It had been nearly a week since the Blacktalon crew set up their forward camp in the Weald. Fawkes was running point on a patrol, as she often did. Haleth, the cheerful young woman that had been shadowing for the last few days, covered her right flank. Some other Behemoth Nation brave whose name Fawkes kept forgetting covered her from the left. Muirden, the Transient, brought up the rear.

They moved fast, covering more ground than almost any other patrol. They’d been more careful in the first couple of days, more thorough. They’d found nothing of note, except for a half-dead low-dweller. It had been pinned under a fallen log, its leg crushed. Fawkes would wager it had been there for two weeks or more - unable to escape, unwilling to just die. She’d put it out of its misery, which angered Elder Rook. Apparently, he’d like a chance to vivisect it. That kind of cruelty didn’t sit well with Fawkes, even towards a mindless monster like a low-dweller. Still, she said nothing.

They had reached a kind of mutual understanding, the two of them. She’d told him everything she’d learned about the Halls of the Cor Ancestors; the vaults, the dancing mummies, the deranged Sister. In exchange, he’d agreed to let her speak to Muirden, Blacktalon’s resident Transient. They’d been on a couple of patrols together, but so far she hadn’t gotten the chance to have a proper conversation with him away from Haleth’s prying ears. She liked the young woman well enough, but she had no doubt that she reported everything she saw and heard straight to Elder Rook. Fawkes had the sneaking suspicion that both her and Muirden would be able to speak more freely if she wasn’t around.

Fawkes finally got her shot at some privacy when the fourth member of their patrol group stepped on a rotting branch, lost his footing, and sprained his ankle. The injury was nothing serious, but it would slow them down. As the unofficial leader of the patrol, Fawkes made an executive decision. She took out a few clean bandages from the spatial storage of her Arsenal Bracer and handed them to Haleth.

“You know how to make a splint?” she asked her.

Haleth took them and nodded.

“Good. Get his foot wrapped, then help him back to the camp. I don’t want to leave anyone back alone. Muirden and I will finish the last leg of the patrol and meet you back there. Alright?”

Haleth opened her mouth to say something, but Fawkes’s manner left little room to argue. She started working on the splint right away, while Fawkes and Muirden took off to continue their patrol.

After about ten more minutes, they reached a natural outcrop. Fawkes climbed up to get a better view of the surrounding area, then motioned for Muirden to follow.

“Let’s catch our breaths here for a bit,” she said.

“Good idea,” the Transient said. “Maybe we’ll finally get a chance to talk without Haleth straining her pretty little ears to eavesdrop.”

Fawkes raised an eyebrow.

“What? You know it’s true.”

“What I don’t understand,” Fawkes said, frowning, “is why Elder Rook would be interested to know what you and I talk about.”

“Why does water flow downhill?” Muirden shrugged. “Why does night follow day? Why do socks vanish in the laundry? Elder Rook loves his secrets. He’s just like that. I’m surprised he even let you tag along the Blacktalon crew.”

“He does have a tendency towards being paranoid, I reckon.”

“Tendency?” Muirden scoffed. “The man makes the Stasi look gullible in comparison. Don’t know what that is? Don’t worry, just a bit of Transient humor. Ask that friend of yours, that Hunter guy. I bet he’ll get a chuckle out of it.”

“Actually,” Fawkes said, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“...and by ‘that’, I doubt you mean the Stasi. Yeah, I figured. I’ll try to be as honest as I can without breaking my oaths to Elder Rook.”

“Oaths?” she asked, incredulous. “Lad, what in Grimnir’s name do you think I’m going to ask you?”

“Uhhh… the Ascension?”

They stared at each other for a moment, both equally baffled.

“What do I care about the Ascension?” she finally asked.

“I thought… You know what? Forget it. Ask me anything you like.”

“Oh, I get it,” Fawkes rolled her eyes, catching on. “Let me guess - Rook assumed I was fishing for intel to help Wroth in their little pissing contest, right?”

“More or less,” Muirden smiled sheepishly.

“Wroth’s a boor and a bore to boot. Couldn’t care less about any of that. I promised I’d give a hand with training the Aspirants, sure, but I doubt he’d let me do much.”

“Different teaching styles?”

“You could say that,” Fawkes nodded with a slight smirk. “Among other things.”

“Anyway,” Muirden shrugged, pulling out a pipe. He packed it with a mix of dried, aromatic herbs, then snapped his fingers, igniting it with a small spark. He took a slow drag and exhaled. “So, how can I help you?”

Fawkes glanced toward the forest, her gaze distant, the lines on her brow deepening as she frowned. Her thoughts churned. Now that she finally had the chance to do so, the actual questions she wanted to ask Muirden eluded her, stayed just out of reach.

“What I really want to know,” she said at last, her words slow and measured, “is how to understand someone who is Transient. How to connect with them... better.”

“Oh,” Muirden said. “You mean your friend, right? Hunter. Yeah, sure, ask me anything you like.”

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“Tell me about your world, for starters. There’s many of them, or so I gather. Are you from the same one, you and Hunter?”

Muirden blinked, clearly taken aback. He rubbed his chin, the pipe still smoldering in his other hand.

“Yes? I mean, I think so. I suppose we are, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. Things sometimes get... blurry.” He shrugged, baffled. “I guess I never really thought about it like that.”

Fawkes nodded slowly, her eyes drifting back to the trees as she mulled over his answer.

“What’s it really like, living in that world of yours?” she turned back to Muirden with her next question. “You’ve got comforts, right? Is it all as soft as I imagine, or do you have your own troubles, too?”

Muirden’s expression darkened, and he seemed to weigh his words carefully, like he was sifting through memories.

“Oh, yeah, we've got comforts, sure. Most of us got cars, hot water on demand, roofs that don’t leak, and food pretty much whenever we want it. Compared to this world, it sounds like a dream, right?”

“Can’t say that it doesn’t.”

Muirden chuckled, though there wasn’t much humor in it.

“Well, it’s not all soft like you’d think. Survival's different back home – no wolves or monsters to fight off, but there’s this... constant grind. You’re always running, always working just to keep up. Bills, bosses, deadlines... it’s like a slow grind on your soul. Sure, most days you don’t have to worry about where your next meal’s coming from, but it wears you down in other ways. Some days, it feels like the world’s crushing you just as much as any fight would here.”

Fawkes considered his words. They made sense, in a way. They made some things clearer, things she’d been wondering about.

“Is that why you Transients are this eager to dive into danger like it’s a grand adventure?” she asked next. “Or is that just you lot thinking you're the heroes of some tale?”

“A bit of both,” Muirden said. “Depends on the person, really. Some would treat their time in this world like a story or a game. Those are the people that give us Transients a bad rap. Tell a man he can do what he wants with no real consequences, and you’re bound to see his ugly side.”

“Consequences,” Fawkes repeated slowly, as if turning the word in her mouth, tasting it. “Not even death will touch you. That changes how you see the world, I suppose.”

“Oh, that’s a common misunderstanding. Death touches us plenty. Sure, it doesn’t usually stick. But it feels every bit as painful as… well, the more permanent version. Do it enough times, and it’s bound to break you.”

“Can that affect you back in your own world?”

That gave Muirden pause.

“Long story short, yeah. Of course. The physical stuff doesn’t carry over between worlds, but the psychological sure does. Full transparency, though - I’m not talking from experience here. I’m a bit of a, ugh… special case.”

Fawkes raised an eyebrow.

“How so, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Most people hop back and forth. They log into this world, spend some time here while their original bodies are sleeping, then log out and wake up again. Like a dream of sorts.”

“That’s what I thought, yes.”

“Well…” Muirden seemed to struggle with how to express the next part, so he fumbled with his pipe some more. “See, I got into a rough spot. Before, I mean. In my own world.” He paused, taking another drag, clearly not used to talking about this. “There was a... situation. Things got heated, fists flew. Cops showed up, and it didn’t end well for me. I took a hit – hard one. Next thing I know, I’m waking up here. My original body? Still lying in a hospital bed, as far as i know, hooked up to machines.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Fawkes, and meant it. In her eyes, that painted the man in a new light.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged. “So yeah, that’s why I’m in this place. My body was done for, but my mind... Well, it was still running. So, they offered me this world. Figured it would be better than rotting away in some hospital while the real me was stuck in a coma.”

“Is that why you seem to never pop off to your world, like Hunter has to do every few hours? I was meaning to ask you about that.”

“Initially, yes. I was too scared to log out, to be honest. If I went back, even for a second, I might have gotten stuck there for good. Now I’ve gone full native, though. No going back for me even if I wanted to.”

Fawkes blinked, taken aback.

“You’re telling me that’s even possible? Just… staying here? Permanently?”

Muirden leaned back, staring into the distance as he mulled over how to explain it.

“You know, I have this theory. Being a Transient is kind of like… well, like a gestation period. Know what I mean?” He took a slow drag from his pipe. “We Transients, we’re like babies growing inside the womb of this world. Our minds, they get copied over here, bit by bit, while the old body’s still ticking away back home.”

Fawkes tilted her head, eyes narrowing.

“Once that copying’s done,” Muirden went on, “once you’re ‘born’ here, so to speak, you get to make a choice. You can stay tethered to both worlds, kinda like a kid hanging onto the umbilical cord. Or you can cut it and fully live here. Split yourself. But once you make the choice - cut the tether - there’s no going back.”

Fawkes leaned in slightly, skeptical.

“And you're sure about that?”

Muirden took another slow puff, blowing the smoke out lazily.

“That’s just my theory,” he shrugged. “But I’ve seen enough to think it’s more or less accurate. The ones who keep popping back and forth? They’re still baking. But you can only stay half in, half out for so long. Sooner or later, you’ve got to make a choice.”

“And you think that’s true for all Transients?”

“Technically? Yeah," Muirden said, his tone casual but thoughtful. "But I don’t think just anyone can choose to stay over here, easy as that. My theory is it takes effort. The more you treat this world like it’s your world - the more ties you build with its people, the more you care about what happens here - the easier it gets. Like, the more you put into it, the more it pulls you in. Again, just a theory. Wasn’t much of a choice for me, anyway, what with being stuck in a hospital bed back home, playing vegetable, so your mileage may vary. But for most folks? I figure they’ve got to want it, and I mean really want it, to make the leap.”

He was about to say more when a quartet of Behemoth Nation braves emerged from the treeline - another patrol.

“One other thing, before we get our party crashed,” he quickly changed the subject. “Elder Rook forbade me to talk about the whole Ascension thing, but what the hell. See, Transients like us, we’re wired differently. We’ve got this thing called the System, and all the Skills, Abilities, and whatnot that come with it.”

“I’m aware,” Fawkes said.

“Here’s the thing. There’s things your friend can learn from Wroth and the way he trains his Aspirants. Discipline, technique, maybe a bit of grit. But having him stick to a Path like that is trying to teach a bird to climb a damn tree. Sure, you can make ‘em do it. But the bird’s got better ways of getting to the top. Wings, for one. Catch my drift?”

“Yes,” Fawkes said, eyes narrowing as she considered his words. “I believe I do.”

***

Their talk cut shorter than she would have liked, Fawkes and Muirden joined the other patrol and set off toward the camp. There’d be time enough for deeper talks later, perhaps, if their patrolling duties allowed it.

Still, Muirden's words had already sparked something deeper in her thoughts. There was a way for Hunter to stay, should he choose to, overcome the impermanence of his nature. For reasons she couldn’t quite name, that shifted something inside her, something that made her view the road ahead, and Hunter, in a different light.

There was something else too, though. Fawkes couldn't shake Muirden's gestation analogy from her mind. The idea of Transients being reborn in this world brought to her mind what the Wise Woman predicted the night she’d read the ashes for her.

‘You’re thick with child,’ Hallara had told her. ‘A son, strong and wild, destined for greatness. But beware, for if you carry this child to term, it will come at a great cost. You will die in childbirth.’

A shiver crept up Fawkes's spine, but it had nothing to do with the cold bite of the Weald’s air beneath the trees.

Those words unsettled her more than she cared to admit .