with a small smile. "But I'm glad it all worked out."

"It became far less of a stabbing hazard for ourselves with the distance you provided," Hild assured him.

When her gaze settled on Shrimp in Shane's arms, her eyes completely lit up. "What a fearsome creature you are, Mister Shrimp!" she declared, voice actually pitching with open adoration. Stepping closer, she lovingly scratched under Shrimp's chin with both hands. "Such a lovely set of wings for a handsome tressym!"

Shane smiled, holding out Shrimp on his arm, and the cat spread his wings grandly as he purred, much like a raptor on a trainer's glove. "Is that the term for a winged cat? He seems quite happy to be one."

"I believe that's the fantasy creature they've made him to be," James answered. "A tressym is pretty much just a cat with wings."

Hild carefully ran her fingertips along the edges of Shrimp's flight feathers, closely examining them. Then her grin turned wry as she said, "Hawk wings. Of course."

"The bird puns did not stop at our cabin assignments, apparently," Shane said.

"Apparently not," James said with a small sigh.

Shrimp, happy to be recieving all of the attention, meowed happily and nuzzled Hild's hand.

"It appears we are in another DMV-curated event," Eve said neutrally in the short silence that followed. Her focused gaze resting on Shrimp being petted before settling on James. "Have you received any hints or direction to proceed?"

"We did," James said. "In the form of a note that self-combusted, but we remember enough of it. First, we were told to find you. The latter half gave us the assignment to go into the heart of the volcano and retrieve an artifact in some chamber."

Eve nodded, crossing her arms. "We also received a note that combusted after reading. To quote, it said: 'In the chamber of the heart of the volcano is the secret to keeping back imminent destruction; an artifact with the power to stop calamity. Move with haste or become waste underneath the volcano's rage.'" She paused, relaxing her posture. "Sounds like we're being sent off to an adventure to find something."

"So... the artifact is to keep the volcano from erupting," James concluded.

"And if the event earlier this week has been any indication of the dangers the DMV are willing to commit to," Eve began with a dead serious tone, giving the three of them equal eye contact, "then the danger of the volcano erupting is truly real."

James let out a longsuffering sigh.

"I've wanted to be around for many important historical events, but Poompeii is not one of them," Shane muttered.

"Getting closer to the volcano is going to be a hassle," James said. "The land is constantly sputtering and shifting."

"We're certainly now equipped with... enhanced modifications," Eve said with a sigh. "It will be difficult, but not impossible."

James's eyes flicked from Eve's long, pointed ears to Hild. Who, in comparison to everyone else, had changed the most in her appearance. Her hair, seemingly made of flowing magma, fell over one shoulder like a braid, and cast a warm orange glow over her stone-colored face. She glanced back at James, briefly meeting his gaze before curiously focusing to just beside his face, likely studying his own ears.

"I don't know what official terminology to use in this artificially curated setting, but--" Eve began.

"Wizard," James offered.

"...Sure. Wizard," she relented. "We obviously look very different right now, but our new magic mechanics seem to work similarly. What about you two?"

"I can check," James said, pulling out his sword, which he'd sheathed at his side.

"Woah, wait," Shane said quickly, extending his hand over James's sword before he could raise it. "My psychometry works as normal. There's no need to cause yourself pain."

"Yes. Our true magic works the same here," Eve quickly added on. "I was referring to the new magic. New, unfamiliar magic."

James slowly pushed the sword back down into the sheath.

"I can see in the dark," he decided to say. "That's new."

"And I have scrolls," Shane added. "For spells, like the one you used."

"I believe I have a newfound heat resistance," Hild offered, her flat tone conveying some disappointment. "However, that doesn't necessarily translate into being entirely heat-proof."

"I think my armor is resistant to the lava," James added, gesturing to some cooled lava chunks stuck to his shinguards.

Hild quirked a brow. "Someone had the good sense to send you in well-equipped for this venture. Excellent."

"I guess no one wants me in a constant undeath cycle if I fall in lava," James said. "It's nice that someone's thinking of me."

Shane winced. "Considerate indeed."

"That won't happen anyways," Eve said. "No one's falling in lava."

Right, right, sure. James waved a little dismissively and looked to Hild instead.

"Is your hair actually lava-like?" he asked. "I've never seen anything like it."

Tentatively, Hild poked at the end where the vague braid-shape cooled. "It certainly seems to possess all the same qualities," she murmured in thought, lifting it up experimentally when it didn't have an adverse effect.

Curiously, James tilted his head to the side as he drew a little closer to look at it himself.

"Can I touch it?" he asked.

Shrugging, she carefully tossed her hair over her other shoulder in quiet invitation. Carefully, James reached out to see if it'd give, and it did under a little pressure. It was semi-liquid. Viscous and firm. Kind of like... hot honey, if it were really thick.

He hummed curiously.

"Fascinating," he commented.

Reaching out, Hild lightly tapped her knuckle to one of his pauldrons. "Lava resistant?" she hummed in turn. "And quite the flattering build, to boot." Her lips quirked up in a faint grin. "It suits you."

James was about to tell her that her hair suited her, but she apparently beat him to it by complimenting him instead. Admittedly caught off guard, his hand hovered awkwardly by her hair as he felt heat rise to his cheeks, and he met Hild's fond stare with a wide one of his own.

His brain stalled too long for him to think of something to say in return. He couldn't even manage a "thank you" to sound normal.

Eve softly cleared her throat, focused on the clearing on the other side of the cave. "Shall we get going? The volcano is that way, I believe."

"Yes," Hild agreed, small grin dropping with seriousness as she followed Eve's gaze, "we're likely on a deadline as well. Best get through as quickly as we can. Perhaps end the event early, if possible?"

James shook himself out of it. They were right. They needed to get this overwith.

"That's a bit more hopeful than I tend to be, but I agree. We should get out of this cave. I can trace back the way we came in," he said.

Shane tucked Shrimp close to his chest again, cloak swishing with the motion. "Lead the way," he agreed.

And so he did.

Out of nowhere, there was water where Leilan had taken air for granted.

He sputtered as a heavy wave crashed down on his head, and he tasted salt in the moment before he was completely submerged. Salt. Ocean. How was he drowning when he'd been on top of a hill a moment ago?

Well. He better swim.

Leilan kicked his feet, attempting to float to the surface, but he was met with an unexpected resistance. Weight. He looked down, through the air bubbles spewing out of his lips, to see... armor. Instead of his clothes. The metal was pulling him down when he should've been floating up.

In a brief moment that he wasn't proud of, he panicked, floundering in the water uselessly.

Then, a man pulled him down and shoved a sponge into his mouth. Manually forcing Leilan's jaw to chomp down on it, Leilan heard the man speak clear as day, as if there were no water between them: "Eat or die."

...Since when was dying a possible outcome?

Leilan wanted to ask questions, but some wiser instinct spoke louder, and he chewed down on the strange, spongy texture. It tasted like... crab. Which he didn't hate, normally, but the unexpectedness of this flavor suddenly being in his mouth made his stomach turn. Nevertheless, he managed to swallow it down, suppressing his gag reflex.

And then, inexplicably, the water in his lungs felt as normal as air, and he was floating down to the sea floor-- or rather, a floor that didn't belong at sea, as it was tiled. Bewildered, Leilan stared at his savior.

He was a very tall man, with purple skin, white hair, and pointy ears. Now that Leilan was grounded, the man was looking down at him with open curiosity.

"You're new," the man said.

Leilan blinked, searching his face just as much as he was trying to decipher the tone that was spoken with-- intrigue, interest, curiosity maybe. He was familiar, undeniably, but he knew he'd never seen the purple skin before.

"And uninjured, I hope?" someone off to the side prompted.

"Are you alright? And feeling okay?" another worried voice asked.

"Ah, yes," the purple man said. "The doctor wants to know if you're uninjured. Didn't trust my assessment when I said you look just fine."

Leilan's brain caught up as he scanned the other two. The shorter of the two also wasn't immediately recognizable due to the drastically deep scarlet shades of his skin, and a set of short horns that curved up from his forehead and swept backward over his dark hair. And yet, he recognized them as a contestant. Lyall-- he was the doctor, wasn't he?

The other one-- that was a dead giveaway. He'd seen enough of Alan to recognize him immediately, especially as he didn't look changed or less human like the other two.

Excitedly, Leilan's attention swiveled back to the man in front of him-- Alexander, he remembered now.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I know you three! I've seen you on the show!"

Alexander let out a gleeful laugh. "Ha! Look at that. No introductions necessary. Except - you know us, but we don't know you," he said. "Who might you be, sir soldier?"

Leilan huffed a chuckle, looking around. He half-expected air bubbles to form as a result of the laugh, but none did. "Well, I hear I'm the newest 'contestant'," he said. "My name's Leilan. I have no idea why I'm wearing this armor, but I'm not actually a soldier. I was on land a half-minute ago, too, so there's probably a lot I haven't caught up on."

"Mister Leilan," Lyall greeted, flashing a quick grin as he bowed slightly at the waist. "Lyall Ashlund, at your service." Straightening, he nodded them along as he paced backwards toward the nearest exit. "I both warmly welcome you to our number, and sincerely apologize for the frankly disquietting and abrupt way that you've been brought on to the, ahm, show."

Leilan smiled gently, looking around at the three of them. "No need to apologize. I already owe you one for getting me out of... whatever that was." He glanced at Alexander. "Was that you, Alex?" he said, taking a look at the spear he was holding.

Alex bowed his head with a small grin, standing where he was with a long spear at his side like a walking stick.

"Well, thank you kindly," Leilan said, before giving Alan a reassuring smile. "And I'm doing okay. Thanks for asking, Alan. Just a little bewildered."

"That's understandable. I'm sorry you had to meet us this way. We'll have to give you a warmer welcome later. But it's very nice to meet you, Leilan," Alan said with a small smile, then glanced at Lyall who was already by the doorway. "Some of us are eager to move on, but do you need more time? We can sit with you for a bit, if you'd like. We have plenty of time."

Leilan gave their surroundings a quick look. They appeared to be in an underwater building of some kind-- old architecture, a domed ceiling, turquoise walls like the sides of a swimming pool. A far cry from the hill. Had he been teleported to an off-shore submerged location? Or had time well and truly frozen from his perspective, allowing someone else to move him.

"I'm ready to move on, but whatever you know about why we're here, what we're doing, and why we don't look like our normal selves, I'm happy to hear," he said.

"Of course. This is all much needed context," Alan said with a nod, motioning for Leilan and Alex to follow him to the door. "We can explain as we move."

As a thought occurred to him, Leilan carefully glanced around while he walked there. No sign of Pinto.

"This may be a weird question, but no one's seen a dog around here, have they?" he asked concernedly.

"Nope," Alex said simply.

Tilting his head, Lyall's brows furrowed with concern and deep thought. "I haven't," he answered gently. "You said you were on land, last you can recall?"

Leilan nodded. "I was on my way to the cabins, and I was walking over a hill with my dog when suddenly, he wouldn't go any further. Then I stepped into some sort of magic trap where I couldn't move."

A troubled look briefly passed over Lyall's face. "It's possible he's already at the cabins then," he offered. "But not entirely improbable that he's been situated nearby as well."

"I'm sorry you got separated from your dog," Alan said softly as they walked through the caverns. "We'll help you find him."

Leilan nodded, smiling faintly. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

Alex folded his arms, standing a little further away, still behind the three of them.

"I'm pretty sure you've been here as long as we have," Alex said.

"How long is that?" Leilan asked.

"...Approximately 6 hours," Lyall answered, another apology and flash of worry in his softened tone.

Leilan blinked. So...

"Last thing I remember, it was sunrise," he said. "It's afternoon now?"

"There's really not a way to be entirely sure at the moment," Lyall said, glancing ahead, "since it's unclear when exactly in the day we ourselves woke up. But the internal clock suggests as much, yes."

"That's a long time to be underwater," Leilan said, surprised. "Do you know why we're down here?"

"It's the DMV!" Alexander said with a flourish of his hand and a lifting of his spear. "Life is a game, and we have to win it."

Leilan raised a brow curiously. "Ah, so it might be like last week's competition. It seems less fun in nature compared to the earlier two events."

"The, ahm, stakes," Lyall offered absently, "have certainly been raised by quite a bit."

"We passed the first trial of merely figuring out how to breathe," Alex said. "I'm sure saving you was on the list of things to do. And if this is anything like your classic adventure story there's probably treasure to be found somewhere."

Leilan was about to comment on that-- such as how much of this was really orchestrated-- before he heard the sound of a sharp crack. It was not a familiar sound-- too brittle to be the snapping of ice, too low to be a whip. And before he could decide what that meant it was, the floor of the room they were in started tilting.

Tugged by gravity, he stumbled back, narrowly avoiding a fall, and he wasn't the only one. Alan took a fall, caught off guard as he crashed to his knees. He slid, but he didn't look hurt-- or at least, there was surprise instead of pain on his face. Alex remained stable, taking steps forward into the tilt of the floor and leaning in to act as a counterweight. But Lyall slipped completely, and by some terrible luck, started rolling on his side towards the wall.

Then Leilan realized he wasn't going to make it to the wall. Where the floor tilted, a gap appeared at the edge, revealing a gaping nothingness underneath. The instinct to move at fast speed kicked in, and he lunged, snagging Lyall by the wrist before he got there.

"Scatter!" Leilan shouted.

The floor gradually leveled out somewhat with a low rumble as they each snagged a corner. It wasn't a perfect balance, though. Leilan would feel the earth tilt one way, then the next, then back again in an insecure wobble.

"Lyall, are you alright?" Alan asked urgently after he scurried to the corner, wobbling a bit as he tried to match the precarious balance of the floor tilting with every small movement.

"Mister Leilan," Lyall called calmly, taking a low, steady stance, "not too far, please!"

"You're too damn heavy," Alex said from the far corner, looking at Leilan. "The armor's weighing you down."

It only took a glance behind him to verify that it was true-- the edge he took was lowest, and Alex's corner opposite him was highest.

"Lose it!" Alex hissed.

Carefully, but swiftly, Leilan took a large step forward towards the center of the floor. The ground reshifted, evening out more. Not a perfect balance, but the problem wasn't on his end anymore, and it felt like a much safer position to occupy. Following Alex's instructions, he started to unstrap the breastplate of the armor, preparing to toss it at Alex's feet.

"No, wait!" Lyall countered, waving him down with both hands. "No drastic changes yet."

"It'll be slight," Leilan called back.

"Wait! Let's think about this," Alan said quickly, keeping up with his steps to keep the floor balanced. "There's a rope ladder behind you, Alexander. We can jump to it. If Leilan is the heaviest, the three of us can get to the other side of Leilan to keep balanced. Leilan, do you think you can make the jump?"

Leilan's gaze flicked to behind Alex, seeing the rope. He felt a spark of sudden hope.

"I have super speed as a power," he said. "I should be able to make it in no time."

"Super speed," Alexander echoed, sounding a bit skeptical.

"Yes," Leilan said, and even though this wasn't his preferred time for a demo, he held out his arm, focusing on vibrating it at a high speed. Sure enough, his arm blurred with motion that was too fast to catch with the eyes, like the haze of a hummingbird's wings. "Super speed."

That seemed enough to prove it to everyone.

"Fine. Your plan then," Alex said.

Lyall shook away his mildly surprised expression. "Regardless, we need a way to be able to compensate for the change of weight, which we might not be able to do in time..."

"This puzzle is designed for someone to stay behind," Alan said calmly. "Obviously, we are not going to do that. We need to carefully think about the order of who's going first, and most importantly, who's going last."

"Well, who do we believe can move second-fastest among us?" Lyall asked.

"Fastest and lightest," Alan added. "Large weight changes will cause the floor to tilt too far, and even if you're fast, you won't make it in time, assuming you run from the center."

Alexander pointed to Lyall.

"Fastest and lightest," he said. "Clocked it from day one."

"Agreed," Lyall said with a small bow of his head.

"You suck at long distance but you can sprint," Alex added.

"I..." Lyall wilted a bit. Leilan felt kinda bad for him.

"Okay. So it's decided that Lyall goes last," Alan said, not commenting on that. "Let's work forward now. Who should go first?"

"You, Alan," Lyall answered simply.

"Because you're the slowest," Alex added.

"Because." Lyall shot Alex a pointed look. "I would like for him to find any large object up there that could be used as a counterweight somehow, and perhaps spot us from up high."

"With that logic, wouldn't it make more sense for Alex to go first, since he is closest and could lift and throw heavier objects?" Alan countered.

"I accept this challenge," Alex said, reaching for the rope.

"I should like to insist again," Lyall politely pushed back, "Alan go first."

"Okay, wait," Alan said quickly with his hands out. "But also think about how we're positioned." He gestured towards Leilan. "How is Leilan going to leave? I think the three of us could balance Leilan wearing armor. It's a small risk, for all of us to move for Leilan to move first, but I think it will pay off."

Alex froze with a visible look of dissapointment.

"Again," Lyall patiently furthered, "I would like for us all to congregate closer to the center anyhow--"

"Yeah, then we can do a big group hug and be best buddies," Alex said flatly.

"Which will reduce the margin of error," Lyall continued, clenching his fists with fleeting frustration. "Leilan's armor can't weigh anymore than 25 kilograms, so we'd be overcompensating if we used even just two of us as a counterweight."

"I can shed the armor," Leilan said. "Maybe even distribute it as counter weights."

"That will help," Lyall agreed brightly. "So, yes, please. Get rid of it once we're all closer."

Carefully, Leilan shuffled another half-step in, tearing off the breastplate and holding it in his hands. He knew he had to be wearing something under this armor, logically, but he was relieved nonetheless when he saw he was wearing a simple, plain sleeveless top underneath.

"Easy does it," Lyall murmured as they all carefully made their ways inward.

They were getting close to each other when suddenly, as if by an impatient god, a timer for two minutes appeared on the ceiling, made out of the mosaic tiles that shifted like a digital clock segment display.

"...Perhaps with a little less ease," Leilan grumbled. "We bored someone."

"We don't have a lot of time," Alan said urgently, staring up at the ceiling before snapping his attention to everyone else, the direness of the situation clear in his eyes. "We're all in the center now. I still think Leilan should go first. Then Alex. Then me. Then Lyall last."

"Then go," Lyall quickly yielded, gesturing for Leilan to proceed. "The rest of us will adjust accordingly."

Wordlessly, Leilan tossed the breastplate to the edge he'd been on, quickly tossed his pauldrons there too, and turned back to face the rope. Taking a deep breath, and giving the three of them a confirmatory nod, Leilan leapt forward, moving at lightning speed as the three others seemed to freeze motionlessly around him.

He pushed off the ground three-quarters of the way there, and the platform hadn't even had time to tilt yet. He knew in a few moments it would wobble from the step, but that it would quickly compensate in the other direction, returning to equilibrium. He caught the rope, immediately wrapping his legs around it so they wouldn't hit the floor again.

For a brief moment, Leilan returned to normal speed so he could talk with him. He knew from experience that if he did it at the same speed he was moving at, the sounds would happen too quickly for their ears to catch.

"Don't wait for me to make it to the top!" he shouted as he started to climb upwards.

He then sped to the top, stepping off at the floor above, and looked down over the group. The platform was now beginning to lurch from the lack of weight on his side, but Alex grabbed onto the rope, leaving it more equal and stable enough that Alan and Lyall could stand. Quickly, Leilan's gaze flicked to the ceiling. Forty seconds.

In an emergency, he knew he'd be able to run down the rope, haul them all up, and get them out of there before the time ran out. But that would be an exhausting solution, as well as probably scary for the three of them.

Lyall and Alan needed a way to make a run for it.

Then, as he scanned his floor or anything that might be of help, it was like a lightbulb went off in his head when he saw a wooden barrel against the wall-- presumably, a fair portion of a person's weight.

What was his PR on deadlifting, again?

As Alexander's weight left the edge of the platform, Lyall and Alan were quick to stabilize it once more. Tilting his eyes up to the clock, Lyall lightly nudged Alan's arm to usher him along.

Alan glanced up at the changing mosaic tiles, noting the time. "We have one minute. Let's quickly talk about this," he said calmly, not moving as he faced Lyall squarely.

"You run like hell," Lyall said simply, turning his eyes back to Alan, "I'll compensate for the changes. Then also run like hell once you're off."

"Lyall," Alan called gently. "How are you going to get off by yourself?"

"Easy," Lyall answered, perhaps with far more confidence than he had any right to feel at the moment. He nodded back. "I'll be that way anyhow, adjusting for your moving weight. This monstrosity tilts back. As the lightest, I should have time enough to leverage the shifted angle and reach the ladder no problem." He offered a small grin and wink. "I promise, I'll be fine."

Alan didn't believe him. His skepticism was obvious in his face, and Lyall knew he was going to offer a different, more idealistic solution. "Lyall, I don't know if that will work. What if we leave together at the same time? I don't want to leave you behind."

And... unsurpisingly, it was possibly the dumbest suggestion to date. For anything.

And Lyall couldn't help the way it made his grin soften with mayhaps ill-timed endearment. "Alan," he began to counter, "this was your--"

"Duck, for the love of the Saints!" Leilan pleaded from above. "I'm not taking off your heads!"

Past Alan's head, on the upper level, their newest member stood at the edge with an entire fucking barrel raised high over his head.

Without a second thought, Lyall dragged Alan down into a low crouch with him with his hands set on the musician's shoulder and the back of his neck.

Leilan tossed the barrel past them, over their heads. It crashed with a heavy thud, reshifting the weight towards the side opposite of the rope-- and making the action of the two of them running for the rope while keeping the floor balanced feasible. Based on how heavily it landed, and the rate at which the floor moved, it felt filled nearly to the brim.

Yanking a shocked Alan back up to his feet, Lyall pushed at his back this time and ordered, "Go! Now!"

That seemed to wake him from his daze, and without wasting another second, Alan shared a mutual look of understanding before running to the edge that was raising higher and higher from the weight of the rolling barrel. He jumped from the edge, using his momentum to push himself towards the rope, which he successfully grabbed on to. Lyall quickly thanked the gods before leaping from the ledge the instant after, gritting his teeth as he grasped the ladder beside Alan.

Tensely, both looked back over their shoulders. Both the crumbling platform and the sacrificial wine barrel fell down into the darkened depths that even Lyall could not peer down into.

Dear gods... Lyall let out a huffed laugh, releasing the tension in his frame, and blinked against the rush of relief that swept his bearings clean out from under him.

They actually made it!

Taking in a shuddered breath, Alan focused his gaze on Lyall and softly asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Lyall quickly assured him, still breathless and light-headed from the adrenaline. Trying his best to rein in the excitement, he met his eyes with a more sobered look. "You?"

Alan nodded, tightly gripping on to the ladder as he squinted above to Leilan waving them up. "Fine," he confirmed, then began climbing up without further comment.

Lyall delayed, watching closely to ensure his partially sightless friend made it alright to the top, before following after. Leilan, bless him, lent a helping hand to the both of them. With an appreciative smile, Lyall clasped hands with the astonishingly well-built man and let himself be hauled up.

He found himself newly awash in relief once more as Alexander and Alan came back into view. They all made it.

He fixed his attention firmly on Alan, standing near the edge of the hole they fell in. His gaze was distantly focused on where the platform below used to be, and his posture uncharacteristically rigid.

Quietly and without missing a beat, Lyall strode up and pulled him into a firm embrace. Alan was stiff at first, but then snapped out of the daze and gently returned the hug.

"We're alright," Lyall reassured him, soft yet emphatic, pulling him closer with a hand on the back of his neck. "You did amazing."

"We're alright," Alan confirmed with a sigh. He took a quiet deep breath then pulled away, softly smiling. "Thanks," he said appreciatively, then turned away to smile at Leilan. "Good thinking on your part, Leilan. That really helped us out."

Leilan smiled back warmly with a humble shrug. "Sure thing. Good job coming up with the plan to get us out."

"It was a group effort," Alan said assuredly, then peered down the hall. "Should we keep going, or do we need a moment to rest?"

"Now, hang on," Lyall cut in with a growing smile of admiration. He pointed his whole arm at Leilan. "Are we truly going to simply overlook how our newest companion lifted a full wine barrel that had to have been at the very least 250 kilograms over his head like it was nothing?"

"It was very impressive, actually," Alex chimed in with a nod.

Leilan chuckled graciously. "I mean, it most definitely didn't feel like nothing. My arms are very unhappy with me right now."

Lyall huffed a disbelieving laugh, actively fighting the urge to glance at said arms. "Well. Even so." He bowed slightly at the waist with a small flourish of his hand. "I am quite indebted to your fast thinking, and thank you most spiritedly."

"Not indebted," Leilan assured him. "We're even now, for Alex's quick thinking with getting me out of that bubble prison."

Lyall's first instinct was to counter that was purely Alex's victory, then realized... He was allied with Alexander, as far as anyone knew. So he didn't object.

He instead glanced sideways at his dear friend, whom he noted remained unusually silent for a compliment-fest. Then looked over his shoulder to Alexander as he prompted, "Unless one of us has any irrational objections, I say we move along."

They had been walking for quite some time now. They stumbled into more and more clues, and now they were on to find some lever to drain a city. Honestly, Alan wasn't really sure.

The entire day had been very bizarre with little answers, but he understood that they didn't have much information to begin with. Still, he was a little weary of everything. Or maybe he was exhausted. It was hard to tell.

The passageway was narrowing more, so naturally, Alan slowed in his steps behind Lyall and Alex, who were chatting up a storm. Alan was listening, but he would be remiss to say that he was engaged. But he didn't really have it in him to remain engaged over the topics that Alex droned on and on about.

"Hey, Alan," Leilan said to his right, with a gentle smile. "Are you doing alright? You look a little distracted."

Lyall had silently asked the same thing earlier. Maybe Alan ought to remain a little more engaged. He didn't want to worry others, especially since there was nothing to worry about.

"I'm doing alright," he assured with a smile. "Thank you for asking. It's been a long day for all of us. I know it hasn't been easy for you, either."

"Not every day you end up having to fight for your life underwater," Leilan agreed. "Or at least, I hope that's not the norm for you. That doesn't sound fun."

"Definitely not. Though, I don't know, maybe I'll get accustomed to my new gills," Alan murmured, thinking out loud. "I could live the rest of my days as a human fish."

Leilan chuckled. "There'd probably be a lot less to worry about than being a human-human."

"Yeah... probably," Alan agreed with a hum. "There'd be more fishy problems instead."

"How'd you figure out those plants helped you breathe underwater, anyway?" Leilan asked curiously.

"I didn't," Alan answered, watching Lyall and Alex converse and laugh out loud next to each other. He loosely gestured in front of him. "They figured it out. It was quick thinking on their end. They know a ton about plants."

Leilan hummed with a smile. "That's clever. It's good we've got them," he said with genuine appreciation.

Alan nodded in agreement. He truly was glad that they both were here. Maybe he wouldn't be alive if that was the case.

But there was no use in thinking about the what-ifs.

"So, Leilan," Alan began after a short lull in silence, facing him with a smile. "We haven't really had a proper introduction. Where are you from? How do you spend your days? And most importantly, what type of music do you like to listen to?"

Leilan grinned in return, holding out his hand for a handshake, which Alan gladly took. "It's true, that was hardly a normal way to meet, wasn't it? We've got to go back to procedure." He let out a light laugh. "I'm from Aphirah, and I've lived there my whole life. I'm usually busy with my job in civil service, though I also look after my family a good bit. I should expect the music question from you, though-- I suppose my music taste's varied, but I listen to jazz and bossa nova the most."

Alan hummed, taking this all in. "A man of good tastes," he hummed. "Duly noted. It sounds like you live a busy life." He paused. "Though still have time to keep tabs of the show. I didn't realize we've all become mainstream. Welcome to the club."

Leilan chuckled. "I was at the regular DMV academic training before this, and it's the only entertainment program they'll allow. It's definitely gotten popular, though."

Alan nodded, taking a moment to digest this. "How much of the show have you seen?" he casually asked.

"Most episodes, though I wasn't paying a ton of attention," Leilan said. "I feel pretty filled in on how things look here, and I know who everyone is-- though it doesn't feel the same as knowing anyone here personally, of course."

Alan nodded idly again. "Fair enough," he commented, not having any more to add on that topic.

"Speaking of, I'd like a better introduction to you too," Leilan said with a smile. "Same three questions. Where are you from? How do you spend your days? And we can't forget, what type of music do you listen to?"

Alan hesitantly glanced his way. "Wouldn't you already know the answers?" he asked uncertainly. "I don't know. I've shared those details plenty of times on the show. Don't you already know?"

Leilan hummed thoughtfully. "Oh, you're right, I think I've heard you're from Argentia. I don't have as concrete answers to the other two, though."

Had Alan answered these questions before? Probably, maybe, with someone. It was common enough, but maybe it wasn't aired, since it wasn't like his life was particularly exciting.

"Well, lately, I've been spendings my days here, which has been a timeless and voidless black hole of nothing," Alan answered straight-facedly, then sighed. "I don't think I'm very consistent at home either, but I namely spend my time working, or with family, or music, or helping someone out, or... you know. Adulting. And staying busy and whatnot." He waved his hand in front of him to dismiss the subject. "Music-wise... that's a tough one. I listen to most music and love all of it, but I am biased in that I love songs with stringed instruments. Obviously, the violin, but also guitar, and even piano. Right, piano is a string instrument. Anyways..."

Well. That was a way more scatterbrained answer than what he had hoped for. He glanced back at Leilan apologetically.

"Sorry for the long answer. It's been a day," he said with a faint chuckle.

Leilan offered him a reassuring, understanding smile. "Don't worry about it. It's good to learn anything. Besides, you've been through quite a lot today and probably expected none of it, including that you'd need to introduce yourself to someone new."

"The same goes for you, you know," Alan said with a reassuring gesture towards him. "And for the record, it's not a bother for me to meet new people. I welcome it, and I'm glad you're here."

Leilan's smile warmed. "Thanks. I feel very lucky to have ended up with you."

Those were some strong words and feelings to have for someone Leilan didn't really know, but Alan reminded himself that Leilan already had a preconceived notion of who he was. And apparently, it must have been positive. Which was a good thing. It should be a good thing.

"Thank you, Leilan," Alan said with a wider smile. "The sentiments go both ways."

A day of walking. That, and dealing with small hordes of imps, the occasional fire spirit, and more of those cursed scorpions.

Fortunately, most of them were easy to kill (and sometimes avoid) but by the end of the day, everyone was exhausted. The sun was setting over the barren, crusted landscape, and thought the glow of the river of lava gave a dim light to the land, eventually, they were shrouded in darkness.

They were lucky that no one had been too injured, except James, who'd been the one to throw himself in the front of any immediate danger. His armor took the brunt of most hits, and any scraping or bruising healed on its own quickly after it was aquired, which was expected. And that, at least, was normal.

They made camp at the base of the volcano, just outside of a cave opening that led into another network of tunnels, appearing to dive deep under the ground. With everyone already spent, they decided it best to rest before venturing into what might be a labyrinth. Especially since they didn't know what else might lurk further in, closer to the "heart" of the volcano.

It was a bit strange. In some ways, the walking, the fighting, and the camping reminded James of his days in the army. The constant trekking, always being on guard, and always being a little tired were familiar experiences that felt normal, even when everything else around them didn't make much sense. At first, it'd felt like they were in a movie. But as time went on and travel turned out to be just as mundane as it was in real-time, it was amazing how quickly he adjusted. He'd forgotten his ears were pointed. It started to feel natural, even, when Shane and Eve used spells. The only thing that still felt a bit odd was... well. Hild's appearance.

He knew this had to be temporary, but the way she'd been changed into something partially earth - like fire lived under her skin, in her veins, and even fuelled the glow of her hair - was unlike anything he'd seen before. He could only imagine how strange it felt for her to be living in it. Like she'd been put into a new skin.

As the sun sunk over the horizon, they nestled into the sheltered crevice of the rocks around the cave's entrance. They decided to take shifts, half and half, so that no one would be on watch alone and they could still get some rest.

With everything they'd run into thus far, it was for the best they were cautious.

So, for the first shift, he and Hild stayed up to keep watch.

For a long while, they sat in silence.

Part of it was from exhaustion. Part of it was because they knew Eve and Shane would both take some time to fall asleep, and they didn't want to disturb them. But after maybe an hour or so, it seemed the extreme physical exertion of the day finally caught up to the two, and James could hear them breathing soundly, curled up in their capes with their bags as their pillows.

James sat on a rock a bit further out, looking at the steam rising out the earth in five minute intervals. It came up in a different place each time in the jagged field in front of them, but it always came.

It smelled putrid, but he'd become used to the smell after a day of breathing it in.

He took in a deep breath, letting out a long sigh.

"Be honest," Hild's voice came softly as she approached, arms loosely folded. "Is the armor creating any sort of oven effect on you?"

James looked over at her, slightly turning his head. He was leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees. She stopped beside him, standing with her weight comfortably shifted to one leg as she faintly smiled down at him.

"A little," he said. "I've been sweating nonstop, if that's what you mean."

It was good that Eve and Shane had found many canteens of water hidden in their bags of holding. Once those were discovered, all of them managed to get rehydrated so they felt a little less like death.

Humming quietly, Hild lightly tapped the edge of his pauldron. "Perhaps give yourself a moment to cool down?"

"I thought you were for me being armored in the event something dangerous arose," James said with a small grin.

"Of course I am," Hild agreed easily.

"And if something shows up while I'm unprepared?" James asked.

Stepping in front of him, Hild knelt down to be closer to eye level with him. "Ten, maybe twenty minutes is all I ask," she pressed, arching a brow. "While no threats are around, and we're both alert."

James held her gaze for a moment, feeling that this was something she'd push harder on if he resisted more. After about three solid seconds of unbroken eye contact he shook his head and looked to the ground with a sigh.

"Alright," he said. "I won't deny it's hot as hell out here."

And as he said so, he slipped off his gauntlets. He planned to just set them on the ground himself, but Hild reached out first, taking them from him so she could do the same.

She probably managed to do it quieter anyway. With every movement, James's metal armor shifted and clinked faintly.

It was a bit tedious, though, taking off the rest of his armor. It really was a full set - only lacking a helmet, which, in his opinion, was a huge oversight - so he had to take it bit by bit. Hild ended up helping lift the breastplate off over his shoulders because of the make.

The lower half of the armor involved a lot of straps and undoing buckles, and it felt like it took forever to slip out of the greaves and sabatons. By the time everything was off, though, he finally felt like he could breathe. The air was still sickeningly hot, but compared to the metal oven he'd been in, it almost felt cool in comparison.

And, of course, underneath the metal armor itself was another layer of padded clothing that he had to peel off. It smelled horrific, of course, so he hoped Hild wasn't picking that up amidst the sulfur and ash.

Finally left in but a tank-top-like undershirt and simple pants, James did, admittedly, feel some relief from the heat.

Hild perched beside him, her posture not quite as rigid as usual. But she seemed largely unbothered as she let out a quiet sigh. "Better?" she asked.

James nodded. "Yeah," he said, sitting down on the ground next to her, beside to the armor pile. "It's going to take just as long to put all that back on, though."

"I know," she said, tilting her head to cast him an empathetic glance. "Just rest without it for as long as you can."

"It'd be nice to sleep without it on, at least," he said. "It's functional enough for most things, but not as much lying down comfortably."

Hild tucked her legs sideways, and leaned back slightly on one hand. "Well, part of the purpose of 'keeping watch' is so that others may let their guards down, if only for a little while. So I certainly encourage you to sleep without it."

"And keep watch without it too, apparently," he said with just a faint hint of teasing.

She shrugged with a slight grin. "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

James huffed.

Right. He wasn't alone.

"That you are," he said. "If anything shows up you'll probably get to it before it even gets close, what with all the spell scrolls you have."

"A true blessing," she agreed. "We have ranged attacks."

"I could just pick up some rocks and throw them," James mused. "You know..."

He mimed picking up a stone and tossing it out over the steamy field ahead of them. "A good pelting."

"If the situation becomes dire," Hild said with a huff of amusement, "sure."

"How are we measuring 'dire?'" James asked.

She turned an intrigued glance his way. "How would you measure 'dire'? Seeing as you have the only fighting background among us."

"I don't know," he mused. "Grievously outnumbered. Every man down sort of situation."

Hild hummed. "Perhaps don't wait for such an extreme instance, then."

"Alright. Mundane nuisance it is, then," he said.

"I trust your judgement," Hild yielded with a slight grin, leaning back on her other hand as well as she let her posture loosen, sinking a little lower beside him.

James sighed, letting a small pause pass as they looked at the barren landscape. Between the glowing haze of the lava river and the shifting rocks with cracks of steam, it wasn't exactly much of a view, but there was a strange sense of calm. Like the calm before a storm.

It was a small pocket of it. These days, he felt like he had to appreciate the small moments of peace he was allowed. Especially now that he knew the method for his advancement likely involved more pressure in the future.

But he couldn't control any of that. And thinking on it right now felt like it'd sour whatever respite this moment allowed him.

Tilting his head towards Hild, he let his gaze linger on the skull shaped cave now far off in the distance, barely within view as a dot on the horizon.

It was still so strange to be able to see like this.

Not only could he see in the dark, but he could see overall without glasses or contacts. So, for just a moment of some self indulgence, James turned his gaze to Hild.

Her eyes were responsibly fixed on the distance. So he took just a few seconds to appreciate the angle of her narrow nose, and the flattering, complimentary angle of her jaw.

Those things, at least, were the same. As were her high cheekbones, her long lashes, and the intense focus of her gaze.

Not wanting to linger too long lest either of them become too self aware or uncomfortable, James dropped his eyes to her hand on the ground between them. He had the passing thought that, maybe, if they weren't on television, or they weren't in this crazy wasteland, or...

Truth be told, there were layers of excuses. But above all, he didn't want to be too forward.

Not too soon, not too fast.

He didn't want to ruin something that was just beginning. Not when he wasn't sure what it was yet. Not when he was still scared of what it could become. Not when he hadn't even had a chance to talk to his family... to... to get a second opinion.

He briefly bit his lip, still idly tracing the details of her hand.

Slight, but not bony. They were far more slender than his but sturdy. A bit dry. Well-used, but not deeply calloused, except for the tips. Proof she'd been practicing the cello.

"How tired are you?" he asked softly, finally breaking the silence.

"I'll get through the first watch," she replied simply.

"Not what I asked," James said more gently.

She huffed quietly, betraying some weariness. "More than I'd care to admit," she conceded. "I'm used to a generous trek, but the additional hazards on the way were a bit... draining."

James nodded slowly in understanding.

"If it'd give any relief, and it's helpful to stay upright," James said carefully. "You can lean on me if you'd like."

He thought about tagging on something about his shoulder potentially being more comfortable than the jagged rocks around them, or perhaps, forewarning of his smell. But maybe that was too much. He'd just... leave the offer as it was.

Gaze still trained ahead, Hild sat quiet for a beat, seeming to weigh these options. Then she tentatively shifted to sit closer, and leaned her shoulder against his. "...Thank you."

James suppressed a smile, but it still tugged at his mouth.

"You're welcome," he said.

Hild tilted her head, the top of her hair just brushing his cheek as she slowly relaxed beside him again. "How is any of this real?" she asked absently in a sigh. "Even living out a high fantasy adventure for almost half a day has done nothing for the sheer dissonance between..." She waved a vague hand. "...frankly, the variety of bizarre realities we've been thrust into."

James hummed faintly, a bit distracted by the warmth of Hild's hair against his face and his shoulder. Though her hair looked like molten lava, it wasn't burning him. Just... radiating heat.

"Maybe it's not," he said. "Could be a really convincing simulation."

Hild hummed in thought, lifting her braid to study briefly. "Would explain some of the smaller inconsistencies."

"And how it's all possible. Budget-wise," he murmured.

Letting her hair drop back to her shoulder, Hild then turned her hand over to contemplate the hue of her skin. "I understand why you wanted to test the reality of these changes," she said. Then clarified, "Your ears, I should say. How else to know?"

"If I had less self control I'd take that as permission to find out," James said, looking at Hild's hand as well.

Huffing a laugh, she drew her hand in to study her palm more closely. "Thank gods for your good sense," she said dryly.

"I am not immune to a good influence," James said, still eyeing her hand.

"You're also not entirely immune to bouts of absurdity," she lightly countered with a hum.

James hummed in return with soft amusement.

"With all of the severity I've been dealt, sometimes I need to be a little absurd to feel human again," he said, a bit more honest than might've been necessary.

"A good thing it is, too," Hild agreed simply, smoothly going with the subtle shift in tone. "It's a testament to your personal strength. Staying human through it all."

James felt himself smile ever so faintly, appreciating her match of sincerity without making it too serious.

In a moment like this, he didn't really want to think about all of the woes of his life, or even the journal of healing from it all. Healing took far more strength than it ever did to deal the damage, and he knew he was still on a long, long journey of doing so.

It'd probably take him his whole life, and he'd begun to accept that.

Eyes still on Hild's hand, which she's rested in her lap, James found himself thinking again.

Gods, he'd only known her for a little over a month. He didn't know if he was reading things right. A part of him was scared to ruin the moment. To try. To try again, even three-years removed from what happened with Ingrid. Was he healed enough? Was he ready? Would he ever be? He wished he had all the answers. He wished he could talk to his mother. He wished there was someone outside of all of this that could give him some guidance and reassurance. It felt like he was living in a bubble. It was almost like none of this was real. It didn't even feel like it would last. And it wouldn't, once these three months were over.

But it was so hard to picture what things would look like after this.

Would everything be okay?

Would he be okay?

Would this moment, now, get soured later? How much was he willing to risk losing, for the little gain he might have now?

He leaned his head just a little, inwards to Hild's. He rested the side of his face against her hair, which felt like a warm blanket to his cheek. He wondered what Hild was thinking, or if she was merely at peace, in the moment, like he wished he was.

Pinching his eyes shut just for a second, he hesitantly reached over, gently brushing the tips of his fingers over the back of her hand. Slow, to give her the chance to pull away. To choose.

It was only another mere second where Hild didn't do anything in response. Then, drawing in a slow breath, she tilted her head down so that her cheek was lightly pressed to his shoulder. She dropped her gaze downward as she gently lifted her hand to fully brush his palm, tentatively curling her pinky around his index finger.

For a second, James's heart skipped at the fragility of the moment. The subtle touch. The invitation.

He gently, tenderly turned his hand over, slipping it under hers. He carefully curled his fingers between her own, realizing that even her skin seemed to share the same kind of heat as her hair.

Even though they were already in an oven, he didn't care.

The moment their hands finally clasped with one another, the spring of anxiety in his chest finally released. With her head resting against him, and her whole body relaxing beside him, it felt like... like he could finally do the same.

He knew it wasn't wise to close his eyes while on watch for long, but just for a little bit, he allowed himself to. He took in the warmth and the comfort of Hild's presence. And it felt like he didn't have to think of anything else, either.

He could just be.