S?urtinaui yawned and stretched, her arms arching above her head as her silver hair cascaded across the bed like a sheet of liquid moonlight. For once, she actually felt rested. The kind of rest that came from a sleep deeper than meditation—weightless, peaceful, and uninterrupted.

  “Oh my gods,” she murmured, smiling to herself. “That was… actually amazing.”

  She stretched again, letting out a content sigh—until her hand smacked into something soft.

  Her eyes blinked open. Then narrowed.

  “Caro… Magjesti, why are you here?”

  A groggy voice mumbled from under the covers. “You know… what people usually do in a bed…”

  “I know,” S?urtinaui said flatly, “but why mine?”

  A mop of rough, sand-colored hair peeked out from beneath the white and purple blankets. “Why not?”

  “Magjesti!”

  “Okay, okay!” Caroline sat up abruptly, hands covering her face like she could hide from reality. “I was hoping to wake up before you. I definitely should’ve set a timer.”

  S?urtinaui just stared at her, expression unreadable. “I’m surprised I didn’t notice you.”

  “Hehe, stealth,” Caroline said, grinning weakly. “Plus, you were dead tired.”

  S?urtinaui exhaled through her nose and rubbed her temple. “What ridiculous situation caused this to happen…”

  “Team bonding?” Caroline offered hopefully.

  S?urtinaui gave her a look that said try again. She then pinched the bridge of her nose. “I swear, North has rubbed off on you more than I like to see.”

  “Hey!” Caroline protested.

  “It’s true. Now tell me why you decided to intrude on my bed. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t an issue.”

  Caroline hesitated, then laughed weakly. “Maybe I missed you, S?urtinaui.” She rubbed her hands, cheeks faintly red. “But… you’re right. Something did happen—but it’s not a bad thing. Just a—well, I don’t know—thing.” She dropped her face into her hands. “Oh my god, this is stupid.”

  S?urtinaui sighed and sat up, stretching her back. She really was like the team’s mom at times… well by human standards—her own mother had been far less patient. “Let me get decent and freshen up, and then we can talk.”

  Caroline perked up. “I can conjure—”

  “I’d rather do it the basic way,” S?urtinaui cut her off as she stood, her bare body shimmering faintly in the light.

  Caroline froze mid-sentence, eyes widening. For a moment, she just stared—not in shock, but in quiet, genuine admiration.

  S?urtinaui arched an eyebrow. “I thought you liked men.”

  “One could call me a free spirit,” Caroline said with a mischievous smirk. “And right now, your team is making a good argument. It never really dawned on me before, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen an elf with a bubble—”

  “Shut up!” S?urtinaui snapped, practically skipping into the bathroom.

  Caroline laughed, falling back into the bed with a grin. “Totally worth it.”

  The bathroom looked like a drunk architect’s half-remembered sketch of a college dorm. A sink carved out of what looked like repurposed stone sat crooked against a wall lined with shimmering posters—each flickering between motivational quotes and strange runic symbols. A shower pod sat too close to the toilet, and an empty bottle of something labeled “Ozzy Hydrating Mist (Do Not Drink)” rested in the sink basin.

  S?urtinaui exhaled, amused and a little bewildered. “I really need to have a word with whoever designed this.”

  She leaned over the sink and splashed cold water onto her face. The sensation jolted her awake, washing away the last remnants of sleep. She studied herself in the mirror for a moment before pulling a comb from the side of the sink. Her silver hair fell in waves down her back, catching the dim light in pale streaks of blue. She tried a braid—then frowned. Ponytail? No. Too casual. A loose knot? Still not right. Finally, she twisted it into a tight, elegant bun that made her look like the responsible one the group pegged her for.

  “Better,” she murmured.

  A thin mist of Ryun energy swirled from her fingertips, cleaning her face and mouth with a faint hum. The runes on the sink lit briefly as her reflection shimmered with a faint green glow.

  She smiled at herself, a small but genuine one. All things considered, things were going well. She’d slept soundly—something she hadn’t done in weeks.

  As she reached for a towel, her eyes caught on the rack beside the sink. Hanging there was a folded blue robe—its stitching marked with the emblem of the Occulted Moon. She paused, fingers brushing over the fabric. It was soft, and comforting.

  “Right,” she said softly, slipping it on. The robe draped perfectly, its hem brushing her ankles.

  She glanced once more in the mirror, composed now. Then, pushing the door open, she stepped back into the room to meet Caroline—ready for whatever nonsense awaited her.

  S?urtinaui folded her arms, leaning against the frame with that quiet, knowing smirk she wore whenever Caroline dug herself into a hole. “So let’s hear it—what called you to crawl into my bed like a kneelmed?”

  “A what?” Caroline blinked.

  “Let’s just call it a rat.”

  “Eww! I’d rather be a mouse!”

  S?urtinaui tilted her head. “Mouse?”

  “Yeah! Similar to a rat but cuter and smaller.”

  “So… basically the same thing?”

  Caroline gasped like she’d been insulted on a spiritual level. “No!!”

  S?urtinaui raised an eyebrow. “You said the same thing about theory crafting and guessing.”

  “That’s different!” Caroline sat up straight, pointing like she was about to teach a class. “Theory crafting is when you build on known information to make predictions based on logic and data! Guessing is just—throwing darts in the dark and hoping you hit something!”

  “So one’s a mouse, one’s a rat?” S?urtinaui deadpanned.

  Caroline groaned. “You’re impossible.”

  S?urtinaui smiled faintly. “And you’re still avoiding the question.”

  Caroline gave an exaggerated groan. Her sandpaper hair— brushing just past her shoulders—looked perfectly imperfect, carrying that deliberate messy energy that somehow worked for her. She wore a pair of gray joggers and a white hoodie that looked like it had been stolen from some bigger person's wardrobe. Across the back, lettering read A.S.U.4 in black print.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  S?urtinaui’s eyes flicked over the outfit, unimpressed but faintly amused.

  Caroline caught the look. “It’s called comfy couture. You wouldn’t understand.”

  S?urtinaui narrowed her eyes, waiting.

  Caroline groaned, shoulders slumping as she gave in. “Fine, fine… last night, me and Mekiea talked. In his room.”

  S?urtinaui’s stare sharpened slightly. “Did he do anything that made you uncomfortable?”

  Caroline shook her head quickly. “No, nothing like that! He just… asked about my life before I came here.” She sighed, tugging lightly at the hem of her hoodie. “And I froze. Just—completely shut down.”

  S?urtinaui tilted her head, quietly listening as Caroline’s voice softened. “Back home I was… big…. As you already know. I lived most of my life through anime, games, watching everyone else have fun while I just… waited to feel better. But that day never came. Then I ended up here.”

  S?urtinaui understood enough. She’d met plenty of warriors and Freelancers who were bedridden for life or battling internal battles with past selves. Though… she never really thought about how hard it was for Outlanders—how much fear and confusion they carried under all that sudden power.

  Caroline let out a humorless laugh. “Most people like me, we keep thinking this is all a dream. That we’ll wake up and none of this—this magic, this world, this… life—is real.”

  “But you accepted Requiem now,” S?urtinaui said quietly.

  Caroline nodded. “Yeah.”

  S?urtinaui smiled softly and sat beside her, the faint clink of her pendant breaking the silence. “You just haven’t accepted that the way people treat you here is real too.”

  “Why’d you pull that out?”

  S?urtinaui smiled, running a thumb over the small trinket between her fingers. “It reminds me of everyone—and why we even started. Useless now,” she laughed, shaking her head. “And I went through so much to get this.”

  She turned to Caroline, her tone softening. “I can’t speak for your past life experience. I’ve never been to Earth, and honestly, it sounds so strange I’d rather just stay here.”

  Caroline chuckled quietly, eyes tracing the floor.

  “But I can tell you about the woman in front of me,” S?urtinaui continued. “When we first met, you were awkward and loud. Always trying to help, even when no one asked you to. And I’ll admit, I didn’t understand it at first. But over the years, I came to realize you just… care. You care more than most people I’ve ever known. And that makes people trust you, even when they shouldn’t trust anyone.”

  Caroline blinked, caught off guard.

  “You’re beautiful, Caroline,” S?urtinaui said plainly. “And you should embrace that. Your style, your energy—those things are part of you. Enough to attract any suitor, honestly.” She paused, noticing Caroline’s wide-eyed expression, and gave a soft chuckle. “So don’t let this opportunity slip away because of fear. You always talk about how North and Tinsurnae do amazing things and how you hate seeing them doubt themselves. Use that same philosophy for you.” Her gaze steadied. “You’re extraordinary, just like them. Not many could’ve survived what you did—back then or now. And I think you already know that.”

  Caroline looked at the elf, then down at the floor. She was right—it was just hard. Her mind drifted to the image of her old bed, the sunlight through a half-drawn curtain, the sound of laughter outside while she wheezed and coughed through another day. But that was six Earth years ago. Three years here, and she was still standing—a survivor in a world that demanded strength.

  She smiled faintly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Reaching over, she wrapped her arms around S?urtinaui in a tight hug. “Thanks,” she said softly.

  S?urtinaui patted her back, smiling as well.

  Caroline sighed and leaned back. “Now I just have to make things right with him… after running out like a child.”

  S?urtinaui arched a brow. “The same man who works on a warship with names like Pool Noodles and drinks from silly straws? And let’s not even delve into the captain of this absurd vessel.”

  Caroline snorted, laughing. “Yeah, that one.”

  They both laughed, the sound echoing warmly through the small, chaotic room.

  The two walked side by side through the winding halls, their steps echoing softly beneath the hum of engines. Eventually, the corridor opened into the ship’s food court—a sprawling mess hall that looked half-military, half-mall food court. Light panels along the ceiling mimicked the soft glow of morning, and rows of curved serving counters ringed the space. Holographic menus flickered with every imaginable dish—grilled meats, fruits in luminescent syrup, steaming bowls of broth, even buttermilk pancakes shaped like constellations. Long communal tables were scattered between smaller booths where crew members laughed, traded stories, or slept sitting up.

  Though the food court never closed and had food for all times of the day, both women decided it felt like breakfast. They loaded trays with a bit of everything—eggs, smoked fish, syrupy bread, and the kind of fruit that shimmered like gemstones.

  As they found a table near the viewport, Caroline frowned. “Tinsurnae’s not up yet,” she said. After her talk with Mekiea, she would go and check up on her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “She’s been… different lately. Especially with how she questioned Lythra.”

  S?urtinaui nodded thoughtfully between bites. “You do that. I’ll train with Jack today. I want to get a better read on his abilities—and make sure we have counters in case he goes rogue. If he keeps improving, maybe we can actually turn him into a proper ally.”

  Caroline smirked. “Look at you not treating him like an asset.”

  S?urtinaui grinned. “Same thing.”

  They shared a quiet laugh as the ship drifted peacefully through the morning light

  Bebele waddled over to their table, ears vibrating with every step. “Good tidings. I come with a report.”

  Both women kept eating, waiting. Caroline finally spoke. “You gonna tell us?”

  He straightened up, posture rigid. “I was waiting for a ‘what news?’”

  “Bro, this isn’t a Telltale game. Just say it—no need for a prompt.”

  “I like to have fulfilling conversations where one individual replies with just the right phrase to keep the discussion interesting.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No.”

  Caroline nearly lunged across the table to strangle the thumb-shaped creature, but S?urtinaui laughed, cutting her off. “What news?”

  “Oh, glad you asked—”

  “I swear, I’ll shove a fox tail through all your ears.”

  “—Captain Ozzy has reported they made contact with Vari’s Jujisn last night.”

  Both women froze.

  Bebele stared back—or at least, it felt like a stare, as much as a ring of ears could manage.

  “That’s it?!”

  “Why yes. I didn’t say there was more.”

  “Are they okay?!” both demanded.

  “Yes. Captain will report later today. Their tracker still reads green, so that means he’s alive.”

  That was a relief—and a reminder that North was still out there, doing what he always did. Which meant it was time for them to get their own side in order.

  “How long until we reach the tree?” S?urtinaui asked.

  “Two days, at our current pace.”

  “Two days?” Caroline snapped. “Can’t we go faster? North made it to Destiny in a single night!”

  “Well, we are not them,” Bebele replied evenly. “And this pace was already agreed upon. Faster would strain fuel reserves and disrupt everyone’s schedules. Now, if you want to repurpose all of the—”

  “You love hearing yourself hum, don’t you? Shut up.”

  Bebele giggled.

  “Can you grab Jack for me, please?” S?urtinaui asked calmly.

  Bebele nodded and waddled off to fetch him.

  Caroline chuckled. “I hate that thumb freak. But at least he’s useful. Still—how North get to her that fast? Guess he really missed her.”

  “Sure,” S?urtinaui said plainly.

  “Still mad about us siding with her?”

  “Not mad,” S?urtinaui said. “Just cautious.”

  Caroline nodded, spotting Mekiea across the court. “Showtime, I guess.”

  S?urtinaui smiled and flicked her fingers in a graceful elvish sign.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your system didn’t pick it up?”

  “No. Mostly just helps with words or historical stuff. I guess your granny hands—”

  PLAT!

  A quick burst of green Ryun hit Caroline square in the forehead, making her stumble and laugh. “I’ll get you back for that.”

  S?urtinaui snickered as she watched Caroline straighten her hoodie and start toward Mekiea, every step slower than she wanted it to be.

  ———

  Tinsurnae slammed her palms against the desk again. “Another fail. Another fail. Fail!” The last word echoed through the room as she gripped her hair, nearly tearing strands out by the root. The air around her shimmered with flickers of unstable energy, Sryun leaking from her hands like purple ink.

  This stupid hint about using Sryun wasn’t working. Ryun had no effect—as expected—but the Sryun should’ve coated the curse, wrapped it, neutralized it. And yet nothing. How. How was she supposed to overcome a divine-level curse—alone? During an event where there weren’t even pure reality warpers participating? The absurdity of it made her want to scream.

  She stopped herself before she did. The longer she used Sryun, the more it messed with her thoughts. A dangerous, gnawing hum began crawling along the edges of her mind. How her male self could wield it so effortlessly still bothered her. In truth, her male version and the Primordial Hunter God had far more in common then she ever did. If only she could’ve stayed behind inside him—inside that version of herself. If only she hadn’t split.

  Lythra’s words from before echoed in her mind—about being a book character made real. The idea gnawed at her because it was too close to home. The longer she lived outside her male counterpart, the more she felt it—the disconnect. At first, it was just imitation. She mimicked him because it felt right. But lately, that mimicry felt wrong. Forced. Like she wasn’t mirroring someone anymore. Like she was diverging.

  She laid back on the bed, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her chest. Sryun shimmered faintly along her skin.

  She stared at the ceiling. “If I’m becoming my own person…” she whispered. “Then who was I before?”

  Silence answered her. Only the soft hum of Sryun filled the room.

  Her hand trembled.

  “Do I actually exist?”