– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 219, Season of the Rising Moon, Day 66 –

At the beginning, the moon elves had been hesitant to fight with the hostile stranger because they suspected him to belong to the Sun and they didn't want to shatter the fragile truce the Moon had established with the sun elves.

The more decisive their enemy acted, the more their own resolve gave way to uncertainty. The Sun might not join their hunt, but why would they now move to impede it?

They all grew under the same heaven.

They all suffered under the same curse. The change in their mana. The constant risk. The raids from the funghouls from the Deadlands.

No matter what animosity their long-standing rivalry and difference of views had allowed to fester, they had never interfered with each other's hunt to such a point.

And yet, their opponent stood firm. To make it even more confusing, the man appeared to hold back.

That infuriating man obviously refused to take the resolve of the Moon seriously. The worst kind of insult to any elf living under the Moon.

Their rage should destroy him.

Their numbers should overwhelm him.

And yet, it was them that felt outnumbered by a single opponent.

Their most advanced magic that touched on the mysteries of space shattered like glass.

Their spells evaporated impotently before their shaping had even succeeded.

Their weapons and armor turned against them.

No matter how they came at him, it was them that ended up beaten and bruised.

When their desperation had driven them to use the forbidden artifacts, they had all shivered from dreadful anticipation. The thunderous blizzard escaped the moon droplets and grew uncontrollably. They knew it would catch them, too, but they weren't afraid of death.

Death was nothing to be afraid of…

The Moon's teachings were clear. There was no life without death. No true living without accepting death.

Death was nothing to be afraid of… not unless it was contagious.

The rotting death of the curse was not the kind of death to be accepted. Accepting death was to embrace the risks to overcome yourself and to become something greater than you had any right to be.

The curse brought not just death, but weakness. Infecting their mana. Infecting their blood. Infecting each and every one of them from birth. Crippling whatever they could have become.

The Moon didn't fear death.

The Moon feared a life not worth living.

Grim determination had steeled their resolve when they rebelled against their curse. Indignation ignited in their hearts when the mage dared defy their sacred mission to exterminate the cursed beings and liberate elvenkind from its shackles.

They were prepared to die for their mission.

They were ready to embrace their own deaths.

They were decidedly not ready for the thunderous blizzard to disperse and show the figure of the mage with a smile that appeared almost mocking.

"Really?" Terry's disruption domain pulsed with powerful spell slicers and gave way to a quick tuck of mana drain. "Ice and lightning? Of all things to go with?"

Of all the things to throw at me, these might be the least effective by now.

Terry snorted. His mana pool had gone through another sizable expansion only recently. Adding to the passive resistance of his own mana pool, these two particular aspects have coursed through his body like no others. He couldn't help but remember his resistance training with the Elusive Fog of Frost, not to mention his more recent lightning-induced misery.

Don't forget embarrassment. Not every mage gets to tell a story where they were nearly killed by their own magic weapon.

Terry burst forward and grabbed the moon elf that had thrown the weird artifact. Powerful it was, and going by his mana perception, it would have grown even more powerful with time – if left undisturbed.

A good reason to not leave it undisturbed.

Terry was glad to find that there were still flaws to exploit in the spellwork of this realm. It wasn't as fragile as the ancient spellwork he had encountered in the folded space, but compared to Arcana, it was still dilettantish.

Terry's hand found its way to the elf's throat while he removed the struggling elf's helmet. In a flicker, he moved back and stomped into the elf's chest.

Terry's mana roared through his mana channels and he squeezed the metal helmet until he didn't have to look at the ugly skull mask anymore.

Satisfied with his work, Terry hurled the crumbled head piece to the ground in front of the moon elves. "You may go now." He pointed with a thumb at Shroomville. "If you want to get to them, you'll have to go through me." He flared his mana. "So if you want to go anywhere ever again, I suggest you find another way."

The moon elves were unreconciled, but their resolve felt hollow in front of their opponent. At the beginning, they might have feared the stranger's background, but now it was the mage's power that made them wary… and resigned.

They weren't afraid of death, but a useless death didn't help anyone.

The Moon deserved better.

The Moon had to learn of this unexpected obstacle in their hunt, especially if this mage was an elf following the teachings of the Sun. Encountering such a powerful individual seemingly out of nowhere did not bode well for any future conflict between the two rival factions.

There was no other choice.

Terry watched the retreating moon elves like a hawk. He ignored their hateful curses. Ignored their desperate pleading. He allowed them to collect their injured and retreat with their lives, but beyond that, Terry refused to budge.

The moon elves were justifying their call for Shroomling's death exclusively based on the needs of the realm. Justifying it as a sacrifice for the greater good of all.

At best, they were talking about the shroomans as a disease to be exterminated. A group of infectious beings whose mere existence was a danger to all. Beings guilty by their existence alone.

At worst, they ignored Shroomling's status as sapient folk completely. None of their pleas or accusations included even the slightest attempt to declare Shroomling guilty of anything deserving death.

The longer Terry listened to them, the more he was certain in his position. He would leave the second-guessing for later when the moon elves were gone. While he was having them in his sights, though, he could only see a single path for himself to follow that he wouldn't immediately regret.

A single path for the person Terry would like to become.

A single decision he could take pride in.

Even if he might doubt or regret it later.

Terry couldn't help but see Anand in these moon elves. See the Lich Kingdoms.

Not just them, either. The way they attacked the shroomans reminded him too much of the ancient cultists in his own realm. How the zealot followers of the False Gods had thought about mages.

Sinful existences.

Dangerous.

At best, deserving of a fate as mindless tools.

None of the moon elves had shown the slightest care for the fact that the shroomans were proper folk.

None of them had spent a single word about Shroomling as an individual.

Each of their appeals only referenced Shroomling as a tool to be used. A means to an end.

When the fragile dimensional gate closed behind the moon elves, the last thing Terry saw of them was the conflicted expression on the moon elf commander's face.

With their departure, Terry released a sharp breath. He inhaled deeply and calmly before turning around to face the confused mushroom folk.

"Mana, I hope you're not really related to the curse." Terry mumbled to himself. Already, his mind was filled with intrusive thoughts tinged with self-doubt.

When pressed for immediate action, Terry had chosen to take the perspective of Shroomling and the innocent shroomans.

With time to consider, however, the question at hand begged itself. What if the moon elves were right?

What if a single innocent life was weighed against the fate of the entire realm?

Weighed against all the realms that might be connected to this cursed realm?

Against the realms like Terry's own native realm?

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We'll see… I don't know enough to judge.

"I'm not convinced." Terry mumbled to himself while shaking his head.

Wishful thinking.

"I know." Terry realized that a large part of his skepticism was the simple fact that he didn't want it to be true.

Can I believe that? Yes.

Do I have to believe that? No.

Terry acknowledged how his mind emphasized one question over the other. He didn't allow himself to dwell on it. He would have to find a way to investigate the claims before he could properly examine the choice in front of him.

I can't communicate with the shroomans. Not enough to properly discuss such a complex topic.

I have to reconnect with the rest of the expedition force. Get the opinion of the experts on curses.

Guess I'll have to move and leave—

"What?" Terry was shaken out of his thoughts by a hand tugging at his shadow-fabric cloak. He saw Bugsby staring up at him. The beetlefolk's other hand rested on Shroomling's cap. The little mushroom person was huffing and puffing… softly?

"Yes?" Terry blinked and tried to understand what Bugsby was trying to convey. The beetlefolk was pointing wildly. At their mouth. At their fingers. Waggling their fingers. At their eyes. Pointing at Terry.

Only when Bugsby channeled a bit of mana for an ability they never activated did an idea take root in Terry's head.

[Do you mean this?] Terry asked with finger runes. He nearly gasped when the beetlefolk nodded.

[You can understand this?]

Another nod.

"Huh…" Terry blinked and tilted his head.

So the shroomans can't understand finger runes, but Bugsby can? Difference in mana senses?

But why didn't Bugsby say anything before?

Oh…

Terry began to see the past few days in another light. It wasn't necessarily that Bugsby had gotten closer to him. Literally, but maybe not metaphorically. It was entirely possible that the beetlefolk had stayed close to Terry to observe him just like Terry was observing them.

Finally decided that I'm trustworthy enough?

Guess I'm sticking around for a while longer. Even though communicating like this is still a pain. At least I can formulate proper questions, even if I can only get yes or no as answers.

I still can't talk directly to the shroomans, but Bugsby apparently can somehow communicate with them, so…

Just when Terry had resigned himself to a long night of difficult conversation, the beetlefolk began gesturing again.

Fingers. Nodding. Pointing at Terry. Repeat.

Fingers. Head shaking. Pointing at Terry. Repeat.

Terry furrowed his brow and wagered a guess.

[Yes.] Terry nodded while shaping the finger runes.

[No.] Terry displayed the finger runes for the corresponding concept.

Right then and there, Terry saw something amazing happen. In front of his eyes. Right on top of Bugsby's fingers, the same finger runes were shown for him.

Mana be damned…

Terry's mouth was agape. Even he had needed several attempts to shape his first finger runes. Getting comfortable in rudimentary conversation had taken weeks. Becoming fluent had taken even longer.

[Outstanding,] praised Terry. [You must have great mana control.]

[No.] Bugsby shook their head. [No. Mana control.] They pointed at their mouth. At their ears.

It took a moment for Terry to get over the fact that Bugsby had fluently incorporated the finger runes to express the concept of mana control.

[Speech?] Terry guessed. [Communication? Language?]

[YES!] Bugsby nodded excitedly. [Great. Language.]

Terry was equally amazed and relieved. If the beetlefolk could pick up finger runes this quickly, then they might really get somewhere.

I wonder if Bugsby could learn our common tongue as well? If they have vocal cords or a substitute organ to vocalize the required sounds, would they learn just as quickly?

Terry suppressed his inner Academy student because he could see the shroomans packing up Shroomville.

Understandable, given that they were just attacked.

Terry quickly sorted through the questions in his head. He had to work his way up to the more complex topics, but in order to talk properly, he wanted to get a few things out of the way first.

[My name is Terry.] Terry spoke while signing the finger runes to try and see if the beetlefolk could also pick up the common tongue when it was matched with the concept transmission via finger runes. [Do you have a name?]

[Name? No.]

[Is it okay if I call you Bugsby?]

[Yes.]

Terry reminded himself that he should explain the pun in the name at some point to make sure his friends didn't feel insulted by it. First, they had to get through the concept of a pun, though.

***

Terry observed the agitated shroomans, who were quickly dismantling their village and herding their insects to change locations.

I get that they want to move after being attacked, but the rush is making me feel bad. I guess my presence isn't really that reassuring, even if I managed to push the moon elves back.

Was my mercy with the elves misguided? They already injured many of the shroomans before I intervened. Do the shroomans resent me for failing to avenge the victims? Do they distrust me?

Does Shroomling?

His gaze moved to Shroomling, who was standing with Bugsby next to him. When he saw Shroomling's limp little limbs hang down dispiritedly, he felt conflicted about his own excitement at finally having found a way to communicate.

Terry was still amazed at how quickly Bugsby had picked up finger runes. The beetlefolk lacked the vocal cords to speak the common tongue directly, but he had ensured Terry that he would be able to mimic the sounds with time. It was an inherent gift of his folk that apparently evolved to assist their migration across realms.

Terry had slipped in a few more questions on how to address his new friends. Using a singular they had gotten cumbersome and his mind had stumbled frequently. He had felt a bit silly to slip in such questions among the more important or urgent candidates, but the topic had slowed down his thinking, which didn't help anyone.

At first, their answers had only made the situation worse. Apparently, Bugsby's folk didn't even have biological sexes. They somehow reproduced with the help of magic trees and they had to seek out compatible trees to procreate. In order to adapt and ensure beneficial evolutions for the next generation, they had to search for the best candidates, which Terry guessed was the reason behind the void-aspect in the beetlefolk's teleportation and the means by which they migrated into other realms.

The shroomans appeared to fall on the other extreme end. According to Bugsby's translation, the shroomans had more than fifty different sexes that all fulfilled different roles in procreation, which was way beyond what Terry cared to imagine.

As such, Terry simply put aside whatever biology was in play and simply asked. He explained the puns in the names and the relation to his other acquaintances, namely Siling and Bigsby.

Shroomling emphatically agreed with the preference to not walk on her own. Her legs ought to be longer for someone that is expected to run around. She enjoyed the imagery of the big mushrooms. It was what her folk tended to, after all. A word of life. A meaning of connection with the realm.

Bugsby questioned the visual imagery of a bug but did not really mind. He liked the relation to the life of the dungeon scavengers. He didn't know what a dungeon was supposed to be, but the way Terry had described Wallace's scavenging troop invoked the idea of freedom and traveling, which resonated a lot with the beetlefolk.

Just like that, Shroomling became a she and Bugsby became a he. No more stumbling.

Terry stumbled.

Not metaphorically, but literally.

Terry squinted and turned to the location where he had sensed something unexpected. He couldn't make anything out anymore, but the reason he had stumbled was a faint trace of a familiar signature way out in the distance.

Terry checked his signaling cube and found nothing. However, if his mana perception was right, then there was an easy explanation.

Terry stepped into the shadows and his signaling cube proved his perception right. The reason it hadn't shown anything in the regular plane was that the person coming moved primarily through the shadow plane.

Terry didn't have to wait long to greet his fellow expedition member.

"The shadows in this realm are so cumbersome." The human in a dark grey coat complained.

I guess the vegetation isn't really great for moving fast. Not a common problem in the shadow plane.

"Greetings, Instructor Khaled," said Terry. His face quickly twisted in concern. "How are the others? Is everyone okay?"

"You know I only had a single instruction mission with you, right?" Khaled chuckled and shook his head. "But I'll gladly call myself an instructor to someone whose first question is for others. Everyone is okay, don't worry. But…" He sighed and shook his head. "Seriously, you're the one everyone is worried about."

Khaled shrugged. "At least you have the decency to look guilty about it." His eyes wandered to the insects tending to the mushroom vegetation. "And hopefully you can enlighten me about what's going on."

Me? How would I know?

"Well, at least you might add another perspective." Khaled read Terry's skepticism on his face. "Should we talk here or…?"

"We can move to the regular plane," said Terry.

They both stepped out of the shadows and Khaled looked around.

"I see…" Khaled muttered to himself while observing the new folks around. He saw Terry assuring the agitated shroomans, saw a beetle person reading and using finger runes and then acting as a translator.

When Terry was finally ready to continue the conversation, Khaled felt compelled to talk first. "I can see that you're still worried about your friends. They're fine. At least unless your felan friend got himself into trouble since the last time we were in contact."

Why am I not surprised that Rafael is the first that comes to his mind?

Khaled patted some dust from his travel boots. "This realm is… let's say wary of visitors from other realms. The two major factions both had a form of intrusion detection based on a ritual. As soon as we stepped through into the realm, their space magic activated and pulled us into different directions. We got separated at first, but the two dimensional mages contained the problem by both joining one of the transfers and then taking over.

"Besides you, we managed to stay in two groups and then quickly linked back up with each other." Khaled clicked his tongue and frowned. "It seems like the dimensional mages had their own way of linking up, which they didn't share with us beforehand." He shook his head. "Guildheads. Always the same."

"Technically, I'm a Guildhead, too." Terry pointed out. He had joined the Guild in the Freedom Cooperative, after all.

"You?" Khaled snorted. "The Guardian of Freedom is a Guildhead?"

Terry cringed at his grandiose title.

"The moment you consider yourself a Guildhead first is the moment you're not allowed to call me Instructor anymore." Khaled took a deep breath. "Anyway, Yorgos's group landed with a group calling themselves moon elves and Mia's group with the sun elves."

They've already made contact with both?

Terry's ears perked up.

"When I say we've linked up, it just means that we've been in contact," continued Khaled. "We're in a careful balancing act with the Sun and the Moon at the moment. While we'd like to set up permanent gates between our two camps, that would be like asking to connect the Lich Kingdoms and Arcana. They're technically not at war right now, but they hate each other's guts."

Khaled cracked his knuckles while his eyes followed the shroomans. "The local factions don't like us. On the surface, the Moon was very cooperative when they learned that we want to eradicate the curse, but there's something beneath that. Fortunately, they fear our dimensional mages too much to try something drastic. They let us maintain our camps and even support our investigation, but they seem distrustful of our motives."

Khaled looked at Terry. "Even more so since we've all heard about your little encounter." He shrugged. "Well done making yourself found by putting a spotlight on yourself. It would have taken us a lot longer without that. Then again, you've kind of exacerbated the pre-existing prejudice the moon elves seem to have for us."

Terry frowned. There was something about the phrasing he felt he was missing.

Khaled's instructor instincts kicked in and he knew he had to elaborate. "They're not just wary of us because we come from another realm. Nor is it primarily because some of us are humans, although that's what tipped them off. From our initial conversations, they blame our realm for the rampaging curse."

"What?!" Terry blurted out. "I thought they blamed the shroomans?"

"The…?" It was Khaled's turn to blurt, but he composed himself. "Let's gloss over that term for now. It's true that the Moon is hunting shroomans to eradicate the curse, but what I meant is that they know exactly who has cursed this realm."

Khaled rubbed his eyes. "So exactly in fact that it's hard to deny they might be right, even if it's hard to believe." He took a deep breath. "Not when they so perfectly describe the only curse mage among the Faithless Saints."

One of the Faithless Saints has doomed this realm?

That can't be right.

Can it?

***

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