Souls can be separated from the body by complex, but not impossible, means. The soul itself is immortal; after it’s been created, it spends its time in the living lands, then sinks into the Underworld to reside forever. So the soul—what makes a person human—and their fleeting life—another characteristic of humanity—is not the same. The “lifespan” comes “attached” to the soul. It, too, can be removed, and can be added on to another’s to create a relatively longer life. When a soul is given physical form, the “lifespan” takes a new form as well. But, of course, giving a soul a physical form—removing it from the body, keeping it from ever entering the Underworld—kills whoever the soul belonged to. It is a dire price to pay, indeed, for “immortality.”

That’s what she’d read that evening, tucked away on a little note. She’d been adverse to it, at first—after all, it could be seen as killing. But she reminded herself of what was taken from her and what she was determined to get back. Then, after a little while, she didn’t even have to use the excuse of “remembering Cyrene” to keep her going.

All she needed was the little drawing of Rhuni and Mekha, and the promise she made to herself about getting them back.

“You know, there’s a town now—a little ways down the mountain,” Helyana said. She was talking to Mekha; or, at least, that’s what she told herself. She knew he was still alive, even if he wasn’t responsive, so she made a point to talk with him. It made her feel a little less isolated… a little less insane. “I can’t believe they’d build something so close to where the demons were. But… I suppose it makes sense. By now those humans don’t remember what happened there. The survivors sent it all up in flames, just like they did with most of Cyrene.”

She took out her tools to do some maintenance on him. “I think I should consider it a good thing, though. Those meddling brats wouldn’t know what they’re messing with until it’s too late.”

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She crushed a vaguely glowing soul until it was nothing more than dust, then mixed it in with a paste made of odd flowers. She couldn’t remember where, exactly, she’d learned the recipe—how she learned how to repair a broken soul. All she remembered was that she’d been trying it for the past couple of decades—or maybe it was the past couple of centuries, she wasn’t sure anymore—to heal Mekha’s soul.

It didn’t really work.

Well, it worked, but only because it maintained his condition. It didn’t make things better or worse. She hypothesized the crushed physical souls were supposed to be replaced with something else, but she neither had the idea of nor resources to obtain whatever that something was.

At least, not yet.

“It’s almost sad. They were meant to have long and healthy lives… but they made the mistake of coming across me, and trying to find us.” Her nose scrunched up. “They call me a demon. A foul mistress who devours the souls of anyone who comes up to my estate. I don’t think they’ve really seen what a demon does, though. They’d know I’m the lesser of two evils, if they saw what happened to Cyrene.” She paused. “Or care to remember it.”

Helyana shook her head to clear it. “I still don’t know where Rhuni is. I’m afraid her soul’s like yours… or worse. But I can’t leave the estate for too long and I don’t have the resources to spare to repair and send out an Automation. I barely have the resources to keep maintaining you…”

“I’ll figure something out,” she decided confidently. “As your mother, I promise I’m going to get you both back. I don’t care how long it takes. Humans were never meant to obtain immortality—it was supposed to be a myth. But, for my family, I’ll do anything. I’ve already dug myself too deep in the grave anyway… I can’t take back anything I’ve done, and continuing to tinker with souls won’t make things worse. One can’t tip scales that have already reached the ground—reached the point of absolute chaos—any further. There’s no going back—only forward. And let’s hope I’m able to trick fate for as long as it takes to see us all together again…”