Perhaps it ought to be expected, but Rhode very much did not enjoy feeling helpless. Or, depending on one’s context and perspective, maybe that could have been a surprise after all: the earth-man had had a great deal of time to come to terms with the absence of control. After losing both of his parents, his marriage – after a life spent building an uncertain future in a society which cared only for success: he had found only sickness.

And the end of his story.

That changed how a person looked at things. Rebellion, outrage, ambition, these feelings were all well and good, but they belonged to the young. Real life was about discovering early on that problems couldn’t be solved with violence and upheaval. Cancer can’t be punched into submission. Love can’t be argued back to life. No amount of teenage revolt would have brought his dad back. So the truth that Rhode had needed to admit to himself in all this mess, dread, and uncertainty was: that he simply wasn’t young any–

Wait a minute. Let me check my notes. That’s what I thought, screw that! The man was thirty-two for goodness sake: that’s not even middle-aged. Snap out of it, you twit.

Rhode’s brow wrinkled. A dead man was walking down a corridor, in a finely furnished palace, in a world that that he didn’t think of as his own. But he wasn’t deceased, that was maudlin thinking. He was present, and vital – and things weren’t so bad as long as you forgot about the…

Forgot about the what? Rhode thought. Oh, something didn’t seem right about that.

The homunculus’ feet plodded along bare marble as he veered off of the carpet. He was passing through even more gaudy scenery, all in variations of bronze and green color schemes. It seemed unending, and his reeling mind savored it with wry aesthetic suffering.

“Gauche. That’s a weird word,” he chuckled. “Gauche.”

“Ser Dreadlung,” the boy said. “You are hurting my hand.”

“Oh, sorry,” Rhode murmured. He loosened his grip on a tiny, weak-chinned goblin soldier’s fingers. Placidly, he allowed himself to be led forward as if he was a child. Two other uniformed soldiers were running ahead of them. The first was another young man, and he was clearing their way by asking any passersby to withdraw to an adjoining room. The second was a woman of severe expressions, and she was doing the same thing; except with short words that were very much less polite.

Oh, there was somebody holding Rhode’s hand. “Hey, can I trust you?” Rhode asked the young man. The Hero wasn’t sure, there was something about the uniform which should have been giving him important hints. The goblin’s tunic was cinder and rose, and embroidered with spades and little, happy skulls.

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“Um. Ser, I think I would like to say yes. But… probably not?” replied the boy, as his ears drooped.

The homunculus had to consider that for a moment. He spoke slowly, his sentences broken up by long, unusual pauses. “Are you sure? That kinda sounds like an honest thing to say. I guess I’ll trust you not to trust you then, little buddy.” He halted and let go.

Briefly, the other soldiers had to double back. In something of a fright, it took all three to convince Rhode to start walking again. It wasn’t that the giant was trying to make trouble; it was just that he was weighed down by a dense feeling of uncertainty. Plus (even though he couldn’t figure out why), there was something that he didn’t like about the woman’s uniform. It was mostly dark black, but with a stripe of color on its right: and the orange sleeve and flank of her outfit was patterned with a familiar flower print. Why didn’t he like those colors? Those were Brand’s colors.

And Brand was only half-jerk.

The other kid wasn’t bad. He had ruffles on his cuffs, but they weren’t the worst. His livery was smoke trimmed in mint, and for some reason it reminded Rhode a little of Ser Yune. The three scampered around him, pushing from behind and pulling from ahead, pleading with their Hero all the while. To witness the scene in its full indignity, it was great deal like the hulking man was in a trance, or fugue. What a fun word. Say it out loud with me: fugue.

Though he couldn’t have known it, homunculus was suffering from a malfunction inside of the nervous tissue: in a little squishy bit called a hippocampus. Brains were, or are, fascinating instruments. They accomplish so many amazing little tasks, quietly and without as much praise as they deserve. However, this particular little cuboid of meat had a task, and it was important. Its job was to take all of Rhode’s thoughts of things which were immediate, and from a carefully selected few that were deemed important at any given moment, a handful of memories would be sent elsewhere for long-term storage.

But right now, those images, sounds and impressions were simply… going nowhere.

There was another issue, but it was subtler and more complicated, so instead Rhode focused on his minders. And on the walls. And on the many baroque paintings, full of kneeling, ecstatic goblins, and the stoic, distant gaze of the taller figures rising above them like patronizing angels.

Rhode lifted a hand, and stuck a thumb straight through the canvas of a portrait of the 3rd Earl of Malachite, punching a ragged hole through before his minders could stop him. Rhode only actually felt guilt once the young man with lacy wrists started to cry.

There were a lot of things that Rhode wasn’t sure about: like what he was doing, or where he was going, or why. He knew he needed another level, and that there would be a doctor ready for him when he arrived. But that was all very vague information, wasn’t it? So instead, Rhode began to focus inwards. Maybe he was looking for answers, but instead he found [Hibernate]. It was his first level and probably his least favorite: a kind of power that seemed to take more from him than it gave back. But curiously, now he wasn’t feeling like his level was tempting him to sleep. No, Rhode decided, it was doing something different.

Rhode wasn’t tired, but leaned into [Hibernate] anyways. He stopped struggling, surrendering to an uncertain destination. Then gradually, the homunculus drifted, and then started to dream.