They argued for another hour about potential solutions; about possible vessels for the spirit if they did go down that road, about other ways to maybe heal a tree. Bell suggested giving Treeka a slot of [Immortality] once Dema would get a new one, but Dema explained that [Immortality] provided no healing and no protection from corruption or ageing. On its own and without ways to mend herself, [Immortality] would simply make Treeka degrade and decay forever.

Eventually, they decided they had to talk it all out with her.

“Dang,” Dema let out in the end. “If I’d known, I’d have at least filled her out with crystal blood to stabilise her… Why’d that rascal not say anything!”

Everyone fell silent. For a while, they just absent-mindedly poked their cakes, all appetite lost.

“That all said, I have another question,” Bell finally started. “What in the world happened to the Observatory?” She looked at the others, trying to make sure the change in topic wasn’t a complete failure in reading the room, and then added looking at Theora, “Was that really you?”

Theora managed a small nod, then swallowed. “I messed up. Damaged it beyond repair when I tried to defeat a monster inside. They are considering rebuilding some things from scratch, and I was banned from entering again.”

“Aw!” Isobel let out. “That’s terrible…”

Before Theora could start crying, Dema already scrambled to find something else to talk about. “So Izzy, you found a source for [Compute]?”

Isobel nodded. “Took a while, but the person who has it should arrive soon. I’ll do so many things! Speaking of doing things, what’re our plans after Treeka? Did you find a Fragment?”

Dema essentially jumped from her seat in excitement. “Fragment was an arm!”

Bell frowned. “An arm? You are saying that System Quest is leading you to another sealed-off person?”

“It’s just an arm so far,” Theora said. “Also, while it is life-sized, it appears to be made of some type of ceramic. Maybe the arm of a doll. There is no telling if the other Fragments will have a similar shape.”

Bell nodded. “Still, it points toward a certain direction.”

“I was thinking of finding another Fragment in the far east,” Theora said. “Probably two or three years of travel from here.”

“East…” Bell squinted. “East. What’s east? There’s the desert, and then the Peninsula of Vor. Where Heofen is.” Hearing that name made Theora flinch. “That alone will take a year to cross, it’s massive. There is a Fragment there?”

“Vor is actually only half of that peninsula,” Theora said. “There is a mountain range at its east end, and in the past, it used to widen again on the other side. Due to a catastrophe, that other half was sealed off a long time ago.”

“Wait,” Bell said, and frowned. She massaged her temples with a hair tendril, lost in thought for a moment. “Wait. I’ve never been there, but… Are those the Forbidden Lands? The parts they don’t even put on maps?”

Theora clenched her fork, and gave a nod. “My former training grounds.”

Bell huffed. “You know, it’s weird, travelling with you, because I tend to forget how incredibly old you are. That area is ancient. Those were your training grounds? Ridiculous. How old are you?”

“Hey!” Dema chirped. “No age shaming! Or Isobel’s gonna be sad.”

At the sudden drop of her name, she clacked up from munching on cookies. “What?” she blurted out, accidentally firing out a few crumbs, which she then immediately set to gather back.

“Why, you’re a fossil. That’s gonna make you what, some few hundred million years old?”

“True,” Iso let out, staring as if she only now realised she was the oldest among them. She seemed almost proud of that. “Yea. Mom, mommy — Listen to your elder! But I’m also curious how old the two of you are. I think I can only date back Bell with relative accuracy.”

Dema put her chin in her hand, and hummed a smoky hum. “Well,” she went, “I don’t really know. Cube didn’t have days nor seasons, was always the same starry sky. No clue how long I was in there. But! Li’l rabbit said they had to wait ten thousand years for the scroll to be effective on me, so it must be at least that.”

“The myths about the Ancient Evil are not well documented,” Bell added. “We don’t have a clear timeline of your life. The most accurate estimations must lie in the scholarly libraries of Theora’s home town, since they specialise in research of old beings. However, from what Theora told us, the data must have already been vague when she was born.” At that, Bell gave Theora a thoughtful look.

It was true. Back when Theora had been given her lifetime task, history had already washed away most accurate accounts of the Ancient Evil. That said, sometimes, history degraded fast. If not carefully preserved, it could wash away in decades. 

As such, even Theora could not give an accurate estimate of the time Dema had spent in her prison — she only knew it was longer than she’d been alive herself. And, even though Theora’s memory of the entirety of her existence was bad overall and constantly deteriorating, the exact dates could still be retrieved through the timestamps of the quest logs she had from her work for the Hero Project.

Which proved Dema had been gone for a long time indeed.

“Alright,” Isobel let out, tilting her head, eyes toward the sky. “So we don’t know how long Dema was sealed. But! How old were you when it happened? Do you remember?”

“Yeah,” Dema said. “I remember because it was my birthday.”

“What?” Bell stared. “You got sealed on your birthday?”

“Yeah.” For a moment, Dema’s eyes turned glassy, and then she shrugged. “That’s how the hero battalion knew where I’d be in advance. Cause of the celebration! So they could coordinate the capture.”

“That is horrifying,” Bell blurted out, and then swallowed, catching herself. “How old were you?”

“Why,” Dema let out, beaming. “I’d just turned eighty-six.”

A cold wave rushed down Theora’s back.

“Oh… wait, that means you were out longer after than you were out before,” Iso mused, frowning as she realised she was producing word salad. “You spent most of your free life with mom!”

Not a single muscle in Theora’s body was obeying her. She sat there stunned, hoping that at any point, Dema would call it a joke, or admit to lying. She couldn’t even talk.

Dema giggled softly. “Yeah. She’s my life now.” She sent over a look, but Theora couldn’t reciprocate.

“So,” Bell murmured after regaining her composure. “If I understand it correctly, that means we form an alliance, wait to receive [Compute], and then visit Treeka. And then go east. That’s our plan? Or we split. None stays behind, and we go back and make sure to stabilise Treeka in the meantime? In either case, maybe we should turn in for the night. It’s going to be dark soon, and we’d need to leave early tomorrow. None and I are staying at a little lodging for heroes, there’s enough space there for you to join us. It’s a small home, but it’s just us there right now.”

“Sounds good,” Dema said and nodded. “Oh, you think we can add more people to the alliance when it’s made? Like, Balinth and Hell, for example. Then we could talk to them even if we’re not in Hallmark. And their daughter! And her son!”

Bell rested her head on her tentacle hand with a squish. “Sure. We’re on our way to Hallmark anyway. Invites have to be sent in person.”

Their plans settled, the four set off to the lodgings. Dema ended up colourfully retelling her Observatory adventures the entire way, getting engrossed comments from Isobel every second.

“This is interesting,” Bell mused at one point. “The story was written while the Afterthought plague was ongoing, right? I wonder how much that plague influenced the writing. The Afterthoughts pouring in like Errata, and a sole heroine able to withstand them, breaking the rules of the world in the process. I can see why it would have been your favourite story. Especially considering the main character is a schemer too.”

“Right,” Dema said. “And yeah. People knew about the—” She made a twisting motion with her hands. “Get rotated, planet!”

Isobel turned her head. “The what?”

As if that would explain anything, Dema just repeated her gesture with more grandeur. 

“Speaking of Lostina and you,” Bell then continued, “Being schemers is not your only parallel, is it?”

“Oh?” Dema asked. “What else?”

“Well, I mean, since you are a demon, and self-determination being such an important theme in the story.”

Dema frowned. “Wait, what?”

Isobel looked at Bell questioningly too. “What do you mean?”

Bell seemed a little overwhelmed by the sudden scrutiny. “I just mean that — you would have picked one when you came here. After all, demons don’t have genders in hell.”

“Oh,” Dema let out, then laughed. “Yeah, that’s true. But I didn’t pick. Just like my name, I had my mother choose mine.”

That made Isobel perk up. “Like you chose for me?”

Dema gave a hesitant half-nod. “Yeah, kinda? Well, I asked her before choosing a shape when I was exiled to the surface because I figured she’d know me best. And it’s not like we can’t change things after the fact. Oh yeah, if you ever wanna change your appearance, lemme know! I’m a certified rock-surgeon.”

Isobel giggled. “I’m happy with what you made for me for now, thank you.”

It was at this point that, despite the fog in her head, Theora noticed two auras approaching. Not that they had suddenly appeared — more so that by now, it was clear they were headed to meet them. She tensed up, even though in and of itself, it should not be a cause for concern.

The two presences caught up at the lodgings, appearing on the road to their right. One of them was a woman with lime green hair and red eyes, pink skin and a skimpy outfit. The other had soft features and braided hair, wearing a long scarf. By now, Bell was staring at them too, while Dema and Iso seemed completely oblivious to their presence, still talking about To Hell With the Author. Bell threw a short glance at Theora to make sure they were on the same page, and Theora nodded in response.

“Hey there!” the woman shouted, raising her hand far above her head in a wink. Once she had everyone’s attention, her joyous expression melted into sober gloom. 

“Hey!” Isobel greeted back, and started jogging towards them with clackety-clacks, followed by Dema and Bell. However, once they arrived, the green-haired woman simply acknowledged them with a nod, and they walked past, headed for Theora, coming to a halt in front of her.

The soft-featured man bowed, still looking into her eyes, head tilted downwards. He asked, “Are we speaking to the Sun?”

Theora nodded.

The two exchanged a glance. The woman took a deep breath, and eased her clenching fists. “Theora, Sun of Heofen, I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” She bowed as well. “My name is Halla,” she continued, “and this is Wels. We have come to find you in dire times. If you could allow us to arrange a meeting between you and some selected diviners and scholars…”

“Dire times,” Theora echoed. “What happened?”

The two exchanged another glance; more painful this time.

“Our task was to find you,” Wels said. “We are not qualified to accurately describe the situation. Our words might be misunderstood. Communication should be left to those who…” He trailed off.

“Please,” Halla came to his rescue, “Now that we found you, we can arrange for their transport. Tomorrow at noon, in the Grove. Would you be able to receive them?”

The Grove. It was a small location a small way further into the settlement. Theora nodded.

They gave short bows, repeated them toward Theora’s companions, and then, they gave their goodbyes.

This didn’t bode well. Being treated with that much undue respect could only mean they knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of. And the fact that the System hadn’t simply given her a quest to take care of it but sent people to arrange a meeting instead meant it wasn’t something Theora could even handle alone.

Bell looked similarly confused. “I didn’t receive any information,” she said. “Must be a large operation that doesn’t require my expertise.”

“Or perhaps it doesn’t have anything to do with the System?” Isobel asked.

Bell shook her head. “Possible, but these two are part of the Hero Project. In any case, I suppose Theora will find out more tomorrow. No use dwelling on it. Let’s get a good night’s rest to prepare.”

She turned to the door and went inside, and Isobel cluttered after.

Meanwhile, Theora’s gaze was still glued on where the two had disappeared into another alley between houses. She was barely present. Her head was empty.

“Gonna join?” Dema asked, and reached out for Theora’s hand. The moment their fingers touched, Theora pulled away, regretting it instantly. Dema looked surprised.

After taking a deep breath and giving a short nod, and burying her hands in folds of her cloak, Theora stepped towards the door as well, and, once inside, immediately got herself ready for bed. She washed up, changed clothes, and went to the room Bell had indicated, and felt awful upon finding it a bedroom for two.

She lay there for a long time, unable to fall asleep. 

It didn’t make any sense. Dema, obsessed with immortality, the very person who couldn’t remember people’s faces because they would be poof, gone shortly after? Theora had imagined that to be the result of a long-lived experience. That Dema had seen people wither around her from old age for centuries or millennia.

Perhaps that assumption was wrong. Maybe Dema had seen many people die in that short life of hers — not from old age, but because of something else. Theora remembered flashes of that day, decades ago, when they’d strolled through the rubble of a destroyed harbour town. She’d rarely seen Dema so upset.

Or, maybe, Dema had spent so much time alone that she simply became unable to recognise faces.

Theora’s head was spinning. They’d left Treeka behind to die. And tomorrow, Theora would receive ominous news. Thousands of thoughts kept circling her mind, clouding it and drawing the life out of her. 

It took a while for Dema to join; maybe she’d been chatting with Isobel, or maybe she’d pondered why Theora would have rejected her touch. She came in with a smile, ready for bed.

That smile soon turned into concern, and she tilted her head. “Not feeling well?”

Theora didn’t want to lie, but couldn’t tell the truth either. So, she simply nodded. 

After a few wobbly steps, Dema crouched next to Theora’s bed.

Eighty-six. Dema had been eighty-six.

“We’ll help Treeka,” Dema said. “It’s not storm season. And she’s strong. Saw her sheet!” Vigorous nods faded into a warm gaze. “Lemme know if I can cheer you up somehow.” She lifted a finger and gently touched Theora’s nose. “Boop!”

Theora turned her head into her pillow, pressing it in as deep as she could.

Then she wept.