My pockets! My beautiful pockets, what happened? They’re all lively and vibrant again. How? Reaching out with my hand, I flick the obscuring folds away from the nearest wisp, and a brightly shining, healthy twist greets my eyes. Nervously, I extend a single finger and poke. All at once, the twist expands and unwraps, unceremoniously dumping a large pile of books, pouches, and other assorted goods at my feet.

  Immense, bursting joy overwhelms my sense of being. My treasure, it’s all here! Every single one of my valuable possessions, even those that I don’t yet understand. The thought that they’d been sealed away forever has haunted me all this time. Did those bizarre things change their minds?

  Rapidly, I poke all the other twists to free the rest of my hastily packed belongings. Feverishing rooting through my proudly displayed hoard, I separate out my small pack, a collection of assorted potions, fresh pouches, daggers, knives, mixing supplies, and one of the pots. These alone should give me so many new options, and the remainder will get shoved back into better organized pockets for safe keeping. Who knows when they’ll be accessible again.

  Sighing contentedly, I feel whole once more. It really was worthwhile taking the risk to go through that portal into this strange place. Wait, is that what changed? The status message that they left gravely warned about manipulating the fabrique of the beyond. What is the beyond? Is that different from the void where we live? Did we leave there when we came here? Wherever it is that this is. How strange. Are we back on Kyklos then? However, I don’t recall any molten lava locations on the maps that I found.

  Looking down at my loyally marching brothers for the first time in a long while, I happen to catch the giant lizards falling from exhaustion, surrendering to the teeming mass of green. Goblins swarm them like little ants, lifting the tired lizards into the air and carrying them into the second portal still lingering nearby. One by one they disappear until a strange, fiery peace overtakes the entire region.

  Its mysterious objective completed, the second portal closes, swallowing the lizards and goblins with it. The remaining little ones turn around and stream back towards the first portal that we all came from. At least, those who can still walk or crawl do so. All others are heartlessly abandoned to slowly suffer and die in the lethal heat. There’s no point in helping if death will simply return them to the pits.

  That must be my cue to leave as well. It’d be absolutely terrifying if the only remaining portal also closed, trapping me here. Is there even any good mud in this place? I’d probably dry up completely in a day or two.

  Readorning my damaged boots and scrambling down the rocky terrace, I sprint across the nearly molten ground towards the portal, knocking several others over in my hurry to return home. Arriving safely on the other side, I again beat the flames from my poor, battered boots. So dangerous!

  Ragged brothers file in one by one behind me. Half of them can barely walk, their feet melted away completely in the extreme heat and flames. Why did they do it? Was the song really that good? The intoxicating serenade had its grip on me as well, for a while. However, I didn’t charge through the lava nor towards those ferocious lizards. The pain made me seek safety. I somehow transcended the song.

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  Is it because I have songs of my own and they don’t? After all, my brothers lack any real status. Although, I was also born without status, and that didn’t stop me. I’m certain that some of my songs were won far before my first light. Yes, yes, the first true song. The pursuer. I’m very confident that I stole his songs, his life, and all his possessions. Does that mean that my brothers can also learn to sing?

  I excitedly hurry over to the nearest group of little ones, ready to share my precious discoveries. However, only an angry shove greets me, and I’m harshly knocked down to the ground.

  “Mad mud. Fud fras. Dum dum,” he exclaims in exasperation at my nauseating display of excessive energy and exuberance in front of the exhausted crowd.

  He looks tired. They all look tired. I suppose that isn’t surprising given what they’ve all just been through. Without technically having participated beyond my presence, I’m probably obnoxiously more spry than the others. They must rest first. Teaching can come later.

  Following the nearest group of goblins back out onto the surface of the mound, I’m surprised. There were so many inside, but out here it’s so sparse again. Where did all the others go? It’s so oddly inconsistent. Did I even come back to the same place? If I accidentally take the wrong turn down there, will some hidden monster snatch me up in its mouth? I must be careful.

  Opening up my map, this place certainly looks familiar. More heartening, the area’s filled with the icons of all my new friends. This must be the same place. It can’t be a coincidence that we all ended up here again.

  All the icons have congregated at the top of the mound, so I follow. The familiar stone circle from my first day alive welcomes me again. It’s so similar to the port terminals in the big one dungeons. Is that what this is? Strange that the construction is almost identical.

  A portal appears high above the circle and sloppily spews assorted chunks of meat and flesh onto the stone below. Yes, that’s exactly what this is. I simply didn’t recognize that back then. That begs the question, who’s sending all this meat here? And from where? I know so little about my true home. I must explore exactly as I did with the forests, sewers, and dungeons of the big one’s world. That’s the only way that I’ll learn. Then this place will become truly comfortable, even more than all my temporary homes. I must simply maintain faith in my process. After all, it’s always worked so well before.

  The goblins all viciously descend on the meat, frantically tearing it apart or sometimes even swallowing smaller chunks whole. I grab a few small pieces for myself, but leave the vast majority for those who put in most of the work.

  Chewing on the meat in my hand as I idly stroll down the side of the mound, I watch as the little ones slowly return to their aimless lounging. Although, significantly damaged and worn for the worse now. If they’re immortal, then why wouldn’t a goblin with lost limbs simply take their own lives and rebuild from scratch? Do they still yearn to live even when death is meaningless? Is there some rule about goblins dying by their own hand? Is it a part of some instructional song that I have yet to hear?

  Hm. Won’t learn anything by going round and round in circles with endless questions. This experience was all so extraordinarily edifying. However, it’s time to return to my friends with the new plan. They’ve had their rest. Oh, come to think of it, I was about to test their reading ability before we were summoned. It’s still worth a shot! It’d be so much easier to teach the songs using impromptu books written in the dirt than with our awful, broken words. What’s the worst that could happen?