The sun can’t rise fast enough, though even after it does, Zyneth continues to sleep. I’m anxious to get back on the road, but I let him rest. Without him, I’m not going anywhere, after all.

He finally rouses a few hours after sunrise—still early morning, so I suppose I shouldn’t be so grumpy. He certainly takes his time packing up, scuffing out the remains of his fire, munching on some dried meat and salted nuts. I shift from foot to foot to telegraph my impatience.

Zyneth chuckles when he notices. “Alright, yes, I see you, little friend. I’m just about ready.” He gestures to my spell book. “Will you be packing that up too, or am I expected to carry it?”

I’d sort of been hoping for the latter, but given his wounds and teasing tone I’m beginning to suspect that’s not an option. Reluctantly, I add it back to my inventory. Out of impulse, I Check my stats.

[Void: 53%]

So much for staying under 10% before I reached Harrowood.

“Ready?” he asks, resting a hand on the ground. “Will you be vanishing that language sheet of yours as well, or…”

I snag my cheat sheet with some signing glass, dragging it along as I step onto his hand.

“Good. Hold on.” He stands, the movement pressing me down against his hand, then holds me up to his shoulder. I tentatively step over, hooking my limbs into the fabric for purchase. It’s the opposite side from yesterday, I notice: his unwounded side. Maybe it’s because of our classes, or the difference in biology (I guess, lack of biology for me) but his HP isn’t regenerating nearly as fast as mine. He only had 20 points to heal, and I passively regenerate at 1 point every 10 minutes. But now he’s only at 85/100. Still, he’ll probably be fine, right? We should be back in civilization again soon. He can get help there.

Although, I suppose while a city is preferable for the living, it’s far more dangerous for me.

I lift my cheat sheet up as Zyneth begins to walk, moving back onto the path and starting down the incline. I straighten the paper out as best I can, given the abuse it sustained last night. Zyneth takes note.

“You’ve written something,” he notices. “In much more terrible handwriting, I might add.”

Look, it’s the best I could manage given the circumstances.

“Null arcanum-enriched chalk,” he reads. “How… oddly specific.”

I flip the paper over. “NEED.”

“Yes, I would have surmised.”

Alright, smarty pants. Then do you know what I need it for?

“Is this what you’re looking for in Harrowood?” he asks.

Among other things. “YES.”

Zyneth hums in thought. “I’m not very familiar with the stuff myself, but I expect you should be able to track some down at some arcana store or another.”

My hope soars. Finally!

“Or,” Zyneth adds, “At least you should be able to put in an order for some, if it’s more rare.”

And my hope comes crashing back down. Something tells me this world doesn’t have same-day delivery. But surely, in a whole city, there has to be someone who’s skilled enough in this kind of magic to have some of this chalk lying around. I mean, it’s chalk. I’m not exactly asking for a gold-plated toilet here.

Of course, I might be worrying over nothing. We still need to find someone who can help with our spells; if we find them, they should have all the tools we need.

I flip the page back over. “HARROWOOD.”

“Yes,” Zyneth says. “Where we’re going.”

I flip it over again. “NEED WIZARD.”

“In Harrowood,” Zyneth agrees. “Is there a specific one?”

“HOMUNCULUS.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Zyneth says. “Someone who would specialize in your area of, ah, personal experience. Do you have one in mind?”

“YES.” The one I stumbled upon in Attiru’s shop. Cloud’s Arcane Artifacts. It’s the best lead to start with, at any rate.

Zyneth pauses. “But you haven’t written their name down.”

I inwardly grimace. I would if I could. “NO.”

“If I were to give you some charcoal or ink, could you?”

The grimace lingers. “NO.”

“That’s rather unhelpful,” Zyneth notes.

Tell me about it.

Zyneth continues to mull over the issue. “Would you recognize their name if it was written?”

“YES!”

“Hm. Alright. Well, it’s a bit of a needle in a haystack approach, but we might be able to consult a directory once we get into town,” he says.

“YES!” Great idea. Better than anything I’ve been able to come up with.

“However,” Zyneth adds, “I must remind you that I won’t be able to stay long. Harrowood is not my destination—merely a stopgap. I’m afraid I can’t afford to spend much time lingering in the city.”

Right. Of course he has other priorities—although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping he’d stay and help.

“Of course, I am willing to return at a later date, once my errands are resolved,” Zyneth says. “If you’re still in the area.”

Would I be? I don’t even know. I haven’t been thinking more than a few days ahead at any given time. Even if I do find someone to renew our spell, and get back to Noli, and help her… then what?

Figure out our bodies next, I guess. Find a way home.

Neither of those options feel close enough to be real.

“I admit, I’ve become somewhat invested in unfolding the mystery that is you,” Zyneth continues. “It’s hard to not be curious. A homunculus who acts like a person, has no creator, and can wield magic. Do you have a soul, too?”

“YES.”

Zyneth barks out a laugh, then winces, rubbing his sternum. “That was intended to be rhetorical, but of course you do.”

We walk on in silence for a few minutes longer, though I can tell Zyneth is thinking. “That attack you did—the one that made the light. What was that?”

“SPELL,” I circle. “I AM WIZARD.”

“You are—” Zyneth blinks. Then he throws his head back in laughter. Unrestrained, tears prickling at the edge of his eyes. He rubs his chest, wincing even as he continues to laugh, then has to stop walking, bracing his hands on his knees as he’s completely overcome by the apparent hilarity of my comment.

I am mildly offended.

“You’re a—I’m sorry, it hurts—Hah! A wizard. Of course. A mouse sized wizard made of glass. Why not? It’s no more strange than the rest of you.” He wipes his eyes, smiling as he begins walking once more. This close, it’s hard not to notice a couple of his canines are more like fangs, and his teeth are all slightly pointed. But the grin somehow remains friendly, pure, the kind of unadulterated smile that makes me want to smile, too.

Even if the joke is apparently me.

He shakes his head, hiding away his Colgate-white teeth. “At any rate. Kanin the wizard, I am happy to have had your help last night.”

Pff, for all that I did. I took out, like, one and a half nightbanes in the time he took down half a dozen. But sure, you’re welcome.

“I don’t suppose,” Zyneth starts slowly, picking his words, “That light spell has anything to do with the shadowy monster back in Peakshadow?”

I freeze, my upbeat mood evaporating. Of course he hadn’t forgotten about that. He’s too perceptive. “NO.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t turn his head to look at me, even though I feel naked beneath his scrutiny. “But it does have something to do with you.”

Hell. What do I gain from holding anything back? He’s already helped me this far. He wouldn’t try to kill me if he found out, would he? (Maybe that wouldn’t even be a bad thing.)

“YES.”

He nods, probably expecting that response. “Do you want to tell me about it? What you can, anyway?”

Not that I have many words to use. I hesitate anyway; an admission now means no going back, for better or worse. “DANGER.”

“You are dangerous?” he asks.

“NO,” I circle, before amending to “YES. MAYBE.”

“The… shadow is dangerous,” he guesses. “And it’s related to you.”

“YES.” But before he can draw the worst possible conclusion from that, I add, “NEED HELP.”

“Dealing with the shadow?”

“YES.”

“Is it a curse?” he asks. “A spell?”

I hesitate. I don’t know. It feels like a creature. It has a mind. But the way that we’re linked—I don’t understand how that works. “MAYBE.”

He taps at his lip, thinking. “Are we at risk of this thing reappearing?”

“YES.”

“Soon?”

I hesitate. I guess that depends on how much trouble we get in—if I’m able to keep from panicking and hold back. Ideally, I’ll never do another spell again. Never use my inventory. But this world has been anything but ideal. “MAYBE.”

“Ominous,” Zyneth says, though for some reason, he’s faintly smiling. “Back in Peakshadow, I heard the survivors of the attack discussing what they saw. A glass heart at the center of a shadowy beast. They believed that heart was the summoning foci. Is that true?”

“MAYBE?” I mean I guess it does kind of get summoned, and it is related to me, but I don’t know the first thing about this “Foci” business.

“You’re unsure of the nature of the magic?” Zyneth asks. “We might be able to narrow it down. The survivors claimed they found summoning materials in the remains of the destruction. Candles, sage, chalk, incense plates. Do you recall anything like that being involved?”

What? “NO.” They must have been confused. Mistaken regular junk for something associated with me. Although once they decided I was some kind of summoned creature, I guess I can’t really blame them for finding what they expected to see. Their friends were dead. They needed answers. My mood dips.

“No?” Zyneth repeats. “Then you’re right, it doesn’t sound like summoning magic. What can you tell me about what causes it to appear?”

I scan my cheat sheet. “SPELL. TIME.” I guess that’s as close as I can get.

“It’s a time limit?” he asks. “How soon?”

“NO!” Shoot, that’s not what I meant.

“Not a time limit,” Zyneth confirms. He shakes his head. “Then I’m not sure what you mean.”

Now I’m just making things more confusing. “SPELL DANGER.”

He chews the corner of his mouth. “The spell is dangerous? Using spells is dangerous? The danger is—”

“YES!”

“Using spells,” he backtracks. “A specific spell, or generally speaking?”

I hold up two pieces of glass.

“Using spells in general poses a danger of attracting the shadow being,” he says, stringing the thoughts together in a spectacular fashion. “Somewhat like the nightbanes, no? They’re also attracted to the use of magic. But this seems specific to you.”

“YES.”

“Well then, the solution seems simple,” he says. “No more using magic.”

Hah. Well that’s the idea, but it’s rarely turned out to be so simple.

“That decides one thing,” he continues. “After last night’s display I was considering offering for you to accompany me, if you were open to a detour and needed the assistance. But where I am headed, we are likely to encounter more danger; staying in the city should pose a far smaller threat to you.”

You would think that, wouldn’t you.

“YOU?” I ask, flipping the paper over. “PETRIFIED GROVES?”

“That’s my destination, yes,” he says. “A few days beyond Harrowood. Are you familiar with it?”

“NO.” I’m not familiar with shit, Zyneth. “YOUR TOWN?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “Merely my destination.”

I wait.

“...You want to know why?” he asks after a space of silence.

“YES.”

He chuckles. “Rather nosey, don’t you think?”

Hey man, this can’t all be a one-way interrogation. And one of us is better at talking than the other.

“Alright,” he relents, and I’m relieved to see the conversation finally moving away from me and the predator. “I was sent to retrieve an artifact from the Black Spire, which is why I was out here in the first place. Instead, I found nothing but death in those streets. There were signs, however, that it might have been moved to the Groves instead. The telepad through Harrowood should take me there.”

Sort of vague, which I suppose is Zyneth’s M.O. But I’m also a little underwhelmed. Why’s he in such a hurry trying to find some lost relic? Sounds like it isn’t going anywhere.

“URGENT?” I question.

“In a manner of speaking,” Zyneth says. “The artifact isn’t for me. It represents my half of a… trade. Which I need to fulfill as soon as possible. There are people I care about relying on the completion of this job.”

That, at least, I can relate to. I can’t really hold it against him if there’s people that are relying on him: I feel the same about Noli.

Zyneth shakes his head. “But I doubt you care to hear about any of this. My journey thus far has not been terribly interesting.”

“YES.” I’d rather he keep talking than walk in silence—or go back to grilling me on the predator. “YOU.”

“I am not sure I am very good about talking about myself,” Zyneth admits. “Or that I’ll have much of substance to say.”

“PLEASE?” I repeat.

He smiles faintly. “So polite. Well, I suppose it will pass the time. But I did warn you. It’s mainly just the mundanity of everyday travel.” And he begins to talk.

He’s wrong, too; it’s anything but mundane. He’s traveled over most of Valenia North, it sounds like, through living caverns in the Firestone Mountains, north to the dark and desolate arctic plains, and through the labyrinthine streets of the Black Spire, overrun with animate bones and malicious spirits. He’s fought direwolves and stonewyrms, and battled—well, fled—an icecat the size of a house.

Jesus. I hope this isn’t considered “The mundanity of everyday travel.” I need to get off this world.

But his stories are fascinating. It’s like every fantasy film I’ve ever watched has sprung from the screen and come to life in this one world. Is there something to that? Some reason that all of Earth’s stories and folklore are real—if not different—here? Maybe I’m far from the first person to fall into this world. And if it can happen one way, then surely it can happen the other. There must be a reason we have stories of dragons and wraiths and krakens—and the answer to that might be my key home.

We talk (mostly Zyneth) and walk (only Zyneth) the rest of the day, then camp another night on the hillside. I practice signs and play with Lightbeam to whittle away the hours, keeping a tense ear out for any more signs of nightbanes, but the night passes uneventfully—thank god for one quiet night. The next morning we continue our travels and fall back into the same pattern. Despite being a mysterious deadly demon guy, he’s proving to be extremely good company. Hate to say it, but I’ll miss the dude.

The afternoon is wearing thin when we finally break out of the treeline and the green plains of Valenia North roll to the horizon before us. It’s miles and miles of open space, shadows from fluffy white clouds spotting the grasslands, mountains vanishing to the east and west. A windy band of brown marks our trail down the gentle hills, and straight into the city of Harrowood.

“There it is,” Zyneth says, stepping from the trees. “Should only be an hour or two more. We’ll get there before dusk, I suspect. Is it everything you imagined?”

It’s big, that’s for sure. Peakshadow had been a rural scattering of cottages and single-story shops. In comparison, Harrowood is a fortress. A stone wall runs along the perimeter of the city, but even outside this boundary are buildings and farmland. Within, the city is a bustling metropolis. The streets are shadowed from the tall buildings that tower over them, clustered together like a handful of straws. Despite the cramped appearance, there’s something organic to the layout; like I’m looking at a crystal formation that’s grown up from the ground over millennia. A smoky haze hovers about the city, but within I can make out twinkling lights and unending movement. I bet it shines like a jewel at night.

But most important of all, there must be thousands of people here. And that means there has to be a wizard who can help us.

This has to be it.

It has to be.