Most places D’Argen had been to in the mortal realm had a sense of echo to him. It felt like he had been there before even those first few steps he took atop Sky Mountain after his fall. It took him a long time to realize that this echo came about due to his other set of memories. There were, however, some places that did not have that echo until much later and some that never had it at all. If he was not so scared of his own mind and the tricks it played on him, he knew that he would be looking at each of those places in wonder.

The cavern they were in now was one of those places without an echo. He had walked every crevice he could find in the weeks since waking up, but not one of them seemed familiar. As he had walked them in search for an escape, he was unable to marvel at them.

The tunnel that Vah’mor led him down was one he had not explored yet. The torch that Vah’mor held and their black-clad back were not a comfort and drew his attention away from how the walls were not detailed at all, like the other tunnel. The ceiling got low enough for Vah’mor to have to duck as well as they held the torch in front of them.

D’Argen’s back started hurting from walking hunched. Then started an incline. The ceiling rose suddenly, revealing a steep incline in the tunnel. Vah’mor walked it as if they had D’Argen’s mahee in their core. After a moment, D’Argen realized that this thought was indeed true. They both ascended the sharp incline with secure steps, finding every nook and cranny in the rock face and balancing on edges that most would slip from.

When the ascend finally ended, Vah’mor said a simple spell and the torch extinguished.

D’Argen startled at the pitch black around him until he realized there was still a source of light. Vah’mor’s black shape hid the faint light for a moment as it moved toward it. D’Argen walked after them, using his mahee without pain for the first time since waking up in the cavern. When Vah’mor disappeared around a bend, D’Argen quickly followed.

Then he realized the source of the light.

They were not above ground. They were looking down into the cavern from high enough to almost touch the ceiling of it. The fires dotted throughout were interspaced with small spheres of warm red light that Abbot must have created. The rest of the Never Born were milling about, so small that D’Argen could barely tell them apart. He thought he recognized Acela walking away from a small group, but it could have been Cana for all he knew.

The view from above was both overwhelming and terrifying. Yet Vah’mor had not said anything. D’Argen shuffled closer to the edge. There was nothing at all under him until the hit to the ground. It was so far down. It would break every bone in his body and cause all of his organs to explode. It could, possibly, even kill him. Wound him enough that not even Darania could put him back together. With his mahee refusing to respond the closer he was to the ground he would not be surprised if he turned into a paste that did not have to be mixed at all for Abbot to create his statue.

The morbid thoughts had him gulping and shuffling on the spot. The toes of one of his boots peeked over the edge.

“I know what you did,” Vah’mor said from beside him.

D’Argen had almost forgotten they were there. Almost. It was hard to ignore their presence. There was something about the most powerful kinesiologist, his own aspect, that made D’Argen uncomfortable. He recalled the white space and how Vah’mor had spoken in a voice not their own to Acela. He realized that it was Vah’mor who had told Acela about this ritual—the statues, the blood, the ashes. What was the purpose? Why did Vah’mor know more than the others?

Was this even the Vah’mor of his other memories?

His mind told him no, but he could not trust it.

His mahee, however, agreed.

“What did I do?” D’Argen finally asked, never looking away from the ground so far below. Would it hurt? Would he be scared as he fell? When he fell through the darkness of the cave, he had been terrified. When he fell through the empty of the white, even more so. The first was the fear of the unknown – but now he could see his path down clearly. In the white space he had been so afraid because of Lilian. Lilian coming at him with his sword.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, when he realized that Vah’mor had said something, but the words did not register.

Vah’mor was glaring at him when D’Argen looked at them.

“Actually, hold on. Do you know where my weapons are?”

“Why? Do you plan to use them?”

“Just my sword,” D’Argen replied with a grin.

Lilian had cried as they fell after him. They had apologized over and over. It was only now as he thought back on it that he realized that they had not apologized for attacking him. No. That was what got him out of that place. They were apologizing for the pain they caused. D’Argen wondered for a moment if it had to be his sword. It had appeared in too many of his visions and memories, so there was something important about it, but…

“Or, any sword, I think, would do,” D’Argen tacked on and eyed Vah’mor’s hips for a hilt. There was none. “Or just… anything that will make sure…” he trailed off, thinking that Lilian had to make sure he died.

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“What are you planning?” Vah’mor asked. They shifted, hands pulling at the edges of the long cloak they wore and hiding their hips from view. Maybe D’Argen had missed the hilt they now hid.

“Maybe I won’t even need a sword,” D’Argen reminisced and looked back over the edge. It was a long drop. There was no way he would survive it. Would he? It would be horrible if he did. Stone crumbled under his boot as he twisted it closer to the edge.

“I took you up here to talk,” Vah’mor said.

“Yes. I know. But I have nothing to say to you.”

“How can you be so rude? Your entire existence has been nothing but a—”

“You’re not real,” D’Argen interrupted with a smile. “I know this now. You’re not. None of this is. It can’t be. I can’t be… my mind would not be that broken.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you know that when Delcaus moved the mountain to end the first demon war, he fell into a coma for centuries?” D’Argen asked but refused to look at the other. “He did not die. His mahee was so overused and his body was so wasted. We all thought that the action alone would kill him, yet he survived. You were so angry with Thar at the time. I remember this. You thought Thar had abandoned his post, which was what caused Delcaus to use up so much of his mahee. And even with the aid of the others—”

“D’Argen? What is this?”

“—Delcaus was still completely vulnerable. Darania had to take care of his body for decades, longer even, to make sure it would still function when his mahee finally restored itself.” D’Argen continued to speak without listening to Vah’mor’s interrupting questions.

“Delcaus made the decision—”

“But you see—” D’Argen continued over whatever Vah’mor was saying, “—Delcaus woke up. He did not say what he experienced all that time, if he was even conscious, but he woke up. Because he used his own mahee. What would happen if you used another’s mahee?”

Finally, he quieted and waited for an answer. That could have been Kiri walking right below him now. It could have been Thar.

“You cannot,” Vah’mor answered after a long moment of silence. “Your mahee is your own.”

“Yet you use ours willingly,” D’Argen answered and inched forward.

“D’Argen. Take a step back.”

“Is this not why you took me up here?”

“No. D’Argen. Take a step back!” This time there was a familiar scent that came out with their words. It felt like burnt and dried blood, as if it had been under the sun on a field of flowers for too long.

It was a mixture that D’Argen recognized easily. Vah’mor was using Acela’s persuasion to talk D’Argen back. Unfortunately for Vah’mor, it did not work. D’Argen leaned over the empty space, on the verge of losing balance. He glanced over his shoulder at Vah’mor and dared a smile.

“Only a slight breeze could push me over the edge,” he said, unaware of where he was going with his words, but knowing they were the right thing to say at that moment. “Or it can bring me back to you.”

“Step away. Please.”

D’Argen grinned and waited. Vah’mor visibly hesitated on the spot. Their feet shuffled for a moment and D’Argen twitched to the edge. Vah’mor lifted one hand and D’Argen let one of his boots slip off the edge completely. Vah’mor dropped their hand. Only the tiniest thread of D’Argen’s mahee was keeping his footing secure and from dropping him into the empty.

He was right.

He had to be.

“I wonder how much time has passed since I used Thar’s mahee. Thar. Do you remember him?”

“Yes! Yes, I do. Please, D’Argen. Step back. You will do no good to anybody—”

“Am I supposed to? Thar is not here, is he? He is the only one who cares for me here. Him and… well…” D’Argen trailed off with a smile.

“Please,” Vah’mor said, and they did not sound like themselves. Nor did they sound like D’Argen’s memories of one of his closest friends. It was not the glare or the creature wearing Vah’mor’s face in the white space. No. This was a much more familiar voice.

D’Argen’s grin relaxed into a serene smile. He was right.

He stepped into the air.

He did not want to close his eyes as the weight of his body fell forward, but instinct told him to look away. Yet his drop was much shorter that he thought it should be and his shoulder suddenly wrenched painfully. When he looked up, Vah’mor was lying on the edge and holding him.

“Why did you do that?!” Vah’mor hissed out and finally, finally, they sounded right. For the first time since D’Argen fell to the mortal realm, the anger and disgust in Vah’mor’s eyes disappeared and was replaced with fear.

D’Argen smiled. “There you are,” he said.

“Give me your other hand.” Vah’mor reached down with their own free hand.

D’Argen thought about it for just a moment. Vah’mor’s grip around his wrist was tight and secure. They were using all of the mahee combined inside them and would not let go. D’Argen considered using his feet to push off the wall, drag Vah’mor down with him. It would be a parody to his fall with Lilian in the empty.

It was worth a shot.

He planted his feet on the rockface and reached out, grabbing Vah’mor’s wrist back with both of his hands. He saw that fear expand in their silver eyes. Then he pushed with all his might, he shoved just enough mahee under his feet to drag Vah’mor off the edge with him.

With somebody to look at, he did not close his eyes. The wind whipped at his back and sent his long hair flying into his eyes, blocking his view for a moment. When it cleared, his fall was not a parody but turning into a mirrored copy.

The grey of the world around him drained away, as if the colours were bleeding in reverse off a white page. The ledge he had pushed off turned into a black outline that faded the further they fell. The ground that should have met his back by then did not come up and the entire world disappeared into that horrible white space that D’Argen knew he had to return to.

And then he watched as Vah’mor’s long black tresses turned lighter and lighter. D’Argen could not see their colour but he knew they were wheat and sunshine. Vah’mor’s features changed, became smaller and rounder. Again, D’Argen did not see the colours but he knew that the eyes staring at him were blue. A unique blue that he had never seen before and would never see again.

Lilian was crying again as they fell, clutching at his wrists. But they were also smiling. D’Argen smiled back and pulled them closer in their fall, hugging their smaller form to his own. He had missed them. He remembered running by their side. He remembered every single moment with Lilian. He felt horrible for not seeing the signs when Lilian tried to take their life and even more so when they finally succeeded.

Somehow, deep down, D’Argen knew that Lilian had not fought the avalanche at all. It should not have been enough to kill them, but he also knew what it meant to give up. Buried in snow, Lilian had let their mahee go. And it had reached for the closest source to return to.

D’Argen had not felt it at the time, but he knew now. Lilian’s mahee was with him. It was with him and with Thar.

All that was left now was to wait for the impact.