Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The multiverse is a strange thing, really. This idea that there could be multiple versions of a singular thing across several different times and space. This idea that there are multiple versions of a singular person who shows up fairly frequently across all timelines, and that they change each time just slightly; a singular, minute difference that causes a ripple throughout the timeline. This idea is at least somewhat comprehensible. What isn’t so much so, is finding out there is someone who is like you in so many different ways, but is also someone oh-so completely different.

Now, imagine you switch realities with that person—at least one version of that person—and are trapped in a foreign land. No escape, no way to cry for help. No way home. Nothing but four strangers who have blades your throat, and an emotional support badger. The unfortunate reality that Mudd currently lives in, suffers in.

Twelve hours earlier:

“Alright guys, are we ready to head out?” Kyborg asks, placing his hands on his hips. Nestled tightly in the crook of his metal arm, the newly added ruby-colored Diagem beats quietly, an additional heartbeat alongside his own. The two thump together in tandem, but it’s something that he’ll have to get more comfortable with over time. 

“I suppose, but in my personal opinion, it’s still way too early in the morning.” Mudd finishes rolling up his sleeping supplies and stuffs them into his pack. “Do we have any idea what to do now?”

“Uhhhh… Go find the location of another Diagem, I guess? Yeah?”

Mudd cocks his head, an embarrassed, awkward smile drawn on his lips. “Uh huh… and uh how did we do that again?...”

“The bow!” Gum-Gum jumps up, overtly enthusiastically. His massive hat falling over his eyes in the process. “Kyborg use your bow!”

Right… his new bow. Kyborg reaches behind him and grabs his mother’s bow out from its spot in his quiver. In his hand, he almost swears it glistens, despite being made entirely of wood. He tries to make it do anything, preferably leading them in the direction of the nearest Diagem. It brought them here to this one, so it should, in theory, also be able to locate the next one.

He does about anything he can think of: twirling in his hands, whispering to it, shooting arrows from it… tossing it. Despite all his effort, none of it seems to work. It appears to now just be a boring ol’ bow. Even though he feels the power coursing through it just inside its rough exterior.

“Yeah guys. I- I don’t think this is going to work. It’s not doing anything, and especially not pointing me in the direction of no Diagem.” He plops his butt down on the fresh powder and falls backwards, frustrated.

Hovering over him and making direct (uncomfortable) eye contact, Bart suggests, “Here I have something that might give us a hint,” and whips out his blue sending stone. 

“You seriously think Dr. Ahem is gonna be able to give us any sort of hint? The guy is all the way back in Boulderay, and is just about as clueless as us.”

“I dunno, Kyborg. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try~” Bart winks and sticks out his tongue.

“I trust you, Bart!” Gum-Gum affirms from his spot around the mostly picked up campsite. He’s just sitting in the snow as well, waiting for the other three to be done getting ready for departure. He’s usually the first to get packed up, despite hoarding the most stuff. However, Kyborg guesses that the half-orc probably has a special designated spot in his pack for each individual object.

“Aye, thanks Gum-Gum. I know I can always count on you.” With a flick of his wrist, Bart turns on the sending stone and speaks his twenty-five word message into it. Kyborg fails to understand either side of the exchange, just watching as the stone surges in power, illuminating a bright hue of blue. “Alright, somehow the good ol’ Doctor knows that there’s one in the ‘Flats of Tabul’... apparently. Says we have to go through Pyous Pass again and get a guide. Interested to know where he got this new information though…”

“The dude’s got a brain, I don’t see any problems here. Maybe someone in the church had information.” Kyborg lifts the straps of his pack over his shoulders, being careful as to not cover quick access to his quiver. “Besides, when has he ever steered us wrong? It’s more of a lead than the rest of us have got.” 

“Pyous Pass… That’s all the way on the other side of the ocean,” Mudd comments, annoyed, staring intently at the creased map in his hands. 

“Yup. You’d better hurry up and ‘bird up’ so we can get there before someone else has the opportunity to take that Diagem then. Good thing we all managed to rest for a few hours, cause I’m not all that keen on having a repeat of what happened to Evirwinter and the slaughter of another group of people for this stupid thing.” He clenches his fists subconsciously, wanting his sweet, sweet revenge. And he’ll get it soon too, he can feel it. 

Bart turns to face the firbolg. “Do you think you’re able to make it all the way there as of right now? I know it's far, but looking at this,” he makes his way over to the map and points at it, “Most of the ride ends up to be over the ocean. There won’t be too many obstacles to dodge besides the wind. And even then, if the weather cooperates with us today, maybe there won't be much, if any, wind to deal with. I was a pirate, trust me I would know the oceans and their wind behaviors.”

“Fine, yeah I’ll do it. Both of you guys make fair points. Bart, get the Ahem-mobile in flight mode, and I’ll lead it. Just give me a few more minutes to finish all this up.” Mudd also throws his pack on his back, leaving him to take care of the last few Gumbo related things.

As he walks away into a no-so-far clearing, Bart pumps his fists slightly, grateful for the quick ride they’ve secured. Despite being turned away from Kyborg, the elf easily figures out the motions and the reasoning behind them. He shares the sentiment as well.

Not too much time later, the campsite they shared for the night is all packed up, leaving a cleared, snow-covered ground. It is like they were never here at all, aside from several small holes, indentations, and footprints. While the other three are loading up the flying machine, Kyborg walks around the surrounding woods of Evirwinter, just soaking it all in for what might actually be the last time. At least, he doesn’t particularly plan on coming back for the next century or so. 

He takes in the smell of the trees, and the way they feel as he runs his hand through them. The way the snow trickles down from the sky lightly, as it usually does in the morning. The sound snowdrifts make when accidentally fallen into. All of it. He’ll miss it, he certainly will, but it’s time to move on to different things. To live in a more… civilized… nation. Much like he is now, and he sure loves it.

“Kyborg, are you almost done? It’s time to go. We’re leaving.” He hears Bart’s voice call through the dense conifers. He stares off into the farther darkness of the woods one last time and turns around, headed back towards the direction of the others. Amidst the clearing, he spots a large flying contraption with an even larger bat attached to it. Sitting inside it, a Bart and a Gum-Gum are both waving at him, waiting for him to hop in—and so he does. 

He chooses the empty seat on the rear wall, and rests his back against it. “Bat today, huh,” he comments, receiving a simple screech-like response from Mudd. On his left, Bart releases Gumbo from his grasp and explains, “Yeah, Gum-Gum was interested in what other flying animals—if any—that Mudd could turn into. Apparently a giant bat is one of them.” 

“Flying dinosaurs are not on that list, sadly,” Gum-Gum adds, a twinge of disappointment lingering in his voice. 

“Hey you know, Gum-Gum, that might eventually change. Just like how you weren’t able to do magic at the start of this adventure, think of how much you can do now!” Bart encourages. “You never know, maybe one day we’ll get flying-dinosaur-Mudd.” 

While watching the interaction bounce back and forth between the two, Gumbo paws at Kyborg’s legs, his sharp claws getting stuck in the pant creases. “Awh, do you want up, Gumbo? I know, I know, Bart released you from his lap. Don’t worry, I’ll be a just as good safety-belt.” He scoops up the badger with both arms, and holds him securely in his own lap. Barely a moment later, Mudd flaps his extravagant wings, and they take to the snowy skies. 

Kyborg’s never seen Evirwinter from this vantage point before, but to be fair, the number of people who have probably isn’t very high to begin with. From the ground, the trees are tall, seemingly reaching upwards forever. However at this height, they’re nothing but little pointed stubs. He watches with small tears in his eyes as the forest gets further and further from view, how it switches from dense trees to a flat, icy landscape, then to a sea of open water. He mentally says his official goodbye to Evirwinter. Says goodbye to his ruined village, says goodbye to his family.

Gradually, the air begins to warm up as they enter the area above the wide, open ocean. Although, it’s not too much of a difference, considering their altitude. He’s just grateful that Gumbo is simply laying on him, keeping his legs warmer than they would be otherwise. And just as Bart predicted before, the wind isn’t all that aggressive, just a light breeze that hits him from the east. As the day progresses onwards, the sun gets higher in the sky, beating its rays down on them; it prepares them for the hotter weather of Pyous Pass. 

Eventually, hours after they took off, a meaty landmass finally becomes visible; a sore sight to see after nothing but a vastness of clear water. There’s nothing interesting to watch over the ocean. If he was lucky, Kyborg would spot a boat or two sailing below, but that was it. Now, however, he has a whole desert to familiarize himself with once more. Miles upon miles of sand, and high, arenaceous hills.

The flying machine begins to descend, and Kyborg holds Gumbo tightly against his chest. The badger’s claws dig into his collarbone, but he doesn’t mind all that much; he’s had much worse. If the added pain means their cute traveling buddy doesn’t fall overboard, he’ll gladly take it all. Part of him wishes that he takes Fred with them out and about, similar to how Mudd takes Gumbo, but he knows it’s for the best that the fox stays home where he’s safe. Before long, they're all once again accompanied by the dusty ground, the wheels of the transport dragging marks behind them. And then everything stops moving, planted firmly in the heart of their destination. 

“Nailed it.” Bart comments, leaping over the side of the flying machine. Once on the ground, Kyborg hands him Gumbo, and does a strategic backflip over the otherside. 

He walks over to the panting Mudd, still transformed as a bat, and pats him a few times on the back; an appreciation of a job well-done. He just receives an exaggerated huff in response, Mudd visibly worn out from the nonstop hours of work. “Dude, you good?”

The giant bat’s form dissipates, unearthing a normal, firbolg Mudd—who instantly collapses to the floor. “No.” He chokes out through heavy breathes, struggling to inhale and exhale properly. “Just… just give me a minute, Kyborg. Then we… can make our way into the town. It’s already way too hot here, dear Dia above.” 

“Alright… just take it easy dude. We don’t need you out of commission this early in the investigation.” Kyborg goes to help Bart and Gum-Gum unload and pack away the cart, but not before glancing over his shoulder several times, checking on the state of his comrade. Around them, Gumbo prances around in the desert, similarly to how he was in the snow, not having explored this type of environment before. He jumps up and down like a dolphin, and digs his paws through the ground’s grains. By the time they’ve successfully dismantled the Ahem-mobile, there’s a hole deep enough to fit up to Kyborg’s knee. 

“Bart, you should just take… two… steps backwards,” the elf observes with a cheeky smile, his telltale sign of mischief. Not to mention the way his voice raises slightly at the tailend of his sentence.

Having known how Kyborg is, Bart does the exact opposite, and turns around to see what the hazard is. “You’re not subtle. Like at all. But nice try my dude.” He gives a small, breathy laugh, and taps at the archer’s arm a few times. “You’ll get 'em next time pal. Not me, but maybe one of the other two.”

“Not me either, but not because you’re not subtle—which you’re not,” Mudd joins them finally, having recovered some, “—but because I just don’t listen to you.” 

“I’m gonna laugh when that comes to bite you in the ass. I, for one, give out excellent advice and observations.” 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say there, Kyborg.” Mudd scoops up the overly-excited Gumbo from his home in the sand, and begins towards Pyous Pass, just in the distance. 

The other three follow in his footsteps, Bart next to Mudd, and Kyborg and Gum-Gum at the back. Gum-Gum keeps in a comfortable stride alongside the leaders, but Kyborg starts to struggle to keep up. The heat starts to get to him. There’s a reason he hated coming here the first time. Except somehow this time is already worse. He is a creature of the cold, was just enveloped in all of its glory! Now, however, he’s here in the polar opposite environment, nothing but heat, sand, and somehow even more heat. He’s never wanted to tear off his clothes more, but for the sake of everything good he won’t. Part of him is just impressed that the excruciating warmth has already gotten to him this quickly.

“Kyborg are you okay?” Gum-Gum asks, having stopped walking and actively waits for the other to catch up. 

“Yeah, yep. I’m good, Gum-Gum. We- we just gotta get to the town. Then I’ll be good. Great, even.”

The boy cocks his head slightly to the side. “But you weren’t okay last time we were here.” 

“Pyous Pass is just right there, I literally see it. We’ve just got to make it there. Come on, let’s go.” Kyborg attempts to continue onward, his legs sluggishly dragging in the deep sand. Under his breath he mumbles, “Stupid sand, stupid heat. Dammit Mudd, why couldn’t you have gotten us even just a little bit closer.” 

On his back, he feels a gentle tap, one given to him by Gum-Gum. He turns to face the younger, sweat dripping down his arm. This time, Gum-Gum wears his bag on his torso instead of his back. “Kyborg get on my back,” he speaks plainly. 

“I- what no. I’m good, it’s just right there.” 

“So I’ll just carry you to there.” Gum-Gum beams with open arms. “Please, it’ll make it go faster.” 

“Mmm… fine. Thanks, Gum-Gum.” Kyborg sucks up his pride, and steps behind Gum-Gum, who’s squatting down. He jumps up slightly, with only a bit of a struggle, and curls his legs inwards, allowing them to be carried with ease. After wrapping his arms around the boy’s neck, they take off, finishing out the final stretch to the main entrance of Pyous Pass. 

As much as he hates to admit it, the ride is nice, allowing him a moment to rest his head on the half-orc’s broad shoulders. And it surely doesn’t require nearly as much effort if he were the one walking, which is always a bonus. However, it doesn’t last long, as they catch up with the others in no time at all, it feels. 

“Well, well, well. Looky who finally decided to join us. Did you need a bit of a rest there, Kyborg? Was that several-hour sky ride not long enough for ya’?” Bart snickers quietly as Kyborg dismounts from his ride, feet returning to the hot sand.

“Hah hah, very funny, Bart. I’ll have you know for not sleeping properly in over two weeks, I’m severally well rested. Perfectly fine, perfectly well. Can’t a guy just have a nice little shoulder ride every once and a while?” He reaches his arms high into the air, stretching them out. 

“You’re overheating again, aren’t you. I see it on your sweaty ass arm,” Mudd comments from his spot on the ground, also visibly overheating. He mumbles to himself, “Maybe we ought to have worn clothes that suited this climate better… Guess we didn’t think that far, or about the drastic temperature difference between here and Evirwinter.”

“Oh you’re one to talk, you’re literally sitting on the ground like a dying animal. How about we just call this one even and get on with it. I’m sure the people of Pyous Pass missed us so much. Why don’t we go say ‘hi.’” Kyborg uses up the strength that he saved thanks to Gum-Gum, and struts confidently into the main square of the town. Absolutely not a care in the world. At least the path here is paved and he’s no longer just stepping on tiny grains.

“Does anyone else get the feeling that this place is like, I dunno… abandoned?” Bart looks around at the rickety wooden buildings, not a single pye in sight. The Pyous Pass of before was sprung with life, villagers going about their days happily. Conversations heard from the streets, and the sound of music echoing outward from the parlor. This time it’s just quiet; a ghost town, even. 

“Yeah… something’s definitely up here.” The archer whips out his bow and draws an arrow from his quiver, prepared for the first sight of danger. A stark contrast, emotion wise.

“Maybe the pyes heard that we were coming. They weren’t very happy with us last time… killing their priest,” Gum-Gum adds with his usual unbridled optimism. “And maybe stealing from them, and destroying their jail.”

“Oh please, we did them a favor with all that shit. This is something else.”

A dark shadow forms overhead, washing over them. Mudd looks upwards at the sky, but the clouds aren’t overcast whatsoever. The other three reciprocate the motion, also not finding anything. It feels like they’re being watched. “I’m gonna go fly around and see what I can find…” And the druid contorts himself into a small bird, taking to the skies. 

Only after a few minutes, does he return to the party. 

“Anything?” Kyborg and Bart ask in unison. 

“Nothin'. Nothin' at all.” Mudd shakes out of his druidcraft, returning to his firbolg state. “We should look around in the buildings, but not let our guard down. Kyborg’s right, there’s something not right here.”

They make their way through the buildings systematically, checking and clearing them, Kyborg never once putting down his longbow. Unsurprisingly, there’s no one around in any of them. Completely empty, with the saloon still having plates of food left out on tables. From the looks of everything, the pyes all fled in a hurry, whatever happened here. The only building left is his personal least-favorite: the jail.

Finishing out the loop they’ve been walking in, they end up in front of the town’s detainment center. The door has been boarded up, alongside the few windows that the place does have. As their party has a not-so-great reputation with doors, Mudd forcefully kicks down the barricade, granting them easy access. 

Inside is the same as Kyborg remembers, minus the gaping him-sized hole in the ceiling. Part of him is sad that they fixed it. Shielding from the burning sun is a great blessing, however. He scans the few cells that occupy the space as well as the desk tucked away at the very back, looking for any sign of life. Seated at the desk, he spots the first pye they’ve seen yet. Though, not one that he particularly enjoys. 

The sheriff looks up at the four of them from her set of papers scattered around her workspace. “What are you guys doin’ here again. What do you want?” 

“Uh hello there, Sheriff. Nice to see you again too,” Bart greets, an aura of petty confidence radiating off him. “We’re just here because we need a guide to the Flats of Tabul, and were told that you guys are the people to talk to… But it seems we came at the wrong time.”

“Damn right you have. All of my people have gone missin’, and I’m currently trying to figure out where they all went,” Sheriff Guv snaps back. Her tired eyes narrow at them, clearly frustrated and exhausted.

Mudd clears his throat. “Is there anything we can do to help find your people?” 

“Matter of a fact, there is. The deputy n’ I have been tryin’ to catch these tabulians that have been snatchin’ up our folks left and right with no luck. What I want y’all to do is to bait these wretched creatures out so we can capture one, and make them tell us where everyone went. Got it?” She eyes them intently, a firm hand placed on her whip.

The four of them share a collective look of concern, debating whether or not this is something that they’re all willing to get themselves mixed up in. Gum-Gum in particular wears his strong emotions on his face, making their collective decision. “Okay, we’ll do it!”

Sheriff Guv’s face brightens up slightly, a shred of hope glistening in her eyes. She reaches down beneath the table, grabbing something in her hands, and returns to them once more. “Alright then, glad to hear it. The tabulians hide up at the top of the buildings, masked in the shadows—watching and waiting for their next victim. So whatever you do, do not let yourselves get picked up, or I guess you’ll be mixed in with everyone else.” Then, she ushers them to the secret passage that leads outside. 

Kyborg’s eyes widen slightly at the thought of being carried away, and grips the bow tighter in his hand, not having put it fully down since they entered town. The whole situation is a messy one; something that he doesn’t particularly believe they should be involving themselves in… but at least they’ll be helping people and hopefully getting answers at the end of it. 

They walk down the dark tunnel for a while, before reaching the end of it, the sun immediately being cast right back onto them. The elf immediately regrets leaving the sanctity of the shade, having just gotten used to its coolness. The faster they can handle this, the faster he’ll be free from the heat once more.

Before stepping out into the sun alongside everyone else, Mudd takes the badger off his shoulders, placing him on the ground. “Gumbo, stay. Be a good boy and protect the stuff and this tunnel, got it?” 

Together, the four of them make their way into the middle of the square, awaiting trouble to hit them dead on. Gum-Gum uses the power of his one brain cell, and ties the four of them together with one of the ropes he usually hordes away, claiming “they’ll be useful someday.” Kyborg supposes the half-orc was finally right. 

The sheriff and the deputy successfully tucked away in their respective hiding spots, the four Infinights wait like sitting ducks. After much longer than what was originally speculated, a shadow finally obscures the light, saving Kyborg from sweating profusely. 

Then, the tabulians swoop down at them like hungry vultures. 

To Kyborg, the whole fight is a blur. He shoots a few arrows into the air, and watches simultaneously as Mudd and Gum-Gum have a kerfuffle with the creatures in the sky. He blinks for one second, and the fighting has ceased. All he knows now is that Gum-Gum is on the ground, trapped under a net alongside the tabulians. Also that Mudd had at some point became a cat, and is currently being carefully cradled by Bart. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care to know. Kyborg’s just glad they got the job done with more or less no bloodshed. Well… no death. The exact details don’t really matter to him, he just gets to go back inside now, thank Dia herself.

Those not trapped underneath the imprisonment drag it towards the jailhouse, Mudd at one point peeling away to grab both their stuff, but also Gumbo. They then all reconvene at the building, shoving Gum-Gum and the three caught tabulians into the furthest cell from the previously barricaded door. 

Sheriff Guv is the first to speak, pissed. Her deputy stood proudly next to her. “Where did you take all of the pyes? And don’t you dare think about lyin’ to me!”

They don’t respond, huddled together neatly in the corner, out-casting Gum-Gum. They simply hiss in the party’s direction, their long, split tongues curling menacingly. 

Quietly, the three communicate. Hushed whispers about some artifact that they're looking for, and how it’s going to be their saving grace, their ticket to rebirth. To home. And how it’s just out of their reach, somewhere incredibly nearby.

Kyborg’s ears twitch, eavesdropping heavily on the conversation. And while he certainly doesn’t understand the conversation, he notes it in his mind, deeming it important. Once they're done, he pulls Mudd and Bart away, informing them of his finds.

“Did you guys get that? Something about a tabulian artifact nearby. That might be our bargaining chip to win these guys over.” 

Mudd cocks his head to the right. “You understood all that?”

“Uhh, yeah? You guys didn’t,” Kyborg asks, confused. 

“Definitely not. That was all in draconic, Kyborg. You speak it?” 

“Huh. I guess I do. Cool. But that's besides the point. What do we think, should we go look for this thing? Is that a good idea?”

“I mean I’m not sure they’re going to really talk to us without it. Wouldn’t really hurt to have a look. We can leave Gum-Gum here and see if he’s able to get anything from them one-on-one,” Bart offers, receiving a collective thumbs up from the other two. The halfling returns to the cell. “Gum-Gum, stay here and talk with them. Make new friends. We’ll be back soon, alright?” 

“Okay!” Gum-Gum nods enthusiastically. 

They re-search through several of the other buildings before landing in the Give-In-Take. Having already been inside, they know what to expect. Just a bare store, the multitude of interesting items that once stocked the shelves have now all but vanished. The three of them dig around the store, but this time with legal consent. Truth be told, the place appears to be nothing but a boring store. 

“Guys, are we sure the artifact we’re looking for is here? Maybe the tabulians were wrong,” Kyborg huffs, frustrated with their lack of anything useful. He kicks at the carpet sprawled out across the wooden floors. To his surprise, however, nothing gets lifted up. 

The lack of a reaction catches Bart’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He turns to fully face it. “Huh, that’s… interesting. Kyborg do that again.” 

So the elf complies, once again kicking the edge of the carpet repeatedly. Furthermore, nothing happens. 

“Mudd, c’mere. Look at this weird carpet.” The two attempt to call over the third Infinight. 

“Mate it just looks like a stereotypical carpet. I don’t see what’s unusual about it.” Mudd raises an eyebrow at them with hands on his hips, unamused. From his shoulders, Gumbo chirps towards them, protesting his owner. “Okay fine. Since Gumbo wants me to, I will.”

Like the group of idiots they are, they squat in a circle around the mysterious carpet, seeking to understand why it doesn’t move. After sitting there for five minutes without any new information, Kyborg suggests: “Maybe it’s magical. Like a spell was placed on it, or somethin.’ I dunno. Mudd?”

“You’re seriously going to make me do everything?”

“Yes!” He does his stupid cheeky smile, pleased with himself. 

Mudd groans, but obliges anyway. His annoyance isn’t sincere, just the type of guy he is. Closing his eyes, he opens himself to sense magic within the vicinity. The two freeloaders stare intently, waiting for some sort of answer. In no time, he blinks a few times, snapping back the normal state of being. “You cannot be serious.” 

“What is it? What did you find?” Bart inquires excitedly, rushing to Mudd’s side, bumping their shoulders together. 

“There’s some sort of protection spell cast on this rug. I cannot believe these words are about to come out of my mouth, but Kyborg was right. We just have to break the enchantment.” 

“—And I’m willing to bet there’s something beneath this. Something special. If I had to guess, it's probably the artifact that we’re looking for.” Kyborg fully stands up and stretches out his legs and back. He steps off the rug, allowing for one of the spellcasters to dispel the magic. 

“Bart, it’s your turn. I found the source of the problem, you get to solve it.” 

“Well as much as I would love to,” the halfling talks with his hands flamboyantly, “I unfortunately don’t have that kinda magic. Sorry. This is back to you pal.” Bart stands up and pats the druid on the shoulder, a mix of an apology, but also an act of encouragement. 

Mudd eyes Bart slightly and bends over, placing his hands on top of the carpet. Gumbo nearly falls off his back in the process, but manages to catch himself, remaining clung on. Under his breath Mudd mutters to himself, knowing fully well the other two are able to hear. “Am I the only damn Infinight capable of doing anything? Dear Dia above.” He removes himself from the ground, having performed his own magic. “Alright, I did it. Have at it, Kyborg.”

Having gotten the go-ahead, Kyborg confidently rolls up the rug, actually moving it this time. Just as he suspected, there lies a hatch, hidden away from the rest of the world. Curious, he opens it, revealing a set of steep stairs, leading deep underground. “Ah-hah! See told you, Mudd. Secret staircase.” 

The two snicker at Kyborg, Bart nearly keeling over in the process. “Those aren’t stairs. It’s a ladder.” 

He sputters, “I- what no! Those clearly are stairs!” 

“No, Kyborg. It’s a ladder. Very clearly too. I think you may have to get those eyes of yours checked out,” Mudd corrects. 

Immediately, his cheeks flush, embarrassed. The tips of his ears burn; this time not from the heat. He throws himself down the ladder, attempting to do it with his bow still drawn, but ends up unable to and tosses it at the bottom, where he eventually picks it back up. As much as he won’t admit it, it truly was just a stupid, simple ladder. 

The basement cellar is exactly how he would expect it, damp and dark. But since he’s so cool and awesome, and whatever, he sees perfectly fine. He’s the eyes for the other two, who aren’t able to easily notice things in the shadows. The place is for the most part bare, with a few pieces of old furniture stacked neatly at the foot of the back wall. Cobwebs dangle dangerously from the ceiling, which briefly freaks him out, but it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Especially since he has a spider-loving druid in the party with him. However, there is something much more interesting of note to him down here. And if he had to guess, it’s probably the reason there’s magic radiating down here. 

“There, in the middle: a chest.” He points out, guiding the other two towards it. 

“Yeah a chest in the middle of a creepy basement, that’s not suspicious at all,” Bart remarks, rolling his eyes playfully. Despite himself, he reaches a hand inside the chest, instantaneously getting his arm chomped down on. As fast as he can manage, the bard retracts his arm back from the monster, shaking off the pain. “Right, okay uhm, guys. I wouldn’t put your arm in there, it bites.” 

“Would you be able to put your mage hand in there instead?” Mudd suggests, clearly over being the only one making any sort of progress in their task.

Bart taps his chin wisely, acting as if he thought of the idea himself. “Perhaps I could do that. Would certainly hurt less that way.” Out of seemingly nowhere, a glowing, blue incorporeal hand appears and rummages through the goods, much like how its commander usually does. It pulls out a slew of items, ranging from a basic looking potion, to random goods usually displayed in the store. 

“Well… none of these look like the ‘prized artifact.’ Especially not this potion, but considering the rest are just things being sold here, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this might be it. And if it’s not, we can just pocket it and have another look around here later.” Kyborg swirls around the glass around in his hand, watching the liquid intently. 

“What does the label say?” The short halfling asks, squinting up at the words from a foot down. Not the easiest way of reading, to be fair.

“Decotion, or whatever. No idea what that is. Any ideas?” 

“Nope. Let’s just take it back and see what the tabulians have to say. It might mean something to them.” Mudd crosses his arms and taps his foot impatiently on the hard ground. 

Kyborg nods agreeingly. He follows behind as the other two begin to reclimb the ladder, but not without tripping on a set of chains lying haphazardly on the ground. Something he didn’t see before when he originally scanned the room. He follows it with his gaze, finding it connected to the monstrous chest they just robbed blind. Feeling sorry for the poor creature, he frees it, allowing for it to move around the basement. There’s not too much harm it could do down here, right? Having done his one good thing for the day, he makes his way upward and back to the jail. 

“Well, is this what you’ve been looking for?” Kyborg taunts the bottle decotion in front of the tabulians (and Gum-Gum’s) faces, of who have been freed from the net. 

If at all possible, their eyes light up, interest peaked in the newfound artifact. They slither towards the bars, staring directly at it. “Yes that is it. Give it to us.” The leader hisses at the elf, who immediately takes a step backward.

“If I give this to you, you have to do two things for us. One: leave Gum-Gum alone out of your schemes. I know he’s technically in there of his own volition, but that’s just because he thinks you guys are his friends. I can’t imagine the lies you’re feeding him.” 

Gum-Gum glances back and forth between his party, and the newfound group he’s found himself being cordial with. Kyborg can just see the gears churning in the boy’s head, deciding who to organize himself with.

“And the second thing?” 

“You have to take us to wherever the rest of the pyes are being held.” He swirls the portion around in his hands.

Bart steps next to him, adding to the contract, “And you have to promise our safety on the way there.”

The tabulians lower their heads slightly, narrowing their eyes at the two. “That seems like an unfair deal to us.” 

“We just spent a good chunk of precious time getting this bloody thing for you guys.” Mudd joins the conversation. On his face, an emotion Kyborg can’t read. But he knows it’s not one that he sees on the firbolg almost ever. “Clearly this means a great deal to your kind. I, for one, think this a fantastic deal. You get your cherished artifact, and we get our information.” 

The three gather into the corner of the cell, away from Gum-Gum, discussing the deal. And although Kyborg’s able to understand the entirety of the conversation, he doesn’t care what they have to say. Having made up their mind, they face the Infinights once more. “Let us out of this cell, and we’ll accept your deal.” 

Bart nods to the sheriff, who’s been just standing idly by in the corner, waiting for her to unlock the jail. She does so with a click, opening the door. 

Gum-Gum steps out first, rejoining the rest of his group, having chosen them. The three snake-like creatures come out behind him, and wait on the opposite side of the jail as them. 

Kyborg waits for confirmation from everyone else in his party, when suddenly he’s hit in the back of the leg by a heavy force: the sentient chest from before… Who has somehow found its way here? In an attempt to save himself, he trips, landing on his forearms. 

Amidst the chaos, the artifact gets knocked out of his hands. He feels it leave the grips of his fingers, and scrambles to chase after it. The tabulians seize the opportunity as well, attempting to beat Kyborg to the decoction potion. He stands up and moves his legs as fast as he can manage towards the middle of the room, to where the object has fallen, and nearly trips once more in the process. But maybe that stumble gave him the extra leverage he needed because he thankfully beat the tabulians to their prize. 

—but he didn’t beat Mudd. 

The firbolg quickly bends over to snatch it up, and retreats into a safer corner of the jail cell. That wild look from before enhanced, a face that he never wears. A face of mischief, chaos. 

“Mudd, don’t be stupid. Come on, hand it over. We still can use it as leverage.” Kyborg slowly approaches Mudd with low shoulders, almost as if he was trying to catch a small, flighty animal. “Or, y’know, keep it in your care. That works too. Just, please. Do not do anything with it.”

Only once Kyborg is basically standing directly in front of Mudd does he do anything. He looks between the decoction potion and Kyborg, as if weighing his options. After a moment, he smirks, uncorks the bottle, and downs the entire thing of liquid. 

What the fuck has gotten into him?!!

Everyone in the building pauses a moment, absolutely gob smacked by the series of events that unfolded right in front of their eyes. This is not typical Mudd behavior, he’s normally the one keeping them all out of stupid decisions; he’s never the one making the obvious wrong one!  

Mudd stands there, completely normal, as everyone stares at him for any sort of reaction. “Guys, I don’t think it did any-” then his body immediately bursts into a hot flurry of flames. The fire burns upwards, heating the roof of the jail, but nothing else ignites. There’s not even smoke being created. The blaze stays contained to him, encapsulating him in his own personal bubble of heat. His screams in agony fill the air, as the Infinights scramble to douse the fire anyway possible. 

“Uh- uh, water! Does anyone have water?!” Bart shouts, frantically searching around the building. 

“Check the cells, there might be drinking buckets somewhere in there. Or even go outside to the well!” Kyborg barks orders, while slapping Mudd. When slapping the flames away doesn’t do anything, he throws his body over top of the other’s, creating a makeshift fire blanket. 

Gum-Gum comes back with a bucket from the cell he was previously trapped in, and throws it onto the firepit. When the water hits, the flames only sizzle slightly, then surges immensely in power. The intensity of it all, forces Kyborg to get out of the heart of the heat, and stands defeated next to Gum-Gum. And maybe the crackling of the blaze is too much for him to hear, but he swears that Mudd’s screams have all but stopped. 

Next to him, the tabulians hiss, “Let us suck the poison out of the firbolg. That is the only way for the flames to be extinguished.”

“Okay, okay. Do it. Fine. Please,” Kyborg gives in, almost sounding like he’s pleading. 

“Mudd, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re gonna have to let the tabulians suck on you!” Bart shouts towards the direct of the bonfire, full on knowing that his message falls on deaf ears. 

The snake-like creatures slither in to cure Mudd of his ailments, not caring to wait for any other response. They sink their fangs into the flesh of the firbolg, expecting to find only a layer of fur. The smaller one stops early, spitting a bundle of feathers out of its mouth, before returning to suck out the remaining poison. 

Slowly over the course of a minute, the flames diminish into nothing. Instead of uncovering a normal, hairy, stubborn, Mudd, there lies a large, unconscious, black bird where the Infinight was dying but moments ago. 

“Shape changer,” the tabluians scowl in unison in their draconic language. 

Bart and Gum-Gum go in first to investigate, confusion written all over both of their faces. The younger whips out his flower staff and nudges the bird with the end of it. They stir slightly at the touch, but remain for the most part, unmoving. “Bart, are they dead?” Gum-Gum asks as Bart takes the foreigners' wrist, checking their pulse. 

“Nope. This person isn’t, at least. Mudd wherever he might be… well, uh, I don’t know. I hope he’s alright.” 

“Bart, this isn’t funny,” Kyborg states, his voice stern and uneven. He’s upset and confused, and isn’t hiding it well. “This isn’t the time to be fucking around.” 

“I’m not Kyborg. Trust me… I didn’t do this.” Bart shoots Kyborg a distressed glance, brows furrowed. 

“Well you’re the one with the disguise kit, are you not! What else- what happened here. Mudd you stubborn bastard, where did you go…” He raises his voice slightly, a wave of emotions rising through him, before quickly losing steam and lowering it. 

“Language, Kyborg. Cool it dude. Gum-Gum is right there… But, uhm, don’t worry, we’ll figure this out… somehow.”

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” The elf deflates, whipping excess sweat generated from the dissipated fire from his forehead. “...sorry.”

Deeming the act of prodding the creature with a stick boring, Gum-Gum sits on the floor in a spot near Kyborg. He stares straight forward for a while, then looks up at the other. “Maybe he just transformed into a different animal?” 

“I mean I guess it’s possible. Though… something tells me this is something different.” Bart grabs the net that they had tossed aside earlier, and throws it onto the spot where Mudd used to be, entangling the new creature in it. “But one thing at a time.” He turns his heels towards the tabulians, who have since grown wings out from their sides. “It’s time for your side of the deal: tell us where everyone went.”

Chapter Text

He clings onto Gumbo tightly, arms and chest wrapped securely around the badger, creating a safe haven away from it all. Fire surrounds them as if they were intertwined in a dance. It’s hot, it burns. Whatever agent of chaos came over him has all but disappeared. He regrets his decision; he made the mistake, he gets to pay the price for it. Squeezing his eyes shut, Mudd waits for the pain to go away. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he’ll even last long enough for the pain to go away. Part of him prepares for death. 

But all at once, the pain, the burning, the fire, it all disappears. Instead, he’s hit with a gust of cold. That kind of cold that comes from winds blowing in at the end of a cave. Mudd’s been in enough caves, he knows the feeling. However… that wouldn’t make sense whatsoever. Unless he passed out and his party moved him somewhere else? Or maybe this is the end. This is the life that comes after another life has come and went. 

He supposes the only way to know anything is by actually looking around and finding out. He tries to open his eyes, but finds it excruciatingly difficult to do so. His entire being feels heavy, as if the world itself just fell on top of him. It’s exhausting. 

It takes a while, garnering the strength to do… well anything. His moment of stupidity cost him a tremendous amount of energy. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, having drifted in and out of consciousness several times. 

In his comatose state, he dreams. Well… dreams is a strong word. He imagines things: a story about a man and a bird, both battling out on a ledge. The bird slowly gets pushed further and further towards the edge, until eventually they get stabbed and fall, plummeting to their death. The story replays in his mind over and over on repeat. That is until Gumbo bites down on his hand lovingly, giving him just the right amount of adrenaline to shoot himself fully awake. 

The surroundings are exactly what he had felt, a cold, dark cave. The wind howls in from the east, with the rising sun letting in its rays through the entrance. It’s no Pyous Pass, that’s for certain. Mudd’s head swims momentarily, adjusting to the gravity that comes with sitting up. It’s strange how weird this whole thing has affected him. He hadn’t expected that the potion of decotion was going to mess him up this horribly. Especially not draining him of all his energy, and waking up in a completely different environment. This whole thing is a mess, really. Then again, it is all his own fault. 

Gumbo sniffs the air, his ears pointed back slightly. A new smell… a new danger. Something lurks in this cave. Mudd, too, tries to discern the source of the threat; of which he does indeed discover. 

Two thin sliced blades cross over his neck, slowly pressing inwards. Behind him, a man speaks with aggression. “Who are you? What did you do with Mathilde? How did you find this place?” With each question, his voice wavers evermore. It’s barely noticeable, but it's there. 

“Uh… hello. Well, uh, my name’s Mudd… I have no idea who this ‘Mathilde’ is. And uh, I have no idea how I got here. This… this is not where I was a few minutes ago.” Mudd answers through gritted teeth. He tries to not say too much to avoid getting hit in the jaw, but also give enough information to also avoid getting knifed.

The weapons remain at his throat, but three strangers come out from the shadows and stand in front of him, also armed. A little girl holding an axe, a feeble yet somehow also scary old man, and a weaker looking man with a tall hat. In his lap, Gumbo growls lowly at the three new people—a warning to back off. It does nothing, however. The girl just spins her axe around in her hands, the metal catching a bit of the sun’s rays. 

“Please, I don’t know anything. I’m sure if we had a, you know, proper face-to-face conversation, we could figure this out a lot easier and quicker. I’m just as confused as you are, if not more,” he pleads slightly. Mudd’s not usually the type of person to plead, especially not for his life, but he gets the sense that the one with blades at his throat is one wrong word away from losing it. These people don’t particularly seem like the type to mess around. 

“Chip, they might be right.” The weaker man in the middle agrees. The two next to him look at him and relent their stances slightly. “If you kill them here and now, we might never find out what happened to Mathilde.” 

The left blade is pressed slightly deeper into his fur, cutting into the smallest bit of skin. Mudd winces at it, the pain still noticeable. The two blades remain at his neck for a moment, before being abruptly abandoned. He feels the presence behind him step back. 

“Robert, you’re already on thin ice with me right now. If you cause me to lose a second person who I care about within the span of twelve hours, I will kill you.” The unstable man with the blades then proceeds to walk past them all, and out towards the mouth of the cave. “When you’ve finished dealing with this, come get me. This is your problem now.” 

“Don’t mind Chip, he’s just going through things right now. My apologies. Are you alright?” The smaller, nicer man walks a bit closer, causing for Mudd to scootch back to the rear cave wall, nervous. He really shouldn’t be nervous, he’s dealt with worse, much worse. But the circumstances certainly have him off put. He’s in a strange place, with even stranger people—who have all threatened violence and death against him. 

He lifts a hand up to the wound, finding that the spot is, in fact, bleeding thanks to the blade. Not too much, but enough to leave a decent amount of staining. He puts his hand back, applying pressure to the cut. The last thing he wants is to get an infection out here. To the left, the little girl scrunches her nose and raises an eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by something; she does nothing, however.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine...thanks. Can I ask who you are and where this is?” Mudd calmly pets Gumbo with his free hand, who’s still safely sitting in the confines of his lap. The texture of the fur keeps him present in the moment, keeping him sane. Even if his heart rate is threatening other things.

“Yes of course. I am the Alchemist, and with me are Ellga,” he gestures to the left with the little girl, “and Barney,” and then gestures towards the right at the older man. Both of their faces wear that of a friendlier kind compared to moments ago, but are clearly still unsure of the whole situation. 

“Hello.” Barney smiles slightly at Mudd. He approaches the firbolg, and sticks out a hand: an invitation to start over. One in which Mudd takes. 

“As to where we currently are,” the Alchemist continues, “It's high in the mountains somewhere between Perrish and Vainia. We had intended to leave for Vainia first thing this morning, however, it seems the universe had other plans.” 

Vainia? Perrish? Mudd had studied maps for a good portion of his childhood, knowing the location of any and every city and town. Who ruled there and whether or not they were friend or foe. All part of his oh-so lovely royal education. Despite all that, he’d never once heard of Perrish nor Vainia. Although, he supposes that it could maybe be somewhere in the Tetora region. Not too many people are allowed there, so it is possible that there’s been new established towns since his extensive map education. 

His confusion must be written blatantly on his face, as Ellga questions him, “What, do you have a problem with that?” There’s something about her voice that has a hint of malice about it. It’s accusatory, as if those places mean something to her. 

“No, no not at all. It’s just- I, uh. I’ve never heard of either of those two places. Which is weird because I’ve studied maps. What region are we in?” 

“Region?” Barney inquiries this time, having returned to his position next to the Alchemist. “I mean Perrish is- er, was under the jurisdiction of The Headless Horseman. And Vainia is-” 

“—Dracula!” Ellga injects excitedly. Her eyes light up at the thought. A stark contrast to the character Mudd’s observed thus far. “Dracula rules over all of Vainia!”

“...right. Yes… that definitely helps.” Mudd nods slowly, even more confused at this point. Never once has he heard of those names. If he thought that Quadron was a weird name, then Dracula is an even stranger one. Just thinking of the name, he can practically hear it in Kyborg’s voice, screaming vengeance against the enemy. He can almost picture the image in his head. 

“Well, where might you be from then… Mudd, was it?” The Alchemist eyes him, both intrigued but also somewhat concerned.

“Oh, uh yeah, Mudd’s right. Like the dirt. I’m from Buh-Bayou, a place you guys probably have never heard of before… given that your places sound foreign to me.” 

“Never heard of it,” Barney confirms.

Ellga peers over at the old man. “Barney, you have memory issues. I’m not sure you’re all that reliable.” She swings her axe around in her hands, then gives it enough momentum to lift it over her shoulder. “Then again, neither am I! This is the first time I’ve left Vainia!... Alchemist, do you know?”

The Alchemist taps his cane against the floor several times, thinking. He approaches Mudd and takes his arm in his hand. Of which Mudd fights back, not wanting to be touched by someone, especially not by one who he’s just met. For the first time since the incident, he picks himself up off the floor, attempting to put some distance between him and the group of strangers. 

“Interesting,” is all the Alchemist comments, eyeing Mudd once more. “Ellga, Barney, come with me. I believe we should bring this up with Chip.”

“Are you sure? He doesn’t seem like he wants any part of this,” Ellga asks, glancing back at the fourth member of their group. 

“Yes, I’m sure. If he’s still upset, I’ll take the brunt of it. But I’m willing to bet he’s gone back to being quiet by now.” The Alchemist then goes towards the mouth of the cave, Barney in toe. Ellga pauses a moment, looking between both Mudd and the rest of her team. “You stay here. If you don’t, I’ll find you, drink you dry, and feed you to the bats. Got it?” 

Not fully understanding the extent of her threat, Mudd simply chooses to nod. It’s probably easier this way. 

“Good!” She then turns and skitters off towards everyone else, leaving the lost druid to his lonesome. 

Well, lonesome and badger. 

He stands at the back corner of the cave, awkwardly. Much too similar to how he would act when he was younger. That is, whenever his brother wasn’t there with him. Any time it was just him in a room with a group of high council members, he’d always go find the furthest corner away from people, and press his back firmly against it, avoiding everyone else to the best of his abilities. He would remain that way until a much more charismatic, more qualified to rule, little brother would come and save him. 

There isn’t anyone that is going to save him here, however. This is a situation in which he has to face alone, every bit of it. Which also includes all of the awkward conversations that he’s not always the best at navigating. That was always Bart’s forte, afterall. After all of their screw ups, the bard would always manage to wiggle himself in all sorts of places and talk things out. Mudd, on the other hand, constantly stumbles on his words. 

He lets his mind wander to that of his fellow Infinights. How they’re doing, what they’re doing, and how they’re all taking his absence. There’s not a low chance that they, too, are trying to investigate his disappearance—much like how this new group is trying to figure out the location of their own missing party member. 

But how long has he been gone? How much time has passed? Has it been hours? Days? Weeks? That much, he’ll not be able to figure out until he returns to them. Internally, he just hopes that they push past the whole “him missing” ordeal, and go save the people of Pyous Pass. That situation is more pressing. The townsfolk could die, might’ve already. Him and Gumbo, they’re for the most part fine. And with just them two, they can easily figure out his way back. Uh huh, totally… It’s not like he doesn’t do most of the work on his team, anyway. 

On his left foot, Gumbo rests, the exhaustion of the past… ten minutes having gotten to him. Mudd can’t blame him, he would love to do the same thing. So without his companion to talk to, he is truly, all alone. Maybe not physically, but more so emotionally. 

It feels foreign, and yet, far too familiar at the same time. He hasn’t felt this way in a very long time; at least not since becoming an intern. Since then, he’s always had one of his party members by his side. Through thick and thin. Even when thrown in jail they’d always be right with him. Someone was always there talking. He was never one to mind silence; that was more so Kyborg’s issue. But here in this moment, he’s beginning to understand why. 

He continues to spiral about things, slowly scooching down the wall into a sitting position once more. It isn’t until he spots an orange creature slowly inching closer to him that Mudd fully comes back to focus. It started from the far right of the cave, but eventually finds its way to him. Once it’s close enough for him to see, he recognizes it as a cat. Small, yet fluffy, with the largest yellowish-green eyes he’s ever seen. Probably just a kitten. It brushes up against him, and copies Gumbo’s position, landing on his unoccupied foot. 

“It appears as though you’ve made a friend,” The Alchemist proclaims plainly. His voice even, but with a bit of an edge to it. Not the same tone he was speaking in prior. The four of them return to where Mudd has decided to land, with the tiefling, Chip, he assumes, lingering towards the back. 

For a good amount of time, Mudd had tried listening to their conversation from his position. His ears are big enough, they’re often able to hear a lot clearer and farther than the average species. However, he was unsuccessful, being too far back in the cave. The group’s consensus is about to be a very interesting conversation, if he had to guess. 

Ellga runs up to the cat, grabbing them and holding them in her arms. “JJ where have you been hiding!? Oh, I’m just glad you're okay.” She continues petting the cat and looks up towards where the sky would be if not for the cave ceiling. “Don’t worry Mathilde, I’ll protect him.”

“Alright, Barney. Could you please cast zone of truth now?”

The old man obliges, squints his eyes, and hums. Something about the way that he “casts” it doesn’t exactly seem or feel believable. Suspicious, Mudd raises an eyebrow at them, and quietly performs his own spell. He’s seen others do magic, hells he even does magic. But that—that was possibly the most unconvincing excuse for divination he’s ever witnessed. 

The cave holds an abundance of magic to it, mainly in the weapons that the group carries, but also faintly on some of the members. Where magic isn’t, however, is surrounding him like there’s “supposed to be.”

He slides up the rugged wall, waking up Gumbo in the process. Narrowing his eyes, and crossing his arms, Mudd hisses, “If you weren’t going to cast that, you should’ve at least done a better job at acting like it.” 

The three of them look disapprovingly at Barney, who’s visibly embarrassed, at least to some degree.

“Whatever you were going to do, you could’ve just done by talking normally,” Mudd continues. Any remnants of fear of these people are gone. They’ve simply shown him how weak they truly are. He’s just pissed off at their own mistrust. “What you’ve done instead is break the slightest bit of trust I had for you—and what my party focuses on is trust. Whether it be between us, or in the people we meet. Clearly the same cannot be said for you guys. So, I’ll give you one more chance to ask what you were going to ask.” 

“Okay, I’ve got this, then.” Ellga steps forwards slightly, the cat still tucked away in her arms. “Our good friend the Alchemist here. He has a… sickness type thing. I don’t know. Sometimes at random, he’ll no longer be well, the Alchemist, but a big, angry ice monster. He doesn’t think the same, or remember people. So… we were thinking… maybe we could see if maybe you suffered from the same thing?” She finishes her sentence off quickly, as if ripping off bandages. 

The idea spins around in his head for a moment, trying to see and understand their perspective. Obviously, it’s not true in the slightest, but to these people it might make the most sense. Strange circumstances call for even stranger solutions. “What does this ‘test’ thing involve?” 

“Oh, you know. Usual things… Like you sit still, and… I bite your arm!” 

“She does this sometimes, it’s normal!” Barney affirms with a grin. 

“Yeah, uh, I’m not sure this is considered ‘normal’ by any means… But sure, why not. A stupid decision got me in this mess in the first place, maybe an equally dumb one will put me back.” Mudd shrugs and reluctantly sticks out his arm as Ellga steps even closer, the cat still held tightly to her chest. Gumbo, the protective companion he is, growls at the girl, warning her to back off. Hushed whispers of druidic magic make it upon his ears, however, calming him.

The cold of the cave suddenly gets replaced by a throbbing warmth as fangs of sorts pierce Mudd’s skin. It’s sharp and incredibly painful, much like a carnivorous animal bite—and he would be the one to know what that feels like. He winces, but the pain continues as the girl remains latched on. Sucking, as if she were a snake. 

Suddenly, the words “I’ll drink you dry” make so much more sense to him. 

He retaliates in the only way on his mind, and kicks the girl’s feet, making her unstable. Using his free (but also nondominant) hand, he attempts to shove her off. After a few go arounds, he succeeds, free from her grasp. Yet, the pain still lingers, pulsating under the skin. 

His fight instincts are immediately taken over by his flight one. Of which he takes literally, contorting into the only animal he can think of: a giant bat. In a state of panic, he snatches up Gumbo in his mouth, and makes a break for the closest exit of the cave, just to the left of him. One last look at the four of them, he catches the gaze of Ellga, who is being tended to by Chip and Barney. Her eyes aren't one of malice, but instead of wonder and astonishment. 

Then once reaching the mouth of the cave, he takes to the skies. 

The world he finds himself in doesn’t feel like Faeza, not in the slightest. Not in the ways the trees are shaped, nor in the way the wind currents flow. And certainly not in the way the sky turns red towards the town nearby. Whether it be Perrish or Vainia, he has no idea. Since the sun has only risen in the past hour or so, the moon’s still visible to the eye. But what signifies his world displacement is the way that there is a second, smaller moon adjacent to the other one. 

“Ah, shit-” he mutters under his breath, a mix of bat and humanoid voices mixing together. He continues to circle the area, as his own mind spirals. A million questions enter at once, but only one he comes back to: How in Dia’s name did he end up here? As he circles, his flying becomes more erratic and unstable, making him, and subsequently Gumbo, increasingly dizzy. 

In a moment of clearance, he heads back towards the mountain he just escaped from. Not the inside of the cave, just a ledge near the top of its peak. It’s not a huge ledge by any means, but it’s enough to make a rough landing on. His legs stumble on the ground, as his whole body hits to a halt, having run into the wall of rock. Yeah… certainly not his best landing. His first instinct is to gently let down the badger and check him for any wounds. Discovering that the task proves difficult as a bat, he releases the form, once more a normal firbolg. 

Mudd tries again, picking up Gumbo from under his tiny arms, and checks him for injury. Thankfully, there’s nothing. Not even anything from being carried between a bat’s teeth, which is quite frankly impressive on his own part. He breathes a sigh of relief, and puts his companion back onto the hard ground, earning him a small chirp in response. The important creature out of the way, he goes over himself, finding nothing but the still-throbbing puncture on his arm. When he puts his other hand on top of the area, there’s blood, but nearly not as much as he would have imagined. He’s been in this world not even an hour and he’s already bleeding in two separate places. Might be a new record. 

The idea to wrap the area with his spare bandages hits him, and it slowly dawns on him that all of his equipment is probably back in the Pyous Pass jailhouse next to everyone else’s. For him, it’s not a huge deal, he does all of his fighting with his hands. But still, he had things in there like medical supplies or extra rations; objects that would’ve definitely proved helpful. If it was any one of the other Infinights, it would’ve probably been more troublesome: Bart needs his lute, Kyborg needs his bow and arrows, and Gum-Gum needs his axes. Mudd’s lucky all he needs is the will of nature and himself to cast spells. 

He lays down on the rocky ledge next to Gumbo, and stares up at the sky, heart pounding in his chest. In his limited view, the blue-tinted color of it all and the clouds look like that of his world, but deep down, he knows it’s not. Sure, he’s yet to have explored all the great cities of Faeza, but there’s no way a singular city has an additional moon that nowhere else does. 

It seems getting back to his fellow Infinights will be a lot more work than he originally had imagined. Traveling around his world is no work for him. Traveling around this new, strange world… is a task he’s unfortunately not equipped to deal with on his own. 

As much as he hates to admit it, it might not be a terrible idea to follow the strange group around—at least until he comes up with a plan. 

So against the voices screaming at him to not, he sits at the edge of the ledge, watching for when the party leaves the cave.

Chapter Text

On the floor, Mathilde lays. Their wings outspread and loose feathers scattered every which way. They're woozy, waking up on the floor. Their first thought is that of confusion: mainly of how they even managed to fall asleep in the first place. They’re a ghost, they don’t sleep? Haven’t in a long time, even. The last time probably being since they were alive. They’d just been sitting in Barney’s weird house with JJ, watching over the rest of their party as the rest of them slept. Then… well, then they were on the floor… which is now. How strange.

They twitch their wings, the lingering warmth radiating off the floor growing somewhat uncomfortable. If given the choice between hot and cold, they’d always choose cold, unless it was a freshly baked good. Those right out of the oven cannot be topped. But simply choosing the weather, their ghostly form takes kinder to a nice chill. 

But instead, here they lay on the hot ground. They blink their eyes several times, instead of finding a large slate of rock, the floor is neatly laid wooden planks. No wonder it’s not bumpy to lay on… 

Just out of their peripheral vision, there’s a few sets of boots. The existence of life. However, the closer they look, the more they realize it’s not what their party wears. Ellga has these small, black shoes that go up to her ankles. Chip also has ankle height sneakers, and the rest is just his… interesting choice of socks. Whereas Barney half the time wears more armored boots or simply none at all. It’s a fifty-fifty toss up. These, however, are two sets of pure leather boots. No one they know wears those? 

A third person walks across their vision, pacing around the little corner of the room visible. Simply by their bare feet, Mathilde realizes that these are, in fact, strangers. It’s certainly interesting, to say the least. 

“Yes, I know Sheriff. I know we need to go save the pyes. But what do you expect us to do about this!? What if they wake up and we’re already gone, hm? What then? They’re our only lead of what might’ve happened to Mudd. I am not risking that!” 

“Bart, can we make them stay, and we go help everybody?” Another voice, somewhere off the left. 

The aarakocra pushes up their forearms in an attempt to sit up and survey the situation. Their wings are quite loud with the abundance of feathers neatly tucked together, however, causing the five other people in the building to turn around at them. 

Faces of all shapes and colors, and a variety of different facial expressions. Some look at them frantically, whereas others with frustration. One in particular, an elf, if they had to guess, stares daggers at them. Attro City was always running rampant with all sorts of elves, half elves, and tieflings. Oh, to give anything to go back to their simple bakery in the city. They didn’t even have time to tell anyone they weren’t going to reopen the next day. Then again, they hadn’t really expected to go jail like an hour after closing, either. Truly, what a strange week it’s been indeed.

“Well Gum-Gum, I think those friendship bracelets would come in real handy right about now,” said elf comments, eyes narrowing in on them even more, if possible. 

Whatever that is meant to mean, doesn’t exactly sound ideal. Like who gives someone they just met a pair of friendship bracelets? That’s ridiculous. Only something they can see Chip doing in his free time. Curious, Mathilde pushes themself off the floor with one final fell swoop. The top of their wings stretch high upwards, hitting the ceiling of the building they find themself enclosed in. 

The boy dressed in blue digs around in one of the bags scattered on the floor, pulls out a pair of handcuffs, and slowly encroaches on their space. He approaches Mathilde as if they are some scared animal, as if quick, sudden movements would cause them to flee. Instead, they simply stand in wait. Handcuffs aren’t something that can easily contain them. The only reason they let themselves be handcuffed after the peace parade was because it would’ve made them look more guilty compared to the other three—and they certainly were not.

“Here birdy, do you wanna be friends?” He attaches one cuff on his own arm, and then clicks the other side onto Mathilde. The way the boy addresses them immediately reminds them of Barney, specifically in the first couple days they all met. “Here mister bird,” he’d say. They’d always come back with, “I’m not a mister, Barney, nor am I a bird! Aarakocra, ready say it with me, aara-ko-cra. Humanoid feathered creature, okay? And stop calling me a man, I’m not one, nor a woman.” It took far too long for the old man to grasp that fact, but at least he eventually got there. The foggy old man memory probably wasn’t much of a help in that regard either. 

They feel the cold metal against their forearm, pressed and locked firmly against their bandages. The boy looks up at them with a sense of innocence glittering in his eyes, and gives them a toothy grin. Small tusks come out from the corners of his mouth, opposite the way that Ellga’s fangs hang downwards. “We’re friends now! Which means that you have to tell me your name. I’m Gum-Gum!” 

Staring down their peak at the boy, they raise an eyebrow. Not too much shorter than they are, but certainly full of more life and enjoyment. Just a bit taller than Chip, if they had to guess. It makes them feel not as bad about towering over everyone else in the building. Most of the time they always end up towering over everyone they meet.

“Mathilde Confiseuse.” They say, still unsure about Gum-Gum’s overall intentions. Compared to the other’s, he seems genuine towards them. A pleasant presence radiating off of him. 

“Oh- I didn’t know we were using our full names. I’m Gum-Gum: the great and powerful flower wizard!” 

“And ‘Gum-Gum’ is your… real name?” Mathilde cocks their head slightly, intrigued by the strange nature of the ‘flower wizard.’

“Yup!” He exclaims, raising both his arms above his head rapidly. The motion forces Mathilde’s right hand to follow suit, carried in close proximity to Gum-Gum’s head.

“Right, Gum-Gum. If you’re done messing around with your new ‘friend,’ we’ve really got to get going,” the elven archer reiterates, having picked up the conversation from before. However, Mathilde isn’t exactly keen on going anywhere with these strangers, especially not the strange metal man.

“Okay! Come on Mathilde, we have to leave now.” They allow Gum-Gum to draw them outside, following the rest of the unnamed group. His pack hangs off his free arm, unable to properly put it on while being handcuffed. Once out in the open air, however, they waste no time in going incorporeal, freeing themself from the metal chains. The boy in blue turns around hastily, confusion and betrayal on his face. “How did you get out my friendship bracelets? Do you not want to be friends anymore?” 

“Sorry, Gum-Gum.” They flap their wings, taking to the sky. “I can’t come with you.” 

As they get higher into the sky, the more they feel their physical form rapidly returning to them. Which is odd—it never comes back this early. They can usually go around incorporeal for an hour or so. And that specific skill has only improved since visiting the Astralian plane. Despite themself and their confusion, they continue to beat their feathers over and over again, gaining height amongst the clouds. 

They feel free up in the air, no one nor nothing tying themself to the ground. Just them in the freeness of the sky. Here hidden amongst the clouds, they could so easily just fly home, go back to their simple life back in Attro City. Leave Ellga, Chip, and Barney to their own devices; all their names are cleared, there’s no real reason Mathilde couldn’t just leave. They’ve got Eddie handled, right? They don’t need them. Besides, they’re headed to Ellga’s lovely home, everything should go smoothly. She’ll surely keep them all in line.

From seemingly nowhere, an arrow is shot at Mathilde. It hits them dead straight in their right wing, and explodes on impact. A loud bang surrounds them, their ear drums pounding. Immediately, their vision becomes obstructed, a giant, grey puff of smoke encasing them. They continue to beat their wings, but quickly realize how much altitude they’re losing; they’re quickly plummeting to the ground with no way to save themself. Not to mention how much their wing hurts. It hurts so bad. Yet, they manage to muster up enough pain tolerance to wrap their wings around themself, preparing for the impact to come.

The rest is a blur, they simply close their eyes, feeling their weight fall through several hundred feet of air. It’s not like they're really able to do anything else… unless.

In a moment of desperation, they attempt to get themselves to go to Astralian plane. Over and over again they try. No matter how many times they do it, they still remain on this plane, still falling from the sky. 

None of their gear is on them, they can’t do anything. They can’t do anything. They can’t-

And then their corporeal body slams into the ground, everything instantly going black. 

When they open their eyes again, they find themselves bound by the wrists once more, back and wings firmly pressed against an indented corner wall. Their legs are laid out straightforward with a metal rod planted firmly on their abdomen. 

It takes a lot to kill them a second time. Apparently, but thankfully, their second death won’t be by falling. What an embarrassing way to go.

Mathilde takes the time to look around the room. Wooden top to bottom, in the floor, walls, and ceiling. Not necessarily their cup of tea, but it’s certainly someones. There’s a bed and nightstand to their right, and a door not too far from their left: an exit. The room is definitely some type of bedroom, that’s for sure. On the floor, they spot a note, the lettering facing towards them. Something that is most certainly meant for them. 

To read it, they have to slightly crane their neck, but they manage. They have to admit, the penmanship is impressive, very pretty written out—especially with how much the group seemed to be in a hurry. Appreciating the writing aside, they take in the words:

“If you’re reading this, that means you’ve woken up. We apologize for shooting you out of the sky, it looked like it hurt. We’ve already had a little talk with our archer. To make up for it, we fed you a potion of healing while you were out. Also… sorry about locking you up in this room, but it’s for the best. (Don’t worry, it’s safe). We had to leave, but we’ll be back soon. And if two moons pass and we’re not, well, we’re probably dead. Which means that there won’t be anyone to come get you out of that corner. (sorry). Be back soon, the Infinights… ps. If you so happen to run into a firbolg somewhere around there, show him this note.”

Beside the ‘from’ part of the letter, there are a bunch of scribbles, the remnants of what they make out to be a heart. They blink several times, utterly confused and dumbfounded. The absolute audacity of these so-called “Infinights.” 

Mathilde’s known these strangers for a solid maybe five minutes total, and in that timeframe they’ve: handcuffed them… twice, shot them, exploded them, made them fall hundreds of feet, and essentially now kidnapped them. And one of them thinks it’s a good idea to put a heart on the note? What an… interesting… group of people. That’s for sure. 

Something about it all intrigues Mathilde, in the weirdest way possible. In the hundreds of thousands of faces they’ve seen and met over the years, few have stood out. Few have ever made an impression. Few have been interesting. A constant loop of meeting someone for a few moments, then they’re out of the bakery forever. With the exception of a couple regulars that they’ve grown to recognize. Sure, they’ve certainly made small talk occasionally, talking about how the day’s going, or whatever. But nothing substantial. Nothing with subsistence. It’s not like they’re exactly the type of aarakocra to go out amongst the city either. No, they’d much rather stay in at nights and relax. Never time to meet anyone actually impactful. 

It’s only up until very recently in their extended lifetime that they’ve discovered a group of people who have actually piqued their interest. Ellga, Barney, Chip… Eddie, the Mummy, Jaques… hells, even Henry. There’s definitely something off about that kid, they’re convinced. But there’s something else about this new group of people that fascinates Mathilde even more. 

Whether it be from the way that they all dress, which isn’t particularly standard fashion in most places, or in the ways that they seemed to be in complete distress. Despite it all, the half-orc was nothing but kind to them… well, until they ran away. And then got shot. 

Mathilde scoffs, the wound on their wing pulsating against the wall. The feeling travels throughout their whole body. The pain has certainly gone down some, but it still aches everywhere. Their phantasmic blood pools all around them. It especially soaks their apron and satchel. More work for them to do later…

From their spot on the ground, the window to the outside world is barely visible, the bed obscuring most of their vision. However, the top of it just peaks out, revealing the rapidly darkening sky. Reds and pinks turning into deep blues and purples. Amongst it all stars have started to greet the heavens, twinkling brightly. At least a few hours have passed. 

They attempt to maneuver themself out from the metal rod, contorting their body in all sorts of different ways. No matter what they do, however, it doesn’t move. Not even slightly. Not even an inch. Nothing. They groan, accepting the fact that they do actually just have to sit here until the group comes back for them. 

The idea in theory isn’t all that different from watching their party sleep at night, watching over the camp. They’re awake, everyone else is asleep. “Nothing to do.” Except it is. It’s very different. Because at least then they’re able to do things. Pet kitties, walk around, sharpen their spear, literally anything. Here, however, they are bored out of their mind, confined to the chains. Unable to move from the corner they find themself in. 

It isn’t until the next day, perhaps midmorning, that anything happens around them. Now being a bird type humanoid, their hearing isn’t great, but the sounds of the town around them being sprung to life is unmistakable. 

About time, really. 

Mathilde had spent the entire night wasting away, thinking about whatever they could. Thinking about different recipes they plan on testing out, thinking about the murders and how to stop Dracula from being next on that list, thinking about Chip, and how he’s holding up. Probably not well—they’d never seen the man so broken. Granted, they have only known each other for a little over a week. The sentiment still stands. 

They’d also spent the night thinking about how they’re going to kick these Infinights butts in a fight, once they're free. They don’t stand for being chained. 

From a floor beneath them, they’re able to make out the faint sound of voices and footsteps. There sounds like there’s a couple dozen, at most. Heavy footsteps too, if the floor shaking with every step is something to go by. 

At this point their butt has gone numb and their tail feathers have been bent beyond repair, having been sat on for so long. With each step that sounds closer, they get more excited thinking about the idea of being free. Some sound like they’re climbing stairs up and down, but none ever make it into their specific room. They begin to grow impatient, thinking about how they’re going to fight the first person they see. 

No one controls Mathilde, they do whatever they please. If someone does something to them, it’s because they let them. They don’t usually wait for others to do things. Especially when it pertains to how they live their life. 

They’re simply forced to sit there just listening to the sounds of life all around them. It cannot have been more than an hour before someone came for them, but it sure felt more like several hours. The whole time they fester in their emotions more and more. 

Eventually, the door handle to their enclosure is jingled, and in steps the three from before, Gum-Gum leading the group. 

“Hi birdy!” He waves at them. 

“Mathilde.”

“Hi Mathilde!” 

The first thing they notice is how much bloodier and worn down the group is. Red coats the three of them, top to bottom, and drenches their hair. Especially on the elf, hair sticks to his forehead, from both the excessive amounts of blood and sweat. It smells awfully. 

They notice the way the halfling limps with every other step. 

They notice the elf’s uneven, labored breathing. 

They notice Gum-Gum’s eyebags and bloodshot eyes. 

They are not okay, none of them. Part of Mathilde wonders what happened, what caused them this much damage. 

“Alright Gum-Gum, we’ve got it from here. Do you think you can help out the pyes that need help buddy?” The halfling turns to him with kind yet severally exhausted eyes. 

“Mhhm! I’ll be back!” Gum-Gum gives a grin, then hurries out of the room, leaving them with the other two strangers. 

They look at each other, pointing back and forth at one another. A conversation is had, but no words are said. Mathilde is unable to decipher any of it. 

“Do you mind getting me out of ‘ere?” They spout, annoyance laced in their voice. “Your note promised you would, unless you plan on breaking that promise?” 

“Be careful, Bart, kenkus are a repetitive bunch. Be very careful with what you say.” The elf whispers not very quietly.

The halfling rolls his eyes and steps up, confidence emanating off of him, despite being severely bloodied and injured. “Ah well of course, friend! But first, for the safety of both you and us, we’re gonna need you to be… contained… for just a little bit long, okay?”

Mathilde looks at him incredulously, but it’s not like they’re exactly able to do anything about it. 

“Good!” He continues. “Now I think it’s unfair that we know your name, but you don’t know ours. I,” he gestures proudly to himself, “–am ‘Bartholomew Finn,’ but you can just call me Bart. And this…”

“Kyborg.” The elf interjects. His whole demeanor is a lot colder in comparison, but by his body language alone it almost feels like an act. An attempt to feel more powerful, more in control over the situation. It doesn’t help that by the quiver pinned to his back, Mathilde can easily infer that this is the one who shot them. He had the power to hurt them before so he’s going to pretend he can intimate them for answers. At least that’s their interpretation. 

“You guys have such weird names ‘ere. First Gum-Gum, and now you. I take it that you’re the archer who shot me?” Mathilde raises an eyebrow up at him in question, despite already knowing the answer. 

“Yeah, a bursting arrow. Not my best moment, I admit, but it’s not like I really had much of a choice, hm? You were almost fully into the clouds. I wasn’t just about to let you get away, not when you could hold important answers.” Kyborg crosses his arms and swings his hair over his shoulder. 

“Speaking of which—do you happen to know how you got here or… where you came from… or where our friend is… or… like anything?” Bart redirects the conversation stepping an inch closer. “I know that answer probably is a ‘no,’ but you know, it never hurts to ask.” 

“No, I don’t know anything. I was asleep, then I was ‘ere. On the ground. Being 'andcuffed by you all. Which by the way it’s not very nice to 'andcuff somebody and then drag them to a place where they’ll end up all bloodied.” 

“Yeah cause that was definitely the plan. For us all to end up almost dead in the bottom of a cave. It wasn’t just meant to be an easy search and rescue mission nope, not at all. One that you-” Kyborg marches up to them, an aggressive finger pointed at them, “-got in the middle of. 

“Kyborg…” Bart warns, resting a hand on the other’s metal arm. 

“What, you're just okay with all of this, Bart?! You don’t care that Mudd’s gone missing? You don’t care that suddenly within seconds of a stupid decision, he’s just ‘whisked’ away from us. Gone. Poof! We make stupid decisions all the time and none of those ever end with us gone missing. This is ridiculous.” He paces around, fuming, and at one point during his outburst accidentally kicks one of Mathilde’s talons. They kick back.

“My dude, calm down. Good lord. Of course I’m not okay with this, I’m also internally freaking out. We barely made it out alive without Mudd. However, yelling isn’t going to do anything to help us in this situation. The one who replaced Mudd is right in front of us, we just need to keep them with us, and who knows, maybe we’ll get him back. Weird situations call for even weirder solutions, okay? We’ll figure this out. We should probably head back to Boulderay though, inform Dr. Ahem of this whole mess though… As well as how the Diagem mission went…”

Mathilde simply watches the exchange, both confused but also mildly entertained. Another reason for these ‘Infinights’ to be on their list of intriguing persons. 

Suddenly, and without warning, Gum-Gum comes bursting through the door once more, drawing all three of their attention. Bart goes over to him, a grin replacing the freaked out expression from before. “Gum-Gum, you’re back! That was fast. Is everything okay? Back to normal?”

“Yup! I made sure all the pyes were safe in their houses, and the sheriff said she didn’t need anything.” The half-orc beams. 

“Good. We can finally get out of this stupid town then.” Kyborg takes an inhale and exhales to calm down, but is visibly quite shallow. Probably due to whatever fight they just fought in. He goes over to Mathilde, placing a finger all up in their face. “I’m still not done with you, however. Once we get back to Boulderay, we’re having words.” 

They squint their eyes, seeing the ‘threat’ as more of a challenge than anything else. If their beak had the ability to smirk, they sure as hells would. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” 

He goes a little gob-smacked and becomes flustered at the response, and steps back, not expecting an answer of the sort. “Gum-Gum, can you get the immovable rod and take back your friendship bracelets? I think it’s time we leave.”

At the mention of the rod, Gum-Gum’s eyes slightly light up a little as he trots over to remove it from the monk’s abdomen. 

“Remember Gum-Gum, it’s still not yours.” Bart gives a cautionary eye at the boy. “Once Mudd comes back, you’re going to have to give it back to him.” 

He grumbles slightly, but makes quick work of retrieving the rod, coddling it safe in his arms. 

Mathilde wastes no time freeing themself from the confined corner they’ve been trapped in. They stretch their legs and fluff out their feathers. Their whole body still aches, but it’s not nearly as bad as before. A slight inconvenience is all. Their exploded wing, on the other hand, hurts to move, and definitely needs some special care in order to properly take to the skies again. They doubt they’re even able to make it off the ground with such an injury. Hovering will have to do. 

They flip around, back facing the three, waiting for their hands to be released. Sure, they could phase right through the cuffs, but then they wouldn’t be able to go incorporeal for the rest of the day. Not to mention after last time, they doubt their incorporeal form will last very long either. Easier to just have one of the strange people do it instead. 

“Is it okay to let them go?” Gum-Gum questions once more, sounding a bit unsure. 

“Oh I think it’s a wonderful idea!” They clap back, wanting nothing else but to be from the shackles. 

“You won’t run away again?” 

“My dear Gum-Gum, we’re friends now, remember? I would never do such a thing… again.” Mathilde rustles their feathers, attempting to speed up the process. “Besides, I can’t even fly anymore, no thanks to someone, ‘ow else would I get away?” 

“Gum-Gum just do it, it’s fine. We already promised, and if worse comes to worse we’ll get Kyborg to shoot them again,” Bart concludes. 

Had Mathilde been facing the opposite way, they’d have given the meanest glare. Thankfully for the three, they’re not. 

“Hmm…” The half-orc hums, contemplating, “...Okay!” 

Behind their back, Mathilde feels the handcuffed being jingled with, and the suddenly falls off of their wrists with a click. They shake their hands off, returning them to their sides. They turn around to face the others.

“Okay, let’s go. We have a long walk ahead of us. Mathilde, this is your one warning. Do something stupid, I won’t hesitate to have Gum-Gum put the friendship bracelets back on.” Kyborg walks out of the room, everyone else following behind. 

“Do you guys always walk from place to place like this?” Mathilde asks, hovering alongside Bart, bored out of their mind. A fair distance behind them, Kyborg and Gum-Gum are having their own conversation, not paying attention to the ones in front. 

They’d all left what was apparently named Pyous Pass a bit after midmorning, and have done nothing but traverse the harsh landscape since. By the height of the sun, it's probably closer to evening now, and they’ve only just made it to the small portside village that’ll take them to this supposed ‘Boulderay.’

“I mean, yeah. Walking, or chilling in our special contraption that our friend pulls around. He’s a druid, so we can be carried around by ground, air, or water. It’s great! Now… I guess we’re stuck walking around since someone decided he wanted to be stubborn!” Bart squints his eyes and says that last part of his sentence louder, glaring up at the sky. “But it’s not nothing we’re not used to… In a way, I guess it’s probably good for us. Just definitely a lot slower. Do… Do you not just walk from place to place?...” 

“Float, fly, walk. Yeah. If my party—who can’t do two of those things, I get off fine—needs to go to a different city, we ride the train.” 

“How little are you guys traveling-? Because the only railway system I know of is in the Eironhoff district of Ürbloom. And trust me, I travel a lot. Where are you even from?... I’ve never heard your accent before…” 

“Oh, you know, us dead people tend to live just about anywhere. I lived in Perrish for a while, but am currently running a bakery in Attro City.” 

Bart stops dead in his tracks, mouth agape. “Wait… you’re dead?! Don’t tell me you’re a zombie. You certainly don’t look like one. How is that possible…? Are you cursed?” 

“I’m just dead. A ghost. Someone who gets to live a second, undead life. Most of the other ghosts I’ve met are usually revengeful. I might’ve been, but it’s been ‘undreds of years that I don’t even remember why I might’ve been.” They shrug their shoulders nonchalantly. 

“How did you die?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine! I remember a lot of my life, but not that. I can’t imagine it was exactly pleasant, ‘owever.” Mathilde looks off in the opposite direction of Bart. The subject of their death is something that has bothered them since… well, since it happened. Whenever that was. They’d tried in the far past digging into the matter, but nothing ever revealed itself. No sign that Mathilde Confiseuse had ever existed. Yet here they are: “alive” and well. Their existence did happen, they remember… most… of it.

“... alright then.” The two of them continue walking, making their way down a dirt path towards the port. “You said there were more of you… ghosts? Is there like… a lot? Cause I’ve been to many a places in my adult life, never once have I met nor even heard of these… ghosts. Well, until you.”

“There’s enough to fill an entire city. Perrish is a great place, if you’ve never been. There aren’t any doors in the whole place. It’s fantastic. Although… it might be more difficult to get around for living people like you. I know my party definitely didn’t enjoy it as much as I did.” 

“—And your party, are they nice?”

“They’re certainly something. Much like your group. Both have such an… interesting… collection of people. Like Baney, ‘e’s an old man, very annoying. ‘e loses ‘is mind quite often. When we were running around Perrish, we found a graveyard with a stone that ‘ad ‘is name written on it? Very strange. I don’t know. ‘e claimed to just be a boring ‘uman,’ but I don’t think ‘umans normally ‘ave gravestones unless they're dead.” 

Bart blinks a couple of times, registering the information. “It sounds like you guys have a lot of issues.”

“Many, many problems. Too many, in fact. You guys look like you also have a lot of problems too. Like what’s with the blood? What ‘appened? Are you okay? You’re still limping.” Mathilde cocks their head to the side slightly, intrigued. 

“It’s nothing really. We were just sent out on a mission to retrieve this item, that turned into a search and rescue, that turned into a failed fight—the search and rescue was successful, though. But we failed to even get the thing we set out to get.” Bart huffs, frustrated. “Kyborg wasn’t kidding, Quadron really sucks. ”

Before Mathilde has the opportunity to ask what it is they were sent out to fetch, Kyborg and Gum-Gum are calling them over, just a bit away. They had made it successfully to the small dock, but the other two seem to have other plans, both wading in the murky ocean. 

“Bart, you’re disgusting. Before we get this boat, you should rinse some of the blood and dirt out of your hair and off your skin,” Kyborg calls out playfully. 

The halfling laughs slightly, “Yeah, like you’re any better.” He takes off towards the other two with the best his limp is able to offer him. 

Mathilde watches from a distance at the three Infinights flaffing about in the ocean. Despite being torn down, despite almost dying, despite their party member, their friend, gone missing, they’re still hopeful. Laughing. Having the time of their life. Keeping the light in the darkest of places. They know that they’re not okay, Mathilde saw the outburst and small argument for themself. Yet here they are, still smiling. 

This brief moment of tranquility has them reflecting on all sorts of things, nothing in particular outweighing the rest. The group they’ve just met seem carefree, but they do care. They do care. 

They care. Even at times they try to act like they don’t. They care about the well being of their party: Ellga, Barney, Chip. They care about all of their feelings. They care about their lifestyles, their livelihoods. They usually don’t grow attached to people, especially not after a week. But the way these Infinights act with one another makes them think that they should. 

The sun’s barely started setting in the west by the time they’re all out of the water and dressed. For the entirety of it, Mathilde sat on the edge of one of the docks, dangling their legs above the ocean. A warm breeze hits the side of their face, watching the sky turn pink once again. Finally, a break. They haven’t gotten one in what feels like an eternity. When in actuality, it was just before that peace parade. Just a week ago. 

Bart and Gum-Gum approach their side, their hair absolutely drenched, but thankfully clean. “Kyborg’s paying the guy in the shack over there, we’re gonna get one of these boats and then we’ll be ready to set sail.”

“We’re going to row in the dark?” Mathilde questions, not turning from their position. 

“Well yeah. It’s not going to be that bad, trust me. I was a pirate for a few years. I would know. Plus, Gum-Gum and Kyborg can see in the night. It’ll be fine. The quicker we get back, the better. We have people back in Boulderay who will be of help,” Bart affirms. 

Kyborg comes jogging out, four oars in hand, and meets up with everyone else. “Okay, the boat is all paid and oars are secured. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Mudd dangles his feet over the ledge, steadying himself with one hand, and petting Gumbo with the other. His mind’s still racing, but he’s certainly had time to calm down. The sun beats down on his back, slowly making its way higher into the sky. A familiar feeling to one not-so long ago, trekking through the dusty desert. He hated it there. So, so much. But holy Dia above, would he give anything to go back. Even if it meant dealing with the atrocious heat. 

It hasn’t been too long since he had fled the cave, but as the clock keeps ticking, he grows increasingly worried that he’s somehow missed the group’s departure. Yes, he is several hundred feet in the air, but he’s able to make out figures whilst chauffeuring the Ahem-mobile around. There’s not all that much of a difference between the two. He should be able to watch silhouettes walk around down below, especially since one of them wears an intense red hood, and the other is quite literally bright purple. Two colors that are, in fact, difficult to miss. 

As he sits there, his anxiety heightens, forming an ever-growing pit in his stomach. This group of people might help to lead to his one ticket out of here, and they might already be long gone—already down the road, far out of sight. He doesn’t exactly imagine this path gets much foot traffic either, being high in the mountains n’ all. But he’ll give it a bit longer. Who knows, maybe it takes them as much time to pack up camp as it takes him. Which can honestly take a minute, depending on the day, and how Gumbo’s feeling. 

Just when he’s about to give up, however, he spots Ellga’s red cape slowly going up the path, flowing gracefully behind her. His eyes then register the other three people in the party. He breathes a sigh of relief, and wills the spirit of another giant bat, scooping Gumbo up in his giant teeth, and places the badger on his back. It takes a moment to muster up the courage to follow after them. Afterall, they did just seek to harm him on two separate occasions…

Taking a second to consider if the trouble is truly worth it, Mudd takes to the skies, stalking the group’s movement from the air. He hides amongst the clouds, fluffy and safe. Yet the closer he gets to the upcoming settlement, the darker and redder the sky gets. The more he gets nervous, the more he thinks about how difficult it is going to be to escape this place. A looming fear continually builds in him. 

He just has to follow them, everything will be fine.

Everything will work out. 

Breathe in, breathe out. You’re fine.

Tailing the group for what feels like an eternity, but is likely closer to an hour, he grows tired, and takes it as a sign to finally face them all head on. Sooner or later it was bound to happen, he did fly for hours across the ocean, after all, and hasn’t particularly had all that much of a rest since. This is definitely up there on his list of worst days to have ever happened to him. And to think, the day started out so normal. 

He lands heavily on the path, just short of Ellga, who’s leading the way. She, alongside the Alchemist, who’s just behind her, stop abruptly, the girl’s eye immediately lighting up as she lets out a small gasp. It’s the same look as before: complete and utter astonishment. “Bat, you’re back!” 

“How long have you been following us?” The Alchemist pipes in, alert, sounding less drained than before. 

Mudd takes a minute to catch his breath, freeing himself from the creature’s form. Gumbo falls safely into his arms, as if they have practiced the trick a hundred times before. “I need your help, as much as I hate to admit it, and you need my help. Look, the short of it is this,” he gestures to the space around them all, “isn’t my home, isn’t even my world . It’s a lot, uh, darker… here than where I’m from. I really don’t think it’s all that shocking considering the way I didn’t recognize any of your nations and you didn’t recognize mine.” It’s at times like this he really wished he had any of his supplies, specifically, the crumpled map from his pack. 

“And you think we’re going to be able to help you, how?”

“—Aye Ellga, why’d we stop?” Chip interrupts their conversation, him and Barney making it up from behind them. He shoves something into the bag on his waist and steps behind the girl. “Ah- I see, that’s why.” 

Instinctively, the druid takes a step back in self preservation. Chip’s done nothing but threaten and harm him. He’s not keen on having it happen again. 

“Listen mate, I’m not entirely sure how you all will be helpful, but you guys want your party member back, and I would absolutely love to go back to mine.” He continues on with the Alchemist question. “All I know is that you guys are the only ones I’ve seen this whole time, and I have zero knowledge of any of these places.” 

The group all seem to look at each other, weighing their options, while Mudd stands there awkwardly, having his own quiet conversation with Gumbo. If nothing else, at least he has his badger companion to keep him company. If needed, perhaps the two of them will live out the rest of their days in this strange place, adapting to it. However, he’d appreciate for it not to come to that. 

“Mister Alchemist, we are just headed to my home. My father’s there, as well as Dracula! They’re both smart, one of them must know something… Besides, it never hurts to have another person around.” Ellga shrugs her shoulders. 

“—Especially with all that’s happened so far,” Chip adds. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have someone to replace Mathilde in case Eddie shows up again. Temporarily. Temporarily replace Mathilde… Particularly someone that can hold themself in a fight.” 

The Alchemist taps his cane. “Mmm… well okay then. If you all are sure.” 

The four of them appear to nod in agreement, and turn back to Mudd. “Okay, so, the consensus is that you can tag along, but!” Chip steps forward, an accusatory tone seeping into his words. “Try any funny business, and Ellga won’t hesitate to use her tricks. And trust me, they ain’t exactly fun.” 

Mudd has to refrain himself from instinctively retreating away once more. If he’s to get out of here, he has to work with them—which, unfortunately, includes the tiefling. “Right… I won’t cause any issues as long as you don’t. I just want out of this bloody place.” 

“Mmm… well alright then. Sounds like that’s settled,” Barney affirms. 

“Okay gang, let’s get this show on the road. We’ve got some problems to solve, and a leader to save. Ellga, lead the way.” 

“To Vainia!” She lets out a squeal and skips forward, compelling the group along with her. One by one, the boys all peel off, following her, until it’s just Mudd left. He hesitates a moment, struck with fear, uneasiness, and a sense of awkwardness. Taking a second, he inhales and stares off at the lessening blue sky. The last reminder of home; just another motive as to why he has to get out of here as soon as possible. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Gumbo. I have no idea what I would do without you. We’ll be back home soon, okay? I’ve got this—promise.” He fist bumps one of the badger’s paws, and tilts their foreheads together. 

“Are you coming?”

Upwards the hill, a short distance away, the Alchemist calls to him. And with one final mental push, Mudd picks up his feet after the group. 

Here begins what’s about to be the longest day of his life, apparently. 

“Hey there, it looks like you’ve made, uh, a friend there, aye pal,” Chip says, slowing his walk towards the back of the group where Mudd’s been trekking. “Ya’ know, JJ is good ol’ Mathilde’s baby, after they lost their first one—he’s fine, apparently just a monk on another plane, or something like that.”

His fluffy ears perk up, alert, before he quickly lowers them. This ‘Chip’ is here just by himself, and if Mudd had to guess, is trying to mend their relationship enough to work together. Which he’ll take. After all, this whole time he’s only been assaulted or, for the most part, ignored by the group. Someone trying to be a friendly face isn’t exactly the worst.

“Right… ” He looks down at his feet, Gumbo hopping alongside him with the orange kitten—JJ, apparently—occasionally rubbing against his boots. “He’s a very cute cat.” 

Holy freaking Dia he’s bad at small talk. 

Whenever he’s the one striking up a conversation with strangers, at least he’s always going in with some sort of question or goal to achieve. Situations like these have never been, nor ever will be, his cup of dirt. Bart, on the other hand, would absolutely be having a great time right now, sparking up all sorts of conversations with these new people.

Chip clears his throat and very clearly, nervously plays with the hairs on his mustache. “I, uh, look I’m sorry about the, oh ya’ know, trying to stab you n’ all back there. Bein’ an ex-assassin tends to do that to ya.’ It’s just that I… I had some pretty rough stuff just happen—it’s fine, life of a widow, am I right… hah.” He quietly trails off, as if utterly lost, before resetting to the point at hand. “And then like Mathilde went missing, and then you showed up… that was kinda just the final straw. So, yeah. I’m sorry. Nothing personal. No hard feelings?” He ends his spiel with what appears to be the start of a small, genuine smile. 

While assault and murder isn’t his first go at when he’s upset, Mudd sort of gets it... Sort of. If the roles were swapped, and say Gumbo went missing and got replaced by a different being, then he would also do anything for answers.

No one hurts his baby. 

“Yeah, uh sure. It’s fine, totally get it mate,” he responds, well aware of the discomfort in his voice. He has to trust them, he has too. But the first hour of meeting repeatedly plays out in his head: the way the four of them were quick to initiate violence when they could’ve easily talked it out. His fellow Infinights don’t even do that! They only handcuff suspicious persons. 

“It feels weird that I haven’t properly introduced myself.” Chip extends his hand, more pep in his step and in his personality, as if cleared out of a fog. “Chip Haney, volunteer firefighter, ex-assassin, pleasure to meet ya.’” 

Mudd already knows the tiefling’s name, but if he wants to start over and do proper introductions, fine. He accepts the extended hand, albeit with the slightest bit of mistrust. The task proves difficult considering their angle and walking pace, but he manages. “Mudd Bramblecrack… Infinight Inte-” Nope. Not anymore. “Infinight. Just Infinight.” 

The tiefling tips his head to the side. “What’s an Infinight?”

“We’re like a group of people that go around and help people, I suppose. I don’t know how to explain it, but we stop bad lads from killing innocents and corrupting the people.” He explicitly leaves out that the people they were previously stopping were the  Infinights of old themselves. Chip doesn’t need to know. 

“Ahhh, I see, I see. At least you get paid for that job. We’re—me, Ellga, Barney, and Mathilde—we work for free to clear our names. Well, we used too… I guess Wheezer did give us the clear and a proper job title. Actually, I’m not sure if we’re getting paid for this,” Chip says, a little perplexed. 

He’s working with a group of supposed criminals?!

Internally, Mudd’s heart drops slightly and he mentally curses. It tracks given everything he’s seen so far, but not necessarily an ideal situation.

Up ahead, the group stops. From the distance it’s hard to make out why, but by the way Ellga appears to be sheepishly cowering behind the Alchemist, it’s probably not anything good. The old man’s voice ever-so-quickly raises throughout the air, and Mudd can almost pick up bits and pieces. 

Chip spins himself around towards everyone else, presumably seeing the druid’s distraction. His body stiffens, and his tail immediately sways side to side quicker anxiously. He turns back towards Mudd, visibly panicked. “That can’t be good. Barney’s temper isn’t all that great n’ all, especially as of the past couple of days, so I fear for poor Ellga. C'mon we gotta go!” 

Mudd hums, nodding swiftly. He picks up Gumbo and JJ from the ground and hurries his walk. While he loves the animals, having to watch where he steps only slows him down. The badger scrambles to his shoulders as he cradles the kitten. 

The closer the two get to the rest of the group, the louder the argument becomes in Mudd’s sensitive ears. Instinctively, he goes to block some of it out, differing from his effort as to stay vigilant. 

“—So you lied to me!” Barney shouts, the words finally registering. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise Barney! That’s why I’m telling you now!” Ellga retorts. Despite how young she looks, she appears to be the level headed one, even if her voice wavers and cracks. 

He points his finger at her, shaking it slightly. “You… You… You’re one of them . And you never bothered to tell us! How long have you been feeding on us, hm?” The man steps a bit closer, even if there’s the Alchemist in the middle of them, mitigating the aggression. 

Chip rushes in, also putting himself in the middle of the two. Even with his tired voice, he’s clearly trying to deescalate the situation. 

These people have certainly got a lot of issues. Too many, in fact.

Mudd doesn’t know what to do, what he even can do. He doesn’t know this group barely at all, and certainly not on a personal level. Not to mention how little he actually has to engage in arguments, the only one that pops to mind in recent memories is when he, Gum-Gum, and Kyborg were all going for the immovable rod. Instead, he just stands to the side, whispering to JJ and Gumbo. 

He tries to think of something to do, something that might help in any way. If any of his powerful druidic spells that might prove useful, unlike his oh-so fantastic conversational abilities. 

But not even minutes later, it sounds like the conversation has all but fizzled out, the two parties standing on either side of the path, awkwardly. No one says anything else. While nothing in nature has changed, the air’s suddenly grown exceptionally thick. 

“Go,” Mudd whispers to the animals in a language only they would understand after a minute. “They need you guys. Help them.”

Gumbo knows what to do, they’ve done similar things to his party when they’re sad. Or frustrated. Or lost. The badger walks up to Ellga, who looks at him through teary eyes. A small, broken smile crosses over her face before she crouches down and pets him. 

JJ, on the other hand, prances over to Barney, still shaking intensely. The kitten paws at his shoes, and he appears to lessen his grip on his mobility aid, even if just for a second. 

Something akin to pride sinks into Mudd’s chest, relief washing over him. He closes the small distance to where Chip and the Alchemist have been standing.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat. He keeps his voice on the lower end, making his accent evermore present and thick. “What was that about…?”

“Ellga finally told Barney she’s a vampire. I mean, I had my own suspicions on the matter, but,” Chip voices quietly. 

“As you can probably tell, it didn’t go well. I don’t think it helps either that we’re about to go to a place full of them,” the Alchemist continues. 

Mudd rubs the back of his neck with drooped ears. Instinctual habits when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “And, uh, mind sharing what a vampire is then? Are they something I should be afraid of? Are they going to try to kill me? What should I expect here…?” 

“Ah, I’ll explain on the way.” Chip allows his voice to reach normal tones. “Well we gotta keep on truckin’ aye gang? It’s not too much further, and we’ve got a Mister Dracula to keep safe. As well as everything else that we’re meant to be doing.”

The group collectively joins back together, Ellga and Barney on opposite ends of the path, and all continue up the path for a half an hour more. 

A large gate lays in front of them, tall and black-bricked in nature. Along the far wall, there appears to be only one entrance, and it’s the one they’re standing in front of. Two guards are stationed on either side of the archway, with a well to their left. Ellga bounces excitedly, her feet taking turns tapping the dusty dirt ground. She seems to have sprung back to her normal self, at least, the side of her Mudd’s mainly grown accustomed to. “We’re here, finally! We made it, we’re in Vainia!” She goes up to one of the guards, having to stare upwards at him. “Excuse me Sir, we’re here for my father. Could you let us in?”

“Ah gooday, Miss Von Brath. Welcome back home, your father’s been worried sick.” Their accent isn’t anything Mudd’s ever heard before, but the sound and thickness of it stays true of Ellga’s own. It’s unsurprising this is her hometown. 

“Exactly! So could you open up so I- er, we can go see him?” She asks, barely containing her excitement. She looks as if she’s a volcano about to erupt. 

“We would love too, Miss Von Brath, While yes, you can come in, everyone else will have to pay the toll.” The guards both tilt their weapons towards the well. “They’ll all need to say the Vainian ritual, unless perhaps they just so happen to carry the seal?”

The girl looks to the group, a pout on her face. Mudd tries his best to shy away from the guards' glances. He, at the very least, certainly does not carry whatever ‘seal’ they’re seeking. His unfortunate height, however, proves to give him zero help. Once again, as per usual, he towers over everyone. 

Ellga sighs, having a defeated expression on her face. She turns back towards the guard in front of her. “No. I don’t think they have the seal.”

“Mmm. Well in that case they must perform the ritual.” Ellga’s eyes widen slightly as one of the guards approaches them all. Her face alone ignites a small panic into Mudd’s chest. 

Why would her eyes widen? Why would she of all people be afraid of the ritual? What’s going on, what even is this bloody ritual? A million different thoughts race through his brain. The customs of this world are none that he’s ever been accustomed to before. They could be immensely more aggressive than that of Faeza, and it certainly wouldn’t surprise him given what he’s experienced thus far. 

In front of him, he sees Barney sneak a large wooden stick behind his back, gripping it tightly within his shaky palms. The object barely gets stashed there before the guard reaches their group. 

“One by one, all of you must draw blood and let it pour down the well. You all must repeat after me, and recite the laws of Vainia. Failure to comply will not permit you into the city. Dracula is very precise on these sorts of things, got it?”

“Even the animals?” Mudd asks, holding the badger's paw tightly in his hand.  

“No the animals are fine to enter by themselves, unless they happen to have some sort of humanoid consciousness we need to be aware of?” The guard eyes him warily. 

“Ah hah ha, nope! We’re all good here, so, so good, in fact.” He takes Gumbo from off his shoulders and places him down on the ground while Chip steps up to the well, guard following in toe. While one of the guards is half distracted, Mudd announces to no one in particular, “Well, I, uh, forgot something down the path so, I’ll be back—don’t wait up.” He moves backwards down the path slowly and totally not suspiciously.  

Ellga looks at him incredulously, daggers being thrown deep into his soul, and disbelief hanging out of her mouth. “What? What are you doing? Where are you going, we have to get into Vainia!” 

“Trust me,” he whispers, hoping no one else is able to hear, “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Trust me, he says. Everything is fine, he says,” Ellga continues mumbling, her words eventually divulging into nothing. 

He turns and makes off down the path with haste. His eyes trace the side of the road, eventually landing on gold: a cluster of brush jumbled together in a large mess. It’s thick and outspread, sticks stabbing at the air. The perfect thing he’s on the prowl for. 

With one last sly peak at the guards just upwards from his location, Mudd makes a break for the bushes, wasting no time stuffing himself into the biggest of the bunch. Hopefully Gumbo doesn’t decide to follow him, or risk blowing what little cover he has. Knowing his badger friend, however, the likelihood of not being followed is low—he has to be quick in his plan. 

Every animal he’s ever seen, ever known flashes through his mind: bear, otter, camel, mastiff, orox, frog. Tiny, helpless, and useless? Yes. Inconspicuous? 

Absolutely. 

Using what little druidic transformation magic he possesses left, he holds his breath, and forces his body into that of a slimy, amphibious creature. In doing so, he feels the last remnants of druidic power leave his system, only to return with a nap. A feat he’d absolutely love to accomplish as soon as possible. 

Being tiny and slippery has its perks, but it also has its immense difficulties. In particular, the pointy sticks brushing against his bare skin. His fluffy firbolg fur, however many issues it causes him, won’t help to break the pain anymore. The frog slowly moves out of the bush, avoiding stepping on anything too hard, or getting stabbed again. And after far too much time and effort than necessary, he breaks free into the open air. 

Time for part two of the plan: somehow close the distance to the party. Something that wasn’t too far for the eight-foot version of him, but feels like miles for the mini one. Goddammit Mudd. Screw being careful then, he can deal with the consequences later. He leaps one hop after another across the rocky path, feeling the pebbles with each of his webbed feet; he pushes past it, focusing on speeding up and garnering more momentum. It takes so much more effort moving one stride of his usual walk, instead taking five leaps. The additional movement tires him out and accelerates his heart rate; a running theme of the day, apparently. His lungs heave with each progressing moment, and his vision starts to become speckled. 

After too much time wasted, and even more energy spent, Mudd reaches the group once more. And thankfully not too late if Barney’s loud complaints to the guards are anything to go by. Quietly, as to not disturb anyone, he sticks out his tongue and tries to re-catch Ellga’s attention, hitting her in the hand. 

“Ew! What just touched me,” she squeals, recoiling her hand. She hastily whips around, assumingly searching for whatever disrespected her. The two’s eyes meet, and her disturbance immediately switches to confusion, brows furrowed. “A frog? Chip! Chip! Look at what I found-”

Just what Mudd was looking for, more attention. Definitely doesn’t defeat the whole purpose of his spell or anything. Nope.

“Aye whatcha’ got there Ellga?” Chip wanders over, making sure to pet the end of JJ’s tail in passing.

“Look,” she points at the creature, and he just stares up at the two with his big eyes. 

Chip squats down onto Mudd’s level. “Well ain’tcha’ a strange color there pal. Though I do suppose all frogs, well at least the ones I’ve run into, are all pretty strange colors. Especially with that singular purple spot on your hea- oh my gods Ellga, this is our new friend, isn’t it?”

“I’m just a totally normal frog that you just so happened to find, alright?” Mudd says. 

“Oh my goodness,” Ellga mutters. “This… this was your plan?” She also gets onto his level, scraping her knees on the ground. 

“And it works like a charm. The guards will never see it coming.”

“But- but you’re breaking the laws of Vainia! Everyone has to commit the ritual- everyone has to get Dracula’s permission! I-” 

“Not the animals. As far as anyone is concerned I just so happened to be another one of you guys’ pets that needs to be carried through,” Mudd affirms.

“Or you could just go through it like everyone else did-!”

Chip rests a hand on Ellga’s shoulder, turning his attention to her. “Hey, uh, Ellga, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t think ol’ Barn is necessarily going through the process properly either…” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, directing the spotlight over to Barney. “And I think way is a lot more… likely to succeed.” 

She huffs in response, looking somewhat defeated. Why? That’s the real question. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay!” The tiefling clasps his hands together quietly, standing up. “Glad that’s settled. Shall we go see how it’s goin?’”

“Yeah, okay,” Ellga sighs and goes to stand up as well—any and all of her previous excitement for the place to come almost sucked out of her. 

“And er- what we gonna do about him…?” Chip continues, pointing slightly Mudd. “One of us takin’ him or-”

“Well, I guess Boris could always use more friends.” After a moment of pause, Ellga scoops him up in her hands, and puts him in front of her face. Up close, her tiny freckles almost sparkle across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes narrow at him before a small smile escapes her, and Mudd’s placed carefully on her right shoulder, shrouded from the world by her hood.  

The three of them reunite with the Alchemist and Barney, who appears to have finally finished the ritual task, whether it be through legitimate means or not. With each step the girl takes, her shoulders shift slightly, side to side, and it feels almost as if he’s back on the Jebehdiah, the boat being cradled softly by the ocean. The feeling put him at ease, almost lulling the tiny frog to sleep.

Almost. 

He fights back the sleep, as much as his body is willing to protest. 

“Okayyy… If everyone’s done here,” Ellga says nonchalantly, almost saying it to no one, “I think we should go inside and go meet with my father. I miss him dearly and I need to go see him!” She turns her heels, marching towards the gate. The eyes of guards burn holes through her, and subsequently, burn holes deeper into Mudd. 

“Hold on a moment please, Miss Von Brath,” the original guard injects, sticking his pole weapon out in front of them. “You came here with five of you. Where’s the fifth?” 

“I- uh… I… I, uhm.”

Well, he certainly didn’t think this far, that’s for sure. And clearly, neither did Ellga or Chip. Worry seems into his soul and his mind races, trying to think of some way to talk it out. One thing’s for sure though, he’s not revealing his hand, at least not this early.

Somewhere behind them, Chip’s voice speaks up, “Oh ya' know how it is sometimes.” Footsteps brush loudly against the dirt path until the tiefling’s voice appears on Mudd’s right side again. “You make it all the way to your destination and you realize, ‘oh shoot I forgot my favorite, uh, tunic. Guess I gotta go all the way back and fetch it.’ Ya' know?”

“Uh, no. Can’t say that’s ever happened to me,” the other guard replies. 

“Oh- Oh yeah that happens to me all of the time in the Vampspire! Mhhm! It’s definitely a thing and our- our friend really needed to go grab it. So- so he’ll be back soon!” 

“Yeah exactly what Ellga said, yup! Oh, uh, gee-wiz. That’s why I’m carryin’ an extra bag here on my back, for when he eventually comes back.” 

Internally, Mudd wants to face palm. Chip and Ellga are so obviously bad at lying, their voices being blatant tells. The way they have more of a stutter in their voices, and are significantly louder and pitchier. It’s the exact same way Kyborg stumbles through his own lies. Despite how his voice sounds, Chip’s words about waiting for their friend weighs an unfortunate heavy truth. 

There’s a silence in the air, and he can feel Ellga holding her breath, almost afraid to say anything else. After a few seconds, the weapon is returned to the guard’s side. “In that case, when your friend does come back, he will have to do the ritual as well.” 

“Okay that’s a problem for later-!” Ellga says finally, letting out a deep exhale. “We’ll just be passing through now—just us four and our animals! Going to go see my father…!”

They all pass through the gate, Mudd keeping his eyes forced open and still. But they made it to the other side, safely and securely. Oh thank Dia. He too lets himself breathe, allowing for his pent up anxiety to be expressed into the air. With it, his eyes flutter shut, and his body collapses in on itself, sleep hitting like a rock. 

When he eventually awakes again, some time later, the scenery around him has changed drastically. Mudd’s vision, despite being skewered from resting in Ellga’s hood, computes the massive puddle of what can only be assumed as blood—registering it as new. A thick metallic smell wafts up from the pool, overtaking all of his little frog body’s senses. Without really controlling it, his flimsy tongue falls from his mouth, uncomfortable. 

Ellga’s voice booms in his amphibious eardrums, clearly making conversation with someone, but he can’t focus on the words for the life of him, stuck focusing on the smell encompassing his tiny self. 

Part of him really considers being free from his druidcraft, instead traversing the rest of… wherever they’re going… as his usual firbolg self. He really, really considers it. But frog-Mudd is so much more convenient, at least for him. Everyone else gets to do the work for him, which is a change he’ll happily accept with open arms. Kyborg, at the very least, has gotten far too comfortable letting the magic users solve their problems. 

However despite it all, the more he breathes in the smell, the grosser he feels. And at one point a disgusted, tired noise must’ve escaped him because of the way Ellga grabs him and holds him in cupped hands. The girl cocks her head to the side and scans her bright blue eyes across his tiny being. She then moves her body sideways towards Barney, almost offering him as a prized gift to the man. 

“Mmm well good morning there, frog,” Barney greets, sticking his face closer to Mudd’s. 

“I might be a frog, but that’s not my bloody name.”

The old man, visibly caught aback, returns to his original position. “Ellga, it talks!” 

“Shhh Barney it’s okay, it’s okay! Quiet your voice. He’s just a druid, remember?” She says, turning Mudd back towards her. “Though, you're definitely a strange one, I’ll say that. How can you even talk? I didn’t know you guys were capable of speaking while like this.” Ellga drums him absentmindedly with her thumbs. 

“Uhhh, I don’t know, actually. Just can, I suppose. My master was skilled enough to do it, and just taught it to me.” If frogs were capable of shrugging shoulders, Mudd would. But one thing’s for sure, he’s made up his mind: he’s staying as an animal. That is, until he’s truly needed for battle, or whatever is needed from him.

He maneuvers his body around in a circle, finally able to view the space around them. From the looks of it, they’re on the edge on a large bridge, decorated in weird circular lights. The city they must have passed through on the left; people hustling and bustling throughout the brick streets, groups never gathering more than three. To the right, an incredibly tall spire with all sorts of platforms branching outwards from it. The top of it seems to go on forever, almost piercing one of the two moons inhabiting the crimson sky. All around them, bat screeches echo faintly, beating their wings freely in the air.

Strangely, even with his keen outlook of the area, there still appears to be a person missing. Well, two. The Alchemist, who never quite felt like he was a part of the party, at least in Mudd’s estimations, and Chip—nowhere in sight. 

Turning his attention back towards the girl, the druid notices one of her ears twitch, eyes sparkling a little brighter. Her body moves to a standing one, and he’s quickly placed on the cold ground. People pass right by him, albeit almost at goliath height, towering heads taller than he. 

“What are we doing-?” He maneuvers his body back towards Barney, who hasn’t moved. “I thought we were meant to be rushing somewhere?”

“Mmm we are! This right here is the Vampspire,” the old man points behind him, “We’re trying to find a way to get in. Chip’s currently got it handled, hiding under the bridge. He’s been listening in for some sort of password. Oh look, here he is now-!”

“Alright gang I’ve got the password. Mhhm. One hundo-percent,” Chip says quietly yet still somehow incredibly chipper, waltzing up to everyone. “Ready Ellga count of three we say it, ready: one, two, three-”

“Stoker.”

“–Stoker! See, aha, totally got it.”

He, in fact, totally did not get it. But Mudd will certainly keep his thoughts to himself. Instead, he’ll be productive and ask useful questions. “Okay, and what are we meant to do with this information exactly?” 

“Geez-!” Chip jumps, his tail smacking the ground in the process. “I forgot you can talk, ya’ definitely scared me there pal. Good to have ya’ back, welcome welcome. To give ya’ the spark notes—we just gotta say this word to those gargoyles over there. And by we, I mean the three of us. It might be smarter for ya’ to stay as the little guy until we get inside.” 

The more Chip opens his mouth and says words, the more Mudd likes him and the way he thinks. He's clearly resourceful, can talk his way out of situations, gets stuff done by himself, and shares a similar mindset to Mudd. Yeah. Yeah, he can stick it out with the tiefling, at least until they figure out how to send him home.

Which is weird, considering just a few hours ago he wanted nothing to do with the man. Oh how dire consequences can quickly change a mindset. 

“That’s definitely something I can handle. As long as you keep an eye on Gumbo and make sure he’s safe in the meantime, I’m all good,” Mudd concludes. 

The badger, who’s just sitting a couple feet aware, perks up at mention of his name. He trots over to them, and makes a chirp-like noise in response. 

“I think we can handle that. I mean, we are also doin’ that with Mathilde’s cat as well, so what’s another one to the party, aye? So… shall we get this show on the road?” Chip elbows Barney, presumably as a sign to get up and continue onward, who only complies with a few strained noises. 

They all gather up and, with a deep, collective sigh, slowly make to the entrance of the towering Vampspire. Mudd, having been placed securely back on Ellga’s shoulders, can’t help but feel an acceleration of anxiety rush through him once more. Why? He’d love to know. But deep in his soul somewhere, his body feels like it needs to go on high alert. Panic mode, attack mode, flee mode. A mix of all three. 

The large archway that invites them in feels like it’s instead going to swallow them whole, and the entirely black-bricked nature of it doesn’t to subside the feeling of it either. In a way, stepping in feels like a point of no return—but that could just be the alarm bells ringing. 

“Stoker!” Ellga whispers to what’s apparently a gargoyle, just a large animal-shaped stone statue. He hears her suck in a quiet breath before stepping through to the other side. Out of the whispers of his mind, he closes his eyes, not wanting to see what’s next; what lies on the other side of the door. 

“Oh my goodness,” the girl blurts out. And then, the noises of absolute chaos and the rush of life hits his ears.

Chapter Text

The midnight hour wanes amongst them, surrounding the area in a thick, deep layer of black. The sky and the water combine into one, making it almost difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins, even with their keen, night-seeing eyes. Ocean waves lap onto their small boat, but thankfully not in an aggressive way; simply dampening Mathilde’s pristine feathers. It sucks, a lot, but they’re naturally equipped to handle it. Doesn’t mean they have to enjoy it though. 

Handled tightly in their hands, the wooden oar scratches them, its texture imprinting into their palm; a feeling all too familiar to how they grip their spear. But they handle this instrument differently, haphazardly dunking the spatula-like object into the darkened waves repeatedly. They don’t care to check if they’re in time with everyone else. They have their rhythm, they’re sticking to it. 

The night rings long, and in truth Mathilde hasn’t a clue if they’ve even moved an inch. Everything looks the same, sounds the same. Same uneasy waves occasionally rocking the boat, same splashes that occur whenever Kyborg slaps the water a little too hard, same appearance of the sixty feet of water they are able to make out, the same silence that lingers heavily overtop them all. 

“Bart, how the hells did you and the rest of the crew sail like this? It’s just dark, how could-” an oar gets angrily dunked into the ocean, slapping the water instead of pushing into the waves, “How are you even meant to see in these conditions?! We could be far off course of the Vass Highlands for all we know!” Kyborg huffs. 

Bart turns his side towards the elf with a blank, tired expression, still mindlessly rowing. “Because we’re paddling in said direction. I don’t know about you, but I certainly haven’t noticed any of us turning the boat. Which means, guess what, we’re still traveling south.”

“You don’t know, the wind could’ve blown us off course.” 

“Oh wow, yeah, there’s so much wind.” Bart stops the motions of moving and sticks both his arms out, ‘accidentally’ hitting Kyborg in the process. “Mhhm, just as I thought. Sooo much wind right now.”

Mathilde closes their eyes and extends out their wings, letting the breeze flow through them. Moving and stretching only hurts their injured wing slightly, but definitely still makes itself noticeable. Even so, they’re able to feel the wind and its strength. There’s certainly some in the air, but not nearly enough for their boat to be severely pushed off course. 

“Oh please, don’t mock me,” Kyborg continues with an attitude. With every word in their conversation, the two sound more agitated and annoyed with each other. 

“I’m not. You asked me a question, I’m giving you an answer. And my answer is that we’re probably fine, just maybe more west than when we originally set out.” 

“Well I guess we’ll know properly when the sun comes out, won’t we?” 

“I guess we will,” Bart affirms.

Instinctively, Mathilde goes to block the other two’s squabbling, and instead turns to Gum-Gum, who has been strangely quiet this whole time. Well, aside from the humming. “Does this ‘appen a lot with your group? Cause it seems like this ‘appens a lot.”

“What, the fighting?” Gum-Gum asks. 

“Yes, it seems like you all do nothing but fight with each other.”

“That’s not true! Everyone’s just a little sleepy.”

Mathilde repositions themself and opts to rowing a little lighter. “Uh huh, are you sure? Cause I’ve been stuck ‘ere with you all for not even a day, this is the second time I’ve seen those two up there fight.” 

“Kyborg’s not, uhm, feeling the best. He’s not having a fun time.”

At mention of his name, the aforementioned man turns towards the back, a mean glare on his face. “Yeah. Because of Quadron and his stupid, evil, Quadron Squadron. We wouldn’t be in this mess if- if Mudd hadn’t gotten himself-” He holds in what sounds like an angry scream. 

“Are you seriously pinning the blame on the lost Diagem on Mudd?” Bart turns as well, full on abandoning rowing.

“Yes! Yes I am! Because if he hadn’t gotten his stupid ass missing, then it would’ve been the four of us instead of the three of us! The three of us almost got ourselves killed, and we not only let Quadron escape, but with a Diagem no less! Not to mention that we would’ve also been quicker getting over there cause we wouldn’t have needed to deal with them!” Kyborg turns his focus to Mathilde, staring daggers at them. 

“I didn’t ask to be put with you,” Mathilde tactically adds. “Don’t go roping me into the reasons why your life sucks.”

“What, my life doesn’t-!” The elf breathes in loudly, then exhales, clearly trying to calm himself down. After a few minutes of doing so, he continues. “I’m just sayin’ that this whole situation wouldn’t have happened if a series of… issues… also didn’t happen. We would have been out of there scot free, and with that stupid gem.” 

“What’s so important to you about some shiny rock?” They cock their head, befuddled. 

Bart butts in, answering a calmer, level-headed, more simplistic tone, “These ‘shiny rocks,’ as you called them, are stones created by the goddess, Dia. At least, that’s what we were told. There’s six of them supposedly out there, and we’re currently tasked with the hunt for them. Though we only have one so far… Kyborg c’mere, gimme your arm.” He tussles with Kyborg for a second, trying to get the blond to cooperate, eventually ending the metal arm facing towards them. Tucked in the upper portion of his arm, a ruby-colored gem Mathilde hadn’t noticed before. “This,” Bart points to it, “Is the ruby one. Uhh, what was it called?” 

Both Gum-Gum and Kyborg shrug their shoulders, presumably also forgetting the answer. 

“Well yeah, anyway. That’s that. And mister ‘tough guy’ over here,” the halfling nudges Kyborg, “Is upset because his archenemies currently still has one. So! That’s why we’re headed back to Boulderay, to recuperate and plan our next moves. As well as, y’know, solving all of… this.” Bart gestures in their general direction. 

Mathilde doesn’t say anything, just slowly nodding their head, as if any of the prior explanations make any sense to them. They’ll ask later, when it’s not pitch black, and they’re not stuck on a tiny boat with highly emotional people. 

Particularly, who even is this goddess?

Eventually when bright pinks and oranges start to peak out over the ocean’s horizon, land fully comes into view. Mountains, tall, but not too tall, covered in even higher grasses. A rocky coastline greets them coldly as they pull up to a rickety set of docks, coated in a thin layer of algae. 

When Mathilde looks at the rest of the group, they see the rest of them fighting back exhaustion, no one having slept the entire trip. Sure, there were times where someone took a break, but nothing particularly restful. 

They pull up next to one of the docks; Gum-Gum and Kyborg, both seated on the left side of the boat, quickly mill about, working on securing the small thing of rope to it. Paddles are left stacked up on top of each other in the middle, sunken-most part of the rowboat. And once everyone has a pack lifted on their shoulders, the young half-orc harboring two, they all quietly leave the port, returning it to its still, abandoned state. 

Though in the back of their mind Mathilde can’t help but wonder if that boat is going to remain there. Who knows, a cursed gang of boat thieves might come steal it. But that’s not their problem, they didn’t pay for it, nor even own it. 

Slowly the bright morning sun delivers a new day as the four of them trudge through the high fields of grass to… they already forgot. Or simply didn’t care enough to remember. Some foreign place they’ve never heard of before. The dirt is rough and disgustingly dry, leaving Mathilde to choose to hover just above the ground instead; they’d much rather not clean their talons later. 

But by the time a tall gate comes into view, a rainstorm has started to march in. To them, it’s a telltale sign of how truly long their walk between the port and this new town has taken. And it certainly doesn’t help that every-so-often Gum-Gum would check in with Bart, whose limp significantly slows him down—them all down, really. 

Mathilde reaches out their hand, feeling the raindrops fall onto their skin. They hate the rain. They hate it, they hate it, they hate it. It’s the reason they hide away in their café, or if they’re forced to be outside, go incorporeal. It doesn’t drench their wings, and the stinging, slightly acidic rain doesn’t affect their beak. But for whatever reason, this rain doesn’t hurt as badly. It does, however, still wetten their feathers; between the ocean’s salty water and now this, they’re going to have to seriously work on getting dry again.

As they approach the gate, the guards, dressed head to toe in heavy armor, barely bat an eye, that is until Mathilde—who’s very clearly not the firbolg Infinight—becomes visible. They’re able to lie through their beak on occasion, quite easily, in fact, but pretending to be a completely different species is quite difficult to play off. 

“Uhm, I’m sorry if this is inconsiderate and inappropriate to ask, but what happened to the… other one,” one of them says, gesturing quite obviously to the aarakocra in front of them. It causes the three Infinights to pause in their tracks. 

“Oh, y’know,” Bart tries to play off causally, “Stuff.”

“Stuff?” 

“Yeah, uh… Stuff.” 

“He uh-” Kyborg begins.

“—He went to see some new friends!” Gum-Gum explains quickly, interjecting. The boy fixes the strap to this supposed Mudd’s pack on his shoulder. “And, and, since Mudd got to have some new friends, we got one too!” 

Almost subconsciously, Mathilde extends out their wings as if to make themself feel bigger. 

“Right… Okay. Welcome back to Boulderay, I’m sure the good Doctor is awaiting your arrival.” 

“Wherever he might be,” the second one adds quieter. 

Kyborg starts walking again, with the others seconding the action. Thankfully, the guards give Mathilde no issues nor any additional mind, seemingly not caring enough. On the other side of the brilliant gate reminds them of a place far too similar to Attro City, however much it might not be: the cobbled roads currently being dripped on from the sky above, the tightly knit clusters of buildings all grouped together, and the amount of vender stalls tucked into every possible corner. 

Deep down though they have to remind themself: this isn’t Attro City. This isn’t home. 

Especially with how there’s people still minding their business in the streets, even with the rain. No one they know does that. No one. What a strange town. These significant differences outweigh any of the similarities the two cities might share. They don’t allow themself to get the slightest bit of their hopes up.

The rain only pours harder and harder onto them, making a loud tapping sound against the bricks and a rough rustle through the trees. Even so, an elf with blue hair comes running up to them. What’s with everyone? Are the four of them just not able to peacefully get to wherever they’re going without any interruptions?

“Rust-bucket!” The elf calls out with a slight smirk in his tone. “What happened to your favorite dirt eater, hm? Did he finally get tired of ya’? He sounds incredibly playful, like joking with a close friend, but none of the Infinights play back.

“He’s gone, Brink. Don’t know where to, don’t know why,” Bart says blankly, as if he’s rehearsed it in his mind. 

“Oh, I- uh.” The tone gets quickly turned off. “I didn’t know.” 

“No. No you didn’t. No one knows. That’s the problem,” Kyborg pipes in coldly.

The stranger tilts his head towards Mathilde—again with all this much unneeded, unwanted attention. So, so dramatic of everyone. It’s like they’re traveling with celebrities. “So you already found his replacement then?” 

“Nope. They’re just another issue that we gotta add to our list. Now if you’ll so kindly excuse us, Brink, we have better, more important things to be doing.” 

Seemingly taken aback, this Brink only replies with, “Oh yeah, sure. I guess I’ll see ya’ guys around then. Gotta go back to bein’ mayor of Boulderay. Come find me if you ever have a second, or if ya’ need somethin.’” 

Through a cluster of hallways and down a ramp, they find themselves in a room equipped with lots of scrambled-together machinery, copper wires, and alchemy. At the center of it, a wheelchair bound kobold, tinkering away at some contraption. 

He turns quickly, meeting the four of their eyes warmly, before quickly dropping his face. “Ah hello… Infinights. Where’s Mudd?” 

Why is that everyone’s first question, and why does everyone seemingly keep ignoring them and their existence?!

Gum-Gum drops both bags onto the floor with a thud before blurting out, “He’s missing!” 

A panic seems to erupt out of the man. “He’s… he’s missing?! Gum-Gum my dear boy, what happened?” 

“He drank a thing and, and, then suddenly became a big fire thing when we were supposed to be making friendship with these snakes, and then the snakes told us to tell him to let them suck on him and- We got our new friend!”

This turns the kobold’s attention to Mathilde. They respond with a nonchalant “Bonjour.” 

He seems to blink a few times, as if trying to compute the boy’s message. “Oh um- Right. Thank you, uhm, Gum-Gum. I have lots to ask about that later, but for now, is everyone alright? You all don’t look like you’re in… well, the best shape.” Water continues to drip down all of them onto the hard wooden floors. 

“We rowed here from Pyous Pass. All. Night. And also spent the entire previous day either solving problems or fighting.” Bart says, exhausted. “We haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours, and by Dia above we’ve been halfway across the world and back.”

“You made it to Pyous Pass, splendid! Did you secure the Diagem?”

Kyborg scoffs this time. He kicks at dust particles on the floor. “Nope! It was all for nothing!” 

“Ah, that’s… unfortunate. In that case, why don’t the three of you go rest up for a while. Eat, sleep, whatever to make you comfortable. We can surely meet up later and talk about everything,” the kobold finishes. 

Everyone turns back out the way they came, and Mathilde starts to trail them. 

“Actually! Uh- I’m sorry, I never caught your name… But could I borrow you for a moment?” 

As much as they really don’t want to, and would rather be alone for a while, tending to themself, and not being questioned and pressed for answers, they begrudgingly agree. 

The man wheels closer to them, ending up at their side. They blankly stare down their beak at him. 

He clears his throat. “Well I’d just like to start with by saying, hello, welcome to the Infinight headquarters, even if it’s not exactly… under the best circumstances. I am Dr. Ahem, their quartermaster, so if you need anything please let me know and I might be able to work something out. Please, while all of this is happening, do try to make yourself comfortable.”

“Are you all guys forcing me to stay ‘ere?” Mathilde asks with a sharp edge to their voice. Are they being seen as a prisoner right now? Does everyone else consider them a prisoner? Because if so, they will certainly show these Infinights how no one forces them into a box… again.

“Of course not! I’m not sure of everything right now, and we’ll certainly get back to that later, but I can almost guarantee you’d like to get back to whatever you were doing, and I know that the Infinights want their fourth member back here where he belongs. By no means are you a prisoner to this place, we have a holding quarters for that specific reason.” 

“So what I’m ‘earing is that at any moment I am able to simply fly away and never return, and you’d all be okay with that?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t precisely go as that far, but–”

Mathilde clasps their hands together. “Well then perfect! Sounds like a fantastic plan to me, you all figure out this mess and I’ll just be around waiting.”

The two’s eye contact breaks slightly, Dr. Ahem’s attention instead becomes caught on their wings, as if it was highlighted amongst the dark. “I, uh… Are you sure you’re able to fly with these?” He asks carefully, almost like the question would offend them or something. 

Which it does.

Baffled, the aarakocra steps back slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I can fly with these!” They beat their wings, reigniting the injury from the blast. They hold themself back from gripping the spot in an attempt to get the pain to stop. 

“Hmm. It surely doesn’t look that way to me—oh, uhm I’m sorry, I’m realizing again I forgot to get your name… What is it?”

“Mathilde,” they scowl, still in a defensive position.

Dr. Ahem wheels away toward a collection of potions at the back of the room. He digs through them, picking up some, reading the labels, and then placing them back on the shelf. The process repeats a few times before he wheels back over towards them with a decently sized red potion resting in his lap. 

“That wound in your wing certainly doesn’t look that good to me then, Mathilde,” he says. The potion, glistening with magic of sorts, is offered out graciously in their direction. “Take this, it should help.”

“I don’t need no ‘potion’ to ‘elp my wing. I can ‘andle myself and my well being. Besides, shouldn't you be giving this to the other three instead? You work for them, or they work for you, or whatever the weird dynamic ‘ere is—they’re more injured than I am so just give it to them instead,” they argue, tapping their talons on the hard floor. 

“Oh the Infinights? They’ll be okay. They just need to rest for a while and they’ll be back in tip-top shape. Not to mention I can always make more of these healing potions later and drop them off at all of their doors. It is part of my job, after all. So here,” Dr. Ahem extends the concoction out further, urging Mathilde on, “Take it!”

They eye the potion warily, briefly questioning on whether or not to take this kobold's words. They quickly come to the conclusion that if they don’t take it, they’ll continue to be pestered about it. Besides, taking it doesn’t mean they have to necessarily drink it. Sucking up their pride, they reach out and take the concoction from the Doctor’s hands. 

“Right, well now that that’s handled, why don’t I take you to where you’ll be staying for the time being, hm?” Dr. Ahem’s words sound genuine enough. Enough for Mathilde to nod their head, accepting. At least if they get put into their own room, they’ll finally be able to be alone for a while.

The pair leave through the big wooden doors once more, back into the dimly lit hallways. “That way,” Dr. Ahem points to the right, “Is where the Infinights’ quarters are, should you need them. I believe their doors are marked, so don’t worry about not knowing whose is whose. Mine is also down there. Don’t hesitate to grab any of us, I promise we don’t bite. The kitchen and mess hall are also down that hallway, just… down the stairs.” 

They’re quickly guided left though, given a mini tour all along the way: the library, training rooms, equipment storage, and stables. And of course, down a particularly narrow hallway, the couple of spare bedrooms. They open the first door on the right. 

“How does this work?” The man asks, wheeling in.

Given the size of the headquarters, Mathilde thought the rooms would’ve been bigger. The ceiling is barely a foot taller than the top of their head. Definitely not enough room to stretch out their wings. On the far wall, a small bed and a nightstand. Opposite it, a dresser, and a carpet quietly decorates the floor. At least there’s a window. “It’s fine.”

“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid these rooms are the only other ones that lie unoccupied, well aside from Mud–” He cuts himself off. “Feel free to use it as little or as much as you need. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No, merci,” Mathilde replies, looking away. 

“Well in that case, I’ll be off. You are welcome to use any of the facilities, should you desire, and of course all four of us will be around. I’m sure one of the Infinights will come find you in a couple of hours, so just be prepared for that.” With that, Dr. Ahem leaves, closing the door behind him.

The aarakocra sighs, letting everything wash over them. The potion, still in their hand, is placed onto a surface. Sitting on the floor, legs crossed, they attempt to mediate. Anything to try and get their connection to the Astralian plane restored. If they could manage to get there, maybe Jacques would know something—spirit to spirit. 

Squeezed around a small table in the lab, the five of them sit. Well, only three of them sit in the proper chairs, Dr. Ahem still in his wheelchair, and Mathilde opting for the floor. It’s more comfortable this way, their wings don’t get stuck in the back. Given that it’s been a few hours, the three Infinights seem to be better put together, not as many eyebags under the eyes, but definitely not all there mentally. 

“Alright, so. Thank you everyone for coming. Today’s debrief is going to be a little bit more, oh how do I put this lightly… Intense,” the doctor begins, pulling out a piece of chalk from his apron. 

“And why is it important that I be ‘ere as well? This whole mess, and thing about your mission does not involve me. I have lots of other important things that I could and would rather be doing right now,” Mathilde interrupts before anyone else could start. They really don’t see the point of it all. 

“Well, perhaps you could offer us some insight into what happened prior to ending up here. And I’m sure you have questions, as do we, so now could be a proper time to address those. But for now, why don’t we start from the very, very beginning. I got the, uhm, Gum-Gum version of events, but why doesn’t someone else give it a go? Bart, Kyborg?”

“What was wrong with my version?” Gum-Gum questions, a firm pout on his lips.

“Oh, you know, it never hurts to hear multiple perspectives, hm Gum-Gum?”

“Hmmm…” the boy hums, “Okay!”

As if the blatant, obvious lie just went straight over his head. 

Bart gives a small, awkward smile, and proceeds recounting the day prior, giving a general summary of the day and its findings. No topic is dug into particularly than any other, just a brief overview. Mathilde tries to pay attention to some things, but quickly finds that thinking to their party members more interesting. 

“Right, thank you Bart. What happened with Quadron and the Diagem is truly… disheartening. But I’m glad that the pyes are safe. However what I’m more curious about now is, the events during the switch. More about the specifics of it.” Dr. Ahem finishes writing the summary on the top portion of a chalkboard, circling the word ‘switch’ and dragging a line down from it.

The halfling turns to his side. “Kyborg? You got this bit?”

Kyborg’s face contorts uncomfortably, as is reliving the memories in his head once more. After a minute, he quietly hums and begins, “The decoction potion, I-” he pauses, despite having just begun. “It was stupid of me to have dropped it. Minutes before I dropped it, I noticed how wild he looked. And I know, I know, ‘Kyborg it’s rude to put people into boxes, they have a complex set of emotions,’ or whatever, but trust me when I say, I’d never seen him so… For lack of a better word, I’m going to use mischievous. But that’s not it. He can be mischievous, and we all know it, but-” he trails off again quietly. “I watched in what felt like slow motion as Mudd stole it and downed it. Then, before I knew it, before I could even stop him, he was engulfed in flames, screaming. I really thought he was going to die.”

“It certainly sounded like it,” Bart chimes in.

Gum-Gum quietly hums in agreement. 

In all perfect honesty, what Kyborg described sounds exactly like something Mathilde would do. They live for the chaos, live to mess with people, especially Chip and Barney. Anything that might make for a more interesting time, even if not exactly… particularly helpful… hells, they’d do it without even skipping a beat. If nothing else, they would’ve done the same thing solely for the reaction of getting under the old man’s skin.

They don’t exactly see the harm in this.

“Then,” the elf continues in his deadpan voice, “the fire seemed to surge, with the tabulians sucking out the poison, and he was gone without a piece of freakin’ dust. In his place…” Kyborg gestures to Mathilde with an inch of sass.

The right side of the chalkboard is all marked up from the retelling, little specks of dust filling the air. “Okay,” Dr. Ahem says finally. He puts the chalk down momentarily and brushes his hands together. “Now for you,” his attention gets placed to the monk. “Mind divulging on what was going on during your half of things?”

“Am I allowed some questions first before we get too far,” they inquire, holding in some of their attitude—some slips out anyway. 

“Please.”

“Okay we’re going to back up then. They were explaining the mission to me earlier on the way ‘ere, and I, for one, was completely lost for the whole time. Like there was mention of a goddess Dia, and I didn’t want to ask when we were on the ship because I didn’t want to start a bigger fight than what was already ‘appening, but I totally could’ve ‘andled it, anyway—I ‘ave no idea who that is. Is she new or something? Did something ‘appen to the great Maw and Paw? I mean for being a monk, you’d think I’d know something about the divine, but nope!” 

The rest of the group looks at them quizzically with a multitude of raised eyebrows. Kyborg juts in before anyone else. “So I was raised alone. In the woods. By myself for fifteen years. And even I know gods n’ stuff. Like Kord, my man.” He pumps his metal arm on his chest twice. “I mean I guess not knowing Dia is like, rare, or whatever, but still exists—I didn’t know of her until coming to Boulderay.”

Gum-Gum shrugs his shoulders. “Me and Bart were taught about her in the Orchanage. She’s a very nice lady who does all sorts of really cool magic and stuff.”

“Oh so you’ve met ‘er then?” Mathilde cocks their head to the right curiously. “I mean if you know ‘er to be a ‘nice lady’ then you must ‘ave gotten the opportunity to talk with ‘er.” 

The archer spits a laugh, unable to keep his cool. “Meet Dia, pfft. We can’t even manage to collect her stupid, stupid gems.”

“Well you literally ‘ave one in your arm, so,” they argue, gesturing to it. Kyborg only grumbles a response, garnering a tiny win for Mathilde. If the man didn’t want a verbal war, he shouldn’t have said that ‘this isn’t over.’ Internally, they allow themself to gloat, even if just a little. 

“If not Dia,” Dr. Ahem picks up the conversation, directing it in his own way, “Then who are you familiar with? You mentioned some that I’m personally not acquainted with.” 

“Oh you see, I’m not really much of a worshipper of any kind, the Great Maw and Great Paw are just deities I’ve ‘eard about throughout traveling with my party. Apparently most people where I’m from like the Maw, but these weird brain people, abralians, like the Paw, and are ousted for such. I don’t know, I don’t really care.”

“—And where, if you don’t mind me asking, would that be? Where you’re from, I mean.” The doctor begins jotting down Mathilde’s words onto another part of the chalkboard. 

“Well like I’ve already explained to Bart ‘ere, I currently have a residence in Attro City, but speak in the dialect of Perrishian,” Mathilde repeats themself, annoyed. Hopefully the last time they have to do so. 

As if they’re crazy, the rest of the people in the room glance at each other, Bart giving a quick look of ‘I don’t know.’ Despite how hard they might all try to hide it, Mathilde sees their confusion as bright as day. 

“What? You asked a question, I’m simply giving you an answer,” they sass, voice raising. “If you don’t like it then-”

“—No no, it’s nothing of the sort, I promise! It’s more, I suppose, none of us here have… necessarily heard of or… know where those places are.” Dr. Ahem says. His words are calm, obviously attempting to calm the situation and the monk’s temper. 

“Would a map help?” Bart asks.

This catches Gum-Gum’s interest, chiming in. “Oh! Mudd had a map in his pack, I’ll go grab it!” 

“Wonderful, thank you Gum-Gum.” The doctor encourages, ushering with his hands for the boy to get going. Quickly, Gum-Gum gets up from his seat and runs towards the back of the room, where his and Mudd’s bags are still planted on the floor. Rustling noises fill the air as his hands shuffle through the pack. With wide eyes, Gum-Gum makes his way back to them, even with the item secured in his hand. 

“Guys,” he says at half the volume, “I lost Gumbo.” The two other Infinights whip their attention to the half-orc, seemingly also lost to the panic. 

“What do you mean you lost Gumbo?!” Bart questions, gripping the edge of the table. “Wasn’t he just meant to be stashed in Mudd’s pack?”

“He’s not there!” 

“Oh my gods.” Kyborg deadpans, dropping his face onto his hands. They run across his face. “I’m seriously going to kill Mudd next time I see him. I’m going to kill him!”

“We both know that if we’re really the ones who lost Gumbo that we’re going to be dead,” Bart adds with frustration in his tone. 

Collectively, the three of them start to panic together, voices becoming a cacophony of worried sentiments. Mathilde only watches the scene unfold, and after a while leans over to Dr. Ahem. “What is a ‘Gumbo,’ and why does it really matter all that much? I mean I don’t think I’ve seen them this panicked, even after their friend went missing, which is a little crazy if you ask me.” 

“Ah well you see, I think they’re currently in a bit of denial with Mudd currently, but Gumbo—Mudd’s badger companion—is something that they can register in their heads a little better. The druid usually keeps his friend in his bag at all times while they're out, so if he’s not currently stashed in there, then well… I fear all their panic is justified. The two are essentially inseparable.”

Their mind drifts to their two kitties; to how quickly they were to leap out of the train car to chase after Jaqcues; how they’d do anything for JJ, even sacrificing one of their party members to keep him safe—not that they’d ever admit that out loud, of course. Inside thought. The hells of Grotethe would sooner escape before they’d let any harm come to their babies. 

Just thinking about JJ, Mathilde’s chest warms slightly, missing the kitten. They’d only just gotten him, it's truly evil that they’re already separated. Hopefully the rest of their party is taking sufficient care of him. 

Dr. Ahem clears his throat, snapping the aarokocra back to reality. “I know we’re all worried about Gumbo, but please let’s get back on track and finish out this meeting, can we do that? Then after you three can go back to… this.” His face grimaces slightly, presumably at the state of the Infinights. 

All at once, the three’s attention gets diverted, and magically shuts them up. Even so, a thick, unspoken presence weighs thick around them, nearly shrinking in the walls. Words that have yet to be voiced.

“Very well, thank you. Gum-Gum if you would be so kind, the map?”

“Oh, right!” The half-orc gives a sheepish grin, unrolling the map onto the table. It’s so large that it’s barely able to be contained onto the surface. Mathilde stands from the ground for the first time, gaining a better angle to view. They place their palms firmly on the wooden edge and stare intently at the marked-up piece of parchment. Five large land masses: Ineffabor, Klatsch, Noone, Feroz, and Tetora. Each has numerous cities and towns littered inside them, with the words ‘Boulderay,’ ‘Ürbloom,’ ‘Pyous Pass,’ and ‘New Valross’ circled in red. And written next to ‘Evirwinter’ just the words “Ruby Diagem.” 

This is definitely, most certainly, one-hundred percent, not Grotethe. Not in the slightest. 

Grotethe, for starters, is a singular continent, not five, and with much more digestible sounding names. Their world’s history makes sense for how the land is distributed—this map would not. 

The blatant observations and differences they’ve noticed suddenly burn like a bright flame in their eyes. It’s so, so, so stupidly obvious. Neither side knowing specific places, types of people, and why the water isn’t burning. How they’d hadn’t realized it sooner is what really ruffles their feathers. Metaphorically speaking. 

They go to open their beak, but quickly close it again, effectively rendered speechless. How is someone meant to explain that the very map they’re reading, the world they in theory would be sucking air in from, is completely foreign to them? Like none of this should be real, not to them, like they’re flipping through one of the fantasy books in the Attro City library. 

Instead, they let out an exasperated huff, frustration and confusion flowing through their body. “Well, okay,” Mathilde decides to start, “Uhm, this is awkward. Strangely enough, I, uh, don’t belong… anywhere ‘ere.”

The group looks at them like a group of lost puppies. A reaction they for some reason keep receiving. 

“What, I’m telling the truth. I’m not from anywhere on this map,” they reiterate. 

“I mean it makes sense,” Bart says blankly. He then shakes his head back and forth a few times as if ridding thoughts from his head. “I didn’t think we had ghosts in Faeza—like the kind that’ll walk around and interact with us… alive people. Is that offensive?”

“I take no offense to that. Being dead ‘as its perks.”

“Well if you’re not from here, where would that be then? ‘Cause this is the only map we’re familiar with,” Kyborg asks, audibly upset. 

“Uh, why don’t I just show you. Monsieur Ahem, may I?” Mathilde directs their head to the chalkboard.

“Oh-oh, of course! Here, you’re going to need this.” Dr. Ahem hands them the piece of chalk from his apron pocket. 

“Merci beaucoup.” With the object in hand, Mathilde attempts to draw the map of their homeland to the best of their abilities. It’s rough—scratchy lines and obviously drawn from memory—but it’s close enough. In each of the seven sections, they make sure to label its name. “This,” they point to the minimap with one of their claws, “Is where I’m from. Grotethe. And ‘ere is where I live.” 

Kyborg blinks at them. “So let me just get this straight, you seriously expect us to believe that you’re from another world? Like somewhere that’s not Faeza?”

“It’s the truth.”

The elf turns to his party members with his eyebrows furrowed and an unreadable face. “Bart? Gum-Gum?”

They look at him back, uncomfortability on Bart’s cheeks. “Kyborg,” Gum-Gum says back.

“You’re seriously fine with this?!” 

“Oh Dia above, we’re not doing this again Kyborg.” Bart elbows the man. “Why don’t we just listen to what Mathilde has to say, hm? We don’t have anything else to go off of. Besides, we’ve been back in time and have had the timeline altered on multiple occasions. World hopping isn’t exactly… out of the question of weirdness.”

“Thank you Bart, for being reasonable. Any other questions?” Mathilde asks out of nothing but pure and utter politeness, praying to no one that any of the four of them actually do. They’d like to be out of here now, even if they don’t exactly know what they’d be doing.

“So does that mean Mudd’s in a different world too?” Gum-Gum questions almost solemnly. He plays with the clothing folds on his robe. 

“Well I don’t think that any of us know that for sure, Gum-Gum. But that certainly is a potential theory,” Dr. Ahem answers in a reassuring tone. “Mathilde, what can you tell us about your world and what was happening on your end before ending up here?”

Great. So much for wanting to get out quickly. 

They share some of the more pertinent parts of Grotethe and its history: the constant fights between the different monster groups, the treaty and subsequent peace parades that followed, the now murders and disappearances of five of the leaders, and how they and the rest of their rag-tag compatriots had all been falsely accused with the assassination of one of them. They wrap up with the recent happenings of Perrish, and the death of Carol. 

“—So then everyone went to bed for the night. Not me though, I don’t sleep.” Can’t sleep. “‘owever when I eventually awoke, I was on the floor of what looked like a jailhouse, and was very confused to say the least.”

“Interesting,” the doctor hums, “Very interesting indeed. So truly nothing out of the ordinary for you on that side of things? Nothing severely out of character, or did you notice any other things that didn’t belong?”

“It’s certainly weird that I managed to fall asleep given that ghosts don’t have that ability, but other than that? No.” Mathilde forcefully puts the chalk back into Dr. Ahems hands, enclosing the man's hands around the object. “Well then, are done ‘ere? Cause I for one, would like to be done.”

Kyborg coughs something under his breath, but Mathilde doesn’t quite catch it. Bart’s daggered stare in response is all the justice they need, however. The halfling maneuvers his whole body towards the chalkboard. “I think we’d like to be done too, if that’s alright with you? I know Gum-Gum over here,” he taps the boy, “Could really use some food right about now, aye big guy?”

“Ooh yeah, food sounds great!”

“Ah well that’s important, and we have been here for quite a while indeed. I’m going to stay here in my lab and see if I can make any more connections or leads, or… anything, really. I’m also going to dig into anything I have around here about more Diagems, so if any of you are bored later and need a task.” Dr. Ahem puts the piece of chalk into his apron’s pouch once more and wheels closer to the table. “But for now, you all take a break and do whatever. We need to keep our spirits high in order to help us think, but also keep trust that everything will turn out okay. Now shoo, shoo! Go, enjoy the evening!” He shoves the four of them from the table, and Bart and Gum-Gum are the first two to make a break out of the lab; Kyborg follows suit, but not nearly at as fast of a pace.

Mathilde lingers there a second before going off on their own way. As they do so, they hear the kobold muttering under his breath, “I could’ve sworn I’ve felt their presence somewhere before. They feel so… familiar, but how? If only any of this made sense…” His words get quieter and quieter until they’re no longer able to hear anymore. 

Now, what to even do in this place?

They’d be lying if they had said they spent their time well. After the meeting the three Infinights went about their business together, rightfully so. But Mathilde? They spent their time locked away in the small room designated to them. 

Talking with people has never truly been a priority for them, especially given their never-ending lifespan when compared to others in Attro City. But their team was different, they were all forced into a whirlwind of an adventure together, forced to be by each other’s side, to get to know one another. It was nice. 

They had no one else they could rely on, it had to be the four of them.

These new people though? They all have their group, Mathilde’s the one disrupting it. So to them, it doesn’t feel right to follow any of them around. They’re the outcast, the one entity that doesn’t belong. Not here with these three, not here in this world, not–

They huff out a pent up frustration in their chest. 

It’s not like it really matters anyway. They’ve always been the “lone wolf” type, just fine without anyone's presence. Perfectly so, in fact, quite enjoying the quiet of the night. However, the way that they’ve gotten so incredibly used to people’s company at all hours of the day, it makes them feel even more isolated here. 

Not that they care of course.

They would never care. 

Nope.

So now here they are on the floor, watching the bright white moon of Faeza high in the sky for another round. They should’ve realized it sooner, the singular moon lighting up the celestial sphere. But there’s no use in dwelling on it now. 

Instead of succumbing to their thoughts, they go to stand, feeling a slight twinge in their wing in doing so. Not enough to do anything about it, obviously. They’re fine. At least for right now. 

Aimlessly, Mathilde wanders about the quiet halls of Infinight HQ. There’s not a person in sight, nor any sounds of active life. Considering it to be the middle of the night, they suppose it to make sense. 

They need something to do, a task to keep their hands busy so they don’t go absolutely mad within their own mind. Their recent nightly tasks are a no go: keeping watch, sharpening weapons, petting cute animals, etcetera; so they’ll just return to a comfort that they know best. 

Attempting to recall Dr. Ahem’s directions, they make for the kitchen—quite literally on the other side of this far too big of a headquarters. Like seriously, who needs a building this big for like five people?

With just enough work, they manage to do so, finding the room shrouded in a blanket of darkness, albeit for the little bit of moonlight shining its way in through a pair of windows. Hunched over a counter in front of the windows, the apparent silhouette of an elf: Kyborg. 

From what little they’ve noticed about the man, he seems to be the least stable of the trio, prone to outlashing when upset, or making snide comments, even if completely warranted. From what little they’ve learned about him, it seems like he’s down a spiral of recent trauma; that’s what they gathered from talking to Bart, at least. Of course it makes sense why he’d be so erratic and spiteful, but it doesn’t make Mathilde want to talk to him any more than necessary. 

Cautiously, they step back prepared to spend their night a different way. As they do so, however, their talons creek the floorboards, announcing their presence. 

Hastily, Kyborg whips around, the light highlighting the right side of his face, and he places down what he was holding. When they really intake his appearance, his hair is fully down, and his metal arm is absent on his shoulder. “What are you doing here?” He blurts out, clearly caught severely off guard. His left hand clutches over his right numb. 

“Oh I was just very bored with nothing else to do, you know, with everything I own back in my own party’s hands, in a place very, very far from ‘ere—I needed something to waste time away. And as a baker, I was simply going to indulge in what I do best, bake,” Mathilde replies as nonchalantly as possible. They move their hands around as an extension of their voice, hoping to distract the elf. “But it seems like you beat me ‘ere, so I was just about to leave.”

This seems to calm the man down, exerting an exhale. “Right, yeah. That… makes a lot of sense.” Still, he shies away the right half of his body, attempting to place it into the darkness. 

“What appears to be the matter ‘ere? What were you doing?” They raise an eye at him. 

“No- nothing! Nope. Not here. Not right now.” 

Mathilde takes a step closer, Kyborg takes a bigger step back, almost cowering. For a man with a massive presence and loudness to him—something that Mathilde deeply dislikes—there’s something so interesting about him being incredibly cagey and vulnerable. 

On the counter where Kyborg was earlier, they notice his arm placed there, right next to an empty plate and a knife. He takes his hand off the spot and reaches for the metal object, as if afraid it’ll be stolen from him. “Well I, uh- hey it’s gettin’ pretty late, yeah? So I’d better… get out of here. Like everyone else. The kitchen’s all yours. Have at it for all I care.” Quickly, he speed walks past Mathilde—like they’ve seen Chip do on far too many occasions—and out the room.

What a strange, strange elf. 

With him gone, they quickly investigate the room further; they find the plate empty, with the exception of a few crumbs, and the knife’s blade covered in a thin coating of red. 

Dots connect in their mind and suddenly they feel a bit guilty for every bad thing they’ve thought about Kyborg. 

Only a bit though. 

Mathilde takes the two dirty dishes and scrubs them clean, erasing any evidence that he was here, and sets out what they originally intended on doing. Now if only they could find where everything is placed.

Chapter Text

Pastries sit still on the wooden countertops as the sun peaks over the horizon, letting its rays pour into the kitchen. Pinks, oranges, and yellows flood the room in a bright morning glow as Mathilde covers the last of their goods. Its buttery aroma fills the area. Certainly not their best work given the lack of utensils and ingredients at their disposal, but at least they’re palatable; wasn’t meant to be great, just something to keep themself from going insane during the night hours. 

It’s a little strange in truth. For as long as they can remember, they’d be just fine keeping to themself through the night hours, but since… everything, they’re suddenly unable to find the same solace in the night. The lack of people’s presence is severely noticeable in comparison; it acts as a constant reminder, always occupying their mind.

They gather up the batch of croissants and brioches in their arms, leaving a small few on the counter as a gift of good faith, and head out of the room, determined to actually make the day productive. They’re going to do things, gather information, whatever; they’re not going to remain cooped up in this building that’s very obviously not built for someone with their wingspan. 

Today the introvert who would rather not leave under most circumstances becomes an extrovert on the hunt for an escape. Freedom from this place and its people, who have overall made it abundantly clear in having no interest in interacting let alone helping Mathilde. Sure they share the same motivations as the Infinights, but the group doesn’t really want to help them , they only want their party member back. And in order to do so, they need to get Mathilde out of this place–so no, they don’t want to help the monk for the sake of “helping.” It’s out of desperation, it’s for their own benefit. None of them actually care for Mathilde and they can tell, through all of the side eyes and all. 

Not that they care, of course. 

No. 

They don’t care; they don’t even like to interact with people! 

They’re not jealous, never.

Never…

As they pass through the hall by everyone’s rooms, Gum-Gum’s unnecessarily loud snoring fills the silence. The noise reminds them that while they don’t sleep, everyone else does. Which, unfortunately, probably also includes the townsfolk of Boulderay. 

Meaning until the day’s properly begun, they’re not going to get a peep out of anyone. Already a wrench in step one their masterful escape plan. Great.

With a huff of frustration, they turn towards the direction of “their” room. Recalling with their absolute perfect memory, Mathilde navigates through the hallways—occasionally having to readjust the position of their goods along the way—and ends up back in what’s essentially their temporary, kind of self imposed, enclosure. Free to roam around as pleased, sure, but tucked far away in the furthest corner from everyone, everything, and literally anything that is somewhat interesting or entertaining. 

Delicately, the pastries are placed into a hard surface, and they take to sitting on the floor again.

If only the rising sun could rise faster so then they could begin the process of getting out of this place. But given the warm colors only just barely peaking out from the pitch black darkness, it’s certain to only be a couple hours more before it’s socially acceptable to get answers out of people—especially the kind that they don’t know. 

From the ground, Mathilde looks around the room again, having nothing else better to do. Their eyes jump from plain object to plain object, eventually landing on the untouched healing potion still sitting on the small wooden dresser. That’s something to entertain themself with, and, even better, it’s productive. 

The idiocy-incited injury on their wing still renders tender to the touch, but thankfully the pain has mostly subsided, becoming a lingering numb sensation. In order to use it to fly, however, they’ll seriously need to fix it. 

Back to the basics. 

Twisting their body, the arrakocra gains access to the right wing, properly giving a good stare. Sure enough, in the dead middle of it all, a whole cluster of feathers are either severely damaged, or are flat out missing all together, leaving an awkward, misshapen hole. Disgusting to look at. Mathilde grabs at the appendage with their hand and pulls it closer, properly unveiling the cluster of fallen-out feathers. Placed dead center, there’s probably a whole foot or two missing in the gap; a significant amount of feathers needed to catch the wind. 

And more’s about to come out. 

With a wince, they start pulling out the damaged tufts, their phantasmic blood spilling from some of the worse off ones. One pluck after another more and more liquid falls, slowly forming a nearly invisible puddle on the floor. The hole grows wider and wider, making the problem worse with every taken out feather. But at least they’re not damaged anymore, leaving space for new ones to grow in… eventually. 

The increased blood-loss makes their head dizzy slightly, but Mathilde doesn’t allow it to continue, focusing their thoughts elsewhere. And once there’s a significant pile of plucked feathers on the ground—once belonging to their precious, majestic wings—they’re finally done. With shaky hands, they move their wing back next to the other one. Secured behind them, they swear to themself they won’t move it for a few more days, having just made the pain surge drastically a second time. Deep down, however, they know it’s almost unavoidable, like twitching a finger or shifting a leg into a more comfortable position. 

By now, the room’s gotten significantly brighter, beams of light streaming through the small window in a blinding manner. At least an hour has passed, somehow. They stand up off the floor, trying not to shift their wings too much, and grab the damaged, pulled-out feathers, stuffing the collection in one of their arms. With the other, they open the window. The fresh smell of dewdrops immediately overwhelms their senses. For a second, Mathilde tests which way the wind is blowing; deeming it strong enough (and in a way that won’t come back to hit them in the face) they slowly offer the abandoned tufts to the wind. One by one, the feathers get carried away, like babes being carefully cradled by their mothers. It’s gentle, respectful. Almost as if nature itself is respecting all of the pain and damage caused to one of its children. 

Bloodied and bruised, they reclose the window, securing it with the tiny lock. That’s one thing off their seemingly never-ending to-do list. Onto the next. 

The monk wanders around Infinight HQ aimlessly for a little while, peeking into different rooms and digging their beak into places it probably isn’t welcome. Eventually after enough time, voices faintly reach their eardrums from just down the hall. 

“You… terrible. Are you… slept? Or even…” Bart’s voice bounces off the hallway, progressively getting further and further down the hall. Mathilde hurriedly sneaks closer, eavesdropping. Being nosy isn’t the worst crime they’ve committed. It’s something to fill the time!

“Gee, thanks Bart.”

“What, I don’t mean to be mean! It’s just the truth, the bags under your eyes are practically bulging out of your skin. Right, Gum-Gum?” 

They couldn’t catch the half-orc’s response. 

“All I’m saying is that we’re concerned.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m fine,” Kyborg says. Despite having seen the activities from last night and knowing otherwise, his voice alone betrays him, twisting the words on top of themselves; a lie that blatantly rests on his tongue, screaming. “Just drop it. I… please.”

“Okay,” Bart replies quietly after a minute, seemingly defeated. 

Mathilde watches from the end of the corridor as the three Infinights walk in silence and intensity towards the mess hall. Gum-Gum seems to occasionally shift in discomfort, sticking close to Bart. Kyborg, on the other hand, distances himself from the other two, almost radiating emotions. But that’s just what they observe. 

When the three are out of view, they decide to set a mental five minute counter. Giving time to announce their presence without appearing like they were behind the group—totally not a stalker—the whole time. Leaning on one of the wooden pillars, they tap the seconds with one of their talons. 

They just need to know when it's socially acceptable and okay to be amongst the masses, to essentially interrogate random people on the street. 

Tucked in a far corner, sat at one of the half dozen or so tables scattered around the room, the three broken Infinights. Bart and Gum-Gum talk at a low volume while, by the sound of it, Kyborg scrapes metal across metal. What an ann-

Nope. They said they were going to be nice to the elf from now on, they can’t judge every little mannerism that bothers them. Poking fun though? Not off the table. 

Announcing their totally wanted and much appreciated appearance, Mathilde clears their throat, catching the party’s attention. Whereas they were near the middle-front of the room, they step closer to everyone, easier to talk—not that they’ll necessarily be doing so for long, anyway. 

“Uhh, bonjour. I apologize for interrupting,” no they don’t, “but do any of you just so ‘appen to know when the town wakes up? I was ‘oping to talk with some people and do my very important business.” 

Bart turns and looks out the large windows on the back wall, then turns back towards the arrakocra. “I would probably say here in the next hour or so, yeah?”

Gum-Gum hums in agreement, shaking his head excessively. “Ooh yeah! Can I come with you? Ooh- ooh, I can show you around and all of the different places and cool things and-”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Mathilde cuts in, almost confused. It’s definitely not a sentiment they were expecting to get; they really don’t want to deal with someone breathing down their neck the whole time, however.

“I could be of help,” the boy furrows his brows slightly, “We don’t have to wear the friendship bracelets if that’s what you’re sad about.” 

“Uhm no it’s not about the, uh, ‘friendship bracelets.’ I just need to go busy myself for a while. By myself. ”

It’s not like they’ve really had to be by themself in… well in a while. And once they reunite with their own party members, and their sweetie, precious kitten, they’ll probably never have the opportunity to do so very often again. They get the feeling Chip is the type to constantly visit and annoy people. 

“The people of Boulderay won’t just hand out information out haphazardly: they’ll want something for it, whether that be gold or a favor. By having Gum-Gum around, you won’t have to deal with all of the trouble. Cause… I’m going to go out on a limb and say you probably don’t have any sort of coin on you?” Bart tries slyly, clearly pushing for some of his own agenda. 

“Hey- Bart, that's mine!” Gum-Gum interjects.

“Shhh, Gum-Gum, me and Kyborg will pay you back some of it. And I’m sure Dr. Ahem will be more than happy to as well-!” 

Dryly and blankly, making a point to not make eye contact, Kyborg chimes in, “Or you could also just take from Mudd’s bag. Don’t think that he’ll miss it, or maybe even notice.”

“Well I wouldn’t say that-” Bart argues. 

Out of the blue, and only slightly on topic, Gum-Gum interrupts, “Okay I’ll do it!” As if this whole thing wasn’t his idea to begin with. If nothing else, this will be an opportunity for Mathilde to see how the half-orc’s mind operates. 

“I didn’t say that you could come with me.” They say.

A smirk is on wide display on Bart’s face. The same kind of look that they do whenever they’re trying to manip- convince Barney or Chip to do something. “Good luck with gathering intel then, the people are pretty stingy around here sometimes.” 

Mathilde rolls their eyes. “Okay fine, fine. Gum-Gum can come with me.”

“That’s good cause he was going to go anyway. Once he makes a friend and says he’s gonna do something, he is going to go through with it.” 

They look towards the boy, who has a stupid smile on his face as if he’s planning something. Oh, fantastic. 

“—And this is where I stubbed my toe on a rock one time. It really hurt. But then Kyborg made it all better when he told me to just stub my other toe too.”

The streets of Boulderay are springing with life: people moving past one another in a hurry to their places of employment, goods being delivered via donkey and cart, shop keepers calling out their wares on display, and the loud voice that doesn’t seem to stop talking next to Mathilde. Gum-Gum rambles on and on about seemingly nothing, and if they’re honest, they stopped trying to register it all about ten minutes ago—letting the boy go on and on to his heart’s content. 

They won’t stop him, but they also might not exactly be listening, either. It’s like having another “good ol’ Chip Haney” around. 

Some townsfolk stare at the pair when they think the two aren’t looking; Mathilde notices all the same. Stares of questioning. Stares of wariness, of mistrust. Boulderay isn’t small by any means—it’s no Attro City—but it’s definitely not a village. Yet, they get the feeling word travels fast, that rumors have spread since yesterday. 

Blabbermouth guards. 

“Okay Gum-Gum,” Mathilde starts, having no idea (and not really caring) if the half-orc was still talking, "Whenever you ‘ave to go gather intel, where do you usually go?”

“Ooh! I usually go ask Dr. Ahem, he has all of the answers. Come on, I can go find him!” Gum-Gum turns around preemptively and starts trucking back into the direction they both just came from. 

With their quick monk reflexes, they begrudgingly yank Gum-Gum by his robe’s hood back to his previous spot, grounding him. “Ah- no. I don’t think that ‘e’ll be able to ‘elp with this. Where else do you go? For, uhm, additional, perhaps more… unbiased information?”

He seems to think for a moment, opening and closing his mouth several times over before saying, “Bart likes to go to the Throne Gauntlet Tavern to talk to people. We’ve also gone to the temple of Dia for things or…” He pauses, dragging out the sound. “Or sometimes the library… but we don’t go to the library anymore.” Quietly, he adds. “There’s evil there.” 

“Ah well perfect, Gum-Gum! That’s precisely the kind of place I’m looking for, merci! Please, lead the way.”

“What, no!” Gum-Gum refutes, panicked and almost unsettled. “I won’t go.”

The words ‘Oh no… what a shame, a tragedy’ cross their mind, not quite making it out. Instead they chose to say, “Well why don’t you just point me in the direction then? That way I can go, and you don’t have to worry about this so-called ‘evil.’”

Beneath his breath, Gum-Gum shudders, “The kenkus.” He stares at the ground as if lost in a weird trance, haunted by spirits. 

Mathilde almost lets the thought of what it would be like to possess the boy would be like. Almost.

…Can they even possess people here?

“I can deal with it, don’t even worry about it! Just point me in the right direction and you won’t even ‘ave to go anywhere near them.” Annoyance disguised as confidence radiates off them. 

“No!” The half-orc snaps, staring his deep brown eyes into Mathilde’s. They’re soft and gentle, full of love, but there’s almost a mix of rage piercing into the middle, threatening to escape. “We go there, and bad things happen. I- I won’t. I won’t let it, let them , hurt any more of my friends.”

It catches them off guard, seeing the sudden switch up in Gum-Gum—to the point where they’ll let the whole thing pass. At the very least he stuns them into a moment of silence. They shake their head, trying to knock the feeling out. 

The pair stand there awkwardly, not speaking; Gum-Gum’s breathing falls somewhat labored, the slightest bit of panting. 

People continue to pass by them, some giving off more concerned stares towards the half-orc as he continues breathing heavily. And after a fair bit of time, Mathilde finally caves. “Okay we really didn’t ‘ave go over there if this is ‘ow you really feel about it. It’s…” Oh great heavens above, how does Chip comfort people? He was always ridiculously good at it, almost as if it slid off the tongue. “It’s fine? Great, even! I certainly won’t go over there, and definitely won’t bring you. Oui? 

Gum-Gum sinks his chocolate-colored eyes deeper into their soul. His face softens, eyebrows raising slightly, and his shoulders don’t rise and fall as aggressively. Passion and determination, even if caring for someone, runs deep within this one, they quickly realize. “Yeah,” he says, voice gravely. The smallest smile creeps onto his face. 

As if trying to escape the situation before it develops any further, Mathilde looks around the square the two find themselves in, seeking out the first random vendor to busy themself with instead. Many are filled with a couple of people waiting to buy whatever, but towards the southwest, a table seller doesn’t have anyone shopping at present: perfect. 

They slip through the crowd like a graceful dancer, having their sights finally set on a proper goal. The first mini bullet-point secured in their masterplan. They just hope that Gum-Gum decided to trail after them instead of standing there in the middle of the path like a broken, panicked puppy. 

—Did they really just think that?

Yeah. Yeah they did. 

Stepping up to the stand, Mathilde first sets their sights on what’s being sold: mundane weapons, shields, and armor sets, all with personalized engravings, alongside a handful of glass-blown vases and potion bottles. On a scribbled piece of paper, it reads “Artisan-Made Goods from Ürbloom.” 

They look up from inspecting everything to instead take in the worker in front of them. Halfling, with a scar over the bridge over their nose, and a pair of braids haphazardly thrown together. “Uh, bonjour,” Mathilde greets.

“Oh, welcome, welcome!” The person looks up at them from the floor. “Looking for something to take adventuring? Need a few new potion bottles to refill after you shattered your old ones? Well, look no further! The Steinmänn and Eironhoff districts of Ürbloom bring you only the best!” The shopkeep reviews their pitch as if it’s been rehearsed in their head a hundred times; arms are tossed around sporadically—a manner to make everything appear more important than it truly is. Deep down within their soul Mathilde only rolls their eyes. 

“Well you see, as I already ‘ave these wonderful talons, I don’t think I’ll be needing any of your weapons. They prove to be absolutely fantastic in combat, you should really see about getting a makeshift pair for yourself.”

The halfling’s eyes drift downwards under the table to where Mathilde taps their talon against the cobbled ground. “Ah I see, I see. Splendid indeed. Weapons are out of the picture, sure, but I can offer any one of these pieces of armor—straight out of the Shwing-Blade Forge! Promise you, nothing but the highest quality.”

“I actually think I’ll pass; these feathers are pristine, and I much prefer not to damage them,” more than they already have, “and ‘aving armor around—it just makes everything so much more difficult and clunky.” 

“A shame, really,” the shopkeeper clicks their tongue before getting fixed on a new thing further back. Following the gaze, Mathilde spots Gum-Gum practically standing next to them, back in the typical mood he carries. “Ah you, good sir, what can I do for you?”

A toothy grin peaks out from Gum-Gum’s mouth as he squints his eyes. “I’m here with them—I’m Gum-Gum,” he says, gripping a rock between his hands. 

“Ah pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gum-Gum. So is there nothing I can do for either of you then? Surely there’s something that’ll pique your interest.” 

“Actually, mon ami, there perhaps is something that will interest us,” Mathilde redirects the conversation back to them.

This seems to catch the person’s attention, their eyes embiggening slightly. “Please, go right ahead. What can I do for you?”

“You see, I am… not from these parts; from somewhere that is much more secluded and off the map. Which is why I’m out ‘ere gathering intel on everything and anything. You ‘ave anything of interest?” With the wing they are able to comfortably move, they puff it out, attempting to enlarge it. 

“Er- I’m sorry, I don’t follow.” 

“Well you said you’re selling items from Ürbloom, no? I can only assume that is a place. ‘ave you noticed anything… unusual there as of late? Missing people? Strangers settling in places they don’t belong… Portals? Anything strange, out of the ordinary?” They cross their arms and raise an eyebrow in question.

Nervously, the shopkeeper looks between Mathilde and Gum-Gum. “Is there something that’s going on? Do I need to hurry back to Ürbloom and warn my family?’

“No!” The half-orc juts in abruptly, clearly trying to quell the person’s nerves before they explode. “Everything’s good! Mhhm. I would know, I’m the great and powerful ‘Flower Wizard,’ knower of all.”

Mathilde can’t help but glare incredulously at Gum-Gum. They don’t particularly mean to, it just comes out. 

In turn, the person behind the counter too, gives the “flower wizard” a weird look, but seems to overcome it. “Are you sure?”

“Yup! One hundred percent-o.”

With a clear sigh of relief, they respond, “Oh that’s wonderful. You two gave me quite the scare there, ha. But hm, to your original question: things have been pretty normal and quiet since everything with the… we’ll call it the impromptu concert that fell over us. But since then, the people of Ürbloom have been going about their daily business… why?”

“Oh well you know ‘ow these things go… just trying to expand my travel list and avoid places that are, we’ll call it undesirable.” Mathilde internally facepalms at the expense of their terrible lie, unable to conjure up anything more convincing off the top of their head. 

 “In that case, we’re all safe and welcoming in the great city of Ürbloom, lots of great districts and sights to see; much to do as well. We’re the artisan capital of the world. Never been safer, either. Perfect time to come visit.”

“Okay sounds… great. Merci…” With a slight huff of their breath, the aarokocra turns, off to see someone preferably more helpful. 

Behind them, they hear the halfling whisper, “Your friend has a strange vocabulary and accent, Gum-Gum, was it? Where d-”

As the morning progresses and the air becomes warmer, the town becomes less and less busy, allowing Mathilde the opportunity to talk with some of the more bored merchants. They sit through sales pitch after sales pitch, brute forcing information at times; Gum-Gum has to pay off quite a few of them. Each time, however, none of these Boulderaians offer anything of use. No one’s heard of anything like the situation they’re in. Which is probably a good thing, knowing that people aren’t regularly getting displaced in different worlds. 

But that doesn’t help but further drive their question as to why. 

Why them?

Why Mathilde Confiseuse?

Out of all places, in all timelines, universes—whatever. Them. The aarakocra who died years ago and returned incorporeal, who they can’t seem to figure out what caused it nor why. The monk who worships none, and doesn’t remember the reason. Was it divine intervention? Divine punishment for forgetting the heaven’s name, and any and all sentiment towards them? The Great Maws doing? The Great Paw? Someone else entirely? They’d certainly like to know. And this just had to happen when they’re all so close to saving the final two rulers of Grotethe; when they get back home, Dracula and Nessie better not be dead, and Eddie better be. Otherwise, all of this—the week long chase, ending up here, everything —it would all be for nothing. 

Frustrated, they lean up against a particularly thick tree in the outskirts of the city. It offers a blessing of shade from the blazing sun above. Some noise must have escaped from them as Gum-Gum looks up at them from the ground and says, “It’s okay, Mathilde. Someone will know things. I’ve been looking for things, too! Like, like my dad. He’s missing. And I don’t know where he went, but I keep asking everyone if they know him: the greatest wizard to ever have lived, ever. Everyone keeps telling me they don’t know him, like Bart, Kyborg, Mudd, Kyborg’s dad, Duncan, Bart again, Dr. Ahem-”

“—You don’t need to keep listing,” Mathilde warns, sensing that the list might continue for a while. 

“But I won’t give up! I’m gonna find my dad one day and become a great and powerful wizard, just like him! See, I’ve been practicing,” he properly whips out the staff strapped to his back, “Mmmm… flower!” and a little yellow flower grows from the patch of grass. 

For some reason, the sight actually amuses them, like the same feeling they feel when cradling Jacques or JJ in their arms. They crane their neck to get a better look at it and raise an eyebrow. “I see.”

“It’s a flower,” Gum-Gum says, proudly. He waits a moment before continuing. “You can have it if you want it—oooh or, you can tell me what ones you like and I’ll grow you one!” A sense of realization seems to wash over him, however, dampening his spirit. “If it’s one from your home, I can’t promise I can make it look like it does, but I’ll try my best!”

It’s a sweet sentiment, really. Gum-Gum’s clearly trying to make the effort; trying to not make Mathilde feel like a complete outcast, unlike the other two members of his party. He’s genuine—at least it appears that way—and is somehow the nicest being they’ve ever met, especially given the circumstances.

There’s nothing but pure, blatant trust behind his eyes (until given a reason for there not to be), which is certainly more than they could say for Chip, who seems to question the intentions of anyone slightly suspicious. 

“Surprise me,” they say. Florals aren’t really something they’re well versed in, and Gum-Gum is likely the expert in this matter.

He pauses for a while, scrunching and contorting his face in thought. Eventually, he blurts out, “Ooh, I’ve got it!” The flower staff is man-handled in his hands, and a rain of purple, yellow-tipped petals pour out from the end of it, showering the area. 

Mathilde shifts their posture to a squat, closer inspecting the petals. “What are these?” They ask, eyeing the boy. Flowers rarely grow in Grotethe, and if they do, they’re never this brightly colored.

“Deja violets! They’re these super, really cool flowers that if you touch them, they’ll send you back in time. But that’s why I only made the petals, because I want you to be able to touch them—and also the ones I make aren’t able to do the same cool stuff.”

“Send you back in time?” They tip their head to the side, confused. “‘ow?”

“They’re magic,” Gum-Gum beams brightly. 

There’s some things that simply cannot be explained, they suppose. The laws of this world are probably, most definitely different than that of their own. “And… time travel… is that like a normal experience ‘ere?”

“For us, everything’s normal.” 

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean…?”

Gum-Gum rests his butt on the ground and lays back with a thud, eyes fixed to the sky. “I dunno.” He shrugs. “Weird things happen to me everyday. So… so everything is normal to me now. Including you!”

“Uh huh…” Mathilde simply looks at the young half-orc, questioning every single thing that comes out of his mouth. Their bright white, undead eyes burn holes through him, trying to understand him and the manner in which his brain works. “So just ‘aving your party member just vanish out of thin air without a trace is like a normal day of the week type of deal for you all?”

“Mmm… no.” Gum-Gum sits up abruptly. “But it’s another type of magic that I can learn from and hopefully be really, really good at! I already teleport when I’m really angry, make flowers, ooh—and there was a time where I was this really cool ice wizard! I’m going to be good at everything, just like my dad! And I’m going to show him one day.” A small gasp escapes from him and his eyes light up, glistening with the bright sun above. “Do you have any neat magic that you can teach me?” 

Now that’s a question: do they? The query festers in Mathilde’s mind for a while, going over their abilities and skills. “Everything I know comes from being dead, and ‘aving ghost powers. Or, alternatively, being a practiced monk.”

A frown forms on the boy’s face. “But Bart told me that everything dead went up to the great farm in the sky.” Everything else they said seems to pass over right over his head, either not computing, or full on getting stuck on the one part which is really wei–

Oh right, they’d only told Bart about the whole ghost thing. Of which, apparently, doesn’t seem to be a thing here. Unfortunate, really. 

But does that include a version of their own Astralian plane? 

They might have to figure that out later.

“I mean sure, some probably do become… or, I guess more accurately, go to this… ‘farm in the sky.’ But what do I know! I’m only a member of the undead, after all. Your system of death and rebirth might be a whole lot different than mine!” Mathilde says, as vague and dismissive as possible. They’re not exactly keen on keeping up this conversation, as it stands now. 

“But if… if you’re dead…” He gasps, eyes widening. “Does that mean I’m dead too?” 

“What- No, of course not! Just because I’m dead, doesn’t mean you are too, what?”

“Oh thank goodness, I didn’t want to tell Bart that I died too—he would be very sad.” Gum-Gum sighs in relief. His face then twists in sorrow, however, like a sense of realization dawned on him. “If- if you’re dead though, that means that… that you would’ve had to die somehow.”

“I might ‘ave,” Mathilde replies. The sentence makes something underneath their feathers shift uncomfortably. 

The half-orc turns his head to the side with sad eyes. “What- what happened?”

The conversation thickens the air, and it’s a few moments too late before Mathilde answers: “I- I don’t know. Probably something stupid and ridiculous, and didn’t really matter so like I don’t even car-”

“I’m sorry,” Gum-Gum butts in mid sentence, cutting them off. He wraps his arms around their aarakocra body, squeezing them tight. 

Something about it renders Mathilde speechless; if they were capable of breathing, it would’ve most certainly caused a hitch in their breath. They blink a few times, unsure of everything, and definitely as to why the boy would even be apologizing about it in the first place! It’s not like he was there, and unquestionably wouldn’t have even been able to do anything about it! They don’t know what to do and especially don’t know what to say. So against everything they know, they allow Gum-Gum to keep up the hug for as long as he feels necessary. 

For once, they allow themself a second to mourn themself. Well, more like the person they once were; the person long gone. 

Sometime later, however, Gum-Gum pulls away, a sad smile on his face. The hug—it didn’t help, it only further dwelled into the issues that they don’t allow to surface; it made them feel almost bad about the whole situation, even if it’s one in which they can’t answer. 

Pushing past the emotions and weird funk they just fell into, Mathilde asks, “Well this was quite the waste of time, if you ask me; are you ready to ‘ead back? See if your party members have anything better than us?”

 “You don’t want to talk about it anymore?”

“I think it’s for the best that we do not, no.” More like they’re physically unable to say anything else on the topic.

“Okay… I’m sorry… We- we should go back. We’ve got to tell everything to Bart and Kyborg!”

Mathilde internally allows themself a smile at the half-orc. “We most certainly do.”