Children's laughter, boisterous conversation, and games of skill and luck. Firebugs, returned from their hiatus, flooded the gally and blanketed the ceiling, sparkling like stars in the night sky. They were ecstatic in their glow, radiating with a joyous joviality – joined in by all.

  It was to be their last days together for the foreseeable future; it was an acknowledgement of the uncertainty to come, while celebrating the strength of community. Drinks were rationed – strict orders from Hecate – this was a warship now, and certain measures had to be maintained.

  The three brave companions who would be venturing into the heart of the beast – occupied Murkspire – did not drink at all; they went to their beds early, even as the celebrations continued.

  But as any wayfarer can attest, sleep on the eve of an expedition was not easily done. Draven practiced his form as he summoned and vanished his scythe – in the Grumakh combat style – rebounding off the walls, only to summon his weapon mid-air for a horizontal cut, before it vanished in a mote of light, as he tucked into a roll – and surging to his feet while guarding his vitals. He worked himself to a lather, pushing to his limits, until finally collapsing. Draven drifted off to sleep.

  For Meen-Tra, she meditates – clearing her mind, and hardening her will – in the way of her mother, and that of the [Swordmaster].

  The last of the three, the mecha-gnome, did not sleep; it was not necessary for her, and she had a task to complete – unfortunately, she was having little success.

  “To Calanar with you!” Mitzy hurled Razer’s repeater against the wall.

  She paced her workbench, weaving around gryoscopes and hopping over spare parts. She would have to pack before they left, and was pretty sure Draven had managed to nick a hex-bolt or two – but she would deal with him another time.

  “Curses – that should be all anyone who worships the System needs as proof of its lack of divinity.” She spat.

  Standing on the edge of her bench, she twirled her pigtails as she flipped through the different modes on her HPLC. But as with the first dozen times she ran the pings, nothing new came up. And if she was being honest with herself, her heart wasn’t in it. Mitzy couldn’t understand the sympathy their fearless leader had towards the separatist.

  It wasn’t that she was bitter about Meen-Tra taking charge; she wasn’t big on leading herself, and the young orc woman had a certain way about her. But without a combat class, or experience in matters of war…

  “Not that you have much experience yourself, Mitzy Bubblesnaps.” She scuffed her toe against her workbench before jumping to the ground.

  She picked up the repeater, which was almost as long as she, and turned it over in her hands. The material was light and durable; it was not plas or any metal that she was familiar with. Something was bothering her about it, and she couldn’t quite put her pink lacquered nail on it.

  A buzzing and a swish, Mitzy turned her head, only to see a flashing light from the corner of her eye. She spun to face – her eyes crossed, as a firebug landed on her nose. The little flyer dimmed and brightened, ever so softly – holding her attention, when suddenly it flitted away, landing on the repeater, and again repeating the same pattern with its thorax light. She observed this with quite attention as the firebug moved to the door, and again repeated its signal.

  Her eyes moved from door to weapon and back again. The mad candymaker, quick on her feet and sharp in witt, slung the repeater over her shoulder before following the messenger into the hall.

  Itlanded on Meen-Tra’s door, where it continued to signal.

  Mitzy stepped in front, but before knocking – she fretted with the repeater, awkwardly positioning the overly large weapon across her shoulder, before giving up and clamping with her claw; holding it out front like a dirty cloth; when the door slid free, and Mitzy looked up into the eyes of the reaper shadowed in the abyss of her titan-mark – her face a mask of calm – Mitzy shuttered.

  Meen-Tra held up her hands, “Don’t shoot.”

  “You’re kind of scary, you know that?”

  The [Sandalmancer] tossed her thick, inky locks over her shoulder, before raising her chin, “What is it, have you broken the curse – that makes me feel –”

  Mitzy shook her head, “No, I’m actually —

  The firebug drifted around the corner and into the room, flitting this way and that, before landing on Meen-Tra's extended fist, “-- I’m just following the little messenger here.” Its thorax signaled, as if to emphasize the point.

  She sighed, “I think it wants you to give it a try.

  Marching across the room, she raised the weapon up to Meen-Tra. “...Differentiate sucrose from sucralose…” She muttered under her breath.

  Meen-Tra’s eyebrow lifted, and the firebug drifted to the outstretched weapon – continuing its signal, “Huh?” Meen-Tra picked up the weapon.

  “What is it?” Piqued Mitzy.

  “It says ‘Void detected…root access granted…XX chromosome confirmed, grant new user…Y/N?’”

  “Say yes, say yes!” Mitzy rushed excitedly.

  “But what about the curse?”

  “Don’t worry, it will ask for a confirmation before it finalizes anything – standard machine procedure.”

  Meen-Tra nodded and selected Y. “Hah!”

  Mitzy was up on the bed next to Meen-Tra, her face inches away, as she looked between weapon and orc, “What – what did it say?”

  “Enable enclosure…Y/N?”

  “Say no, say no — saaaaaay nooooo!” Squealed Mitzy.

  Meen-Tra rotated her head. Nose to nose with the mecha. Mitzy blinked, tickling their eyelashes. Meen-Tra gritted her teeth. Mitzy fluttered some more – oblivious. Meen-Tra sighed and affirmed Y.

  “It wants to know the user.” Said Meen-Tra.

  Mitzy pulled away and jumped to the floor. She paced, plucking at a pigtail with her claw, while her dish spun in thought. She came to a halt and held up a finger, “Hecate! He’s our new security officer, right?”

  “It doesn’t fit his class – [Rangers] are not exactly known for their use of technology…we could ask him.”

  Mitzy continued to pace, “No – no, you’re right. Let me think. There’s Drave, he could use the range, but then he’d have a hard time smoking, while swapping weapons…the apprentice, but same problem as with their master…not sure what the tailors would do with it, we could re-assign it to Razer, and he’d be cured, assuming enclosure does what we think it does.” She shook her head as she wore out the carpet with her pacing.

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  Two sharp beeps of affirmation.

  The two companions made eye contact before they burst out laughing; the firebug flashed enthusiastically.

  —

  The mood was somber, and children gathered – offering tokens of good luck – woven titan leaf charms. Firebug softly pulsed along the ceiling, offering encouragement and thanks. DG sat on Murkspire’s zoneline, not daring to crossover, for fear of the enemy's sensors. They would continue south in search of outposts, survivors, and information – training up the crew and gaining levels and classes suited to their new reality.

  Razer sobbed as he his himself behind Camo, the ship's cook gave them a slight nod as they passed, and Meen-Tra touched the pack over her shoulder – confirming she’d packed the supplies Camo gave them: poultices, foodstuffs, and mana-infused bok cubes for energy in a pinch. Food was easy to come by in the Mire, but theirs was a mission of uncertainty, and Garzha taught Meen-Tra to plan for every eventuality.

  The hiss of gas as DG’s main gang plank lowered, and Pat stood at attention on display overhead. The flyer moaned in time with the pulsing of the firebug, expressing sorrow in their own way.

  Mitzy perched on Draven’s duster-clad shoulder, descended onto the waiting branch below, and Meen-Tra turned; she raised her chin and beat her fist against her chest, “We’ll see you soon, and Pat will be in constant communication via party chat, take care, train hard, and obtain the class you need. Deep roots, Mirefolk – and good luck.”

  Meen-Tra spun on her heels and marched after her two companions.

  “Alright, yee, miremanders – you heard the grunt, we have work ta do!”

  —

  They walked along the branch, which was, for the three, more like an ancient trade road, wide enough that ten orcs could march shoulder to shoulder. Sunlight trickled down, casting a jade pall as it filtered through titan leaves that fluttered like dragon wings overhead.

  As they crossed through the zoneline and the mana density increased, Meen-Tra closed her eyes, letting the tickle of mana roil across the exposed skin.

  “Home.” She whispered.

  Looking over her shoulder, DG was already fading into the distance as they increased their elevation and pushed their speed.

  “This is Pat, over.”

  Meen-Tra slapped her forehead, “Yes, Pat – we hear you.”

  “Over?”

  “Huh?”

  “You have to say over…over.”

  “Yes, Pat, we hear you – over.” She rubbed her forehead, and Mitzy and Draven sniggered amongst themselves.

  “Just checking that the comms are still working – after losing contact with Ren – they were worried.”

  “Ok, well, we hear you. We’ll let you know once we are in sight of Murkspire – we’re making a stop first.”

  “Good luck, and thank you…”

  Meen-Tra nodded to herself.

  “So, where are we going again?” Asked Mitzy.

  Draven contended himself by fiddling with his rune-stick case, and Mitzy bounced her boots.

  “We are going to see an old…friend of my mother’s. It’s been – not since I was a child that I’ve seen her, but I’m sure she’s still there. She’s as much a part of the Mire as the Mire is a part of her.”

  “Mhm. And what will she do for us? A high-level ally, perhaps?”

  “I – I don’t think she has a class or levels. Garzha said she was from a time before the System. I never believed it…Mother can be – could be prone to exaggeration.”

  Draven blew a stream of rings overhead before asking, “Do you think DG can really assimilate that weapon? And is it a good idea to arm them? It could mean they are destroyed instead of captured, in the event they run across any trouble…”

  Mitzy chimed in, “It was the right move — trust our fearless leader, Drave. She knows what she’s doing. Now, why don’t you tell about my hex-bolts, or did you think I didn’t notice?”

  Meen-Tra stopped listening as the two argued over the finer points of salvage rights. She hadn’t been entirely honest about who they were visiting and what that would mean for her. The woman they went to see was indeed old, maybe as old as the titans themselves, and her existence was in fact a closely guarded secret.

  Garzha’s words echoed in her mind.

  There will come a time, sweetling, when the way ahead is uncertain – go to her then – she will be waiting.

  She could remember the first meeting with Eurydice – a harrowing experience – the woman was both shy and imposing from one beat to the next. Was it tea she offered or an elixir of sleep, the best fertilizers died quietly – so as not to taint the aether in death. She shivered at the memory.

  The problem would be finding the woman – she would be within Murkspire's zone…but it was a large area, and with all the danger around, Meen-Tra didn’t know.

  “Meen-Tra, hellooooo? Is anybody home?”

  “Huh.” Meen-Tra shook her head and looked to Mitzy, perched on Draven’s shoulder.

  “This branch is coming to an end. How do we get across?” Asked Mitzy.

  She smiled, “We do as the gibbons do.” Before Mitzy could protest, Meen-Tra took off at a run and leaped.

  Draven hurried after her, pulling up short of the edge, as he and Mitzy peered over the side.

  Meen-Tra swanned out, the aether rippling around her, as she impacted one of the palmate leaf's belly first; it folded around her, and she reached back with both fists — taking hold. Meen-Tra rolled sandals over her head, and with a snap – she parachuted, her momentum took her across the air gap and the swamp far below, visible only as a verdant blur.

  Cobalt toes tread the air just before she touched down; skidding to a halt, Meen-Tra turned and waved; Draven’s rollie hung from his lip.

  Mitzy bucked and kicked from Draven’s shoulders, “Go on, Drave, don’t let her show you up! I got us – just launch yourself over the edge, Moma Sweetness will handle the rest.”

  He shook his head, “I – Grumakh orcs don’t live off the ground like this, I’m not exactly a fan of heights…” He looked around for another method, a bridge…anything.

  Draven was frantic. Meen-Tra stood arms akimbo, head cocked, waiting, as the spec that was Draven backed away from the edge and out of her visibility.

  “I’ll just, I think, over there I see a –

  Cold and wet squished into his ear, as Mitzy’s lacquered nail penetrated him, “-- Eah, what the.” Draven swatted at the air as he vigorously rubbed his ear against his shoulder.

  “Get you buns in gear, big green, or I’m going in the other ear – and if that doesn’t work, I’m leaving you behind, and you can explain to DG – why the most attractive members of the party are also the bravest!”

  Draven grumbled, and Mitzy piqued, “What’s that, Drave? I can’t –”

  The summoner closed his eyes tight, took a deep breath, and ran – blindly toward the edge. As the ground fell out beneath them, Draven began to scream, like a baby miremander caught in a bogpit, his arms pinwheeled, and his duster fluttered behind him, as they began to tip forward; Mitzy’s weight threw off his balance; the mecha rolled her eyes, drew Rivetlock and snapped off a grappling hook as she clamped her claw on Draven’s collar.

  His screaming was cut off sharply as Mitzy took on their joint weight and swung them across the divide – into the waiting arms of Meen-Tra, who was attempting to stifle her laughter with an open fist. The three of them landed in a heap, and the two ladies redoubled their laughter…Draven rolled over onto his back, his face as white as fresh cream.

  Meen-Tra poked him in the side with her foot, “You going to be alright, Draven? This won’t be the last crossing…”

  Mitzy rolled her eyes and hopped up on his pelvis, causing a grunt from the felled [Summoner]. She marched up to his chest and bent down to fish around his duster pocket, like a wyrmback searching for treats; Mitzy pulled out his rune-stick case before inserting a rollie between his pale lips. Nothing happened

  “Did I break him?” Asked Mitzy.

  “Maybe get it started for him?” Suggested Meen-Tra.

  Mitzy shrugged and squatted down to pluck – when Draven started coughing and waving his arms about his face.

  “Alright, alright – I’m fine, now get off me.” He shouted.

  Mitzy shrugged and bounced off – forcing the air from his lungs, which caused him to suck back in reflexively, which caused him to choke on his rune-stick; Draven rolled to his side in a coughing fit.

  The two scratched their heads, looking at Draven’s back, as he continued to cough and splutter.

  “Is he going to be alright?”

  “May Calanar –”

  Draven fell silent. The two shared a concerned look. A stream of tight-knit Os poured over his shoulder, and they beamed.

  “Alright, here we go!”

  “Huh.” Grunted Draven as Mitzy landed on his back, forcing out an odd-shaped smoke ring.

  “Come on, Drave, we’re losing her, she’s a fast one. I’d say you should ask her out…But I think you might be a little soft for her taste…plus I think she’s into Ren.”

  “I’m not soft.” Grumbled Draven as he pushed up to his feet.

  Mitzy snapped her claw, “Fake it till you make it, Drave! That’s the mecha way!”