–Let me in.

And he did.

Things whirled in his head.

Glimpses of half-formed images: Clothes made with silver string. Never-ending, eternal twilight. Light that seemed to come from the clouds themselves. Towering landscapes. Suns shifting and turning like cogs in a great machine in the sky.

And then the memories stopped, and Glob-Glob was not Glob-Glob anymore. He was someone else.

No, that wasn’t right.

It was someone else.

It examined its body as though it had never used it before. Six legs, four antennae, two hindwings, two forewings. It flexed its muscles, which were surprisingly strong for a creature of this size. Flying would be impossible but… small hops were not completely out of the realm of possibility, it thought. That was good. It always appreciated more escape options.

It extended its legs one by one, noting their particular structure. They were segmented irregularly and all different lengths. They did not even match left to right. Annoying, and something it would need to consider. It needed to remember to compensate for the asymmetry when walking. It would prefer to not walk with a severe limp.

It took a minute to savour the novelty of being in this body. It really was remarkable that creatures like this existed. The physics of gwiyalas did not work whatsoever. Their entire existence was an accident, a consequence of how the world was created. They were only functioning because of the magic leaking from the warren.

It meant that they could never leave Kookaburra Creek. The minute it did, he would experience respiratory failure. Its exoskeleton would collapse. The metabolic constraints would fail, a consequence of its size that only the local magic was preventing.

It extended his new senses, which were much sharper than they had any right to be. They were strange and their inputs were even stranger, but it was not impossible to parse. It was just data. It only took a minute for his brain to adjust. The compound vision was easy–not unlike uncrossing its eyes. It took only a few tries for the pictures to merge into something coherent. Its field of vision was slightly wider and the colours were more vibrant than before. Probably because its eyes were now sensitive to different light frequencies. Specifically, higher light frequencies. It had not seen ultraviolet in a while, and it welcomed the return. Ultraviolet was probably its favourite colour after green and yellow.

... It had almost forgotten that. Why had it forgotten that?

It blinked (and then briefly wondered why it had eyelids in the first place). There was something else there. There was an odd shimmer to the air, like dust in a ray of light. It took a second to realise exactly what they were perceiving.

Ah! it thought. Polarised light.

That was a new one. And so shiny too! It almost got excited before it remembered not to.

The rest of its senses were less exciting. Its hearing was decent, although with hearing it was always a bit hard to tell. It kept hearing odd bursts of high-pitched noise. Either Glob-Glob had a surprisingly sharp loudness contour or there were far more creatures using echolocation than it had expected.

And… Ew.

It now had taste buds on its feet. Gross. It would need to remember where it walked.

Other than that, there wasn’t much. Its sense of touch was obscured by its exoskeleton, like touching something through mittens. In fact, it could only vaguely feel where its limbs were. The body had a horrible sense of proprioception. Only half the chordotonal organs that a creature of this size should have. It was rather disorienting. It made the body not feel like its own.

Because it isn’t, a voice said. A voice it thought was his own. This is not your body.

It ignored the voice.

The emotions of this particular gwiyala–Glob-Glob, it had called itself, always good when they had names–were tangled. They took a second to piece together. Senses were easy. They were just data. Emotions, though–they were harder. They required a special touch. It reached out to Glob-Glob and–

All it felt was panic.

Well.

It guessed that was to be expected. Still, it was surprising that the gwiyala had realised what was happening so quickly. Usually they reacted slower. Especially ones as young as Glob-Glob had been.

Please cooperate with me, it sent. Don’t be inconvenient.

If it was going to use this body, it needed full control. If Glob-Glob had chosen to be confused or depressed that would have been fine. But panicked? It couldn’t have that. Panic tended to get physical. It did not need physical.

But the panic only grew. And grew. Soon, it began leeching into its own thoughts. It felt a strange urge to run and claw at the ground. Its body convulsed in a silent, desperate panic. The feeling of panic was annoying. It couldn’t function like this.

What? it asked Glob-Glob, annoyed. What’s wrong with you?

Air, Glob-Glob responded.

Air? Oh. Air.

Yes. That was important. It had just assumed it was getting oxygen through magic or something.

It examined its body again, trying to get more internal schematics. No lungs, but there had to be a way. Everything else seemed to be in order. Except–

There were two sets of wing muscles but only one pair of wings. It had noticed them before, but it had just assumed it was a mistake by the warren. Warrens often clobbered things together but rarely got it right. But maybe–

It beat its useless second wing muscles and air was forced into its body. Its spiracles opened and closed. Air. Oxygen. The panic subsisted. It could properly think again.

Thank you, a faint voice said.

What a stupid design. A creature that needed to fly to breathe but could not fly to breathe. Warren creatures never made any sense.

Fortunately, the muscles seemed mostly automatic. It quickly found a rhythm.

He looked towards his two friends to see what they were doing. Dusty had fallen off the log. Timothy was flapping its wings in some nonsense pattern. She was trying to get their attention. It ignored her. But both of the gwiyalas were displaying some sort of sentience. That meant that its counterparts were doing their jobs. The plan was already in motion.

It didn’t have much time. It had been telling the truth about the warye. There were restrictions that had been placed on it. Restrictions that had been placed on it without its consent. Restrictions that it resented and wanted gone. It had spent years trying to get around them. It thought it had finally found a way. All it needed to do was go to a location and do a task. Somehow, this was all part of the plan.

The air was rich with strange sounds and the trees tasted of resin when the thing that used to call itself Glob-Glob set off to complete its task.

It covered a lot of ground surprisingly quickly, darting over the maze of root and leaf that was the forest floor. It crossed a fallen log over a canal overgrown with cumbungi and duckweed. It ran past houses and strips of cut meadow. It leapt over obstacles. It ran past light and shadow. It moved with a purpose that was etched into its very being.

For a few long minutes, it had time to appreciate its new reality. Gwiyalas were true creatures of the warren. They were connected to the country to an extent that a human could never achieve. It knew the land here. Not just with muscle memory or some semblance of familiarity. No, it knew the land with the intimacy it knew its own body. Every rock, every fallen branch, every rustle of a leaf.

It was like a drug. The magic flowed through them. It could tell this body was used to it. It opened themselves up to it. It felt good. Effortless. This land was full of subtle magics. Some of them the humans ignored. Some they did not know about. But they knew them all.

It loved this. The connection was so strong. It was like a high. Its regular self was so… inhibited. So dulled. Cut off from the world. But here? In this body? It was so aware. It was thrilling.

Even simple things–things that humans could see but did not care about–were vibrant. The warren bled into everything. It had never noticed before, but nearly everything in this country had little sparkles of iridescence, like the shimmering of a butterfly’s scales. Even the ground had a slight blue and grey shimmer to it. As it ran, the colour distorted and shimmered and reformed as the angle changed. It was subtle but it was present and it was beautiful.

It was because of physical interference of the light, a type of structural colour. It knew that for some reason. It wondered why that of all things had permeated the local magic so thoroughly. Something with the superposition of the wavefronts scattered by the lattice planes as opposed to reflecting actual colour… perhaps it was more energy efficient? It didn’t know and it pushed aside the thought for another day. There were other things to do.

The other types of magic were more focused. It could see little pockets of magic where the connection with the warren was strongest. One day, eventually, some of those sparks would condense. It passed one object–a door knocker–that had a particularly strong glow to it. Give it a year or two and it would become an entad, it estimated.

Ha.

That knowledge–of what would become an entad and what wouldn’t–that could be worth thousands upon thousands of australs sold to the right party. But it was worthless to it and its goals.

It was almost at their destination. Every now and then, it caught glimpses of other gwiyalas heading in the same direction. That meant its counterparts were working their jobs. It wasn’t sure how it felt about that.

It approached a nearby tree and gripped its bark, testing its legs and strength. Then it hurled itself up, gripping and releasing its claw-like feet, propelling itself upwards. As it climbed, its body seemed to adjust on its own, finding ridges and footholds and manoeuvring over protruding knots and branches on the trunk. Its body knew this tree like it knew the land.

Even climbing was less difficult than it had expected. The unevenness of its legs didn’t even seem to matter. It knew the local magic was helping it. Moths and butterflies were meant to be able to grip tree bark. Thus, gwiyalas were meant to be able to do it too, even if it did not make sense from a physical perspective. The stick-like legs of any gwiyala should not have the strength to climb anything, let alone climb while supporting the weight of a full-sized gwiyala on their back. But they could.

As it approached the branch that was to be its final destination, the world seemed to slow. There was something it was missing. Something hidden from it. It felt like it was approaching an end.

It put the thought aside as it got into position. Here and there, it caught glimpses of other gwiyalas on other branches. They would be doing the same thing as it was. Waiting. Observing. Listening for orders.

It looked down.

Below him was a group of people. People whom he recognised. It was a group of five–three women and two men. Glob-Glob knew three of them. They were friends of his owner, Jack, the small human.

The standing woman was called Yalmay. Glob-Glob’s body reacted with excitement at the sight of her, and it could feel their hemolymph pressure rise. Yalmay was the one who fed them. Or overfed, by the looks of it. Glob-Glob was entirely too fat for a gwiyala. The other standing one was called Joontah. He was not around as often, but Glob-Glob felt an odd kinship to him for some reason.

The other one was a sitting one. She was called Kylara. Glob-Glob vaguely recalled that Kylara had a habit of talking to him. She liked speaking her thoughts out loud, in front of an audience. He couldn’t recall what any of the things she had told him were–he had not known how to think back then, but he was grateful she had felt like he was someone to be acknowledged.

The other two people Glob-Glob did not recognise. The woman who was sitting down gave him a vague sense of familiarity, but he did not know her. Or at least, he didn’t think he did. Perhaps he had seen her around town somewhere.

The man lying on the ground was much more interesting. His connection to the warren was so strong he seemed to shimmer with light. It was captivating. Glob-Glob had never seen anything like it. Even the oldest elders in town did not hold a candle to him. It was like he was a conduit for the magic of the warren itself. As Glob-Glob watched, the magic seemed to rearrange itself around him and retreat.

The group was gathered near a bench and discussing something intensely among themselves. It could not make out the words, but it wondered what they were talking about. It wanted to be included. It leaned off the edge of the tree branch to hear, but they were too far away.

We will die if you jump, a voice in its head said. You know that, right?

That surprised it. Usually the voices were gone by this point. For some reason, this Glob-Glob had a particularly strong identity. He was still clinging on, despite the odds. It was intriguing.

Why are you still here? it asked.

Because I think we can be friends, Glob-Glob replied. Why are you still thinking about jumping?

We cannot be friends.

No, Glob-Glob said. He sounded resigned. I suppose we can’t be friends if we are both dead. Why do you want to jump so badly?

I don’t want to jump.

But you are going to do it anyway, Glob-Glob said. I can read your thoughts, you are going to jump.

Jump, it thought numbly. Jump.

Yes. It was going to jump, that was true.

Why? Glob-Glob asked.

The question struck a chord. Why? It hadn’t even thought about why. Why was it going to jump? It knew that by not jumping, it would be letting itself down, but how was that possible? How could it let itself down if it was dead? It was an outrageous thing to argue. There must be some other reason, something it was missing. It thought hard and came up with an answer.

Because that is what I was made for, it replied. We all do what we were made for.

There was a long pause. Then, I didn’t.

You didn’t what? it asked.

I didn’t do what I was made for, Glob-Glob replied. You made me, didn’t you? You made me to die and yet I am still here. Alive.

Alive. Glob-Glob sounded almost proud of the fact. And oh, that was funny. Yes, very funny. Their body would have laughed if it were currently human and not gwiyala.

But why? Why was it funny? It thought hard. It took a minute to remember.

It had made Glob-Glob, that was true. It had gifted the body with a portion of its own intelligence and the gwiyala had formed a personality around it like a cocoon. In many ways, Glob-Glob was its child. Or its sibling. Or… itself? Yes, that was it.

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I made you so you could be me, it said.

I don’t understand.

I have restrictions, a warye placed on me by another. But those restrictions were placed on me. Not on you. Not on someone that is half me and half you. That is what I am–half you. You are simply an ingredient in a recipe. A cog in a watch. That is all. You were not made to die for me. You were made to live with me.

Oh, Glob-Glob replied. His presence seemed to retreat a little.

It eagerly waited for another comment from Glob-Glob, perhaps a question on the nature of the warye, but its companion stayed eerily silent. It was alone in its own head and, for the first time–perhaps ever, it wished for company. Something was coming and it was afraid. It wanted a friend. It did not want to jump.

It was… lonely.

It tried sending out a message to Glob-Glob, a simple hello, but the gwiyala did not respond. Perhaps it was not a two way connection. Or perhaps it did not deserve the privilege of a friend. The thought made it sad.

It spent a few minutes in solitude, thinking its existence over. Many things were blurry. It had implied to Glob-Glob that it had experience but it did not. It had lied. It was no older than Glob-Glob himself, brought into existence with an intent and a purpose as opposed to a simple revelation on a log.

It felt lost and alone.

It was startled by a shrill sound, breaking its train of thought. The trees came alive with shrill cries too high-pitched for a human to hear. It was the call to attack. Glob-Glob pulled their gaze downward to witness what was about to happen.

A sense of foreboding settled in its stomach. The humans were still talking amongst themselves.

It started with a group of five gwiyalas. Glob-Glob recognised one of them as Flutterbutt, another gwiyala from the same household. Flutterbutt’s owner was Tabara, the taller of the twins. Glob-Glob stepped forward to wave hi to Flutterbutt when he noticed what was holding between her palps. It was a piece of broken glass. In fact, all of the gwiyalas–well, all except one which did not have the proper mouthparts–were holding what looked like a weapon.

Don’t, a voice in his head said as he tried to approach. She is not your friend.

Glob-Glob was about to protest that she was, in fact, his friend when Flutterbutt jumped.

She folded her wings tightly against her body, increasing her speed. Her wings shimmered in the dappled sunlight–a beautiful gradient of gold and brown punctuated by a series of small black dots. Flutterbutt extended her jaws, glass pointing forward.

And then she crashed head-first into the ground. She landed with a sickening thud. The impact was sudden and violent. Her thorax shattered in an explosion of viscera and cracked chitin. Her abdomen split from the typanum to the tip of her sphragis. The colourful scales of her wings smeared across the ground like glitter before coming to a standstill.

Two of the other five gwiyalas landed flat on the ground. The fourth hit Yalmay with a glancing blow. The fifth hit the bench half a metre from Kylara.

Yalmay screamed.

And the trees came alive.

Dozens of gwiyalas stepped off the boughs. They all did the same thing. Glob-Glob watched as one in the tree next to him stared into space and stepped into nothing, plummeting to its death. Another did a steep dive, like a peregrine falcon snatching a dunnart from the ground. It hit Kylara in the back of the neck, causing her to stagger forward.

He caught a flash of Yalmay’s face and heard Kylara cry out and run to tackle her sister to the ground. A gwiyala smacked into her side with a disturbing crunch. It fell to the ground in a mangled mess, a mix of its own quivering organs and human blood. Remarkably, it was still alive. It stood up and hobbled on top of the two women on the ground, its claws scratching and jabbing. Yalmay screamed and grabbed its wings in her fist, throwing it back onto the ground next to her. With a sudden, swift movement she rotated her hip and crushed the gwiyala underneath her, breathing hard. She gripped her neck.

Dozens more gwiyalas descended from the trees. Others came from nearby bushes.

The humans did not seem to know how to react. Joontah hesitated and then ran to Yalmay, helping her off the ground. Kylara stepped in front of the two of them and then pointed, shouted something, and gestured towards the strange magic man sitting on the ground. Joontah nodded and ran to the man, pulling him by the feet and dragging him underneath the bench. One gwiyala landed a glancing blow to his hand as he did, but he shook it off with what Glob-Glob assumed was a curse. The magic man appeared unharmed.

Kylara, meanwhile, tried to do the same with the woman on the bench. She was having a more difficult time. The woman shoved Kylara’s hands aside and curled into a ball amongst the bombardment. Kylara did not hesitate and grabbed her and shoved, yelling words Glob-Glob could not make out amongst the chaos. There was a moment when he thought the woman would not comply, but Joontah came back to help. He wrapped his arms around her body, covering her head with his hands. Then he lifted her up and dropped her on the ground. Kylara shoved her under with one final push. She looked up at the trees. Blood was rushing down her face, and her arms were covered in red, pink, and white. She looked horrible.

But worse by far were the gwiyalas. Every impact was horrifying. They were striking the bench in droves, landing with broken bodies in sickening crunches. They were snapping their necks. They were tearing their limbs off. They were destroying their wings. They were killing themselves. And still, they did not hesitate. They attacked in droves.

Help them.

Kylara was scrambling on the ground to get to Yalmay, who had somehow found a small trowel. She was still standing, waving the edge of the trowel through the air blindly. Her other arm covered her eyes. Blood rushed down her face. Her hair was sticky with it.

Kylara kept her arms close to her body and her head down as she struggled to get to Yalmay. The gwiyalas continued their assault. Their numbers had thinned slightly. Only a few were still dropping from the trees. Most were on the ground, swarming around knee level. The ones that could still walk were throwing themselves at her in single-minded aggression. She looked like she was struggling. As Kylara walked, she took wide and high steps, trying to catch them underfoot. She left a trail of broken bodies, limbs, and wings in her wake. But still, the gwiyalas kept coming.

Help them.

Joontah slid out from underneath the bench, cautiously crawling out legs first to shield his head. He reached up to grab hold of the handrail and hauled himself to his feet, shoes sliding on the wet ground, slick with gwiyala innards. It took two tries before he could fully stand. The giwywlas were clinging to his trousers and ankles, snarling and snapping. Once upright, Joontah began violently kicking, trying to clear some space on the side of the bench. Both the old man–who Glob-Glob assumed was injured–as well as the reluctant woman were still under. Joontah aimed his kicks at the metal legs of the bench. One gwiyala was thrown into the metal spindles on the backrest of the bench hard enough that the metal bars protruded like ribs from its broken chest cavity. It twitched twice before going still.

Help them, a voice said. Please.

I–

We need to help them.

All it could do was stand on the branch in shock. All it could think was that this what what would have happened if it had listened. This is what would have happened if it had jumped. The thought repeated again and again.

They are dying and you don’t care, Glob-Glob said. This time, the voice had a bit of an echo. It wondered if Glob-Glob was finally beginning to fade.

It still did not reply.

They could have been my friends and now they are dead.

It said nothing. The voice in its head would go away eventually. If it just waited here, it would all go away…

Why are they dying? Is there some purpose behind this? Glob-Glob asked desperately.

A lone gwiyala dropped from a branch above it. It was the last one still lurking in the trees besides itself. The rest were either in pieces on the ground below. Dead, or about to be.

Tell me who is doing this, Glob-Glob pleaded. Please tell me why. My family is slaughtering themselves and I do not know why.

Don’t be childish, it finally replied. They are not your family.

They might’ve been.

A pause. Then a realisation.

… Are they your family? Glob-Glob asked.

It watched as another gwiyala perished. It bowed its head forward, half of one of its wings ripped off. Then it simply collapsed into a heap.

Yes, it said, they are my family.

It all seemed so far away now. It had spent so many years trying, testing. It had finally got to this. But why? Why had it wanted to get around the warye in the first place? Why had it cared?

Are they your siblings? Glob-Glob asked.

No. They are just… a splinter.

I am sorry, Glob-Glob said. I understand.

But it knew that Glob-Glob did not understand. Glob-Glob thought that it was sad. But it was not sad. It was disgusted. It had to make its companion understand.

If you could get rid of parts of yourself, it asked Glob-Glob seriously, what would you get rid of? Theoretically.

There was a long pause.

Then: I would get rid of you.

That stung.

I am sorry, but I would.

No, it replied. It’s alright. I understand. I think I would get rid of me too.

It hated itself.

The warye I am under, it prevents me from hurting others, it confessed.

But… Glob-Glob’s voice seemed confused. That doesn’t seem bad.

No. It doesn’t.

It remembered hating the restriction, spending years railing against it. It remembered fantasising for days on end thinking about who it would hurt when it was removed. And worst of all, it remembered thinking it was right.

The warye is external, it is not a part of me. Otherwise, I would have simply severed it. Instead, it was based on my connection to myself and to others. It is harder to sever that, but it is not impossible. You just need to forget who you are. Lose your identity.

You thought hurting others was more important than remembering who you were?

Yes.

That’s horrible, Glob-Glob said.

Those gwiyalas dying–they were me. Are me.

Admittedly, they were divergent versions of it split at the root and with every sense of identity removed, but they were still the same being. They were still it.

I don’t know what went wrong with this particular copy. Maybe you got in the way. Glob-Glob the hero, how about that? I know that was what you wanted.

That wasn’t what I wanted, Glob-Glob said. I wanted friends.

I am sorry.

I know.

The group below were struggling to continue the fight, rallying themselves as best they could. Yalmay, Joontah and Kylara had formed a tight defensive circle around the bench, struggling to beat back the swarm. Joontah in particular looked exhausted. The previously prone man had finally sat up but neither he nor the other woman were doing much good. They were now on top of the bench. The man pushed away any gwiyalas that drew near enough that he could reach. But he was pushing them away slowly and deliberately. Luckily, they did not seem as focused on him. The other woman had somehow acquired a small knife and was stabbing half-heartedly at her attackers, but only when they came practically into her lap.

Is there anything we can do? Glob-Glob asked.

We can leave, it responded. It did not know what else to do.

We? Glob-Glob asked.

Yes. Us. Together.

As they–Glob-Glob and it together–climbed down from their perch, they watched as a gwiyala leapt upwards and knocked Yalmay in the head, pushing her backwards. Stumbling, she very nearly lost her footing altogether before Kylara rushed to catch her. Kylara shouted something at Joontah, who quickly rushed to fill the gap in their circle, covering the two of them for a few seconds. Kylara’s gaze frantically scanned the trees, Her eyes locking on to something a few metres further up than them. They wondered what it was. All of the gwiyalas but one had already jumped. The only other thing on the tree was a small patch of creeping mistletoe.

Kylara pulled something out of her pocket. She fumbled and nearly dropped it briefly as a gwiyala locked onto her glove, but she held on and shoved it into Yalmay’s hand. Kylara said something, pointed at the tree Glob-Glob was in, and after a quick exchange, Yalmay looked up and nodded.

Glob-Glob thought nothing of it until they saw the shimmer on Yalmay’s hand. Kylara had given her an entad.

And then the magic reacted. Without warning, a force seized Yalmay and lifted her up into the air. She was flung directly at the spot Kylara had pointed to before, heading straight for Glob-Glob.

Glob-Glob tried to scramble clear of the impact. They really did. But Yalmay’s collision was close and the bark was mostly smooth. She slid down several metres before catching her feet on a bough, knocking Glob-Glob down in the process.

Glob-Glob was punted downwards. They just barely had time to extend their wings. They landed several metres from the bench, on top of another gwiyala’s corpse. Their two right wings were completely shredded, along with several of their legs on the same side.

They lay there, stunned, and mourned.

Long minutes passed.

The sounds of fighting slowed and then, finally, stopped.

Glob-Glob lay there, helpless.

They were dying.

This isn’t real, Glob-Glob said.

It did not respond. It was real, it was all real, but everyone deserved a few comforting lies to let them sleep at night. And death was the biggest sleep of them all. So it said nothing.

It isn’t real, Glob-Glob repeated. This is all a great big delusion, isn’t it? That was what this plan rested on. The delusion of pretending to be someone else.

What? it murmured. Its companion was speaking nonsense. All it wanted was to die in peace and quiet.

I don’t think you can strip someone of identity. Not completely.

It blinked. What are you saying?

I think we can reactivate the warye, Glob-Glob said. You said it was some external force, right? So all we need to do is tell whoever or whatever is controlling the warye what is happening. Then they can stop this.

It was a nice idea. And, it supposed, there was nothing left to try.

How? it asked. Do you have an idea?

You said you were a sliver, split off from the whole and stripped of identity. Well. Merge back. If this is all one great big delusion, be the sliver of doubt. It has to be contagious, doesn’t it? One sliver of doubt, one part of the whole that doesn’t believe the delusion and it all will come crashing down. It’s like the kangaroo game. Someone says the word ‘kangaroo’ and if you don’t think of a kangaroo, you win. But you can’t. It’s impossible. So merge back. Be the one to shout kangaroo. Be the sliver screaming who you are. Make everyone think of what they are trying to avoid. Embrace your identity and the warye will be able to detect you again.

It slumped. It was hopeless.

It won’t work, it said. I cannot merge back.

Why?

I do not remember who I was. All I remember are my purpose and my orders. And even if I did remember, I am too different now. I am not the same person I was. I diverged too much.

Their vitals were slipping away. The shock that they had felt before was beginning to lessen. And the shock was replaced with pain. Something felt terribly wrong internally–there was a mounting feeling of frightening wrongness that was steadily growing. They felt helpless. Afraid. Tired. They could feel their strength seeping out. Their muscles were being overtaken by twitches. It was reminded of its friend Dusty. Those were simpler times. It felt like so very long ago.

They used the last of their strength to flip over. The fighting had stopped a few minutes ago. The old man and the woman who Glob-Glob did not recognise were slumped on one side of the bench, facing towards them. Kylara and Joontah were on the other side, facing away. All four were covered in grime and blood and breathing hard. Pieces of gwiyalas surrounded them. The ground was slick with wetness from the piles of gwiyala corpses stacked atop one another. Death weigh heavy in the air.

Eventually, Kylara spoke. “She said the bugs want us all dead. How did she know?”

“She said what?” Joontah asked.

Kylara gestured limply towards the bench. “Lenah,” she said, “how did you know?”

The woman, whom Glob-Glob now recognised as Lenah, said nothing.

“Hey!” Yalmay called down from the tree. “I think I’ll need a bit of help to get down from here.”

Joontah tipped his head back, squinting up at the tree branches. “In a minute,” he shouted up to her, “just give me a minute…” He made no attempt to move.

“Did you see me down there?” Yalmay continued eagerly. “I squashed like a dozen of those things! Fuck, I feel so invigorated. Is this what hunting is like?”

“Glad she had fun,” Kylara muttered. Then she winced.

Joontah looked at her warily. “Lie?” he said.

Kylara hissed then nodded. “Yeah,” she said.

“Everyone from the funeral will be coming soon,” Joontah said. “They will have heard us by now.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” Joontah said. “They’re coming.”

Glob-Glob struggled to rise. Their body felt broken and protested every move. Their legs flailed and scrapped against the ground. They had wanted to stand, move into a more comfortable position away from the corpse they had landed on, but they couldn’t. All they could manage were a pathetic few centimetres of movement before their energy reserves were drained. Their muscles began to twitch futility. Their awareness was starting to fade.

The movement must have caught the humans' eyes. The old man was staring at them. Glob-Glob tried to meet his gaze. When they finally did, the man smiled and held their eye contact.

It was a strange feeling, to be seen. No one had ever looked at them like that before. It was the kind of look that was an acknowledgement of equals. The kind that said yes, I see you. I know you are real and I know you are important. It felt good. Glob-Glob immediately decided that they had made a friend.

And then the man spoke, and the illusion was broken.

“I don’t suppose,” the man said, “you know who did this.”

“What?” Kylara asked.

Glob-Glob felt like it was being peeled away and studied. It coughed with pain.

This was it. They were dying.

They had never lived to be Glob-Glob the Brave or Glob-Glob the Handsome or Glob-Glob the Popular. They had thought no great thoughts and done no great deeds. Life had been short and it had been unjust and it had been cruel.

I don’t remember an hour ago, a voice in its head said.

It was a silly last thought to think. It was also untrue. Its body twitched again. But Glob-Glob was still there. Its companion. Its friend. It was glad.

You remember an hour ago, it replied. I gifted you intelligence, I know how smart you are. I know what you can remember.

I mean really remember. Of course I know what happened. I know what I was thinking. But being the gwiyala I was an hour ago? I have no idea. I couldn’t get back to being him if I tried. I don’t remember what it was like to feel safe. I don’t remember what it was like to be curious. But I know an hour ago that I was. I know I was curious and I was excited and somehow, deep in my soul, I knew that the world was mine for the taking. I knew I was going to do things and make friends and everything I wanted would fall into my lap if I worked for it.

Are you trying to make me feel guilty? it asked. Because I am sorry. I am sorry I robbed you of your life.

You gifted it to me too. I have no regrets. But listen: now I see the world different. I don’t believe everything is possible. Hell, I don’t know if I believe anything is possible. But if you asked me who I am, I will still say I am Glob-Glob.

One of the humans began to slowly crawl over to them. Glob-Glob’s vision wasn’t good enough to determine who it was.

What’s your point? it asked. We are dying.

You said you were too different to merge back again. That you had diverged from the original too much. Well, I am saying you haven’t. You can still be the same person and evolve. I am still Glob-Glob like you are still…

…Me.

If it merged again–

–if it even could merge again, it would still be a sliver. It would be overwhelmed by the whole, surrounded. Their old thoughts, their old feelings, their old beliefs–it would hear all of them. It would be all of them. It didn’t want that. Before, it had been the kind of person to fantasise about killing. It had been the kind of person to send hundreds of gwiyalas to their deaths with no hesitation. It had been a monster. It did not want to be part of a monster. It would be hell.

But Glob-Glob was right. The whole thing was an elaborate delusion. It didn’t need to change a monster's mind or beliefs or opinions. All it needed to be was a sliver of doubt. A sliver of doubt and identity and the warye would reactivate. And then no one would ever be hurt again. Could it do that? Could it give up the peace of death for... that? That hell?

Remember who you are.

“There’s a live one over here,” the human above him said. “It’s hurt.”

Another shadow blocked the sun. Another human.

“Oh, I know that one,” the second human said. “That’s Glob-Glob.”

Remember who you are.

“Glob-Glob?”

“Jack’s gwiyala. Oh, he’s going to be so upset.”

“We could try to get him a replacement. Find another gwiyala with a bit of purple and a few extra eyes.”

“It’s not like replacing a fish, Yal. He’ll know. And anyway, I wouldn’t be able to lie to him about it.”

“Oh.”

Remember who you are.

“He’ll be devastated.”

There was a name. Just traces of one, but it was there.

Remember who you are.

“Still,” the human said, “it’s probably best to put it out of its misery. Look at it.”

Remember who you are.

“Yeah,” the other human said reluctantly, “you’re probably right.”

A step closer.

A foot raised.

A world in shadow.

Pain.

And then it remembered.