“Go north,” the fluttering voice had whispered: “North until you find the land of the Phannas.” This was the voice of Glick’s second wind-up doll. And north Yona and Rory did travel, finally into clearer skies with no hung twilight veil draping its darkness overhead. Instead a bright lavender greeted them as the terrain changed to hillier, grassier plains approaching North Majonia.

Early along the way Yona had wrangled up a pair of Wompikes to cover the distance quicker, although this idea was short-lived upon the revelation that Rory could not stand to ride one for more than a minute; they triggered his vertigo so terribly, and it certainly would not be fair for Yona to ride one while he sluggishly trailed behind. This was one of those pivotal moments she questioned, somewhat uncharitably, why she had brought Rory along in the first place.

“I didn’t wanna sound like a dummy before,” Rory spoke, after some silence, “but what are Phannas?”

“More and more, I’m starting to think Biology was your least favorite class,” Yona said. “Well, they aren’t exactly common. They’re kind of like birds, if you know what those are—winged creatures, like some say Qulos used to be. They can get pretty huge, I’m told. But their most amazing trait is that they can cross Zones. During the Remnant Wars that split the Hidden World in two, lots of people used Phannas as getaways—I learned all that from Ceris. She taught me more in a few visits than Mr. Kivel taught me in a whole semester. Nowadays Phannas don’t really roam much, though; they’d rather stick to their nests, which are pretty tucked away. Not the most sociable creatures. It’s a safe bet that that’s where the doll was telling us to go.”

“Speaking of the doll,” Rory started, “I don’t think my poncho pockets can hold another—the two of ‘em seem to be weighing it down enough. Shouldn’t we have brought backpacks?”

“Oh, silly li’l ol’ me!” Yona said whimsically. With a wave of her claw the dolls were whisked from Rory’s poncho. “Into the pocket dimension they go!”

“The pocket dimension?”

“A dimension in my pocket. Look, see for yourself,” she said, opening the pocket of her harlequin pants to show that there was indeed something of a miniature universe inside, much to Rory’s astonishment. The two dolls were nestled within it peacefully.

“You’ve had somethin’ like that all along—and I never knew about it til now?” he asked, baffled. “What else you got in there?”

Yona buried her paw inside the pocket and felt around: a few weather-beaten playing cards flew out, a half-eaten Qulo egg sandwich was dropped to the ground, and then her paw met something soft and colorful; as she tugged on it, more and more of it—handkerchiefs—were pulled out in an endless chain until the pair were quite bored and decided to stuff them back inside.

“I created this when I started doing street magic,” she answered sheepishly to Rory’s unimpressed gaze.

Northern Majonia, seen by some as the most cultured and relevant portion of the kingdom (possibly also owing to the fact that it is home to the King and Queen’s castle), is also much-loved for its abundant flora and fauna, in contrast to the desert land of the East, and the quaint sea towns of the West and South. It was also where Yona happened to first see Wizard Glick perform as a child on the orphanage’s fateful train ride to Lashine City. As such, Yona brought Rory to Chime Gardens for a bite—the very place she had wanted to be with him before the show—and the two took comfort in the shade of a large starberry bush for the night, a cheaper and, miraculously, safer option than many of the inns they had stopped at.

When they awoke to the sound of rustling leaves, Yona was on high alert, afraid that an ambush from another contestant seeking Glick’s dolls might ensue. She was greeted instead by the froggy voice of an aging Cresha woman, whom, wielding an elegantly crafted wand, had made a clearing through the brush to tell the pair something important:

“Hey—you kids wouldn’t be looking for the Phanna nest, would’ye?” she said, just above a whisper.

“How’d you know?” Yona mumbled. “We were just on our way, but stopped here for the night.”

“Come. You gotta go in the early mornin’s. They won’t meet with just anyone.” The old woman made haste in leading them deeper through the brush into an impenetrably thick forested tunnel of sorts, such that the three of them got on all fours to crawl their way through. An earthy smell permeated their nostrils with each paw lifted, as if it were the morning breath of spring itself. “And before ye ask, the name’s Lawna. I’m one of the few people tendin’ to this particular nest.”

“Phanna nests need tending?” Rory asked, still groggy.

“Yep—just a little. I look after ‘em, get them fed, tend to their wounds, keep things in sound working order. They trust me. They should—I’ve been at this nearly four hundred years.”

“Four hundred years!” Rory exclaimed.

“Shh—keep your voices low! As I said, they won’t greet just anyone who comes moseyin’ along! They’ve lived secluded in only a few parts of the country for a reason!” the woman cautioned. And indeed, light began to stream in between the leaves, and the cool morning air that followed it had a sweet, honeysuckle scent. Suddenly, the aging Cresha woman thrust a claw into the brush above her and coaxed Yona and Rory out of the tunnel at last. What they saw was nothing short of majestic, the kind of idyllic paradise they’d read about in history books that surely could not have survived the cruel passage of time.

The Phanna nest was overlooking the edge of a cliff with a rather sharp drop. It was as big as a modest house, with two tiers across from each other, both several feet deep, and surrounded by a dense, protective brush that extended from the tunnel. A rainbow outstretched through the misty horizon painted the scene in pink, gold and green. Three Phannas, mighty and delicate, were resting in the bottom nest, while two more flapped their wings flying between domains, carrying sticks and mud in their trunks. They had sorrowful eyes.

“My friends, you’ve got yourselves a couple o’ visitors this morning; now, now, fear not, they mean you no harm…I know malicious faces when I see ‘em. They’ve traveled far and wide just to get a glimpse of you. Well, go on, kids…introduce yourselves.”

“I—uh—how?” Yona said dumbly.

“Oh, Lawna! Where is your mind, old girl?” the Cresha woman cackled, smacking the wand against her head playfully. It was then that she cast some sort of Harmonic magic on Yona and Rory—such that Phannas understood them and they understood Phannas in an immediate transference of fluency.

In words she never thought could leave her mouth with any such ease, Yona spoke: “I’m Yona, and my companion is named Rory. Hello! We’ve heard what brilliant fliers you are. Won’t you lend us your wings? We need them to find something very important.” When her sentence concluded, she couldn’t seem to recall which was her mother tongue and which was her second language. “How? How did you—“

“Never you mind—you’ll only be fluent in their language for a week under my spell. Any longer and you’d take it for granted. I had to learn it the hard way, and now I’ve gone and shared what I know with you and your friend. You surely have some important business to attend to, yes? Speak clearly and tell them what it is.”

Standing with much improved posture, Yona spoke like a knife cutting through wind: “We need help finding something very important to us. It’s somewhere far beyond our reach, somewhere we can’t go to without wings like yours. Won’t somebody lend us their wings?”

From the upper nest came fluttering down the smallest of the flock, a mere fledgling, still a hefty beast in proportion to the two flimsy Manyas. His dewy, yearning eyes were an answer to her call. “If you shall swear never to harm me,” he trilled in a reedy voice, “I can take you to the furthest corners of the universe.”

Astonished by this sudden vow of servitude, Yona and Rory instinctively knelt before the creature in devotion. “It’s by design that they serve others,” Lawna said, “as they did in the ancient Hidden World. But they won’t listen to just anyone, no, not ever since the Remnant Wars drove them into hiding. You’re a very special breed.”

“I’d never so much as lay a claw on you,” Yona assured him. “Can you tell us your name?”

“I do not have one; Phannas have no need of them. We know each other by number instead, as we are few in this age. But if your kind finds names more suitable, please, go ahead and name me.”

Yona and Rory scratched their heads and wondered if this was how parents felt. It was difficult enough naming something that you were intimately familiar with, never mind a living being you’d known for all of five minutes. “How about Mivah? Like a mivam.”

“How come? He doesn’t really look like one,” Yona retorted.

“When we were kids and you ripened that mivam right in front of me, you showed me something I didn’t think was possible,” he explained. “I didn’t even know about Phannas or that they were s’cluded or that they’d let us ride ‘em until today, so…”

“I will accept this name,” the Phanna crooned pleasantly. Yona quietly hoped they would think of something better later.

“If all is said and done, you’d best be on your way. Phannas can be awfully sentimental—if Mivah here isn’t quick to leave the nest his resolution might be shaken.” Lawna tapped Mivah’s rump with her wand, gesturing the beast to lower himself so Yona and Rory could climb his back, which was plush as grass. “Tell li’l Mivah just what it is you seek; he’s likely seen it somewhere, in some form. Remember, Phannas live thousands of years when they aren’t hunted. Those big black eyes have seen just about all there is to see.”

Yona nodded, having little else in mind to say to the old woman before departure, when Rory suddenly thought to ask: “Lawna, where’d you get your wand? I never saw one in person til now.”

She laughed heartily in response. “Made it myself, carved of maplewood and starfall from my cousin’s birth. Over half a millennia ago, now. If you’re magic impaired the way I am like I’m thinking you are, kiddo, I’ll tell you now, you can’t find wands like these in the shops. You either make ‘em yourself or pay a real magician. Now, go! And be well.”

Being seated on a Phanna reminded Yona of being on a merry-go-round, sans the sturdy pole going through the horse’s middle to keep her from tumbling off into oblivion. Rory had taken to their situation much more calmly than expected; then again, he was used to his family’s assistant flying him out to school every morning as a child. Clouded heights were little more than reminders of the homework he’d forgotten to bring. Barring the brief turbulence, takeoff was joyously smooth. Mivah chirped and trilled beneath them, seeming quite comfortable and glad in the presence of non-Phannas, perhaps hoping to impress his riders. His wings were tipped with golden feathers, like the ornate gilded edges of an old jewelry box, and his full wingspan betrayed his petite stature when compared with the rest of the nest.

After the group had gained sufficient altitude and the winds had calmed, Yona asked: “Why’d you ask Lawna about her wand?”

“Well, y’know how no one in my family has magic, right? I wanted to get one for Ma one year for her birthday. But when I told Pa about it, he kind’ve said the same thing, and I wasn’t sure if he was pullin’ my leg. I’ve only ever seen real wands in photos, like on magician cards. They’ve got those little ones in stores but I guess they’re no good, huh?”

Yona laughed softly. “The ones in stores are mass-produced. They’re only good for a few uses before they break. But you know, Rory, they aren’t just for the magic-impaired.”

Rory would have scratched his head had he not been holding on to Mivah for dear life. “Why would someone who can use magic want a wand, too?”

“Well, using magic a lot makes you tired the older you get and the more you do it. Some people just don’t want to operate magic from their bodies anymore. Pamela looked into having one made for Lonissa but she kept refusing. And anyway—“

Before she could continue, Mivah screeched and beat his wings heartily, rapidly raising the group higher. The winds were colder and sharper the further they ascended. Yona brushed a paw reassuringly against their companion’s side. “What’s the matter, boy? Where are you taking us?”

“The thing you seek,” he said, “isn’t anywhere near here. We’ll have to cross Zones. I believe what you’re looking for is located on Lilmon.” Now this excited Yona: intergalactic travel! They would not only be crossing planets but crossing the very border that bisects the Hidden World. Yona had only crossed Zones in her sleep travels; flying through the very border that held the planets in place out in starry space was its own spectacular thrill to check off the list. “Woohoo, let’s get to it then!” she hollered, smacking Mivah on the rump for encouragement. “I can whip us up some helmets—do Phannas need helmets? Anyhow, Rory, you’d better hang on tight. You think we’re high up now, just wait til we’re in space!”

“I’ve crossed the border before, y’know,” he said, nonchalantly.

“You have?”

“Yes, yes I have. Those goodwill trips weren’t just around Eltrya, y’know. I came along to Rudul and Cottonwheel by g’lactic express some years back. They were nice. We should visit if we’ve got time!”

It was then that Yona became a little too aware of how blasé the demeanor of her friend had been where she had previously anticipated his cowering and crying from the abject terror of being not only thousands of feet in the air, but thousands of feet above Eltrya itself. Perhaps she had given Rory too little credit; for his country bumpkin ways he may very well have lived a fuller, more adventurous life than she had, she recognized, flummoxed. Yona once more changed colors to lime green in matching with Mivah.

Eltrya’s atmosphere is a curious thing: through some odd chemical reaction too convoluted to explain here, the stars above appear diamond-shaped to those below. This was a fact always stressed in the astronomy textbooks, but none ever thought of it so much as they did when actually space traveling and seeing the decidedly non-diamond-shaped stars burning just outside their train car windows. The culture shock was once enough to make some native Eltryans faint. Oh, but those were distant, primitive ages, and this was the twenty-first century—anything short of the voice of God himself would not be enough to rattle our heroes.

Yona counted under her breath, an odd, partly meaningless rhythm of numbers, and Rory quickly took notice. “Are you okay? What are you counting?”

“Just counting,” she muttered, entranced. “Not sure what else to do. Space is bigger than I thought, somehow.” Beyond the stratosphere was a blackness so achingly vast it seemed to swallow up thought itself. Even from the security of the helmets Yona had whisked into existence, it was all just a little too big to look at. Weaving through constellations, space and the planets looked as though they were a flat image printed onto poster board rather than anything dimensional and tangible, partly from disbelief, largely from nausea. Both Yona and Rory had to periodically remind themselves that they would not die and need only tense their limbs tighter around Mivah to recall what it was like to be in a body.

Still: the stars were hot and trembling with fluorescent color, glowing against their fur like the light of a fireplace on an impossibly frostbitten night; the neighboring planets of Cosma and Cottonwheel throbbed and pulsated with a cool glow, like melting glaciers giving off their happy sighs; and the aforementioned galactic express, with each of its train cars packed full of people from all corners of the galaxy, tooted its whistle in a comfortingly familiar cadence as it chugged along at a leisurely pace past them. The pair were settling into things, somewhat, and the ride became more awe-filled the deeper they were engulfed.

“We are fast approaching Lost Space, so please hang on tight,” Mivah said.


There is not much to say about Lost Space. There is nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to smell, or taste, or touch, just a roaring gulf filled with the ripples of cries from centuries passed of loved ones torn from one another. It was the turnout of the Remnant Wars that created this rift. Those who take the galactic express to cross it are treated to happy stories and music during this leg of their trip—it was the least conductors could do to prevent passengers from succumbing to desperation and madness. Rory, not being attuned to magic, felt sadder and colder, while Yona felt herself being psychically attacked by information flooding in from all directions. She felt that she urgently needed to not have a head. She shook and flinched and counted under her breath again just to have something to grasp while voices splintered between her ears. She had become vaguely aware of Rory attempting to console her and sounding more than a little distressed, but by the time she came to, they had already arrived in Zone 3.

A celestial band marked where Lost Space began and ended for the precaution of travelers, something like a ribbon indicating a finish line. Mivah had glided right over it and immediately the delusions stopped, and Yona could think clearly and sensibly again. She and Rory looked ahead, and finally there was something to see: Lilmon, the planet with two rings, a vast and mountainous body dotted with crystal blue lakes and towering green grass, lay glowing before them.

“We’re going to land on one of the mountains, so don’t let go!” Mivah screeched as he began to launch forward at a dizzying velocity. Before his passengers could protest, they found themselves digging their claws into his ruff (despite prior promises not to) as they were hurtled toward one of the ear-like peaks of Lilmon.

Of course, humans could never survive such a turbulent descent without bursting into flames, which might be why Phannas are especially reticent around them. (It can be deeply saddening to accidentally char a new friend.) In any case, the actual landing was surprisingly smooth, if frigid, as the peaks of Lilmon are blanketed in glittering snow all year round. The duo shuddered and rolled off Mivah’s back, too occupied with their descending body temperatures to take note of their surroundings. The steeple of a church could be seen past frost-addled pine trees, their best hope of shelter. Mivah draped a wing over them in the meantime. The bubble helmets Yona had created with magic dissolved shortly after entering the planet’s atmosphere, and Rory, with chattering fangs, couldn’t help questioning, “Why not use magic to make us some sweaters?” But Yona’s response was something to the effect of “You wouldn’t understand.” The truth, of course, is that magicians must be in fine enough form to concentrate their mental and physical faculties towards creation, as magic is a release of one’s energy; but never mind that, as more interesting developments were to occur:

A cloaked figure alongside another with a fair wingspan appeared shrouded in the white dawn, and as they came clearer into view, Yona could make out their faces—one green and bespectacled, the other pink with seaweed-green hair—and felt a reflexive, if thoughtless, fear bubbling in her at the presence of unfamiliar species. Before she could think to back away or lift a clawed finger in case she needed to muster up an emergency spell, the pink-faced figure, apparently a man, said in an almost musical tone, “Why, hello there! Who might you three be? A Phanna, a Manya, and…” he trailed off.

“I believe the one with the golden fur is an Eastern Manya,” the cloaked figure concluded, pushing up her glasses. The two of them were certainly odd—presumably they were beast people, derived from a butterfly and a frog, respectively, and their garments indicated to Yona that they must belong to some religion, though her memory of Theology class betrayed her in noticing whether it was an Earth religion or one unique to Zone 3. Religion had always been a very perplexing thing to her.

“I’m Yona, and this is Rory, and our Phanna, who took us here all the way from Eltrya. Nice to meet you,” she said, extending a paw. The frog woman took it in her own and lifted her to her feet before doing the same for her companion. “D’you know any shelters around here? We didn’t know it’d be so cold,” Rory coughed. “Mivah here, our Phanna, took us here. We didn’t know we’d land in the mountains.”

“Good heavens! Such a long way traveled,” the butterfly man marveled. “We do get visitors outside the church from time to time, but never ones crossing Zones, no. How about we bring you inside—won’t you come in?—it’s such a short walk away. My name is Hal, and I’m the priest of this church. Come, let’s get you into some warm robes. It must have been a rough journey, was it not?”

The group walked along, Mivah stalking close behind, past more pine trees and the occasional lavender blossom, a rather perky and attractive little plant Yona wished to ask about—but the priest had been rambling on about how he had built the church with his own two hands just a couple of years ago, and the sisters of the church had been so diligent in their outreach, til Yona had learned to politely tune him out past a certain point. She did find his enthusiasm pleasant, however.

The church was a modest yet pretty structure, with neon stained glass windows adorning every wall providing some much-needed contrast against the dull white that never seemed to escape their line of vision. Hal walked ahead of the group to pull the doors open himself in a gentlemanly gesture. (Mivah found it appropriate to wait in the snow.) What awaited them inside was remarkably plain, yet warm in more than temperature. It was a place where people from all walks of life had shared hope and tears and laughter and community together. A building is a living thing, too—already its walls chattered with history.

Sitting in one of the pews was a lovely lady dressed in a green cloak not unlike the frog woman’s. She had hair covering one of her eyes and a red spot encircling the other in matching with her red ears. Yona assumed she was descended from a bear, perhaps. She turned her head to look at the group with some interest before shutting her eyes and returning to prayer.

“Lyla, look who we’ve found,” Hal declared. “Lost in the snow, some visitors who came all the way from Zone 2. Won’t you greet them?”

“H-h-hello,” came the wispy voice. “Make yourselves…comfortable.”

She had looked in their general direction but avoided meeting any of their gazes. Yona was unsure what to make of this woman besides that she seemed to be shouldering a great burden.

“Lyla has just joined Denise and I recently,” Hal explained cordially. “She is still acclimating herself to the church. It’s a very different environment from where she was raised. Come, let’s have tea. We have much to talk about.”

So the frog woman named Denise set the kettle on the stove in a humble kitchenette found in a side room of the church, where the group seated themselves on some rickety wooden chairs and discussed at length the culture of magic and its practitioners in Eltrya. Hal listened with rapt attention, his fingers often brought to his lips in some astonishment at the tales Yona told. Part of her pondered if it was entirely safe telling a complete stranger such extensive information—with how little she understood of religion it could also be of some grave offense to him and his faith, for all she knew—but on she and Rory went, til he and the sisters of the church were quite caught up on their adventures.

“To my understanding, Yona, it is by fate you have been brought here,” Hal said seriously. “There are some who are better attuned to God’s plan than others. Tell me: do you sometimes hear a voice in your head that does not belong to you?”

Slightly startled by the grave portent with which he spoke, Yona said simply, “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Everyone could, but not everyone does. Some have chosen to ignore it entirely. But you, Yona—you seem to have an innate gift for understanding the path laid out ahead of you. You would not be brought someplace like this if you were not needed here.”

Rory’s whiskers twisted uneasily. “Anyway, is there any chance you’ve seen something like that, Mister—a doll with a wind-up key on its back?”

“Afraid I haven’t,” Hal said, relaxing his posture. He was seated in his own dedicated chair, which was backless to accommodate his wings. Yona and Rory both found themselves staring at them whenever their eyes needed a point to fixate on. “There are a lot of artisans here in Caphyr, ones who create things like you’re describing, albeit with their hands, not with magic. Tell me, do you get any special sort of feelings when these dolls are near—something like a radar? I wouldn’t mind doing some walking if it brought you closer to what you’re seeking.”

Yona thought this over for a moment. “I have, but that was on Eltrya. I don’t know what the magic barrier’s like on Lilmon. Actually, I haven’t even tried my magic at all since we landed here. What if it’s no good?” She suddenly felt more anxious than she let on.

“Calm, calm, child,” Denise said maternally. “What is a part of you never really leaves you. How about we go and take a walk, yes? I’m sure it will come to you.”

“I concur,” Hal said heartily. Lyla tilted her head downward and said nothing. Denise blew out the candle that had been illuminating their conversations and slipped woolen robes onto their guests before setting back out into the frosty hills.

So the five of them trudged through the thickly blanketed peaks of Caphyr, Mivah trailing close behind, a fierce white wind piercing their backs all the while. Yona’s heartbeat picked up considerably, and she felt that something may have been communicating with her, somewhere; suddenly, she found herself snapping her fingers until, at last, a flicker of flame appeared above her claw, and she lit the lantern Denise had been holding onto for this express purpose. Laughter bubbled out of her and she felt like her old self.

Even when Hal was beginning to think it was time they turn back, he chose to say nothing, and the group soldiered forth, praying for a sign. Yona nearly hoped he would say something, as she was beginning to feel like a nuisance, but he and the sisters of the church were clearly better acclimated to this weather than she and her traveling companions were, and there wasn’t much hope of her and Rory uncovering anything in such an unfamiliar, hostile land themselves. Then there came a faint shuffling of footsteps that were not their own.

Yona’s ears twitched, but before she could say any words of warning, Hal’s wings extended before the group as he cautioned, “Watch your step: we aren’t alone.”

Collapsed in the snow was a decrepit old man with the shell of a tortoise, ghostly grey hair shrouding his features. Already snowfall was beginning to enmesh him into his identical surroundings; had he stayed prostrate a minute longer, he would have become part of the very ground they walked upon. Hal hoisted him up with little effort.

“Sir! Sir, are you okay? Do you need help? What are you doing up here during a snowstorm?”

There was no reply.

“We need to get him to shelter, fast,” Yona said. “Is there any place closer to here than the church?” “Afraid not,” Denise said, concern settling in all of her features. “We’ll have to haul him back, and quickly. Oh, this is terrible!”

“Don’t despair,” Hal said bravely. “It will be faster if I fly him back to the church. The rest of you should follow close behind.” And so the priest lifted the cold and pallid man into his arms and took flight directly above them, the wings on his back suddenly shimmering with a courageous light. Being above the trees meant he could see the path to the church clearer than on foot, and so he was able to lead the group back much quicker than they had left.

Inside, Hal and the sisters quickly began their attempt to resuscitate the old man while Yona and Rory stood there dumbly, feeling rather useless when confronted with such efficiency. She did light a fire for him—it was something, at least—and his temperature managed to steadily rise, but still he remained pale and unconscious. There was an air of panic.

“Does he have any form of identification on his person?” Denise said, wiping sweat from her brow. Hal flitted his hands over the old man’s form in the hopes of finding a pocket. There were none.

He steadied his breath. “He still has a pulse. Where there’s life, there’s a way. But what unsettles me is his expression. We’ve brought him to shelter and raised his body heat yet he looks to be in such pain. His face is creased with anguish. I only wish I could have seen him when he was well. Oh, forgive us, sir—we have done all that we can.”

Seeing the cheerful priest’s face stained with sadness, Yona was overcome with an emotion of compassion and goodwill towards him. He had been so eager to do right by complete strangers from the moment they had met, with no more than the two sisters of his own church to bear witness to this generosity. What a gentle soul he has, Yona thought.

So she walked towards the old man, lying limply on a heap of blankets, and lifted a paw to him, which drew in sadness from the room like moths to a flame. She kindled this flame steadily, sharply, harnessing the energy available until she could feel it flickering dimly beneath her fingers and clutch it. It was terribly heavy, the weight nearly tipping her over, but still she clenched her fist determinedly until it was gone. The old man sat straight up and coughed out a doll!

“Sir!” Hal exclaimed, pleasantly stunned. “You’ve come to! Oh, we’re so glad!”

“I don’t remember swallowing such a thing—Lucius, you old coot, get it together.” He cleared his hoarse throat. “Forgive me, where are my manners! Young lass, are you the one that saved me?”

Yona felt a twinge of pride, then promptly snuffed it out. “No, it was Hal, the priest kneeled before you. He and the sisters brought you in from the cold and saved you.”

“Now, now, no false modesty,” he said, gruffly but with a smile. “I may not look like much, but I am a potion brewer. I’ve met some interesting folks in my line of work. I’ve also sampled some odd brews in my time, but never ones shaped like dolls. Must’ve been a trick someone played—thinking this old man couldn’t be any the wiser. You’ve got kind eyes, miss. That doll looks like an antique—please take it.”

Eagerly Rory picked the doll off the ground, then handed it to Yona upon the revelation that it, well, needed a cleaning. Yona could not hold back her laughter when the realization hit her companion’s whiskers, which shot outwards in displeasure. She tucked the doll away in her pocket dimension.

“And you, kind sir,” Lucius spoke to the priest, “I sense many troubling things along the road ahead of you. But do not fret: all will be rewarded in due time, and you will never suffer longer than you can bear. I will see you again someday. Thank you for the shelter.”

And so the old man tottered out of the building, leaving an air of mystique behind him. Something about his words chilled Yona, as if they came from some greater unseen force that knew more than it had let on.


It was time that the pair of Eltryans say their goodbyes as well, though Yona didn’t especially want to leave—it was a whole flight through the galaxy back home and they’d only just arrived a few short hours before. They drank tea one last time in the warm confines of the shabby kitchen side room before being sent on their way, the snowstorm having calmed. Yona couldn’t help thinking she was going to miss the kind glow of the priest’s eyes and silently prayed, before those “troubles in the road ahead” appeared, that they might see each other again one day.