Chapter Text

Part I. Not everything ends in a way you can feel.

You are on fire.

That’s how it feels. Your skin seethes, your tongue boils in your mouth, your lungs sting from smoke. Your heart slams in your throat. You swear your head’s been split in two, like tectonic plates parting to an isthmus of magma.

On the inside you feel hollow — most disconcertingly of all.

You fall to your knees with an “oof” and clutch at your head. Your own touch adds to the pain like drops in the ocean. What is happening to you?

Your jaw unhinges and a scream bursts out of you. Maybe sounds no longer register to you or maybe you haven’t made noise at all, maybe the rush of scattering birds is all in your imagination, a waking fever dream. You can’t breathe. You’d do anything to end this agony. Your body offers only senseless writhing on the ground.

You try to look for the flames engulfing your hands but your vision has gone darkless. The tender flesh inside you churns as plasma. You’d tear off your own skin but you know that would not help. This must be how the sun feels.

A single, reverberating beat of your heart pulses from your chest through your body and out, threatening to disintegrate you.

And then, nothing.

It takes a moment to realize that the pain is gone; it echoes through you, glowing embers in ash. You force a breath in and out. Your eyes open to vertigo. When you try to lift your arm — make sure you have some connection to your form — it trembles slightly, but it looks and feels just the same as before. You clench and unclench your gloved fingers.

After another moment you establish your position on the forest floor. You recognize the smells of dry dirt and vegetation, and you see the great wide trunk of the Favor Tree before you. Ants, indifferent to your presence, zigzag across the roots.

The place where your heart should be feels uncomfortably bloated. Your neck is sore and your throat hurts. What happened? Are you sick? Did something just sting or bite you? Was there a rogue bolt of lightning? Have you unknowingly ingested poison? Is there some unseen danger — should you leave? Could this be some sort of sign from the Universe, perhaps? Explanations tumble through your mind.

For a moment, you can barely move for fear of re-triggering this random affliction. You stare at the dapples of light cast through the canopy; there’s a Ka Buan word for that, you think, but it doesn’t come to mind. A minute or so passes uneventfully.

You push yourself up into a sitting position, catch your breath, and then slowly come to a stand. Looking around, you seem to be the only person here.

What are you even doing here anyway?

Reality comes into focus — the place, the time. Tomorrow is a very important day, which makes today important by association. You need to prepare.

You were looking for a leaf to wish upon when… whatever that was happened.

It’s not happening anymore, though. You think it’s safe to resume what you were doing before.

Some uncut branches of the Favor Tree hang low around you. With calculation, you pour over the options. One leaf in particular stands out: broad, nubile, and glossy, save for a small hole near the center, freshly bore by presumably some critter. You approach, and take the leaf gently in your hand.

[Don’t.]

Like a static shock in your brain, a misfired synapse with a word written on it, an echo without a source. It doesn’t hurt, but it still feels wrong. Your brow furrows slightly.

[Listen to me, Siffrin; I am trying to help you.]

You hold your breath. Your scowl deepens, and you refuse to let go of the leaf.

[I know what you plan to wish for. Don’t do it.]

What are these thoughts? They cannot be your own. How can you hear this voice without hearing it? What even is this?

[What this is is about to stop you from making a huge mistake.]

You fail to see what harm could come from wishing to be there when Bonnie reunites with their sister.

[You know not what you are about to do.]

That’s the whole point of the future, though. No one knows for sure what consequences will arise from their actions. A wish simply provides a nudge in the direction of the predictable.

[You’re right — the future is unknowable. But I guarantee this wish will result in devastation.]

… Okay? What should you wish for, then?

[I don’t know, a ham sandwich? Something so simple it can’t possibly get screwed up.]

You frown. Your team is risking your lives for the fate of the entire country tomorrow. It would be a waste to wish for something so frivolous; the least you can do is ask the Universe for your companions to have a life afterward. Unless the wish being tied to Bonnie is the issue? You have some other ideas for a wish, like—

[You don’t need to make a wish about your friends.]

You are not wishing for a sandwich. Even if you are kind of hungry right now.

[What if I told you that you could have the future you want — one where you meet Bonnie’s sister, travel with Mira, visit Ka Bue with Odile, and wear clothes Isa has made, no wish required?]

That’s impossible. That’s — look, the future’s —

[I said ‘could,’ not ‘will.’ Don’t get all semantical on me.]

How are you the one hung up on semantics here? Also, you’re not eager to follow the instructions of some random thing that’s popped into your brain without permission.

[I know more about your position than you may think, and I’m here to look out for you. I can’t force you to do anything, at the end of the day. But, you’d do well to listen.]

You grit your teeth, breathe in, breathe out, and take one long look at the leaf before letting go.

[Good.]

Yeah, yeah. Okay.

You back away from the dangling branch. Faintly, you hear a pair of birds fluttering.

[What you need to do now is tell your friends how you feel.]

What could that mean? How you feel? Feel about what? About tomorrow? You feel… Like tomorrow is going to come after today. And you’re going to, um, be there, almost certainly. Your goal will be to confront the King. And…

[No, dummy, tell them you’d like to stay with them after tomorrow.]

You blink rapidly and your heart skips a beat. You… do want to stay with them all, now that you think about it.

But you know it’s impossible. Everyone has plans in different directions — important plans, without you.

[How can you say that for sure?]

You asked each of them, just minutes or maybe an hour or two ago. Honestly, you should have expected as much. You’ve done this song and dance before. Colleagues, neighbors, friends, mentors, traveling companions, partners, it always ends the same: you, alone, carrying one less piece of your heart down the road. The most you can hope for is to remember them after you’re gone.

At least Vaugarde will be saved, though, right?

[That’s not the same as talking to them about what you want.]

No, no, it’s fine. They have homes to go to, and it’s not your place to impose. You’ve already taken enough of your allies’ time and resources.

[You have nothing to lose by telling them.]

That’s where you have to disagree. You have a lot to lose, actually — because, clearly, you’re the only one in the group who feels enough attachment to want to stick around. If you’re honest about that, they’ll know how pathetic and creepy and burdensome you are. No one in their right mind would want to put their plans aside for some loser they met less than a year ago.

They would hate you.

[So asking the Universe to keep you together is better?]

…

[Oh, struck a nerve with that one, didn’t I?]

Stop talking. Stop talking now. Your throat feels scratchy and nausea bubbles up in your stomach and you don’t want to hear any more of this.

You could swear the voice has receded into shadow at your command.

Your pulse thrums as you stand before the Favor Tree again. The forest teems nervously around you; come tomorrow, this last oasis of life will be frozen, plunged into darkness and death. You can scarcely imagine it.

For a fleeting moment, you’re jealous of the frozen ones. Talk about people who really have nothing more to lose. You think about Bonnie’s sister and how much they miss her, how much you want them to be together again. But who cares about your feelings when you have a country to save?

You glance at the leaf you let go of, turn on your heels, and slink out of the forest.

As the trees give way to civilization, you stop and look at the checklist Mira so graciously wrote. You cross out the final task, and now all that’s left to do is meet the others at the clocktower.

The air in the woods has been still, which is not so out of the ordinary for that environment. What’s more off-putting is the stillness in the open spaces of Dormont. The night you’d arrived, Mira commented on how weird the place felt, and you found yourself agreeing with her internally. Odile explained that the likely reason was the surrounding curselands interrupting the flow of wind into the area.

Now, walking into town, it’s all you can think about. You look at the windchimes suspended motionlessly outside someone’s window; you pass the summer perennials wilted and pale along the side of the road; you smell the mud and festering growth at the riverbed, the water’s ancient flow reduced to a stagnant miasma.

The people of Dormont go about their business. But there is an undeniable anxiety in the air that quickens their paces and tempers their smiles. It occupies the space the breeze would otherwise take.

Past the boulangerie, past the platform with all the Change Gods on it. Super fast, super fast, super fast. Dusk has just begun and you need to get across the bridge.

You come up on the library, and there, still on the bench, sits a familiar figure.

Your heart swells at the sight of her. You stop in your tracks.

Oh, Mira.

With the handwringing and the effortless soprano and the beautiful dark eyes. Who puts on a full face of makeup every morning even when the most she’ll see that day is a Sadness. Who burns almost everything she cooks, whose gentle Craft has kept your team healthy for months. Her way with animals, her love of death metal, her stutter, her laugh.

You’re so, so happy to see her. When did you last speak? This afternoon; she told you she had a pilgrimage to go on, and she’d drawn a flowing ribbon on your reminder note.

So, why does it feel like it’s been too long?

She glances past the shopkeeper she’s talking to, and she must see you — her eyes go wide for a second. She shoves her belongings into her bag, says something to the person, gets up, and heads in your direction.

She’s still several meters out when she calls to you. “Hey! Are you heading to the clocktower? I can walk with…” Her pace slows, and the smile drops from her face. “…you…”

She raises an eyebrow. “Siffrin?” She sounds confused, even a little scared.

“Hi.” Your voice comes out oddly quiet.

She stops just a meter or so in front of you. “S-Siffrin.”

“Hm?”

She lifts her hand toward you, as if to touch you, but pauses. “You’re crying.”

It hits you: the sting in your throat, the heat on your cheeks. There’s a trail of wetness from your eyes — eye — to your jaw. You press your lips closed and swallow hard.

She projects her movements enough not to take you by surprise when her hand cups your cheek. Her palm feels chilled, her fingers, delicate. She wipes away a falling tear with her thumb. “What’s wrong?”

You breathe in, and out — and just stare at her.

“Tsk. I know.” Her hand drops onto your shoulder. “I’m nervous about tomorrow too.”

You cast your gaze downward. Your hand moves on its own to meet hers, but you stop it halfway.

“But you said it yourself, right? We’re gonna get through it.” She lifts her other hand in a fist.

You can’t even think about tomorrow right now; it’s as mysterious and imposing as a midnight knock on the door. Tomorrow is victory at any cost. Tomorrow is loss of your companions no matter what. You can’t wrap your mind around it — not when she’s right here in front of you, a ghost of the future, come to warm and wondrous life.

Her lips start to quiver and a misty look comes over her eyes. She’s shed so many tears over this already, and you don’t want to be the cause of more.

With a foul mass descending your stomach, you nod, and try to look her in the face.

She smiles wanly. Her hand retreats from your shoulder. “S-sorry,” she says, shuffling her feet, “I didn’t mean to up and touch you like that.”

“S’okay.” You find yourself wondering about — almost craving — a hug from her, how it would feel. Bonnie’s said she gives the best hugs. Even an accidental brush of your hand against hers, perhaps. But you shouldn’t be so selfish. You sniffle.

“Want to walk with me to the clocktower?” she asks.

You nod and will your voice to come out more stable: “Sure.”

The two of you head side-by-side toward the bridge. She asks about your checklist, about whether you had the chance to sample anything from the boulangerie, about that overlook where you can sort of see the House in the distance. She shows you a candle someone gave her that supposedly wards off Sadnesses, and explains why she’s torn about using it. She complains mildly that some of her favorite vegetables in the community garden aren’t ripe enough to eat today. You know her rambling is just another way to distract her from everything, but it’s okay; you could listen to her all day.

The smell and loud crackling of fry oil assault you the instant you walk through the door. “Finally!” you hear Bonnie say. “We were about to start dinner without you.”

“Sorry,” Mira whines, “I got held up talking to someone in town.” She drops her bag by the entryway.

Bonnie scoffs. Odile starts to casually question her about whom she was talking to.

You pad over to the kitchenette, where Bonnie stands watchfully over the camp stove. “What’s on the menu?” you ask, answering your own question by peeking under the pot lids.

“Samosas, biryani, and mu-ga-la-tawny soup.”

The biryani especially smells incredible, chock full of onions, cauliflower, beans, and other goodies, alongside a steaming bowl of tomato gravy to top it.

“What kind of samosas?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” They wave you away — then they gasp. “Aw, crab, I forgot the dipping sauce!”

“I’m sure the samosas’ll be great anyway,” Isa says.

“I’ll never recover from this,” they say flatly. They flap their hand at you again. “Go siddown. Quit vulturing around my kitchen. Food’s almost ready.”

You turn and walk away, not wanting to try their patience further.

“They kicked me out too,” Isa says with a shrug.

There’s nothing left on anyone’s plate but crumbs and globs of sauce. Discs of collected droplets lie at the bottoms of cups and soup bowls. At the center of the table, the eviscerated mound of rice grows cold.

You nibble on the scrap of carrot Bonnie gave you, trying to convince your stomach you’re full.

Mira asks for permission to speak as if she’s not your team’s de facto leader. Everyone stops and listens; these days, she’s been initiating rallies more often.

“W-we…” She clears her throat. “We've all been traveling together for a while now. It hasn’t always been easy, but…” Her eyes scan each of your faces. “I know you all say I’m the reason you’re here, but, really, you all are the reason I’ve gotten this far. I want to say thank you for sticking with me up till now.”

A warm feeling flowers in your chest. You look at your other teammates, and they’re smiling fondly.

Her gaze lowers — she’s not finished talking. “But tomorrow, we’ll go and fight the King,” she continues, visibly tensing. “It’ll be the last chance before he freezes Vaugarde, and everyone in it, in time. We all know how dangerous he is.”

You nod to show you’re listening.

“I’ll do my best to make sure nothing happens to you, but if you don’t want to come, i-if you want to leave now while you still can, I would—”

“Kind of late for that, isn’t it?” Odile says.

Mira lifts her head and then grimaces. “I know,” she says solemnly.

“And by that,” Isa chimes in, “M’dame Odile means we’re with you.”

Mira’s mouth closes.

“Of course I do.” Odile raises her chin. “We’ve already come this far.”

“Did you really think we’d throw you to the wolves?” Isa says.

Bonnie leans forward. “We’ll follow you, Belle! We’ll help! We won’t leave.”

“We’re with you to the end, Mira,” you tell her, because the last thing you’d want is for her to do this alone.

Today cannot be your last day together.

Mira puffs out her chest and she grins and her eyes well with tears. “Oh…!”

Bonnie throws their arms around her from one side, and Isa embraces her from the other. It’s an adorable sight.

“Th-thank you!” Her voice comes out as a squeak.

You and Odile don’t join the hug — you never do. For her, you figure it’s because Ka Buan culture is not so liberal with physical affection. And hugs are simply not something you do.

[They would like it if you hugged them, you know.]

This again?

[Yeah, me again. Thought you could get rid of me so easily?]

You prefer not to think of the voice in your head at all, actually.

[Rude!]

You’re not the one intruding in someone else’s thoughts.

[I’m just here to help, and I’m telling you: they’d like a hug and the truth from you.]

And how does this whatever-it-is know that?

[I know lots of things.]

Mira sniffles softly.

As Bonnie lets her go, Odile pipes up: “Besides, we’ll succeed tomorrow, if Siffrin’s attitude is anything to go by.”

Isa looks at you, his arm still around Mira. “I know, right? So confident.”

Oh, stars, you’re being talked about. You lower your mouth behind your cowl and avert your eye.

“Sif’s got a comedy club to open after all this,” Isa declares.

“They told me they were going to space.” Bonnie glances at Isa and then you. “Space comedy club.”

“Would that be for the field of research you’re inventing?” Odile snarks.

Mira seems slightly confused. “I thought you said you were going to go on a pilgrimage.”

“Wait, did you tell everyone something different?” Odile asks.

“Classic Sif,” Isa says in a way that you’re mostly sure isn’t making fun of you.

“What are you going to do after tomorrow, really?” Mira asks.

Four pairs of eyes, trained on you. Your cheeks flush. Would that you could duck entirely inside your cloak.

[Now is the time.]

You can’t. They all seem so content right now — you’d ruin that.

[Either you come up with another lie, slip out of their lives, and remain alone, or…]

Your shoulders bunch up, your stomach starts to churn, and you fear your heart might bounce out of your chest.

[Tell them.]

You take a breath. “I…” Your fingers curl up under your palms, and you steal one last glimpse at your friends before you lose them.

“Frin?” Bonnie sets their hands on the table and leans toward you.

You can’t bear to look. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad about what, you telling all of us different things?” Mira asks.

“No.” You force your eyes open, but you keep your gaze downcast. “I… don’t have anything lined up, actually.”

You want to die. You hate the words you just said.

[You did well.]

Shut up. It’s over, everything’s ruined. You’re watching the other shoe drop as you’ve feared.

“Why would we be mad about that?” Bonnie says. “Frin, you’re weird.”

“Nothing going on,” Isa mumbles.

There’s a beat of silence. You want to die, you want to die, you want to shrink to the size of an ant and crawl under the floorboards out of sight. They hate you. Surely, you just threw every ounce of their goodwill in the trash. You’re already gone.

“So, are you going to keep traveling around?” Mira asks.

You glance at her — ugh, why did you do that? “S’what I’ve always done.”

“Why don’t you travel with me, then?”

Were those real words that came out of Mira’s mouth just now?

“I’ve liked hanging out with you the past six months, Siffrin,” she says. “I’m not entirely sure where I’ll go next, but maybe we can go there together?”

You freeze as what she’s said sinks in. She—

She actually wants to spend time with you outside of this quest? No, there’s no way she means it. This is an empty platitude on the level of ‘come see me anytime.’ Oh, but she knows you have nothing — she knows how pathetic you are now. She knows you have no excuse to turn her down. You’re taking too long to answer her. Don’t make this moment more awkward than it already is. Breathe.

You glance up at her again, except this time, you will yourself to not look away. Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. “Sure.”

There’s her smile, bright and beatific. “Oh, yay!” She clasps her hands together. “I’m actually relieved. I really didn’t want to travel by myself.” She punctuates with a nervous giggle. “Thank you, Siffrin, thank you!”

Any more eye contact and you think you might spontaneously combust. Your gaze retreats to the safety of the corner.

It takes a moment to register that you’re smiling, too, behind your cowl.

“Well, if you’re going to go somewhere,” Bonnie says, “why not come to Bambouche with my sister and me?”

“That would be great, Bonnie!” Mira says.

They pump a fist. “It’ll be worth your while! We have beaches, and — actually, that’s about it, but I promise it’s a big draw. You can even stay with us if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Mira says. “I’ve actually never been to a beach before.”

“What!”

“I’ve only ever been inland.”

“Belle, we have got to get you to the beach. Frin, please tell me you’ve been to a beach before.”

You love the beach. “I have.”

“Thank crab,” Bonnie replies. “Finally something about you that’s normal.”

“You two will have to show me how to beach,” Mira says.

“‘Show you how to beach?’ Belle, you’re weird.”

“I-I mean — I just — augh.”

Bonnie snickers.

So, Mira, Bonnie, and you, huh?

You move your eye from the corner to the post-dinner spread before you.

Isa speaks up, haltingly: “I don’t have to go back to Jouvente. At least, not anytime soon. It’s not like I have a lot going on over there, what with quitting my job and all.”

“Isabeau,” Mira teases, “are you saying you want to go with us?”

Half a beat. “Yes,” he says, “yes, I’d like that.”

Her tone shifts back to genuine. “Of course you can come! You’re my brother from another mister.”

Isa chuckles.

“Good, ‘cause I still have some pranks I wanted to pull on you,” Bonnie says.

He fake-whines, “No, not the pranks!”

“I didn’t realize you all felt this way,” Odile says sedately. “If I’m being honest, I wanted to continue spending time with you too. I just never asked.”

“Aw, M’dame.”

“We’d love to have you!” Mira claps. “Oh, Change, I’m so glad.”

Mira, Isa, Odile, Bonnie, and you, just as it has been. That sounds nice. It sounds too good to be true. Your stomach isn’t flipping around anymore; instead, you feel full, more than the food could do.

You can’t entirely believe this is happening in front of you, like you’re ready for some stranger to come in and shout, ‘And scene!’

It never comes. Time moves forward unabated.

As you settle into bed, you feel a twinge inside your brain.

[So, how do you feel, knowing tomorrow isn’t the end?]

You feel like you’ll be able to sleep tonight, so long as no more strange voices keep you up.

[That’s fair. Tomorrow is a big day — I won’t try to keep you long.]

Who or what is this, anyway?

[You can call me Voice. The Voice, if you’re nasty. And as for pronouns, I don’t particularly care what you use — go nuts.]

Okay, Voice. And why is Voice here, again?

[I’m here to help you.]

Why you? Why not someone…

[Else? Because you need helping, Siffrin.]

Ugh. You squeeze your eyelids and half-bury your face in the pillow.

[Yes, rest well. The threats you encounter tomorrow will be on a whole new level.]

Should everything go according to plan, your party will engage in combat with another human being for the first, and hopefully only, time. Not just any human being — the King. You’ve heard he’s sixty feet tall. You’ve heard he’s killed everybody who has opposed him.

[You’re not ready.]

A pang hits your gut and leaves just as quickly.

[You and your team are not strong enough, and my guidance can only do so much.]

What does that mean, not strong enough? There’s little that can be done about that. Tomorrow’s your last chance before the country becomes unsurvivable, and it’s not like you can take 10 levels overnight. You have no choice but to try.

[From the moment you wake up tomorrow to the moment after the King is vanquished, I shall lend you my power.]

What power?

[The kind that helps you.]

Could they quit being so obtuse in your own head?

[Good night.]

You wait for an addition that never comes.

You pull the blanket all the way up to your neck and nestle into the dip in the mattress. Isa is trying not to take up too much space, but, turned away from him, you feel precariously close to the edge of the bed. You rub your socked feet against the sheet, and the friction warms you.

If you didn’t know better, you could swear you’ve just heard him whisper your name. You take a breath and tune in.

“Hey.” You’re even more acutely aware of his presence next to you. “Hey, Sif.”

Your eye opens blearily to the shadowed wall.

“Siffrin. Siffarooni.”

You shift onto your back and turn your head to face him.

He’s propped his head up on his elbow. “Um, sorry to wake you. I just have something I wanted to tell you.” He flinches. “If that’s okay.”

You wonder what could be so important that he’d bother you while you’re trying to sleep. That he would only tell you. Is something wrong? You nod for him to continue, your pillow rustling loudly against your ear.

“Okay.” He smiles. “Then I shall tell you the thing. The thing I woke you up to tell you.”

Quite the preface. As you watch him, you adjust the drape of the blanket over your shoulder.

Isa lets out a voiced nervous chuckle. “Um, okay, so, the thing I have to tell you is…” He blinks rapidly and his smile fails. “… That, uh… I’m…”

You watch and watch.

He averts his eyes. “… Really glad we’re staying together after this.”

You kind of get it. You couldn’t say how happy you were about that in the moment, either. Your lips curl upward. “Me too.”

“Cool.” His vision moves to you again. “Yeah, cool, super cool.”

Maybe he’s testing whether you meant it when you’d told Mira yes before? Or he’s worried you’ve changed your mind now that the others have made plans to join you?

“I just, um, wanted to make sure you knew that, before tomorrow,” he clarifies.

You furrow your eyebrows in mild confusion.

Is it the lighting or are his cheeks getting a little darker? “Not that I think — you know. Just—”

A pillow flies up from behind, hitting him square on the head.

Clutching a handwritten note. A fisherman’s mirthless laugh, taunting you like the muddy river. The same talk you’d had over and over — a lesson unlearned. Spicy. A total stranger. Absolutely nothing, for an instant, for forever. Ding-ding! The wrong God hating you. Malanga fritters. Unbearable flashes that brought you to your knees. Screams in terror, screams of agony, screams for help. The Cursing of Château Castle issue #2. A woman’s long, windswept hair against the cirrus clouds; her on the verge of tears. The mingling smells of many different flowers. Everyone laughing except for you. The world’s most inconveniently laid out kitchen, filled with the stale scent of shellfish. Please be sharp. Thanks you did not earn. The diary of someone you’d never met, making light of one of the worst days of your life. A Sadness dissolving into goo at the cut of your blade. Itchy all over. Disembodied cries echoing down the halls. Looking in the mirror wondering where your bruises went. Everything being either pitch dark or too bright, no in-between. Pain au chocolat. Trying and failing to summon tears while shut in the bathroom stall, the toilet paper roll in your hands your only comfort. Rock beating scissors. Gagging on the pungent smell of blood. The last thing you’d ever wanted to happen, happening. Knowing glances. The vaudeville hook. How could you? The very sky cracking open, an indescribable shade pouring out. Watching yourself crumple to the floor from a vantage outside your body. A dying horticultural experiment. Potato samosas leaving grease stains in a picnic basket. Burnt sugar. Burnt sugar. Burnt sugar.

You’ve slept terribly.

Isa is the first to notice you’re awake. He’s set his backpack on the table and is opening the small front pocket. “Mornin’,” he says, groggy and breezy and just barely loud enough for you to hear.

You sit up and nod at him, not quite having regained your ability to use words. Then, you stare into space as reasoning and sensations return to you one by one. Your mouth tastes dry. You can’t remember what you dreamt about, other than that it was a nightmare. Somebody has drawn the curtains from one of the windows, and the sky outside is lightless and featureless, making you vaguely wonder what time it is.

In the middle bed, Bonnie lies in a fitful position, piled under blankets. If any of you can afford to sleep in today, it’s them.

You extend your arms above you and stretch. A small crack sounds from your spine.

Odile tops up her coffee at the kitchenette, turns to you, and lifts her mug in acknowledgement.

First, you come over to the breakfast area. You blow the dust out of one of the mugs and pour your own coffee into it; you bring it to the table, across from Isa and a couple chairs away from Odile.

“It’s so creepy,” Isa comments. “You’d think you would hear crickets or birdsong or something.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we were the only living things in this town.” The mug stops at her lips. “We and the King.” She takes a sip.

He shudders.

Mira emerges fully clothed from the water closet, and she and Isa swap places. Odile consolidates sour tonic into three full bottles. The wood floors creak under everyone’s weight as they step past and over one another, and nobody speaks above a whisper. Even after Bonnie wakes up, no one has much to say.

Eventually you take your turn in the clocktower’s only bathroom. The light bounces harshly off your skin and the room smells of cleaning vinegar on top of old mildew. There’s a crack in the corner of the mirror.

You stop and think, when you’re folding your nightshirt and when you’re putting on socks and when you’re brushing your teeth and when you’re stepping over the mound of used towels on the floor, that you should probably feel different. The world around you has reached peak weirdness. You’re missing something but no one around you can tell. You finish getting ready anyway.

As your group walks away from the clocktower, you throw it one last glance over your shoulder. The darkness of the freezing curse creeps up the walls like mold.

Chapter Text

Mira squeezes and fidgets her hands in front of her. “O-okay, but…” She starts to tremble.

She’s acting like she’s never encountered a Sadness before — the way she was around the time you first met, when the mere thought of fighting would send her into a panic. You’ve only just entered the House grounds.

You cock your hip. She could probably do with some reassurance.“Oh, my. Should we go over strategy again?”

She slams her hands downward. “D-don’t tease me, Siffrin!” But she’s stopped shaking. “But, um, yes, I would like that.”

It feels like everyone else can exhale. Bonnie and Isa shift their weights.

“So, um.” She glances between everyone. “To start with, Siffrin should — uh. Att-attack? And I have a sword, and…” She brings her hands together again. “Um…”

Odile sighs and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Alright.” She squares her shoulders. “Tactical overview.

“Mirabelle, you’re our best all-arounder. Buffs and heals are your main responsibilities. Enhance our attacks when needed and patch us up if we get hit. But, since you’re dual scissors and paper type, your attacks work well against paper and rock types, so feel free to strike whenever you can.

“Isabeau, tank. You dish out hits just as well as you take them. You move to the front and draw aggro when the enemy is particularly strong, fast-moving, or a scissor type. Keep the enemy in place so the rest of us have easy access, or at the very least, keep it away from me.

“Siffrin, DPS. You quickly get in, strike the enemy’s weak point, and get out — especially effective against slow, large, or paper type enemies. Work with us to increase the chance of critical hits and provide temporary speed boosts.

“I am a different kind of DPS, who stays at the back with preferably minimal movement. I can debuff the enemy and I have powerful offensive spells in each Craft type. You all wear the enemy down and buy me time to Craft a spell big enough to definitively beat it.

“And, last but not least, Boniface. Stay away from the fighting. If things go south, you run and hide. But, until then, you’re our inventory manager. Help us stay ready, keep track of our belongings, and deliver potions to us when there’s an opening.”

Bonnie crosses their arms. “I hate this.”

“Sorry, Bonbon,” Isa says. “Should the opportunity arise, maybe we’ll let you deal the killing blow.”

They perk up at the possibility of getting in on the fighting.

Odile turns and points at you. “Now, Siffrin.”

You blanch — are you in trouble or something?

“Take a peek in there.” She gestures at the open hallway. “What kind of Sadness is this?”

You lean to look through the doorway at it. “It looks pretty average.” This Sadness must be no more than a month old: were it not for the aura, one might mistake it for a person.

“Okay, what type?” she asks.

You have to squint. “Scissors.”

“Scissor type, seemingly average in strength, speed, and size.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “What strategy should we use,” — she whips her head toward her — “Mirabelle?”

“U-um!” Mira puts her hands up over her chest defensively. “I-Isabeau at the front, you at the back.”

Odile nods. “What else?”

“Siffrin and I won’t be able to do much to it,” Mira says, fidgeting, “s-so I should focus on buffing Isabeau while Siffrin focuses on helping you prep your spell faster.”

Odile nods again. “And you and Isabeau will need to make extra sure the scissor-type doesn’t hit me.”

“Right,” Mira adds.

“All good?” you ask — mainly her.

Mira forces her hands apart. “I think so.”

Bonnie nods.

Isa lightly punches his open palm. “Let’s go.”

He and Mira shed their bags, leaving them in Bonnie’s care. In one fluid motion, you unsheathe your dagger and flip it in orbit around your hand. Isa marches into the next room; you and Mira follow close behind. She places one hand on the hilt of her sword and crosses her other arm protectively over her chest. You presume Odile is behind you, readying her spellbook.

The Sadness notices your group right away. It may be young, but now that you’re closer, it seems as strong as some of the toughest Sadnesses you’ve encountered on the road — you can tell from its aura.

“This might be from one of the parties the King defeated before us,” Odile comments.

Mira groans as if in mild pain.

“Well,” Isa says, “sorry, not sorry.”

The Sadness launches itself like a frog at Isa. Before its claws make contact, he slams his forearm against its wrist and pivots out of range, knocking it off balance.

It makes that sickening cry young Sadnesses tend to make — a voiceless, screaming wail.

Mira makes a throwing motion. “Hit it,” she says.

He closes his fists and rams his elbow into the creature’s body. The impact sounds like a hard landing on a gym mat. As soon as it lands on its feet, the Sadness rights itself, ready to strike again.

“Siffrin.” Odile snaps her fingers urgently. “Speed boost.”

You turn on your heels toward her, and under your cloak, move your hands in a circular, back-and-forth gesture. The energy around Odile’s hand builds and builds.

Isa grunts, Mira shrieks. You whip your head around to look. The Sadness tries to grapple Isa around the torso. He pushes it off before it can get a good grip. It lands on its back with a thud and a screech. For a second, it thrashes about like an overturned turtle — then it seems to realize it can bend its legs.

He stomps on what would be its knee, pinning it down.

“Madame, now!” Mira shouts.

Odile curls her free hand into a fist and bends it forward as if knocking on a door.

The Sadness recoils from the hit. It elicits a long, strained scream that reminds you of a pig’s.

Odile pulls back to assess the damage.

“It’s hardly any worse for wear,” Isa remarks.

This Sadness is roughly the size of Mira, and a little faster than average. It doesn’t have a gimmick to make it tactically interesting. It is simply a damage sponge.

Mira fumbles for her sword. “Crab, crab, crab, crab, crab.”

“Nobody expected today to be easy,” Odile mutters. She readies a spell to slow the Sadness down.

The Sadness jolts sideways — and nearly pulls Isa along with it. He kicks off into a wide stance, ready to block the next hit.

You wipe your hands against each other to imbue Isa with a higher crit chance.

As the Sadness comes to a stand, Mira swings her sword in an arc. The blade barely misses Isa but the side connects with the Sadness’s torso. She would probably have done significantly more damage if her sword were thicker.

You barely have the time to mentally congratulate her for not pulling her punch.

Still, this causes only a few seconds’ delay in the Sadness’s movements, and it doesn’t seem injured. It pushes Mira’s sword toward her. She yelps and holds out her other hand to catch the blade. The edge digs into her palm as she fights to keep the Sadness at arm’s length.

“Mira!” Isa grabs at its side and pulls. His head turns in yours and Odile’s direction. “A little help?”

“Two more seconds,” Odile begs.

But you don’t wait. Dagger in hand, you sprint up to them. Around to the side opposite Isa. You focus on the narrow stripe where its kidney would be if it were human. You close your free hand in a fist, draw the dagger back, and strike.

The Sadness explodes.

As soon as you sink your blade in, its body rips — shatters — disintegrates. Like jelly splattering on the floor.

Its split-second roar of pain fades rapidly to silence.

“Eep!” Mira stops herself from shoving the sword forward — but overcorrects and stumbles backward.

Isa, too, jumps back. “Whoa!”

Late to process what has just occurred, you exhale, stand up straight, and withdraw your weapon. You glance over at Odile; her eyes are wide behind her glasses, and she’s lowered her hand and is slowly closing her book.

Bonnie rushes over from their station near the exit.

“Siffrin,” Odile says, “was that — a rock attack?”

You breathe in and out again and realize your unoccupied hand is still clenched. You nod unconfidently. The back of your head throbs dully and the room spins for a second.

At your feet, the remnants of Sadness continue to spread and melt.

“Dang, Sif!” Isa sounds excited, and not like he was just struggling to fight a monster. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

You’re not sure what to say. You’ve never made a rock attack before — always figured you would be bad at it and stuck to your innate type. But, this time, your hand made the shape instinctively.

— A bolt of clarity. “Mira, Isa, are you alright?”

With her sword lowered, Mira looks down at the gray stripe across her knuckles. “This should be easy to patch up.”

“I’m fine,” Isa says.

Bonnie dutifully hands Mira a sour tonic.

Only a sip, and the cut fades to light scabbing. Her nose scrunches. “Whew.” She gives back the tonic and then makes for the waterskin in her rucksack.

Odile, meanwhile, approaches the mess in front of you. She produces a bag of Crafted salt from her satchel, scoops out a handful, and spreads it over the Sadness’s remains. The most reliable way to stop the thing from reconstituting.

You wipe the chunks and smears of Sadness goo off your blade, into the pile of salt. Then, back into its sheath your dagger goes.

“That’s a new attack, yeah?” Isa says to you.

You nod.

“Whatcha gonna name it?” he asks.

“Hm.” You look past him, at a crack in the wall. Your eye traces the line upward, connects to the mortar, stairsteps toward the ceiling, latches onto another crack to ride downward. All the while the wheels turn in your head.

Mira approaches with her bag slung over her shoulder and Isa’s dangling from her arm; she takes another swig of water as soon as she comes to a standstill.

Everyone is looking at you expectantly.

You smirk. “How about ‘Rock it to ya?’”

“Yes!” Isa cracks up.

Mira giggles. “Oh, Siffrin.”

Bonnie huffs air out of their nose, trying not to also laugh.

“I expected nothing less,” Odile says.

You bow your head with a smile on your face. And now you know a rock attack.

Next segment of hallway, two Sadnesses. Same size, same newness, presumably same traits as the last. Isa plans to support Odile against the rock type while you and Mira take on the paper type together. Bonnie hangs back.

You rush at the paper type, dagger poised. It hardly sees you coming. You cut through it like butter and end its unlife in an instant.

For a second, you just stand there, stunned, as if you’ve accidentally popped a balloon.

Mira stops too. She lowers her sword; her expression is intense, surprised, and confused. At least she doesn’t seem disappointed? Though, you’re not the best at gauging emotions. You exchange an awkward look — and then you shrug, and she shrugs.

Halfway across the room, Isa reels back and kicks the rock type Sadness square in the torso. It slides backward a few feet. Odile slaps it with a paper type spell, which stuns it.

No need to even ask. You dash to your teammates, spread your open hand, jump, and tear through the Sadness as you come down. All it takes is that one hit and the Sadness falls apart like the others.

You land perfectly on your feet. “Hope you don’t mind that I cut in,” you say, flicking the goo off your blade in punctuation.

Isa guffaws.

“W-was that a paper type attack?” Mira asks.

You nod, and you breathe in, and out.

Bonnie runs in. “Is anyone hurt?”

Isa says, “Nope,” and Mira shakes her head.

Odile stows away her book, straightens her posture, and hums skeptically. She and Mira take on the task of salting the Sadness’ remains.

“I think I counted two new attacks you gotta name,” Isa tells you.

“Hm…” You glance at the ceiling and shift your weight. “I’m torn between ‘Get the point’ and ‘Scissor? I hardly know ‘er.’”

He giggles. “I think that second one’s a little long.”

“Fair, fair.”

You and Isa head toward the exit to pick up his belongings.

He raises his hands in excitement. “Ooh, for the paper attack, how about…”

As the five of you tread through the darkened House, Voice pops into your head with a jolt. [Careful ahead.] You jump — though you try not to show it.

Voice again? So yesterday wasn’t a fluke, then.

[I said I’d help you and I meant it.]

Oh — suddenly you remember what she told you as you were falling asleep last night. So, you take it your new attack moves are part of this power you’ve been lent.

[Ding-ding-ding! Aren’t you a clever one?]

Is it mocking you?

[Nothing wrong with being skeptical. But, I believe in you, Siffrin. Else I wouldn’t have bothered. Now, stay vigilant: your friends need you.]

You’re still not entirely sure you can trust Voice, but given what you seem to be up against, you’re in no position to refuse some help. This especially goes when you enter the next room.

“Wait!” Mira’s shout startles everyone into stopping just a few meters inside.

She explains herself, so nervous you think she might crack out of her skin. People have supposedly died in this hallway, and so the duty falls on you, the rogue, to keep that from happening to the party.

It feels a little inappropriate, given the circumstances, for you to feel excited that you get to do a job special to you today. But your excitement dampens with every trigger you fail to find.

You head back to the rest of the party.

[Second pillar on the right, one meter up from the ground, on the side facing you, there’s a switch that looks like a nail in the mortar.]

Your head swivels. Tensely, you step toward the pillar in question. When you reach it, you find exactly what Voice has described. You grip the head of the nail with the very tips of your fingers and pull it straight out.

Boom!

The entire room shakes. You jump away. Mira screams.

Pressure, immeasurable pressure and heat. Coal turning to diamond, a used-up tube of toothpaste, thick fluid leaking onto the floor, a bug under a boot heel. Shock. Shame. That last split second of consciousness going on too long. Tasting the leather of your own glove against a scream, frightening the birds away. Bloodied dirt in your mouth. Stinging, itching on your skin.

Every fiber of your body turns white-hot for an instant — a taste of the pain from the Favor Tree. You can’t tell how or when you turned 180 degrees. But you’re face to face with a boulder.

Blinding stars, you almost got crushed!

Your hands shake like leaves, you feel like your eyes are going to pop out of your skull, and for a moment you can’t catch your breath.

You throw your gaze wildly toward the front of the hall, where your friends remain — rattled, but alive and well.

“Hōseki.” Odile looks pale.

Mira points emphatically at the boulder. “See! Death Corridor!”

“Really glad we have you, Sif,” Isa says breathlessly, his hand on his chest. “We would’ve been turned into crêpes!”

You suck a big breath in, hold it for several seconds, and exhale.

[You’re welcome.]

This time, when a Sadness accosts you in these halls, you don’t even wait for your teammates to get their bearings. You pull out your dagger, make a paper symbol with your free hand, and take down the monster with a single A4 Effort. An ironic attack name since it feels like hardly any effort on your part.

Mira runs up behind you and peers over your shoulder at the gloopy remains. You do a little flourish with your dagger before turning around to face your friends.

“So nonchalant,” Isa remarks.

Odile smirks. “New combat strategy: Siffrin takes out every Sadness on his own while the rest of us dumbly stand back and watch.”

You half bow, half gesture at the hall behind you. “I could do that.”

“I’m obviously joking, Siffrin,” she says. “We’re not going to make you fight alone.”

“How about, any other Sadnesses we come across, you let us handle?” Mira suggests. “We’ll call you over if we need help.”

Isa punches his open palm in agreement, and Odile strides past you with her handful of salt.

“You can be on potion duty with me!” Bonnie says.

You don’t get it. Why shouldn’t you be the one to take down these Sadnesses? Your friends would save their time and energy for more important matters, like fighting the King. Maybe you could even take on the King for them.

[To unlock the door, say, ‘Stostorage roomoom.’]

You stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder at the locked door you’ve just passed. The rest of the group stops too.

“What is it?” Bonnie asks.

“Have you never seen a lock like this before, Sif?” Isa asks.

You shake your head. Odile comes over, too, to hear Isa explain this special Vaugardian lock. And to hear Mira say she has no idea what the openphrase is.

[But you do.]

Mira said this is a storage room, right? Does Voice know what’s inside?

[Of course. There are potions you could use, and some helpful books you could probably stop to read under different circumstances.]

Maybe Odile would want to pick one of those books up. Either way, having more supplies wouldn’t hurt. You turn to fully face the door and size it up and down. In place of a handle, you see a brass disc with a swirl pattern that terminates at a hole in the center. The look reminds you vaguely of an ear.

You bend down slightly to aim your mouth at the disc, and speak the openphrase aloud in your best Vaugardian accent: “Stostorage roomoom.”

Click. The metal deadbolt shoots backward, filling the hole.

You stand up straight and glance at your friends to wordessly ask whether they’d like to go inside. Odile’s face is tense with an expression you can’t quite place. Mira looks sort of baffled.

“Should never have doubted the lock master.” Isa turns toward the others. “Let’s look inside?”

The next Sadnesses you encounter appear older; they have eyes and limbs, but little else to suggest their human origin.

Mira hits them simultaneously with an Artsy Silent Burst. Isa nearly knocks the scissor type off the top of its partner. Odile slows them down, making it easier for Isa to dodge an attack from the one on the bottom.

Meanwhile, you and Bonnie hang several meters back. You know this is supposed to be a sort of break for you but your head is on a swivel. What if another enemy approaches from the left or the right or through one of the doors, or what if the Sadnesses in front of you knock your friends out, or what if something happens to Bonnie? This hallway is quite narrow — there are not many places to hide.

You keep your hand on your dagger.

Odile shoots a look at you over her shoulder, and shouts, “Speed boost!”

You oblige with your Make Up the Time spell.

Mira Crafts an attack buff. Isa follows up with a body slam, which sends the Sadnesses stumbling backward.

Odile slaps the rock type with a paper spell.

Mira calls for ginger. Bonnie quickly produces a bottle of ginger juice from their bag. They make like they’re about to throw it — but you hold your hand out to take it instead. They give it to you and you leap forward to deliver it straight to her.

The scissor type strikes at Isa. He crosses his arms in an X over his chest and takes the lash across his forearms without so much as blinking.

You almost step in, till Mira pushes the empty bottle into your hands.

The rock type swings at Odile, but she manages to step back in time for it to only graze her. Isa focuses his fire on the scissor type. Mira slashes at the monsters with her rapier and then stands between them and Odile. In turn, Odile Crafts a paper attack against the rock type Sadness. The fight goes on and on. You feel like bursting out of your own skin.

You furrow your brows at the big metal thing and the weird oven, the technical terms on the tip of your tongue.

Odile stands next to you with her arms crossed. “It’s a forge and an anvil, Siffrin.”

Oh yeah! That’s what they’re called!

“And the stone is a sharpening stone,” Isa adds.

[You should take that sharpening stone.]

Wait, what? Why?

[Trust me.]

“Oh! Look, on the wall, there’s a sword!”

You pivot to see what Bonnie’s pointed out.

“This sword looks rapier-like,” Isa comments. “You wanna take it, Mira?”

She hums ponderously. “Taking things that don’t belong to you is bad.” Then she steps up to the wall. “But yes, I would like the sword.” She gets on her tiptoes, takes it off the plaque, and turns it in her hands to examine it.

“You got over that quickly,” Odile snarks.

Before your friends notice, you take the whetstone and drop it into one of your pockets.

Big Ball Head struggles to get off the ground. It uses its tentacles to desperately crawl away.

“Bonbon!” Isa calls. “Weapon ready!”

Bonnie grins, grabs the wok from their bag, and runs up from their spot against the back wall.

The Sadness makes a tuneless sound like an old, decrepit music box.

He gestures at it. “Wanna do the honors?”

Gleefully, they raise their wok high and bring it down hard on Big Ball Head’s big ball head. The head collapses, fragile as glass, and the tentacles beneath it start to disintegrate.

They throw their hands in the air. “Crab yeah!”

“Yeah!” Isa and Bonnie high-ten. Mira whoops. Odile moans in relief. You breathe in and out, and smile at them all, glad they at least got something out of this fight — because you didn’t.

Art by thewholekittyandkaboodle on Tumblr

“Oh.” Out of seemingly nowhere, Odile starts digging through her pocket. “I remembered something.” She pulls out a copper coin, which she holds out in front of her. “Isabeau, heads or tails?”

He hesitates. “Tails.”

She flicks the coin into the air. It flips and flips, falls to the floor, and spins for a second or two. Isa has won the toss.

“Huh.” She looks up at him. “I lost.”

“Yay! What do I win?”

“The sweet taste of victory and nothing else,” she says.

“I don’t even get congrats?” He turns aside dramatically. “Wow, M’dame. I thought we were friends.”

She scoffs. “Please. I’m old enough to be your parent.”

“Yeah,” Bonnie adds over their shoulder, “you’re more like a grandma.”

She stares daggers at them for an interminable second.

“M’dame Odile’s a vodka aunt, at most,” Isa says.

You’ve never heard that phrase.

“I’m old enough to be your vodka aunt,” she says.

“What’s a vodka aunt?” Bonnie asks.

“An aunt who drinks vodka at the family function.” Isa sticks up a finger. “Not to be confused with a wine aunt. Different subspecies.”

You don’t get it, but it’s not like you have any aunts to begin with.

Fleetingly, there’s a pang in your chest.

“Mine’s more of, um — a weed aunt,” Mira adds.

“Ah,” Isa says, “the fabled Amita odiosa cannabicus.”

“She’s a really good baker,” Mira says. “I hope I can taste her pumpkin pie again.”

“Yeah, I bet she was baking,” Isa quips. Mira shoots him a playfully dirty look. Odile snorts.

Bonnie pipes up from their spot in the corner: “Oh, for a second I thought you said ‘cannibals’ and got, like, really confused.”

The four of you laugh. “The ultra-rare cannibal aunt!” Isa jokes.

“Where are all these aunts coming from?” Odile asks.

“Shouldn’t have left the sugar out,” you say, and all your friends burst into laughter.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

“I don’t like this,” Mira frets.

“Aw, crab, nah,” Bonnie remarks. “That’s—”

“A bomb,” Isa says.

That’s new. You’ve never heard of a Sadness that explodes on its own. There’s nothing human to this one’s appearance; you wonder how old it must be.

Odile speaks carefully: “I think it’s best not to engage with this one.” She glances back. “Boniface, get behind that corner.”

Tick, tick, tick.

You hear scampering.

“The rest of you,” she suggests, “back away slowly.”

Mira and Isa do as they’re told, and Odile starts to do the same, but you stay put. You don’t want this loose end. This Sadness is slow and clumsy. If it attacks unexpectedly, you could keep its attention away from the others. With Voice’s strength, you think you can take the hit.

“Siffrin,” Odile hisses.

You pivot and point one hand at her. “I got this.”

Tick, tick.

The Sadness hardly moves under your watchful gaze. Its round shape and overall vibe tell you it’s probably a rock type. You draw your dagger, flatten your other hand in a paper symbol, and wait to act until you stop hearing footsteps.

Now — before it blows!

One quick, deep, decisive cut across the Sadness’s hardened flesh.

Instead of the usual strangled cry, it lets out one last, particularly loud tick. It drops to the ground in an ineffectual puddle.

You breathe in, and out.

When you turn around, Isa is peeking at you from behind a wall. You give him a thumbs-up.

“We’re clear.” He steps out from around the corner and the others follow.

Odile approaches you first with her Crafted salt. “Good work.” Her tone is a little flat.

You bow dramatically.

“Aw, man,” Bonnie laments, “I wanted to see an explosion.”

“N-no!” Mira says.

Isa taps her on the back. “Now you don’t have to worry about it hurting anybody when the House unfreezes, Mira.”

“That’s true,” she says, clasping her hands. She looks to you. “Thank you, Siffrin.” She lowers her arms. “But p-please don’t do that again.”

“Alright,” you reply, totally ready to do that again.

You shuffle carefully between the obstacles in the gardening room. The space is cramped, but your friends inch and lean away from you to grant you passage. Mira accidentally bumps you and you jump a foot into the air.

Her hands fly to her mouth. “S-sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” She reaches out to comfort you, but stops herself.

“S’okay.” You breathe in and out.

“I know you don’t like being touched, s-so…”

Wait. You don’t?

[The key you need is taped under the desk drawer.]

You bend down to look at the underside of the drawer. The key hangs there by the ring, toward the center of the desk. You pull it off, stand, and hold it up to show the others.

“Oh, yay!” Isa exclaims.

You wonder where Voice found this information, anyway.

[I’m just that good!]

Odile lifts her chin, hums curtly — and then clicks her tongue and shifts her weight.

Mira does one last turn around the head housemaiden’s office. “I think that’s it.” She doesn’t sound confident.

That is everything, right? [Don’t need anything else from here right now.]

“Let’s go,” Isa says.

The five of you exit the office as a unit — and you’re glad you do. A second boulder slams down in front of the door. You all feel and hear it before you see it.

Isa blows air out of his mouth. “Welp.”

“Again with the boulders,” Odile mumbles.

Mira makes an awkward face. “I, um, didn’t know that was going to happen.”

Isa leads the way further down the hall, to the door where you can use the key you’ve just obtained.

“See,” Bonnie says, “I can tell what’s in each bottle based on the sticker.” They pull out a bottle by the neck, and then another, as if to demonstrate. “The small darkless one’s a sour tonic, the big darkless one’s the super sour tonic.” They slot the bottles back into place. “Of course, I try to put them in a spot that makes sense every time, so they’re even quicker to find.”

While the rest of the party cools down from another Sadness encounter, you squat in front of the bag on the floor. If you’re going to be on potion duty with Bonnie, you might as well learn the ropes.

“Where do the stickers come from?” you ask.

“Riiiiiight here.” They pull out one of the sheets from the outer pocket of the potion bag.

You take the sheet from them. Most of the stickers have been removed, save for some metallic-looking five-pointed stars.

“And when a bottle is empty, I turn it upside down.” They tap the butt end of one of said bottles. “Dile said we need to be saving them just in case, but sometimes if I’m out of space and we come across a new full bottle I’ll swap them.”

You do see a couple of empty spots for more potions.

“But yeah, the heart stickers are sweet tonics, the lightless ones are salty broths, the half-circles are Crafted water, the triangles are thyme juice, the lighter squares are ginger juice, and the darker squares are pepper juice.” They grin with teeth. “I got a whole system.”

“Sounds like it.”

As much as Bonnie complains about their role, they seem to take inventory management seriously. They spend time every day getting organized — their potion bag must be part of it.

It’s a little difficult with your gloves on, but you manage to peel one of the star stickers off the sheet and stick it on Bonnie’s cheek. “Good job,” you tell them.

Don’t like being touched, eh?

They puff out their cheeks and seal their potion bag shut. “It’s better than your system.”

You have to concede that, yes, clearly labeling things is better than hoping you remember which random pocket you’ve stuck them in.

Chapter Text

Somehow, despite being frozen for nearly a year, the library still smells like decaying paper.

The room seems safe, so the five of you split up to look for anything useful. Little do they know you have an advantage in this.

What does Voice know about the library?

[The paper key is in here. Just dig like you usually do and you’ll find it.]

Oh. No hints or anything?

[Not for the key — but there is something else that would be in your best interest to find. Something involving your housemaiden.]

Mira? You glance about, but you don’t see her signature bow amongst the shelves.

[Get the key first and then I’ll tell you more.]

You center yourself and try to tune into your surroundings. First, you head to the section you frequent in libraries and bookstores: plays. You take the opportunity to tell a delightful little lie to Bonnie, which the adults get a kick out of, but you find nothing in the scripts.

Then, Mira tells you all about the librarian, whose body is unfortunately frozen on the ground in the middle of an aisle. After that, Odile compares and contrasts the divine forces in her faith and Changeism. And then, Isa finds a child’s diary that has been donated, from which Mira reads a passage about a dirty bedroom; this prompts a conversation about some recent historical event you’ve never…

A metal spike impaling you through the mouth. Something cracking inside you. Trying to make a sound, trying to form a word, but blood being the only thing to come out. Hearing yourself scream from across the room. Turmoil in your gut. Ache in your chest. A pounding, relentless headache that gripped your whole body.

The sound of Bonnie cackling yanks you into the present. You smile uneasily, as if you’ve been invested the whole time and don’t feel lightheaded at all.

[…]

At last, you arrive at the how-to section. You skim the titles on the spines. One of the books, Effort: The Key to Meaningful Change, seems to have been haphazardly shelved and has a familiar-looking bookmark sticking out. You pull out the book, open it, and take the key to the paper door. You reshelve it and chuckle at the obviousness of the title. Isa would probably appreciate this.

Key in your possession, you move to the center of the room, where the others can see. Mira and Bonnie head in your direction. Odile is reading a checkout log in the corner.

[Near the northeast corner of the room, to the left of the Change God statue, there are four stone blocks in the wall with unnaturally round indents.] You locate these, and he continues: [Press them in north, east, west, south order to open a secret passage.]

A wide smile creeps onto your face. Secret passages are one of your favorite things to find in a dungeon. You toss one glance over your shoulder before you press the blocks.

The hidden door separates from the frame with great effort, eliciting a groan from the wall.

Mira shouts, and then Odile shouts. Bonnie’s eyes go wide as saucers. Isa approaches briskly and seems pleasantly surprised.

“But how did you—?” Mira sounds astonished.

You put on an unassuming affect. “I just touched it and it opened.”

She can hardly believe this has been in the library this whole time. You all crowd around the door. Isa pushes the heavy stone door open and you pass him to step into the secret room first.

And you’re glad you do, because a Sadness somehow sits just inside, ready to ambush. It leaps toward you.

Whip out your dagger. A4 Effort. Slice.

“Whoa!” Bonnie jumps back.

The monster plops to the ground. Some of the goop gets on your shoes. You try to kick it off.

There have been lights on throughout the rest of the House, and so navigating has not been a challenge until now. This passageway is completely dark. You look back at the person directly behind you, Mirabelle.

“D-do we have a light?” she asks the others.

Isabeau walks out of sight and comes back with a lantern he’s lifted from the wall. You offer to hold it.

Everyone pauses for Odile to quickly salt the Sadness’s remains. Then, knife in one hand and lantern in the other, you step further inside. Your friends follow closely behind. At the end of this short passageway is a surprisingly normal-looking, albeit dusty, wooden door.

“What’s in there?” Bonnie asks in awe.

“I have no idea,” Mira admits.

“Are we making guesses?” Odile asks.

“My prediction is a printing press that produces the most notorious local gossip rag,” Isa says.

“Maybe it’s forbidden scientific experiments,” Bonnie says.

“It could be a shortcut to the King,” Odile says.

“This room might be where we store the Dormont historical artifacts that got taken down from the House museum,” Mira theorizes.

Everyone looks at you. “It’s filled floor to ceiling with bedding,” you say.

Luckily for your group, the key to this door is already in the deadbolt. All you have to do is turn the handle to open it. This new room is dark too. You enter dagger first, but there’s no additional Sadness to attack you. There’s not much of anything in here — just a table and a few industrial sized bookshelves in an otherwise unadorned space.

“Aw, dang,” Isa says, not sounding upset at all actually, “looks like we all got it wrong.”

“It’s just more crabbin’ books,” Bonnie comments.

[Bedding, eh? You’d like that.]

You could nap any time — even the day the world ends. If you could, you’d lay down for one now. You try not to think about how sleepy you are, and move slowly toward the back of the room.

[Now, in the furthest bookcase is a book about shields. Point it out to dear Mirabelle and she’ll figure out the rest.]

Odile squints to read the papers stacked on the table. The rest of the party browses the various titles in the other bookcases. You stop in front of the furthest bookcase and stare at the rows of spines, racking your brain for an excuse to get Mira to look at the shield book.

[You could just say, ‘Hey, Mira, come look at this.’]

That’s too obvious.

[Sometimes it’s better to let go of subtlety.]

You don’t want to clue anyone into the fact you’re getting secret instructions.

[A bit late for that.]

—Oh! You turn toward the others.

Odile meets your gaze first. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“How do you Craft shields?” you ask.

While listening to the others talk about Vaugarde’s naming conventions, you weave between the desks of this frozen classroom, on the lookout for anything that might seem useful.

[There’s a key you will need inside that notebook.]

You look down at the notebook on the desk. The one that says ‘do not touch’ on it?

[The one you should touch anyway.]

You open the book to what seems to be a marked page, and sure enough, there is a key. A faint fruity taste manifests on the roof of your mouth. You pick the key up to examine it, the crying mask keychain dangling from your fingers. When you take your eye off it, you find Odile staring at you.

So it’s come to this. You are the deciding factor in a civil war.

[The northern hall is a dead end. Go south.]

You acutely feel Odile’s gaze on you sharpen.

“Uh…” You shuffle your feet. “Beauty alliance.”

Isa pumps his fists in the air and yells, “Yes!”

Odile and Bonnie give you a hard time, though — including threats to stuff your pockets with potatoes. You really hope taking Voice’s advice is worth it.

[You doubt me, your loyal ally and bestest friend Voice?]

Even though their side has lost the debate, Bonnie gets to use the crest to clear the row of tears blocking the southern hall — something they wouldn’t be allowed to do if Mira hadn’t learned an unfreezing spell today. You can make out a Sadness several meters in the distance, which your party immediately begins to discuss.

[I can tell you the openphrase for the room at the eastern end of the hall, too, if you want.]

You glimpse the door down the hall. What would be in there?

[Potions.]

And that’s it?

[I mean, there are other things too, but the potions are the main attraction.]

Isa, Mira, and Odile run off to take on the Sadness, and Bonnie stands at attention further back as usual.

You keep your voice down. “Bonnie.”

They look at you. “What?” they ask impatiently.

You jut your thumb in the eastward direction. “I’m going to check out this room. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” they reply.

You move away from everyone, down the hall and up to the door, but you can still hear the sounds of struggle. What’s the openphrase?

[It’s ‘openphrase123.’]

Well, that’s stupid.

[I know, right?]

You whisper it and the lock clicks, ready for you to enter.

The room is oddly shaped and doesn’t have a clear purpose like most of the other rooms in the House. Two people happen to have been inside when the curse hit; their frozen bodies are cowering in separate corners.

You don’t know when your friends will need you, so you search the room expediently. The sweet tonic and salty broths will surely come in handy.

But there’s little else of interest: broken glass, rubble, different barrels full of lye soap and papery pulp and salted meat. You doubt anyone will miss a strip of jerky, so you take one to snack on. Being frozen in time for several months hasn’t affected the flavor.

As you head for the exit, chewing, you spot something that stops you in your tracks.

You look at the croissants and all you see is that old man’s face. The curve of them his smile, his open mouth frown, his careworn wrinkles reflected in the crevices. One word from you and he’d flipped, like he was drowning and you were the only life preserver — and you abandoned him. You haven’t seen him since, and you’re not sure you’d ever want to, but some nights you’ve lain awake, begging the stars to tell him you’re sorry. You could have been something to each other; instead, you’ve only deepened one another’s sorrow. Another missed connection to haunt you.

Instinctively, you clasp your hand around the silver coin in your pocket. Your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton.

You struggle to chew the dry meat, and have to spit it out.

[…]

You can feel Voice’s presence in your brain.

[There are other things you can fidget with, you know. Things that won’t re-traumatize you.]

But you owe it to that old man to remember him, and…

[Never mind. Clearly, now’s not the time for a therapy session.]

You flip the coin, squeeze it between your fingers, breathe in, and breathe out. You can’t bring yourself to finish this jerky, but you hate to litter, so you just sort of drop it into the pocket where you keep your trash. You leave the room to reconvene with your friends.

Mira would like to be buried under a tree in the event of her death. Odile would have her ashes turned into a gem per the Ka Buan tradition, but, failing that, would donate her cadaver to science. Isa couldn’t care less what happens to his body after he dies, so long as it’s convenient for the rest of you.

“I won’t let that happen,” you say.

Odile smirks. “How delightfully naïve.”

This sort of pre-funct area has nothing in the way of décor or furniture. Bonnie scrounges through their bag in the corner.

“Okay, then.” Mira gesticulates. “Purely hypothetically, what should we do for you?”

For as much as you’ve ruminated on death over the years, you’ve given little thought to what comes after. It’s like Isa has said: your body wouldn’t be your problem anymore. You feel like there’s a proper way for your corpse to be treated — something about a mountain?

“Scatter my ashes on a mountaintop,” you blurt.

Isa hums. “Sounds like a somber climb.”

“I-is that common where you’re from?” Mira asks.

You shrug.

She grimaces. “Sorry I asked.”

He lowers his voice even further, shoulders riding up uncomfortably. “And for, well, Bonnie—”

“Our previous arrangement still stands,” Odile says. Her lips point subtly at the satchel at her hip.

The four of you nod in agreement.

First Bonnie sets down the madeleines, made at Odile’s request. These smell like vanilla and are dusted in powdered sugar. Then—

[Don’t eat the pineapple. You’re allergic.]

You — you are?

[You really are.]

You’ve always thought you just didn’t like them, though you could never pinpoint exactly why.

[Because they will kill you.]

Your throat feels swollen at the thought of it. You try to swallow, and avert your eyes from the fruit. Between the fish heads and the madeleines, you think you’ll be satisfied anyway.

At the other side of your little circle, Odile is squinting and scowling at you. You shrink under her gaze, hiding your face between nibbles.

It feels like you’ve been knocked in the head again, the breath stolen out of you. You blink stupidly in the low light.

Where are you again? Some sort of lounge or private library maybe.

“Sif?”

His voice startles you. “Um, yes?”

Isa has a look of concern, or maybe disappointment, on his face. “You were telling us how you ran away from home?”

“I…” For a second your vision goes double. “I was?”

“You… were,” he says slowly.

A pregnant pause.

“Did you forget what you were talking about while talking about it?” Bonnie shouts.

Isa grasps at his elbows. “Seriously, Sif, we have got to do something about your awful memory.”

“We can come up with something, after this,” Odile says.

Bonnie grinds the toe of their boot against the floor and mutters under their breath. Dizzy, you duck your chin behind your cowl.

Odile lowers herself onto a stool, moaning when she sits down. You and Isa fool around with some giant papier-mâché hands you’ve found in the cupboard. Bonnie expresses their creativity with — or maybe takes out their frustration on — a lump of clay.

While the four of you hang around the pottery studio, Mira speeds through the book Voice told you to point out to her. Every minute or so she squeals with no context.

“Hey, M’dame?” Isa tries to keep his volume low. “Do you think, if I wear these, I can do a paper attack?”

She smirks and hums in consideration. “Honestly, I think you just might be able to.”

He oohs.

“Test it out and see.” She gestures at you. First Mira uses you as a guinea pig for her shield spell, and now this?

He looks at you, then at the ridiculous papier-mâché gloves, then at Odile. “I think I’ll try it out on the next rock type we fight.” He flashes you a smile. “Wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt Sif.”

“Okay,” she says skeptically.

The very next Sadness your team finds is, indeed, a rock type. It moves like some kind of monkey and pounds its fists on the ground.

You try to keep up with speed boost spells to help your teammates. The Sadness’s discordant cry freezes Odile instantly. Mira responds with an unfreezing spell almost as fast. Isa does his usual thing of manhandling the enemy like a sack of potatoes, but with the added benefit of easy paper type attacks he can switch on and off at will.

When Mira takes a hit, you know she’s still cooling down from the last healing spell she cast. You run up closer to her, call, “Mira,” and hold out your hand to beckon her.

She races to you with a wild, impatient look in her eyes.

You put up a hand as a signal to hold still. Carefully, then, you lay your other hand flat against her hip. Her cotton blend dress feels bulkier than it looks, and some of her warmth seeps through the fabric. You Craft your healing spell. Your hand tingles and your heart flutters a bit.

Don’t like being touched, huh?

She glances down at your hand and up at your face, pleasantly surprised. “Thanks!”

You let her go with a nod. She jumps right back into the action, and for the next few minutes you stand by watchfully.

After the battle is won, the three combatants pass around a bottle of super sweet tonic.

“You’re doing Healing Craft now?” Isa asks you.

You sort of half-shrug, half-nod.

“Gotta come up with a name for that one too, then,” he says.

“Only if you name yours,” you reply.

“Mm.” He swallows the tonic in his mouth and gives the bottle to Odile. “I’m thinking ‘Smack!’” He says the name in a small voice as he claps one hand against the other.

“It has to be said in the tiny voice,” you say.

He grins. “The tinier the voice, the stronger the hit.” He claps his hands again. “Smack!”

“Smack!” you imitate.

The two of you giggle.

“How about ‘Med-y or Not?’”

“Yes!” he shouts.

Odile shakes her head subtly, which is how you know you’ve found a good name.

Mira seems happy, though. “I’m cooking up a new Healing Craft spell myself.”

Your team has never experienced this before — coming up with so many new spells in such a short period. Just in time for the King. You wonder if you will remember your own new spells after today.

There’s a magnet in your chest.

A ball of iron, melting and hardening and melting again. It flickers in spurts. When you feel like you might float away, it holds you to the earth. It beats like a heart; your lungs struggle to expand around it.

You crane your neck to read the words above the lintel: ‘Where the Universe leads…?’

“Yè ja’arrane ri’è,” you whisper.

Your stomach churns. Click. Now unlocked, the door shifts slightly. The pattern on door panels shimmers in the light.

Odile’s head whips toward you. “What was that?”

“Hm?”

“What did you just say?” she asks. “What language was that?”

“Uh…” Breathlessly, you look at her. “I don’t know.” Your throat hurts.

Something on the other side of this door pulls you, undeniable as the tide. And it makes you sick.

Mira is frowning in worry. Her fingers curl around one another, held up to her chest.

Bonnie shifts their weight nervously.

“You alright, Mira?” Isa asks.

“I-I-I-I—…” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

He bows his head and straightens his lips. The King’s faint cry rattles through the hall.

“W-we can go in,” she says.

You lead the way. The room is pitch dark and a good 8℃ colder than the rest of the House. Isa brings you another lantern, but the space is no more welcoming with the light: spiders frozen in their webs, dust caked on every surface.

If Mira has never seen this room, and she’s lived here for years, then it’s probably been abandoned for some time.

Someone used to be here, though. You look at the beads strung from the wall, the scrolls bundled in baskets, the bookcase that’s too bulky and fancy to fit in with the environment. In the center of the room is a contraption that gives you a buzzy, fuzzy feeling. Your friends have no idea what this object is.

Curious, Mira turns a crank at the base of the machine. “Look,” she says, “when you turn the lever, the little balls spin around the big ball in the middle.”

“Does it represent something?” Odile asks. “It looks familiar somehow.”

“I feel like I’ve seen something like this before,” Mira says, unsure.

You know. “It’s an orrery.”

Mira enunciates the word, “orrery,” like she’s trying to talk around a cork in her mouth.

You step toward the thing. “It calculates the positions of astronomical objects.” The model is contained inside a large glass sphere, which has been clouded by dust and grease over who knows how many years. You touch the tip of your index finger to the glass — and feel, acutely, that you are far from the first to do so. “The third from the center is Earth. See the tiny moon?”

“Whuh?” Bonnie raises an eyebrow. “We’re one of those balls?”

“It represents Earth,” Odile clarifies.

Isa stands tall, looking down at the display, studying it.

Mira hums and then shakes her head. “I… don’t understand.” She approaches the orrery, standing next to you. “The other balls — what are they?”

“Other planets.” From deep within you, a tune comes out. “Merkurio, Artizarra / Lura, Marte alye—”

We have to say it! We cannot let oblivion win! Our home — we can rebuild it, together, your power and mine! We just have to wish for it, we just have to ask! We just have to sa—

A painful coughing fit interrupts your song. Your hand flies to your mouth, and you turn away and hunch over. Something slick and viscous shoots up from your throat.

“S-Siffrin, are you alright?” Mira asks.

You pant a little — breathe in, breathe out, calmingly. When you pull your hand away, the mystery substance is on your glove. Your mouth tastes metallic. You stand straight, face her, and nod.

She tilts her head. “Maybe you should drink some water.”

You take her suggestion, unclipping your canteen from the carabiner at your hip.

“For once,” she says with a chuckle, “Siffrin remembered something and we didn’t.”

Bonnie’s face is scrunched in disgust. “What were you saying and why did it make my brain itch?”

“Yeah, that’s…” Isa just sort of trails off.

You turn your head shyly.

Odile taps her fingertips on the center of the sphere.

Mira’s face is tight with focus. She casts her eyes around the room. “I doubt there’s anything in here we could use.” She looks to you. “Should we get going?”

“Yes, let’s.” Odile hitches her satchel strap up her shoulder and starts toward the door.

You drink and drink until the taste of blood leaves your mouth.

Mira fishes the crest out of the Sadness goo puddle on the ground and hands it to you.

[Alright, Siffrin, you’ll want to use this on the tears in the far western corridor.]

Noted. You stick the crest in an easily accessible pocket for safekeeping. Once the Sadness is salted, the five of you file out of this dull, cramped storage room to recuperate in the hallway. If the curse hadn’t darkened the sky, the giant window at the end of the hall would be filling the space with sunshine.

“Boniface.” Odile turns toward them. “What did you mean by ‘weird smelly?’”

“Those Sadnesses all smell really sugary,” they reply.

“That’s it?” She seems slightly annoyed.

“I think I get where they’re coming from,” Isa says. “It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

[Each Craft type has its own distinct scent.]

You can’t say you knew this before, but now that Voice has said so, it seems obvious.

“Have you noticed it anywhere else, Bonnie?” Mira asks.

They hum in thought and then shake their head no. “I’ve been smelling weird stuff all day.” They point at you. “Like, Frin’s been smelling weird.”

Your face scrunches. You’ve what?

“He what?” Isa asks.

Odile scowls. “Siffrin, don’t tell me you forgot to bathe.”

Of course you didn’t!

“No, it’s not that.” Bonnie purses their lips. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s sorta like smoke? Or cooking gas?”

She hums and looks at you. “Interesting.”

You feel your stomach drop under her gaze.

Then she smirks at Bonnie. “Do I smell like anything?”

“Nah, you just smell like Dile,” they reply.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she teases.

“It means you’re not weirder than normal.” They glance about. “There was also the crab smell in the kitchen earlier, and the mishmash of candle scents.”

“You must have a great sense of smell, Bonbon,” Isa says.

“No wonder you’re such a good cook,” Odile says.

They smirk, put the top of their open hand under their chin, and bat their eyelashes.

The Sadness towers above you, all muscle.

Mira takes the front line. Isa stays light on his feet, ducking and dodging paper attacks, Crafting defense boost spells. Odile alternates between attacking with Scissor Craft, slowing the enemy, and enhancing Isa’s resistance to paper damage.

All you can do is Make Up the Time and deliver potions. You can’t stay still.

The Sadness rears on one of its limbs. Its other great big hand swipes at Isa, fast and hard. He swings his arm out — a Smack! when it should be a block. For a split second, you think, ‘that’s a bad angle.’

And then you hear a crunch.

His wrist crumples and his forearm bends in half. “Ah!” His fist pulls away from the target.

The Sadness kicks off at him at full force. Its weight sends him to the ground. He tries to mitigate the fall with his injured hand — the rough landing is sure to cause a bruise.

Mira shouts his name.

With a sprinting start, you shove the Sadness meters back and pin it between your dagger and the pillar. You stick out two fingers as you sink your blade into its eye. It roars.

You narrowly avoid Odile’s scissor spell, which hits the Sadness on the other side.

Lightless goo, thrumming with Craft energy, spurts from the wound you’ve made. Stab it again. The monster shrieks and goes limp. Stab it again. Make sure this thing dies. You pull away and it drops to the floor, melting.

You whirl around to see your friends. Your breaths are ragged, your eye, wide. The dagger goes back in its place. Isa has cast off the papier-mâché gloves and Mira is helping him to his feet.

Bonnie races toward him, First-Aid kit at the ready.

“Isabeau!” Odile quickly makes her way over.

You stand off to the side, just within arm’s reach of Isa.

“Are you okay?” Bonnie asks.

“Yeah,” he says rotely.

“Can you lift your arm?” Odile asks.

He lifts his left shoulder, and his upper arm follows dutifully, but his elbow can’t bend very far, and everything below a certain point just sort of dangles.

“Let me see.” Mira gently places a hand under his forearm.

He sucks in air loudly through his teeth.

She immediately lets go. “That’s definitely broken.”

On instinct, he grabs at his upper arm with his good hand.

“Isa.”

His eyes meet yours.

“Breathe with me,” you tell him. Together, in through the nose, hold for a few seconds, out through the mouth. You notice Mira, Bonnie, and Odile do it too.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Madame Odile,” Mira says, looking at her, “go salt the remains.” She turns toward you. “Siffrin, find something to splint his arm with.”

You nod.

Meanwhile, Mira assesses the damage to Isa’s arm, and explains to Bonnie why sour tonics and Healing Craft aren’t typically used for broken bones.

You need something straight, sturdy, and narrow. A quick scan of the room reveals nothing useful. You rifle through your pockets, but none of your belongings suffice. His limbs are rather long, after all. Bonnie has left their cooking utensils behind, else you could use a wooden spoon or ladle. One of Odile’s books would probably be too cumbersome. As far as you’ve seen, nothing your party has would work. If only you could go downstairs!

Then, you look at Mirabelle standing nearby — and the two rapiers tucked into her belt. She’s been using the new one since she found it, but hasn’t given up the old one yet. A sword definitely fits the description.

But there’s another problem: it’s sharp. She doesn’t have a sheath for it, either. The last thing you want is for Isa to get hurt even further. You have to cover the edges somehow…

You doff your hat and hold it between your knees. Then, you pull your cloak off. With it draped over your arm, you return your hat to the top of your head.

“Mira.” You hold out your free hand. “Can I have your old sword?”

Barely looking at you, she quickly pulls it from her belt and hands it to you hilt-first. She has to do a double-take. “S-Siffrin?!”

You crouch down, lay your cloak flat on the surprisingly clean floor, and place the sword along the edge so you can roll the blade in fabric. Using the whole cloak would make the splint too bulky, you fear. You wrap it in a couple of layers and use your pins to hold the cylinder tightly in place. The other half of the cloak hangs off the side.

“Smart thinking,” Odile comments.

You stand, holding the makeshift splint in both hands.

“Just a minute,” Mira says. She’s rolled up Isa’s sleeve. You cursorily inspect his bare arm — the unnatural bump under his skin, the swollen joints, the dark bloom of internal bleeding. His pinky and ring fingers aren’t moving.

Isa keeps looking back and forth between his injury, Mira, and you. Odile instructs Bonnie to grab the wrapping bandage.

“Hey, Isa,” you start.

“Uh-huh?”

“I’ve got a joke about broken bones,” you say, “but you probably wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows.

You can’t help smirking. “It’s not very humerus.”

He laughs so hard he snorts and Mira chastises him for not holding still.

“I don’t get it,” Bonnie says.

“You’re not missing much,” Odile replies.

Isa props up his injured arm by the elbow, and Mira holds it by the unbroken fingers. Carefully, you line up the splint to his arm; the spare inches at the end of the blade poke out past his elbow. You wrap the remainder of the cloak fabric around the affected area. Odile binds the splint to his arm using the bandage, round and round.

“Does that feel okay?” Mira asks. “Not too tight, not too loose?”

He tries to move his arm around. The way the fabric is rolled makes his hand look like a stump. “I think it’s fine for now.”

She softly lowers his arm to his side.

“Thank you all,” he says.

Odile smiles. “Boniface, that was a very fast response. Mirabelle, good job taking charge and keeping your cool. Siffrin, you were very resourceful, and your reaction time was good as always.”

“Clap clap clap!” Isa says.

“Snaps.” Mira snaps her fingers repeatedly, the way audiences do at live poetry readings.

You start snapping too, though your gloves muffle the sound. Isa snaps his free fingers. Bonnie mimics a sort of snapping motion, but can’t quite seem to get it right.

“Yay,” Mira says, “we got good grades in dungeoneering!”

Odile chuckles.

“And now I’m very well armed,” Isa says, pointing at the sword.

You and Mira giggle, and Bonnie and Odile jokingly boo.