Archive of Our Own

The day that Siffrin next set foot again on Ka Bue didn’t go at all like how they had planned it, originally. At first, it had been something that had been planned with his entire family, smiling at each of them, eager to delve into the future and see what it would bring them.

Those days in Dormont, it was easy to make plans. ‘We’ll visit Ka Bue together’, and ‘We’ll visit every city in Vaugarde’ and ‘We’ll watch plays together in Poteria’ and even ‘We should visit Mwudu some day’. While Siffrin was recovering from the way that Craft Overuse had weakened and riddled their body, when things felt easy and perfectly in their grasp.

They made less plans when he didn’t ever recover fully from the Craft Exhaustion. When the toll the loops took on them was lingering, physically and mentally. Just traveling was enough of a burden on everyone. Eventually, Siffrin got used to it, the same way that they had gotten used to losing an eye. It was, simply, the cost of what it took to break the Curse, and the loops. So what if he needed to use a cane now? So what if their body liked to ache in every place that they’d suffered a fatal wound?

They never ended up visiting every city in Vaugarde, nor was everyone together when they finally managed to visit Poteria to watch plays together. The party had splintered, as Siffrin had been learning to try to be okay with, from the very beginning. It was certainly bittersweet.

Bonnie had been the first crack in their travels. Traveling was fun, for a while, while it was novel. But over time, the difficulties of it started to build up. You could only ever own as much as you could carry. It was hard to make friends and harder to keep in contact with the ones that you had, when you never knew where you would be heading next. At first, they had begged to go back to familiar places. Back to Vaugarde, and eventually, back to Bambouche. To their home.

Bonnie was a great kid, but they had goals, aspirations, a desire to cultivate their cooking skills far, far beyond what one could plausibly do when they were limited by cooking over a campfire and writing down recipes by firelight on purloined scraps of Odile’s paper. Siffrin, who didn’t have a home to return to, couldn’t blame them when they realized they were homesick. So the family had parted, and fervently promised to send letters to Bonnie.

The next to go had been Mirabelle, called back to Vaugarde after much needed soul-searching, returning home to follow her heart’s ambition once she’d made up her mind on what she actually wanted. Firm in that she had Changed in the ways that mattered. It had been a teary separation.

Traveling then, for a while, was just the three of them--Odile, Isabeau and Siffrin. That had been a more bitter than sweet parting. Despite the initial blush of infatuation, there was too much between them. Too much resentment, too much bitterness on Siffrin’s part, too much pain for him to overcome to truly focus on what might have been between them. Trying to force it had done neither of them good, and it had been an awkward parting, when they finally ended things between each other.

The promise that remained was: one day, maybe. That ‘maybe’ haunted Siffrin every night.

Odile had not questioned Siffrin, that day, when he had stayed by her side. Welcomed, them, in fact. Together, they roved, comfortable with each other, quiet, but content, in their own ways. And quietly, they had posed the question: could they, as he had once wished, come with her, to see Ka Bue again?

Odile had smiled then, one of her rare but heartfelt ones, and agreed.

So it was the two of them, not the five of them, that stepped off of the boat onto Ka Bue’s ports, leaving Vaugarde behind them, for a time. Once, a long, long time ago, Siffrin had visited, but that was stolen from them by the loops, memory sifting away from his grasp, so it was like anew that they got to see Odile’s home.

They stood together, watching the passengers of the boat they’d used flow off of it like a river--the two of them somewhat aside in a way that only felt right. Letting the flow of the people move around them like a current around a rock.

The sounds of spoken Ka Buan was vaguely familiar to Siffrin, half-remembered words that he’d gone over with Odile on the long journey via ship, but together, standing side-by-side, heads tilted slightly towards each other, it is Vaugardian that they speak at first. Something quiet that they share, even though Vaugarde is not his, just as much as it is not hers.

“This isn’t quite how I imagined coming home to be like,” Odile admits, her words laden with a sigh, wistful. Thinking, too, of the people that they had both left behind.

“Me either,” Siffrin agrees, “But all the same, it’s still good to be here, with you. Thank you, for letting me come with you.”

“I wouldn’t ever deny you, Siffrin. And... if I can be honest, I didn’t want to come back alone.” She stares at the familiar shapes of buildings, and Siffrin can tell that she doesn’t quite want to talk about it. He understands her, in that way. So they are simply quiet, together.

They spend a moment quietly watching, as the dock, ever-bustling, emptied of passengers, only for the crews of other ships to take over, bustling new cargo onto empty, waiting ships. They share their moment like that, just on the edge of something that used to be familiar, now strange and new.

Finally, Odile straightens, and draws herself up. “Well, shall we? I’ve arranged for lodgings for us here, but I think I’d like for us to visit the markets before it gets too late, first. Get some supplies. I had an idea of where we’d head, first...”

She sets off through the city, further away from the docks, very much as if she’d been here before. Maybe she had, though she’d not mentioned it to Siffrin in the planning at all.

“Oh? And what did you have in mind? I imagine that Ka Bue doesn’t have the same sorts of cute little villages like Vaugarde,” he wonders, keeping astride her as they walk. His darkless cloak and obvious foreign dress draws attention, as they walk, their cane clacking with each step. But they also notice that... so does Odile, in little ways. She’d spoken about it before, of course. How she was different from the people at home. But seeing it in action was something else entirely.

There are ripples through the people around them, attention given first to Siffrin, but then to Odile, in sidelong glances, and muted talk that makes Siffrin’s neck heat--somehow the demure glances away make it feel like every conversation just out of earshot is about the two of them.

“Well, we certainly don’t have an entire town dedicated to cheese, I’ll give you that,” she hedges. She seems completely unphased by the looks, the glances. Like they don’t even register. “There’s a trail that goes up those mountains. A pilgrimage, of sorts, to the Expressions. There are a series of shrines along the trail, which I thought would be interesting. I’ve always wanted to visit.”

Siffrin thought about that. Shrines to the Expressions, along a trail? He tilts his head up to look at the mountains that she points out. They slope up gently enough, but the thought of hiking makes them frown slightly. “Am... I going to be able to do it?” They ask heavily, eyes drawing down.

Because--it’s become normal for Siffrin, it has, but they are hard pressed to truly forget this. That they have been damaged by the loops, and that they’ll never be the same again. In many ways, it was comforting in the sickest of ways, that when Siffrin emerged from the timeloops, they had real, physical, tangible proof that they had survived. That they were out. The rest of the time, though, they were--angry, resentful, bitter over what they’d lost unknowingly. That anger extended to himself, sometimes, for even daring to be happy about how their body had changed.

While before Siffrin could walk for hours without issue or complaint, now his fastest pace is a good deal slower than most traveler’s ground-eating walks. Their body may have ‘healed’ from their many, many deaths, but somehow the pain lingered. Unfortunately, even just one end at the boulder would be enough to make travel difficult, and Siffrin had lost count of how many times they’d died to it, much less the other, kinder ways. The cane that Siffrin used was only one of the concessions he was forced to make to his new reality.

Odile’s voice jostles him gently out of their thoughts. “You can, Siffrin. It’s not uncommon for even our elders to make such pilgrimages in their lives. There are many, many rest stops along the way. And at the end... well,” she smiles ever so slightly. “I think you’ll find it worth the travel.”

“Well. If you say so, I’ll just have to trust you, won’t I, Odile?” Siffrin says, and relaxes slightly. Odile, at least, never made an issue out of their pain or issues. She, herself, had her own pains that she dealt with. Old injuries that never quite healed right. Flares and aches that, she claimed, simply came with time.

“You just have to trust yourself, Siffin. And that I’ll be with you even if you need to slow down or stop,” she replied with a chuckle.

Odile leads them deeper into the city, to where a market was gently bustling as the day lengthened to the evening. It was a good way to while away the evening, watching as Crafted lanterns slowly brightened as the sun lowered on the horizon. There were little shapes inside of each one, making the silhouette dance against the pane of the lantern as the Crafted Lights flicker.

“What are they?” Siffrin asks, leaning towards one of the lanterns as they pass it by.

Odile glances over, before she smiles. “Symbols of the Expressions,” she answers fondly. “That one is the Expression of Fair Winds--popular in a port city, even with Craft to power vessels. A lot of traditional wind-powered ships still sail from here.”

Siffrin glances at the lantern, and then the others. “Wait.” He takes in a breath, looking at each and every one. There were dozens of lanterns lighting up the market, and each side of each lantern seemed to have a different shape pressed against it. Their brows raise up in awe. “They’re all different.”

“There’s as many Expressions as you can think of, Siffrin,” Odile says warmly. “More than there are numbers for them, maybe. As many as there are words to call to them.”

He stands there, trying to imagine it. As many Expressions as there are words? Their eyes well up, as they stare out over the market, with the people moving through it, and as the tears blur his vision the lanterns blend and fuzz out into bright lights. And, oh. They look like stars. Like hundreds of tiny stars in the growing darkness.

“Siffrin?” Odile asks, the blur of her in their vision turned towards him in concern.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, thickly, reaching up to rub the tears away with the heel of their palm. “I think I get it, just a little bit.”

He smiles to her, and the concern fades, and she nods in return. Together, the two of them wade into the market, and something of the revelation stays lodged in Siffrin’s ribcage as they walk. Mingling with the familiar-not-familiar sensation of being in a place that they had once been, but couldn’t quite remember.

They ended up wandering, until they found a stall selling food that wafted tempting flavors at them. Odile ordered for them both, while Siffrin stared at the goods on display. Various skewers of meat steamed promisingly, with what looked like pastries or dumplings of some sort.

“Here,” Odile says, holding out several skewers to Siffrin, “You’ll like this. And these,” she holds up a little container. The two of them found a wall to lean against and eat their snacks, while people passed by on their own business.

The meat was simple and savory, drizzled with a sauce that lingered slightly in Siffrin’s mouth. The skewer meant that he had to eat slowly enough to taste it, lest they stab their mouth, but it was a close bet. They were licking remnants of the sauce from their fingertips as Odile shuffled the container forward. Inside were little round dumplings of some sort that look like they’d been fried.

“What’s this?” Siffrin asks, as he plucks up one, biting into it. A creamy, seafood flavor burst on their tongue before she could even answer, dried flakes of something perfect melting on his tongue. He makes a dreamy noise as he chews.

“Octopus,” Odile says with a smile, “Save half for me, mind. We’re splitting that. They cook it more traditionally in broth, but I like them this way.”

Siffrin makes a wondering noise, and eagerly stuffs another one of the delicious little snacks into their face, relishing in the way that the creamy stuffing bursts with flavor on his tongue. He mumbles something muffled that makes Odile snort out a huff of air once, and then counts the remaining pieces, reluctantly taking the last of his half, and holding it pinched between two gloved fingers.

“You don’t remember if you’ve had it before?” Odile asks softly.

Siffrin swallows their mouthful, giving her ample time to neatly eat her portion, before shrugging a shoulder. “I don’t remember,” he says, with an ease that belies how the knowledge sticks in his craw. “Things here feel... familiar? And the language--” He shakes his head slightly, trying not to focus on the undercurrent of spoken Ka Buan around. “If I don’t pay attention, I almost understand what everyone says, but it feels like it’s been a lifetime since I was last here...”

It sits weightily between them. Siffrin had spoken about most of what happened in the loops, but they had refused to talk in depth about it with his family. Odile had never pushed, really, but she was always a quiet pillar if ever they needed someone to lean on. He was grateful for it, yet again. That she didn’t push, or pry. Instead, she finishes her skewers, neatly bundling them into the container, and picks up the last of the little octopus things.

“I suppose it has been, if I understand how long it’s been, from your end. But we’re here now.”

“Yeah,” Siffrin says. “We’re here now.” A smile plays over their lips

It was a warm sentiment that lingered with the food on his stomach, as he followed Odile like a duckling through the markets. Her darkless shadow, never quite managing to hide from the lingering glances from the people who lived here.

It was a port town, though, and foreigners must come through quite often--though Siffrin was doubtless one of the more eyecatching people, there were all sorts that they passed. Odile meandered through the market, slowly haggling over a growing collection of their new supplies.

Siffrin ended up shouldering a new bag, into which their new belongings were neatly packed. A new Crafted teaset, to replace the one that had been damaged on the ship-ride over, the same sort that Odile had owned before, self-heating and simplistic in its design, with fragrant blocks of paper-wrapped tea to store within it. Odile insisted that Siffrin choose his own teacup from the ones on offer.

Some of the supplies were practical--travel rations and food that would keep well as they traveled. Some of them were seemingly sentimental--Odile spent a very long time hovering over a selection of pressed incense, of all things, though she refused to reveal what for. They obtained a new waterskin, so that they could finally throw out the old one, which leaked despite many repairs.

Odile didn’t buy new sleeping rolls, though, assuring Siffrin that the trail they would be taking had more than enough rest stops that they wouldn’t need to sleep overnight in the wilderness anywhere. She got distracted by a book-seller’s stall, though, and Siffrin wandered a little bit away, looking curiously at the next stall over, which had paper fans with paintings done carefully over them.

He lingered there, admiring them until Odile finally realized that it was starting to get dark. She paused, though, looking at the fan Siffrin was staring at. It had a delicate painting of a fish that had leapt from the ocean, color bleeding out into the paper in an artful splatter.

It called to Siffrin somehow. Odile seemed to notice, looking between him and the seller. “...Do you want this fan, Siffrin?” She wonders. “It’s wonderful workmanship.” She breaks out into Ka Buan, which perks up the seller, who had long since written off Siffrin as window-shopping.

“You don’t need to,” they start, tearing eyes away from the fish that had leapt from its home, eyebrows raising. But Odile had already fished out coins from her purse, and pressed them into the counter, pointing at the fan.

“Nonsense. It’s part of traveling isn’t it? Sightseeing? Buying souvenirs? One day, I want you to look at this, and... remember this trip, hm?” She gently folded the fan closed, taking care with the paper, and passes it to Siffrin, who clings to it tightly.

“Thank you.” They hold onto it like a talisman.

“Now, we should find our inn... it has been a while since I’ve been here and I don’t quite recall which street it was hiding in...” Odile starts off, and Siffrin trails in her wake. She wanted them to remember this, hm? Awfully sentimental of her. But he found himself wanting that, as well, smiling the whole way to the inn that Odile had bought rooms for them at.

It, too, was swathed in lanterns with hidden shapes depicting one of the Expressions. Siffrin paused by one as Odile took over. Would they be able to get one of these to keep with them, perhaps? He wondered if they were made custom, or if they could only be bought with specific symbols within...

Odile strode up to the counter. She held herself a little differently, here. Her face fell to a more neutral, perhaps even regal, expression. She seemed far more closed off, and yet held herself straight and proud. He followed as much of the conversation as they could, watching the innkeeper glance at him once before handing over the keys.

They were given directions, and the innkeeper posed a question, which made Odile snort, shaking her head firmly in denial, before striding off down the hall. Siffrin caught pace with her. “What was that about? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“She wanted to know if she needed to bring a two-person futon to the room,” she says with dry amusement in her voice. “I had forgotten how... politely nosy people are here. There are going to be quite a few assumptions being made, I’m afraid.”

Siffrin blinks at Odile for several moments, as she unlocked their room, and then flushed as they finally realized what she was getting at. “Oh. Oh. Stars, that’s embarrassing,” he says, following her into the room. “Sorry, Odile, I’m afraid you’re not my--not my type.” The smirk that had slid across their features wavered slightly, and he swallows heavily against the lump in his throat.

Odile, for her part, doesn’t comment on that, instead setting up the two (separate) futons for them to sleep on, pointing out to Siffrin how to do it. It wasn’t exactly difficult. “And I’m going to make you do it from now on. Give my old bones a rest,” she jokes.

Siffrin sticks out his tongue at her. “You’re not that much older than me, Odile. Don’t think you can get out of your half of the chores,” he jabs back, climbing inside of the futon. “Oh, these are actually way comfier than a sleeping bag.”

“World’s difference between a sleeping roll on the bare ground and a proper futon,” Odile breathes softly. “I missed this.”

He let that go uncommented on, as so often Odile allowed them grace for things that they didn’t want to be acknowledged. But he figured that he could get pretty used to futons, as well. Enough to miss them, at least.

---

It was a good time to take the ‘Trail of Expressions’, as it was called, apparently. They’d set out from the inn after a delightful breakfast that mostly comprised of fish and rice and a multitude of sauces, with a packet of lunch that should hold them until the first stop.

Siffrin halfway expected them to walk the entire way to the trail, but Odile had booked them passage on a wagon heading in the direction of the mountain. The wagon’s driver was a chatty man, and more than willing to slow down his fluid slide of speech to keep up with Siffrin’s struggling half-remembered Ka Buan.

Which is how he discovered that it was a good time for the trail, apparently. Odile was politely quiet while Siffrin chatted with the driver in fumbling sentences, but they managed to understand each other. It was, all in all, a pleasant way to pass the time. Particularly since the wagon took them quite a ways further than they ever would have been able to walk in a day.

Siffrin’s joints ached at the mere thought of it, and they massage absently at his knee, squeezing a little, as they disembark from the wagon. He leans a little heavily on their cane, sighing out quietly. Muscles that had been sitting still for too long sung with stiffness that threatened pain if he didn’t tend to them.

“Alright, Siffrin?” Odile asks, shuffling her bag higher up on her back.

He nodded, and gestured for her to wait a moment. They settle into a few stretches to work out the ache of sitting too long, and then nod. “Feeling a bit stiff,” he explained as he settled his own pack in a comfortable position.

They were glad that they took the time to stretch, when the two of them set onto a well-trodden path, clearly marked from the main road. Odile confirmed that it was the beginning of the Trail of Expressions--and so it was. At even intervals, there were little shrines on the side of the path, each one made out of old, weathered stone, well-taken care of but even so still lightly lichen-marked, with little, tiny trinket offerings before them.

At their prompting, Odile would name the Expression enshrined there. At a few, she stopped, pausing to pray before the altar. For the Expression of Travel, for the Expression of Fair Weather, the Expression for Curiosity and Comfort. Siffrin indulged as well, after they made sure it wasn’t offensive. It just felt... right, joining her, whenever it tickled their fancy, though most of these early Expressions were simple things, rooted in nature.

Clearly, Siffrin wasn’t the first one to pluck a flower from the trail and offer it to the Expression of Spring. Nor was the Vaugardian coin--not Siffrin’s coin, but a spare one that he’d had--the only foreign currency placed on the altar for the Expression of Travel.

“How can there be so many Expressions?” Siffrin asks, as they walk, admiring the flowers that adorn either side of the trail. It was clear that once they had been neatly planted, but over innumerable seasons they spilled from their original seedbeds to spread out and speckle the wilderness with color.

Odile smiled to herself, and shrugged lightly, looking at the mountains that were looming closer as they walked. “There’s an Expression for everything that can be found in the world, Siffrin. In Ka Bue, we have a legend that the Expressions were formed when language was. That each and every one of them gave us a word to describe what they were in the world, and in doing so, came to be.”

“Is that why your symbols for them are like Ka Buan writing?” He asks with a tilt of their head.

“They aren’t ‘like’ writing,” Odile corrects, “They are. The ‘symbol’ as you put it, for each Expression is also the word for what it represents. There’s an Expression for each and every kind of flower, for example.” She leans down to pluck up a tiny little flower herself, tucking it behind an ear, so that it poked through her hair just above her glasses.

“Wow,” Siffrin says slowly, trying to wrap his mind around that. It seemed like... so much. Particularly since what little they remembered of their own beliefs, when they could hold onto them, were so... simple? The Universe was everything. But weren’t, also, the Expressions? “That’s a lot to wrap my head around, but I think I like it. It’s... it’s nice. Do the Expressions ever get jealous?”

“Hm.” Odile makes a thoughtful sound as they walk, just the crunch of their feet and Siffrin’s cane on the gravel the only sound for a while. “I suppose they do. There are lots of stories about Expressions, and how they interfere in the mortal world. People usually pray to a handful of smaller Expressions that have meaning to them, but there are ones that are universally beloved. The sun, the moon, the seasons, the ocean. Expressions of good harvest and good health...” she spreads her hands out.

“How do you decide which Expression to pray to? Do you... stay with the same one your whole life, or...?” He asked, enjoying the balmy, pleasant spring weather, and the conversation. It’s not that Odile had never spoken about the Expressions, or herself, but she was often content, as he was, to be quiet. To enjoy each other’s presence without words. So he couldn’t help but be curious.

“I suppose it’s personal,” she decides on, after a while of thought. “I call on the Expression of Search, of Writing, of Creator Craft, of Travel, of Learning...” she spreads her hands. “There were others that I used to call on, when I was younger. Self-Discovery, Change, Courage...” She chuckles. “But they helped me to find who I was and be where I needed to be. Now they have others to turn their attention to. Though... I suppose it wouldn’t be amiss to give them some thanks when we pass by their shrines.”

“Change?” Siffrin asks. “Is that Expression like... the Change God?”

“Perhaps, in spirit. They could, plausibly, be the same thing, though I think that the Vaugardians would disagree. And... I think I may as well. Change, here in Ka Bue is... different. More rigid. Less changing yourself to be true to yourself, and more... changing to fit into the role you are expected to fill.”

They mused on that for a while, as the trees thickened around them, slowly turning into a little wood and then a proper forest as they grow closer to the mountains. Thoughts of gods, spirits, Expressions, the Universe gave way to other thoughts, as Siffrin felt their body twinge and complain at the travel, no matter how easy it had been.

These thoughts made him think of Mira, too, which was its own ache. Body and heart, they were riddled with scars, both of which were invisible to the eye.

Old aches and pains that lingered and roused when Siffrin forgot them for long enough, like his body was eager to remind him of every careless injury that he’d taken. He rubbed at their side as they walked, the muscle twitching and twanging with pain where a Sadness had ripped into them. Before, they’d had to deal with flashbacks whenever their various hurts sprang up. Now, they didn’t risk reliving the moment, but it still lingered in the back of his mind.

How easily they had forgotten their many, many deaths, and how they seemed to raise up from the murk of his memory to remind him. Perhaps they should be grateful that they could remember something, even if it was unpleasant.

These thoughts were blown away when they reached the foot of the mountain.

The path turned into a staircase that meandered up the mountain. Their first day’s destination was at the top of what seemed like far, far too many stairs. But what caught Siffrin’s eyes was the fact that each and every step was engraved and inlaid with gently glowing symbols. Each and every single one of them.

“There must be thousands,” he breathes, staring at the gleaming pathway, ever so gently lit within the soft dim that the forest around them had sunken into as they approached the mountain.

“There are,” Odile says, looking at Siffrin’s face, rather than the sparkling view spread out before them. “I thought you’d like it. Long, long ago, some of our best Crafters imbued these steps with Craft, to assure that they’d never go out. They haven’t yet. It’s...” She closes her eyes for a moment. “It’s beautiful, to see something that has lasted so long, simply from ingenuity and Craft. Many priests claim that it was the Expressions themselves that powered the Craft.”

Siffrin’s eye widened, looking at her searchingly. “Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen some rather powerful forces at work, haven’t I?” She reaches out, and gently chucks Siffrin’s chin. “After all, I’ve seen a colour tearing through the sky, and I’m thoroughly convinced about Wish Craft. Why couldn’t the Expressions have inspired someone to do Craft that was otherwise thought impossible?”

Siffrin breathes out a soft sound of awe. Maybe she was right. Maybe a Crafted light that, over generations, hadn’t gone out, was it’s own sort of miracle.

---

By the time that they reached the top of the stairs, the awe had definitely worn off. It wasn’t that long ago that climbing these number of stairs would have just been--winding. A little hard to do because of the amount of them, maybe they’d take a few breaks, but totally doable. Now, though, his body complained with aches and stabs of pain. Muscles tightened up in protest, and twitched, stiffening until they were forced to stop so Siffrin could massage some semblance of working back into their limbs.

A hundred hundred deaths, all etched into Siffrin’s body, and ensured that they would stay by whatever mechanism that made Wish Craft save them from death a hundred hundred times. Their very bones ached with pain deep inside of them, where they were shattered, sending splintering shoots of pain through his legs and arms. He breathed heavily, leadenly moving up the last bit of the steps with nothing but determination.

Siffrin was used to pain, used to it hurting. Good enough with handling it that he could, probably, have swallowed back the outward signs of weakness. But... they trusted Odile, and more... she didn’t make him feel bad about it.

She was concerned, sure, but never once did she try to apologize for taking them here. She trusted him when they said they were alright the first time, and had stopped every time they’d asked. She bore her own aches with dignity, and she allowed it to Siffrin. That didn’t mean that when they reached the top, and Siffrin was gasping in gulps of air through a throat that was remembering what it felt like to split from the inside, that she didn’t move closer, gently rubbing their sweat-soaked back.

“We’re almost to the rest-stop,” She murmurs, “Take as long as you need.” It’s less the comforting circles that her hand does on Siffrin’s back as much as her quiet acceptance. She doesn’t push them. Doesn’t ask them to hide the gasps and shakes. Doesn’t put pressure on him to hide it for her comfort.

So when it passes, as it always does, they smile to her, weary but heartfelt, and they continue, a little slower, but never hurried.

It isn’t until they’ve reached the rest-stop, a humble travelers inn, resting after a very welcome bath and awaiting dinner, that Siffrin realized exactly why her quiet acceptance felt so radical.

It hurt to realize it. They look up at Odile, and stare, long enough that she notices, that she looks over. Her head tilts to the side, a lock of hair lazily sliding over her shoulder, long since freed from her usual up-do. “Hm?”

“You’re the only person who lets me be in pain like that,” he says slowly. Odile’s confused expression makes them pause and frown, trying to sort their thoughts into something ordered. “I mean--earlier. Now. When I start to hurt like that. Mira always wanted to heal me, to try to stop it, to fix it, even when we knew that it didn’t stop it. And Bonnie--hated to see me in pain. And Isa...”

The air is a little heavily as Siffrin debates on whether to actually step on that landmine or not. Odile is attentive, she is quiet, she is... nonjudgmental. Siffrin hadn’t really spoken about Isabeau since they had parted ways. Too close to their heart, too painful, too laden with implications that they didn’t quite understand or know how to unpack.

“He cared so much, you know? And he always made such a big deal over it. To the point where I felt like I needed to--hide it. To be strong about it. Because I can. I could. I can just--endure it, but eventually it was just another mask that I was wearing, another act I was putting on. I felt like that, a little, with everyone else, but with Isa it was... more. It was suffocating.”

And as he spoke it, Siffrin knew that it was true, heaved a sigh. They glance away, and then peek back--Odile is still there. Still quiet, still listening. Patient.

“You don’t make me feel like I need to hide it, but you also don’t make me feel like I’m... broken and need to be fixed, I guess. So--thank you, Odile.”

Odile blinks to Siffrin, and leans forward slightly, reaching out to him, hand outstretched. After a moment, he reaches out too, and they clasp hands. “I am, maybe, not the best with prying, as you know... but I trust you, Siffrin. You would tell me if it was too much for you. And I also... trust that you would ask me for help, if you needed it. The others... I think they... felt responsible for what happened to you, in a way, back in Dormont.”

Siffrin’s mouth twisted unhappily. That was a long time ago, and yet, the ghosts of it haunted them still. Probably would, for their entire life. They’d spoken about the loops, in the beginning, in bits and pieces, but it was hard when he could see how much it hurt their family to hear it. Not for the first time, his hands itched for a pen to write to Mira.

“I can ask for help,” Siffrin protests slowly, frowning. “They all knew that. I’m... I’m better at it now. I just don’t--I don’t like making everything about me.”

“And I know that, Siffrin. They do too. But sometimes, hmmm. Sometimes it’s harder to let someone hurt when you care. Some would call me... cold... for what you’re thanking me for.” She paused a moment, and then glanced down at her book, running a finger along the pages of it. “Did you ever tell him that? Isabeau?”

Siffrin reaches up to touch his eyepatch. “...No,” they admit. “I never did. I think he figured it out enough, at the end.”

“I think you should.”

To that Siffrin had only one answer. The one that still lingered in their head, full of everything that could have been. “One day, maybe.”

And like every other ‘one day, maybe’, that lingers in the air, with more weight than it really should have. Echoing in Siffrin’s mind, as he settled in for sleep on another futon. As he stared at the ceiling, until they sighed and closed their eyes to ease into sleep’s embrace.

--

“You said you’d always wanted to visit,” Siffrin says, the next day, after they’ve started on the trail again. No stairs, this time, but a simple stone-paved path up a gentle incline. Certainly more welcome than the strain of going up thousands of stairs.

“Hm?” Odile asks, looking up at the sound of his voice.

“The trail? You said you’d always wanted to visit. Why hadn’t you?”

Odile blinks at that, and looks around thoughtfully, reaching up to idly run the dangling gem from her glasses through her fingers. “I suppose it never felt like the right time,” she admitted, tilting her head from one side and then to the other. “There’s quite a number of spiritual sites like this over Ka Bue--dedicated to certain Expressions, but this is the only one that is dedicated to every Expression. So while I had a passing fancy for some of them, particularly the Expressions that meant something to me at the time, coming here was always... daunting.”

Siffrin cannot help but smile slightly at that, raising a brow. “Always something for another day?” They ask, feeling the weight of that sentiment. Always putting off something, making plans to look forward to but never actually do... it felt poignant in a way.

“Just so,” Odile replies, dipping her head. “I only spent a short time actually traveling through Ka Bue, as well. I never truly felt at home in the place where I grew up. Too many memories, too much missing. Too much that I was looking for and would never find there. So I... moved on. Studied, for a while, before...” She trails off slightly, and sucks in air past her teeth. “Well, I told you once how Body Craft is looked down upon here, in Ka Bue? Illegal, in some spaces, even...?”

Siffrin nods at this. She’d spoken a little bit about why she left Ka Bue, in the time that the party had traveled, but always in vague allusions. “You always trail off or use a colorful but vague phrase to avoid explaining further.” He tried to keep their voice even, the curiosity free from it.

It had been one of Siffrin’s favorite things to guess about, with Isa, back when they had been traveling together still. Once it had become clear that Odile wasn’t actually researching anything--what her checkered past could have been. Siffrin had a guess, of course, but it wasn’t in the spirit of the game to guess realistic things, so they had never actually gotten a chance to speak aloud what they thought had pushed Odile from the country.

She nods primly. “I suppose I have. At first, mostly because it was amusing to know how badly you all wanted to know... but also because I... I suppose I’m not ashamed of it, but I didn’t want to taint the way you all thought of me. Particularly Boniface has such an... upright image of me. I disliked the thought of disrupting the way you thought of me.”

Siffrin strains forward a little faster, fighting the ache that stabs through their calves, to set a hand on Odile’s arm. A brief touch, but a comfort given, nonetheless. “Nothing that you say could make me think less of you, Odile. Through everything that we’ve been through? If you,” they laugh slightly, “Can think that my bending time with a wish is ‘cute’ then... I think I can handle whatever you could have gotten up to in your wild youth.”

Odile’s face warms at that, some tension that Siffrin hadn’t quite been sure of easing, though she snorts. “Wild youth? My, Siffrin, what exactly are you imagining for me? I’ll have you know, I was the model child. However... when I grew up... well there are rigid expectations on children in Ka Bue. I went to study at a bigger city, and I enjoyed it, of course... but I learned a lot there. And not all of it strictly... legal. Body Craft, for example. I have an aptitude for it. My Slow is actually Body Craft, for example...”

Siffrin waggled there eyebrows at her, grinning widely. “You’re still not really disproving me. So you were a criminal?” He eggs her on.

“Of a sorts, I suppose I was. Changing, in the Vaugardian way, is difficult, but not impossible here. For a time, I, and a few of my cohorts offered Body Craft services for quite a while, under the table. We got caught, of course... but the joys of Body Craft is that you can, of course, use it on yourselves, if you need to. It did mean that I couldn’t come home for... years... but I was happy.”

“Hah! I knew it. Madame Odile, on the run from the law,” Siffrin says, grinning. “Is that what prompted your travel, then?”

“In a way, yes. I rather quickly wanted to leave the city, and then I decided I rather liked traveling. Leaving the country was more a whim than anything but... I think something about... leaving the expectations behind me, finally taking the plunge of using Body Craft myself, rather than just using it on other people... it was freeing, in a way.”

Siffrin smiles, and casts his gaze out over the trail, noting the next little shrine on the path. “Yeah,” he agrees softly, breathing in as the wind picks up, filling the air with the sound of leaves and grasses rustling, breathing in the fresh mountain air. “Yeah, it is freeing in a way. I’m glad that you left. I can’t imagine my life without meeting everyone.”

And Siffrin cannot imagine anything as nice as this moment, save for, perhaps, the last time that the entire family had been together. Even then--he has changed, grown, healed. In this moment, Siffrin was far more whole than they had ever been in the staggering steps after Dormont.

Not that the Trail wasn’t a trial for them. Their body was still wont to fill with shrieking pain, and Siffrin was not shy about calling breaks or slowing their pace. True to Odile’s words, there were rest stops very frequently along the path. Quite often, they passed several in a day, before choosing one to stay the night at. The innkeepers (attendants?) were always polite, but not very chatty folk.

The more interesting people were the ones that they met along the trail, who happened to also be staying at the same waystation as them. Siffrin’s mastery of Ka Buan grew better in conversations with these pilgrims, asking them about their journey and their thoughts. Though it required Odile to occasional jump in to translate a particularly lofty sentiment, Siffrin managed to make themself known nonetheless.

The trail lead them steadily higher, until once again it gave way to another set of steps. This one did not glow as the first, but it was accompanied by more of the same lanterns that Siffrin had seen in the port city--not made out of paper this time, but large stone ones, with the symbol in aged stone, glittering from afar.

“Are these ones also lit by Expression-inspired Craft?” Siffrin asks Odile.

“Better,” Odile says with a smile. “It’s lit by people who pass by. It’s not a sign of divine inspiration... it’s something of a rite of passage. Here--” She speeds up slightly, until they are at the bottom of the stairs, where the first stone lantern sits proudly. “As you pass, you give just a little bit of Craft energy to the lantern. Just a drop,” she repeats, arching a brow at Siffrin.

She puts her hand on the old stone, and the light within brightens, just a tiny bit. Siffrin steps forward, and places their hand where she had. The stone isn’t warm, per se, but it’s not the chilling, warmth-sapping cold of stone in the shade like they had expected. They passed on just a drop of Craft Energy, and mounted the steps behind Odile.

These lanterns were different from the ones at the foot of the Trail, and there was something weighty about it. Something of an air of expectation to it. Odile reaches out her hand as she walks, brushing each lantern that they pass and imparting just that drop of Craft Energy to each one. Siffrin does as well.

It lingers in their mind that as they pass through, their Craft will be mixed and blended with the Craft of others who follow behind them, for a long, long while. Not fully belonging to anyone who passes by and makes this smallest of offerings, but rather belonging to all of them.

It was food for thought, particularly when the trial of the stairs proves to be so challenging. Siffrin tried to think lofty thoughts, drawing Odile further into conversation about the Expressions and her personal feelings on them. How she picked the ones that she followed currently, and the ones that she’d left behind. The Expressions that her family and friends had followed, and how, culturally, Ka Bue thought of those sorts of relations and their ties to their Expressions.

It was a good distraction from the way that Siffrin’s legs felt like the muscles were trying to separate from the bone, how every step ached in a way that was removed from actual pain, a lingering soreness in the joint that couldn’t be explained or appeased by Healing Craft.

When they dropped out of the conversation, though, Odile noticed. Eventually, after Siffrin had gritted through it, she called a break, and although she claimed it was for her own old bones, Siffrin felt a thread of gratitude to her all the same.

“What’s at the end?” Siffrin asks as they sit on the steps, looking back down at where they’d come from.

“A very special place,” Odile says with a smile, “Though I don’t want to ruin the surprise... the shrines to the larger Expressions, but also a much larger place for visitors to stay at.”

“Like a really big inn?” Siffrin asks, considering it. After all of these steps, he wasn’t feeling particularly motivated to turn around and go back down any time soon, that was sure. “How long were you planning on staying, anyways?”

“I don’t know... a week, at the least? It’s well worth the stay. There’s a whole little town on the other side of this ridge,” she says, gesturing up to where the stairs march on. “It’s thriving, because of how popular it is to take the Trail, regardless of the time of the season. And...” she raises a shoulder mysteriously, “Well, I think that you, in particular, would enjoy aspects of it, and I doubt we’ll be in any rush to leave.”

“Ominous,” Siffrin says, but feels some of their energy lifting up, interest piqued. If Odile was sure that they’d like it, at the very least... when he wasn’t hauling up seemingly endless stairs, it was very scenic. Just shy of being truly wild and lush, clearly cultivated but allowed to overgrow just a bit.

He stands up, and does a stretch, lingering on easing the tightness in his calves. “Feeling up to more stairs, Odile?”

“I suppose,” she agrees, standing up, and tossing their new waterskin at them. “But drink up first. Once we’re done with these, you’ll be able to see the town.”

Her excitement was catching, and Siffrin gulped down water before passing the skin back. And... when the two of them finally crested over the topmost stair, Siffrin could see why this Trail was so well thought of, and popular enough to have a thriving little town.

Over the peak of the ridge of the mountain, the path sunk down into a delightful little bowl-like valley, the ribbon of stone pathway leading in swoops down to a bustling little town, all lit up by colorful lanterns of all shapes and sizes. The buildings themselves were ornate and painted in bright hues, but the largest building, the one with the most people coming and going from it, Siffrin could see peeking just around it, shimmering pools of water, the main draw of this valley.

“What are those?” He asks eagerly, pointing towards the largest building.

“Those, Siffrin, are the reason why we decided to build shrines here. Hot springs,” Odile says with a crooked smile. “Very good on the body after the trial of getting here. Supposedly, they are infused with the Craft of the Expressions themselves. It’s good luck to bathe in them, when you visit.”

Hot springs... Siffrin starts walking down the path, and Odile is quick to follow. The thought of hot water right now, steaming and fresh... that made all the struggle of getting here worth it! Perhaps... it might even ease Siffrin’s constant aches. How long had it been since Siffrin had had a proper bath? Not just a quick ablution in a river or an inn...?

The Trail of Expressions has seen quite a many visitors, it becomes clear, as Siffrin and Odile went through the streets to the main inn and bath-house--most of them merely linger, like they were planning on doing. The handful of people that he and Odile had seen on the way up were far outnumbered by the people who thronged here at the many shrines.

It was a little intimidating, all those eyes on the both of them again. Siffrin, still, drew the most attention, what with his bright darkless cloak and the cane clacking at their side, but again, once eyes had finished feasting on Siffrin’s looks, they slid to Odile. And lingered.

It left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. This wasn’t a port town. This was a Shrine. A holy place, to their Expressions. Despite the ease that Odile had made them feel, the way that conversations simply quieted when they grew near made something unpleasant squirm in their stomach.

The old woman who welcomed them both into the inn didn’t seem to give the either of them a second glance, but the vague feeling of being out of place remained. He found himself tucking closer to Odile. It was strange. Siffrin could vaguely remember the feeling of standing out before. It hadn’t bothered them as much as it seemed to now. Or had it, and they’d simply forgotten?

These thoughts didn’t lend Siffrin to paying much attention to the interior of the inn, which was a shame, because their room was gorgeous, in a way that Odile commented was ‘very traditional’. The paper walls were painted with a stylized sunset, and despite being made out of paper, Craft muted the sounds from the halls to dull background noise, lending the room an air of a pleasant oasis.

“What’s first?” Siffrin asks, glancing at Odile expectantly.

“First? Why, Siffrin. The hot springs, of course. I don’t know about you but I’ve an entire pilgrimage to soak off.”

They share a smile, and some of that unease fades, as they head, together, to the heart of the inn--the bathing chambers at the back, that open directly out to the hot springs.

But in the changing room, Siffrin felt a pang of uncertainty, sticking close to Odile. “What... should I expect?” They wonder to her, lingering in his clothes, uncertain if they were even comfortable being naked in mixed company.

“Hm? Well... the larger pool is mixed, but if you wanted, they have sections that are screened off.” Odile pauses and looks at Siffrin, still clothed, and smiles. “Siffrin, public bathing is normal here. No one will look at you twice, I promise.”

“Even if I stand out?” He asks, feeling--painfully out of place in this place, the only person with darkless hair. It reminded them why, all that time ago, he had chosen to dye their hair, even if it had looked a little foolish as it grew out.

“Even so. It’s rude, and in Ka Bue, rudeness is not tolerated. Particularly not here. This is a holy place.” She patted Siffrin’s head once, and he smiles to her, before shyly disrobing, wrapping a towel firmly around themself.

The anxiety lingered, but when the both of them stepped out into the main spring area, it faded. It was a lush and humid place, the air warm and refreshing, the floral scents of lurid flowers thriving in the rich wet floating on the heavy air. There was a mineral tang to the air. The stones that paved the area underfoot were warm but damp, as Sifrin padded in Odile’s wake.

She strode confidently towards the largest pool, which held only a handful of people, and stepped into the water, sighing delicately as she settled into the water. Siffrin followed her lead, leaving their towel on, and stepped into the water. It was deliciously warm, and sent a pleasant tingle of warmth through him as he eagerly sunk into the heated wash.

Sinking into the hot springs was a little like heaven, Siffrin thought, as he immediately sunk down into the water until it lapped at their chin. The warmth bled into their bones and relaxed muscles that they didn’t even realize were tight, easing aches and pains until they were nothing but afterthoughts.

Even the discomforting anxiety over the people watching was gone, as Siffrin briefly experienced lack of pain. It was like a waterfall of relief flowing through their body, the sudden cessation of a hundred hundred tiny discomforts slowly easing off, like instruments falling silent at the end of a song.

When they finally tuned back into the moment, it was to shoot Odile a gloriously hazy smile. “You were right. This was well worth the stairs.”

Odile chuckled quietly, and cracked one eye open to look at him. “I’m always right, Siffrin. But I’m glad that you like it. We can come back every day we’re here. Soak up the blessings that the Expressions put here for us.”

But as it turned out, perhaps Odile wasn’t always right, because when they had soaked until Siffrin was feeling delightedly lightheaded, body free from aches but also wobbly as a freshly born fawn, half-swooning as they tried to stand with Odile, there were comments.

He didn’t quite understand all of them, but they didn’t really have to. The tone, as much as the words themselves cut through the pleasant lassitude that the hot springs had filled him with. He’d opted to keep their towel on, and regretted it as the water sluiced off them them, clinging the thing to his body despite hopes of modesty.

“What a mess,” floats to their ears, as the water puddled at their feet. “Foreigners,” was another disapproving mutter. Other disparaging comments, floating with the steam, too complicated for their rusty Ka Buan to decipher.

Odile’s firm hand helped them stay upright, tightening at the comments. She drew in a deep breath, and Siffrin just knew that she was going to say something. Going to berate the people here, that felt comfortable saying such things despite the strict norms of Ka Bue.

“L-lets go back,” he forces through a smile that widens. “I think I stayed in a little too long, haha.”

Odile glances once at Siffrin, takes in their stance, the strain of their face, and her eyes narrow slightly more. She casts a single, heavy glance at those in the springs, silencing the sparse murmurs, and then turned. “I suppose you’re right. It wouldn’t do to let such poor manners detract from our stay.” She added something else in Ka Buan as well, that left their wake silent.

But Siffrin couldn’t help but feel like they were fleeing in the wake of that chilly disapproval. It twisted his stomach up with anxiety, as they dried off and redressed into soft robes. But he didn’t miss that Odile was also the recipient of such pointed words.

“Did you have to deal with that a lot?” They ask, as the two of them walk back to their room, breaking the silence.

Odile looks back at them, surprised, before sighing. “Occasionally. It’s nothing to take personally. Even if you follow the expectations perfectly, someone will find something to say. But I won’t tolerate anyone being uncouth to you, Siffrin. This is supposed to be--”

“Hey,” He sets a hand on her arm, stilling them both in the hall. “It’s okay. I-I did make a bit of a mess. I didn’t want to take the towel off. But it’s not a big deal. I’m really excited to see everything that’s on offer here. I’m glad we came.”

Odile blinks, and them smiles softer. “I as well. I am curious how you’ll enjoy dinner, however. I understand that it’s a more traditional spread.”

Siffrin thinks that that more than makes up for a few harsh comments from strangers. They can’t help but smirk, just a little, to imagine anyone trying to stand up to Odile if she really got it in her mind to reprimand them. He breathes in, and then out. And lets it go.

The dinner, as Odile predicted, was excellent. A little too artfully displayed for his taste, they were almost afraid to touch the colorful spread that dominated the entire table in small portions swimming in large dishes, but it turned out to be delicious despite the ostentation.

Sweet roasted beans served with a thin sweet sauce, and thin slices of what turned out not to be fish, but a root vegetable whet the appetite, while small cups holding a mouthful of a sweet plum wine provided an apertif. The next dish was a small block of walnut tofu, with a sprinkling of seeds overtop.

The real treat was the main dishes though. A slice of grilled salmon, served with a grilled fruit that Odile named a persimmon, and grilled mushroom made up the main dish, with a smaller dish of rich, buttery bread spread with a chicken and vegetable spread. Fried burdock and vegetables made for a colorful crunch.

With the generous portion of white rice and a few complimentary sauces, Siffrin felt that, despite the small size of each plate, the sheer amount of dishes on offer had them fuller than they’d anticipated when the plates had been spread out before them.

If this was what every evening here was going to look like, Siffrin thought that they could handle any amount of sharp comments. This was the best that they’d eaten since they left Vaugarde behind!

And sipping on the gentle sake that was provided afterwards, warmed to a pleasant heat, with Odile afterwards, until the evening took on a tipsy, happy tint, he couldn’t help but feel a fervent wish--that the others could be here to see this. To experience this.

Siffrin missed them, like he missed nothing else. Why couldn’t they have stayed together? Why did they have to have this experience just with Odile alone? Didn’t the rest of them want to stay, to experience this together? It had felt so gradual. So expected. The time spent bracing for the inevitability of everyone going their own way meant that Siffrin had just... assumed that’s how it had to be.

But sitting with Odile, experiencing her home, he wondered if maybe that was the wrong assumption to make.

How long had it been since they’d written a letter?

Siffrin found that they couldn’t remember, as the night wrapped up and he settled in to sleep in another traditional futon, this one, somehow, even comfier than the last.

---

The morning had long since dawned when Siffrin woke up from a restful sleep, relaxation lingering in their body. Odile had gotten up herself, but hadn’t left the room, curled up on her futon absently flicking through a book with a cup of tea at her side. She smiles to him as they awake.

“Tea?” She offers, glancing over to the table. There was a simple breakfast laid out, and a teapot kept warm on a Crafted spot at the center. “The breakfast is light, but I imagine after that dinner even you couldn’t be hungry.”

Siffrin mumbled something agreeable to that, and rolled out of bed to crawl over to the table. They helped themself to some of the tea as well as the breakfast. Fruit, ever-present rice, a bowl of a light broth. It was more than enough to leave him feeling warm and cozy. The urge to crawl back into bed was strong, and he said as much.

Odile snickered to herself. “If that’s how you want to spend your first day here, after all of that walking, I can’t say I blame you, Siffrin. We’ll be here for a week, at least. I know that I plan on relaxing here a bit longer before taking a second bath in the hot springs. The Expressions have a lot of blessings to give me, I expect.” She has an amused tilt to her lips.

Siffrin feels the barest hint of trepidation. “You aren’t... worried about the things people said last night?” They murmur at her, tucking his chin down, though their cloak is folded up and freshly laundered.

“No,” Odile says decisively, cutting a hand through the air. “I care very little what other people have to think and have to say. You and I have every right to be here as much as anyone else, and I am not going to let some traditionalists sour my relaxation.”

He smiles to her at that, and dips their head in understanding. The urge to sleep more was strong but... curiosity was a growing motivator as well. There was a whole valley-village here to explore, after all, and all of the major shrines that Odile had said. As well as... there was something else.

Some urge that pressed them to want to look. To want to see. Siffrin can’t help but think that--if the others aren’t here, they should be looking for them. And so, with the rest of their wayward family in mind, Siffrin pushes up, gets dressed in his own clothes, rather than the soft visitor’s robes that Odile opts to don, and goes out to explore.

He thinks of Isabeau, when they pass through a market, with bright and beautiful things, running gloved hands over fine cloth with patterns that they think would delight his friend. Dawdled by the stalls, until the urge overcomes him to purchase some of the cloth.

The merchant is happy to portion off just small bits of the patterned cloth, extolling the dyes and techniques that seemed to be local to this area--a culmination of Ka Bue’s craftmanship, gathered here, in this holy place as a way to delight the Expressions with their creativity.

It was no doubt a severe up-charge from purchasing it elsewhere, but Siffrin tucks the bits of cloth away. In his mind, he is already planning on sending them along. Light little souvenirs that would serve as a trim for an outfit for an accessory. Or even something just to sit and inspire, and remind Isabeau that he was still being thought about.

Siffrin thinks of Bonnie, when midday runs around, and they are drawn in by the scents of food from various stands and stalls, each one with it’s own specialty, its own draw. He ends up with a little bit of everything, and carefully savors the flavors. They end up in a conversation with one of the chefs, asking about the spices used, and wheedles a packet of seasoning, folded up in a stained bit of paper, to send to their growing chef-cooker.

Siffrin doesn’t know how long the scent will stay in the paper, but he can’t help but hope that it would stay seeped in. So that Bonnie could hold the paper to their nose and breathe in and somehow imagine all of the flavors that Siffrin knows they will struggle to describe in a letter. But even if it doesn’t--there’s a pinch of exotic spices, with the names hastily scrawled on the packet, for them to take inspiration from.

It isn’t until Siffrin actually begins touring the shrines that they think of Mirabelle. Of what she would think of this place, so large and so unalike her own religion. How a House would compare to these sprawling buildings, shrines that were alike palaces to the greater Expressions that were worshiped by the majority of Ka Bue.

She would love it, they think. Love seeing all of these different people drawn here by something that they loved. Love seeing new things and yet having the familiar around her. No doubt, Mirabelle would have handled those harsh stares and whispers better than Siffrin. She may have shivered at them, her anxiety had been much less prevalent with medication, and her confidence had soared once she found herself.

Change wasn’t a major Expression here, but Siffrin thinks, as he visits shrine after shrine, that it had a hand here, as well. Each one was different. Painted differently, built differently, with the different symbols for each blazoned across the decor. Even the incense blends were different in each building. It wasn’t unalike a House of Change, that way; each one it’s own thing.

He cradles the memory of his family to their chest, as they explore, until his wandering feet take them far from the main portion of the town. The path is old, but well-kept, and leads to a little stairway. People go up and down from it, so Siffrin steps onto the stairs, curiosity drawing them up despite their body’s protests.

And finds himself on a vista, overlooking the springs and the shrines from a different angle.

There is a shrine here too. He cannot read the symbol, but feels, like they felt before, a soft recognition, looking at it. Looking out over the view. The way that the sunlight’s warmth dapples everything before them. He didn’t need to know the name of this Expression, to know that they were being moved by it.

There were benches, and Siffrin sat on one, heavily, able to ignore the twinges of pain, still captivated by the sight before them.

And in his mind, begins to compose the first letter that would be sent to their family. He makes up his mind then, staring out at this beautiful place. Their family hadn’t come here, but there was still so much in the world that they could do together. Could see together. This? This was special, for him and for Odile.

What special things would he discover, with each of his wayward family? It had been long enough for the hurt of separation to fade. It was time to come home. Home to each of them.

‘Dear Isabeau, Dear Bonnie, Dear Mirabelle,

I miss you…’