The stranger’s words continued screeching in Rowan’s head, leaving him groaning and thrashing in his bedroll as the manipulation equation continued to wear him down. The void of his mind was so cold and empty, the cruel claims were the only sound ringing out. His mind was so untrustworthy—he wasn’t even sure if the offscape was responsible anymore—and he couldn’t vet the stranger’s claims in his head. All Rowan knew with certainty was the exhaustion exuding from his body. He was sure he laid his head down in the swamp to rest, yet he felt more weary than ever. Surviving the ridicule of Reinholdt Spire, the jeers and stares of others, his father’s isolation, the offscape—survival was all Rowan had ever known. Too much. Everything had become too much.

  Would giving up truly be so wrong? He was nothing but a burden to those around him. He was a walking stain on his family’s lineage, he caused nothing but inconveniences for Morrigan, and even Achaia suffered from his incompetence. Law, Rowan couldn’t even touch someone without causing anguish. Was the stranger right? Wouldn’t Rowan do better by those around him if he just gave up?

  Mada.

  Another voice; not the stranger’s voice: Morrigan’s.

  Whatever is keeping you in the throes of this livēsēns, I guarantee the irrelevancy. There is no time for your doubts and pathetic worries. Now on your feet: we have work to do.

  Morrigan’s words were always so direct, so sharp. What if this wasn’t a facet of her character so much as simply how she responded to Rowan? What if Morrigan wasn’t nearly as abrasive as she came off? What if Rowan simply brought out those responses?

  An interesting thought, pet. The stranger’s words echoed in his mind again, disconnected from Morrigan. They say you can tell a lot about yourself from the company you keep. And you, pet, don’t keep much of any company. When you do, they’re not exactly brimming with jubilee, are they?

  The stranger was right. Achaia had smiled and laughed with Rowan, sure, but she was a blank slate: likely anyone could make her happy. And Morrigan always responded to Rowan like existing around him was an inherent burden.

  Because it is, parasite. You’re a burden.

  The child cries for you, Ridinr?. You would leave her to mourn you?

  Shh, don’t listen to her. The kid will get over it. It’s not like you’re the unforgettable sort, Ronnie. Oops. That’s not your name, right? Just stay asleep. It’s easier.

  Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep, parasite.

  Rowan couldn’t separate the lines in the discussion anymore. Achaia was sad, Morrigan was mad, the stranger was glad, Rowan’s been bad, and—

  Rowan.

  Suddenly everything quieted down again. For Morrigan. His name on her lips, even if it was just in his head, sounded so beautiful.

  I still have need of you.

  Her voice was strained, why?

  Wake up. Wake. Up. I demand it.

  He could feel the burning sensation on his palm calling him from the slumber. Rowan shot forward, coughing and clutching his chest. The pain was sharp, but consistently lessening.

  “Rowan,” Achaia cheered through tears and snot, clutching his arm as he looked around at the scene before him.

  “You sleep no longer. Good.”

  Morrigan’s words slipped out nonchalantly, completely juxtaposing the sight before Rowan. She stood over him, bloodied and battered. Layers of her flesh hung loosely off her back as something Rowan could almost confuse for a smile faintly clung to her face.

  “What? You woke up? Why’d you go and do a stupid thing like that?” A stranger across the way spoke to Rowan, their voice matching the one from his head. “You could have died in your sleep and it would’ve been fine. Now we’ll have to struggle: it’s a lose-lose situation, pet.”

  The stranger’s words stoked an ire in Rowan, but it wasn’t the immediate priority.

  “Morrigan, you’re hurt.” Rowan said, tears welling up in his eyes. “Because of me, you—”

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  “Tsk,” Morrigan scoffed, flicking Rowan’s forehead. “Do not be so vain as to think you are the factor, here. I simply wished to test my endurance. But this is no time for testing.”

  Morrigan turned back to the stranger, her back now facing Rowan and Achaia. Vi welled up over her and her skin repaired itself, leaving nothing but dried blood in its wake.

  “Rowan.” Achaia whimpered, tugging on his sleeve. “Are you okay, now?”

  “I think so.”

  Rowan’s heartbeat was irregular, but settled down as he placed his hand on his chest. He turned to Achaia and wiped her tears.

  “Sorry, I made you worry, didn’t I?”

  Achaia nodded. “I thought you were gonna die.”

  “Not dying tonight, fig. Can you do me a favor and stand back? I’ve gotta help Morrigan, here.”

  “‘Kay. Be safe.” Achaia muttered, taking refuge behind the platform.

  “You know, stranger, you said some pretty mean things to me.” Rowan said, dusting his pants off and putting his boots back on.

  The stranger giggled and punched a hole into space. Evidently their blade had grown dull on Morrigan’s back, so they were equipping themselves with a different weapon. In place of the dull blade, they pulled a large ax from the void.

  “Mean? Come on, pet, I was just speaking the truth. Got it straight from your brain, after all.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Rowan said, drawing vi from his miniscule well. “Honestly, I can’t tell how much of that was true or just your take on the matter. I guess it doesn’t make a difference one way or the other. All your poking around did help me remember something, and I’m grateful for that.”

  “Oh?” The stranger smirked, their interest piqued.

  “The Perceus Pocket equation: Morrigan’s done it, you just did it, but I couldn’t remember much of it until you rattled my brain.” Rowan smirked as he began writing up the equation, casting the necessary gate. “You see, the Perceus Pocket is really useful for storage, and it doesn’t even take a lot of vi to write it up. What was it you mentioned earlier? Right, it’s also one of those equations even a child can pick up early. Perhaps more impressively, even I can do it.”

  At the conclusion of Rowan’s sentence, a small hole not unlike the ones Morrigan and the stranger created opened.

  “Pull out whatever you’d like, pet. It’s not about the weapon, but the one who wields it.”

  “Mada.” Morrigan hissed, inhaling and exhaling as she sought her second wind.

  “You’re right, I’d say. Though, if memory serves, I do have something special inside my pocket. Ever heard of emblarwood?”

  “What’s—”

  “It’s a pretty sturdy wood and it’s resistant to fire. Its durability tends to be the highlight feature, so it’s often used in the manufacturing of heavy-duty equipment or weaponry. It seems like it’s a bit abnormal to use for stave creation.”

  “Even I can only take so much talking. I need you dead, pet. So shut up and die.”

  The stranger’s covered arm lit up with an imprint of vi. The funnel of air was one Rowan knew well: the Air-Chain equation. What started as a convenient way to transport light materials along a field of air was quickly adopted into a tool of warfare. The spark of fire at the palm of the stranger’s glove confirmed it all. The glove set off a controlled explosion and the Air-Chain equation funneled it toward Rowan before Morrigan could even act.

  In truth, it wasn’t a matter of skill or preparedness: Rowan was just lucky. He finally gripped the emblarwood stave from the void of his Perceus Pocket and pulled it free. As he did so, the imprint at the front of his stave happened to also be the Air-Chain equation. Even a laggard such as Rowan could respond under such parameters. He flicked his wrist, set off the equation, and linked his equation to the stranger’s. When the explosion went off, the stranger didn’t even notice the redirection until it exploded right in their face.

  “Oh Law, I’m sorry,” Rowan stammered. “Are you okay?”

  Rowan’s question was met with a snarl of annoyance. The stranger’s face was bloodied and bubbled up from the heat of the explosion. The rapid restoration left the stranger’s face in pristine condition once again, but their helm wasn’t so lucky. Their white hair unfurled from the vi’s wave of healing, falling to their back. Their skin was a deep brown and their eyes a striking yellow Rowan had seen before. Law, their face was a face Rowan had seen before as well.

  “Tsk.” Morrigan growled, gritting her teeth and gripping her blade tightly in her hand. “It is not enough to stand in my way, slay my comrades, and condemn me to the wastes. Your fētis-ridden leader would seek to mock me further and give my visage to others?” Her voice scratched with rage. She was right. The stranger was hardly a stranger, visually: aside from the different hair and eye color, she looked identical to Morrigan.

  “Geez, you really are an idiot, aren’t you? There’s no curing that, I’m afraid.” The stranger shrugged. “Let’s do this right. My designation is Subject 30, so call me Seo, okay?”

  “Seo?” Rowan asked.

  “Yeah,” Seo giggled, pantomiming the letter and numbers. “S. 3. 0. Seo, see?”

  “Fētis is undeserving of a name." Morrigan huffed. "This place will be your grave.”

  “Funny you should mention this place. The swamp’s interesting, right? Because it’s not a swamp at all, dummies. This is a special kind of creature in the offscape called a hazureeth. The creature itself is beneath the muck, lying in wait. And all this muck you’ve all been wading through? It isn’t swampland, idiots: it’s a paralytic secretion. That’s why I was so annoyed when you dragged me into it. But it doesn’t matter because you three have been in it way longer than I have. By my estimation, you’ve only got another five minutes or so before you’re down for the count. Then I’ll kill the boy, and leave you three for the hazureeth to feast on. You don’t think I met you here by accident, do you?”

  Seo cackled as Morrigan charged her, their blades clashing again.

  “Five minutes?" Morrigan scoffed. "N?n. You shall rot in two.”