Ci-cin, Ci-cin, Ci-cin, Ci-cin…

“Ugh, are you having fun?”

Gron glances at me, then resumes playing with the bells attached to my tail.

«Fss! Fsss!»

The snake-headed tail doesn't seem to enjoy it and steps aside, hissing with its tongue hanging out.

When it is silent, Gron is a normal cat. A magical cat, a golem to use its words, but accustomed to all the amusements typical of felines of its species.

“Are you ready now?” I ask it, tapping my index finger on the table. With my elbow resting, I support my cheek with the palm of my hand.

Gron doesn't want to hear about being judged.

“Not yet.”

Ci-cin, Ci-cin.

“You've said it three times already. As long as it doesn't rain any, it's fine. But don't complain later if I'm a little rough.”

“N, there's no problem. What you told me is important. I'm not saying I want to stop you from completing your duty. It is not my intention to hinder you. It's just that, well, you have to understand that for a creature like me, dying, dying, you know? is not easy to accept.”

Gron limply gets up and starts cleaning itself again.

Yawn.

It does the same.

It's not that I want to appear rude, but its company is special. As much as it is a talkative cat, it doesn't want to do anything. It stays there, cleans itself, and sleeps, and plays with my bells.

From an adventurer and chef cat I expect something more. How boring…

“Look, do you like music?”

Gron combs its flaming collar with its paw.

“Sure! In the thousand and thousand taverns that I passed through with my master, the powerful alchemist-zoologist Akhmul Dal-Dazzer, I always took part in songs and dances aimed at animating the souls of the guests. Maybe getting fish and other freebies, or granting my master huge discounts. My singing ability is second only to my cooking.”

“Wow, can you sing? It's wonderful!”

Ci-cin.

«Fsss!»

“Modestly, mmm-hmm…” Gron stretches its front paws before yawning again. “If there was an opportunity, I could demonstrate it. It's a pity that…”

Ci-cin! Ci-cin!

I slap my hands on the table and jump up.

“Wait! It's gorgeous! I'll check outside and then I'll show you!”

I go out onto the porch and look at the sky.

No bubbles, no smell, no signs of rain. The usual bodies float quietly in the atmospheric membrane and lightning rains in the desert.

The redness of the sunset in the distance and the black of the ash in their way resemble Gron, they share the palette.

“Well! All clear!”

♦

Gron's voice. Gron's voice!

Stupendous.

Wonderful!

The voice of a cat-golem is something unimaginable, which touches registers closed to humanoids.

I accompany it on the piano. It gives me the harmonic key, not always the same as those of the ‘well-tempered’ terrestrial, and I accompany it by arranging improvisations.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The simplicity of the songs doesn't create the discomfort I felt at the idea of accompanying Sylviette.

The pieces it sings are tavern-worthy.

It started by saying that its repertoire is that of an adventurer. Unusually ‘fair’ in the lyrics for a tavern song. From its words I expect more explicit material, that is…

Dungeon, Maze, and Labyrinth;

I passed through them effortlessly.

I'm a champion and I'll show you.

My group has set sail for the seas of adventure,

So soon they gave up!

Not me, a champion among winners!

Not me. This is what I tell you.

Dungeon, Maze, and Labyrinth;

I passed through them effortlessly.

I finish an arpeggio and let the reverb fill the room.

Ci-cin.

Sitting on the cushion that I brought from the veranda, Gron simulates bowing to the audience and then starts licking its chops. There is certainly no shortage of dust and, despite its adventurous airs, it seems annoyed by ash.

“So?” It asks once silence falls.

I clap my hands.

“You are very good! You have an incredible register. You go from soprano to baritone! And… truly, there are few creatures with a vocal range like yours!”

“Pr-prrr! Oh, you make me blush so much. Singing is only the least of my qualities. Of course, if I could clean as well as I cook, I could solve your dirt problem.”

“Hehe, it's not possible. You're not the first to say it… but the Underwasteland dungeon is like that. It cannot be cleaned. And aren't you an Explorer?”

“An adventurer who doesn't take care of his hygiene cannot be called such. Prrr…”

Gron moves its sinuous tail and turns its face towards the stage, as if irritated. Maybe it wants a bath? Cats usually avoid grooming, but ‘usually’ certainly doesn't apply to Gron.

“Do you want to take a bath before going to sleep?”

“I'm not ready to ‘sleep’ yet, whatever you mean. However, I wouldn't mind a bath. However, this place is desolate. I'm not used.”

I'm still sitting on the piano stool and I grab it with my hands, pushing myself forward.

“Wait.” I let go of the magic and for an instant, the room falls into absolute darkness. [Immortality] runs its course and, recharged with my [ap], I relaunch [Will-o'-the-wisp] and the lights around the stage return to emanating blue light.

Gron doesn't blink. Between one song and another, I have already repeated the operation. Its orange-black fur turns purplish under this lighting. It's handsome.

Arching my back slightly and leaning on the stool with my hands, I stare at the black ceiling. I can't see the ceiling of the room.

I think back to its statement.

It's not «used to» this solitude.

“Gron, but the dungeons you went through? Weren't those desolate?”

“When you go into a dungeon, you're always in a team. You never know what could happen. Only madmen and hermits go alone and often die if you only knew how many we have met. Of skeletons I mean.”

The snakehead hovered over me and stared into my face. The light reflects off its black scales, illuminating its polar eyes.

“Well, but here you are with me. Aren't we like a team?”

A moment of silence falls between us. Once the music ended, the insects became audible again with their digging and nibbling.

I hear footsteps and then something warm and soft rubbing between my feet and my ankles.

I lower my gaze and sit back down calmly. Gron is there and jumps on my lap, its little face close to mine, and smells of blood and decay.

“I wasn't speaking for myself, you know.” It grumbles before going back to wash itself.

Ci-cin.

“Sorry, I don't think I understand…”

“Prrr…” Gron rolls over between my legs and I rub its back. “Don't you feel alone?”

Oh, that's what it means.

Um, what a difficult question.

“To be honest… yes.”

“And wouldn't you like some company?”

“As Empress of the Underwasteland I often have company, as do you now. Every deceased needs understanding and…”

Gron leaps up and throws itself to the ground, leaving me empty-handed.

It turns to me, shaking its head.

“That's… tavern company you're talking about! I talk about friendships, love, complicity, and projects! Prrr.”

I lower my ears and sigh.

What Gron is talking about is clear in my mind.

Meeting people of all sorts, species, and classes, and listening to their stories, I know what friendship, love, and all those feelings that come with living in society.

In long periods of boredom, I often think about it. I idealize those things and fantasize about them.

How cool would it be to form a team and explore the whole dungeon? From the edge of the desert to the abyss. Exploring every room, every crevice, and every chasm.

And then play, share the berries and the bed with someone.

“Hey, I didn't mean to make you sad! Excuse me. I didn't think it could be a sore point. You must know that my creator was very lonely in the early days. An alchemist of his level, an alchemist who can create me, is not a talent that can be spent in much of my world.”

Stretching my legs I start looking at my toes, the charred and dusty boards under my heels.

Gron's story interests me. I want to know what Dal-Dazzer did to get out of that situation, but…

…I feel it is a vain thing.

Even knowing this, what would happen then?

I would thank Gron for the story, take it to wash, and finally put it to sleep. Then I would go and check that no new guests are waiting, and then?

And then the loneliness.

Boredom.

The void.

The wait begins to dominate me again and so on. So on throughout my mandate. One thousand years. Ten thousand if I want to do like my father.

What if there were more?

[Immortality] is an [emergency skill]. Can it be removed at the end of my mandate?

What would Dal-Dazzer do? What can Gron do?

I…

“N, do you feel good?”

Ci-cin.

Gron's voice catches my attention again. Waving my hand I chase away those cloudy thoughts and look at the cat embarrassed.

“Sorry, sorry!” I bow my head several times and jump up.

Ci-cin.

I must not let myself get discouraged! I've only had the title of [Empress] for a few decades and I already act like a damned eternal entity!

Poor Gron, putting up with this pitiful spectacle when it should only calm down in preparation for rest!

“Gron sorry if I got distracted! I'm interested in your story, but, well, I've been wondering before… would you like to take a bath, right?”