1

Frey and Buta finally entered the forest of Fall. Unloading their bags with exhausted sighs, they sat to take in a not-so-warm sun, feeling warmer only by comparing the cold from Winter before. Forty degrees was warmer than zero. Frey made sure to dent the wood in such a way that her giant club would not roll off the edge, just before the two slammed their heavy winter outfits against the bark to knock off the snow that caked them. Buta kneeled down and started to create a campfire.

“What are you doing?” Frey asked. The pink-skinned avilop was rummaging through her bag, searching for something to eat.

“Making a fire,” Buta said, striking flint and steel on a small kindling.

“But we need to go. We can’t just wait around here,” she said, pulling out a small red fruit to snack on. She donned a long and thick white mantle to protect herself from the wind, and stretched her pink wings apart through slits in its back, letting the cool Fall air hit them.

“I know how you feel but you can't deny our exhaustion,” Buta said, blowing lightly on the cinders until the pile began to catch. “I mean, look at your clock.” The simple clock above Frey’s head had stopped worryingly close to growing orange, its face green only for the moment. “Let's rest. They have to come to us anyway.”

Frey looked like she was ready to argue but quickly held her breath; she was tired. Tired from the hours spent trekking through blizzards and deep snow, and tired from carrying Buta and everything as she flew over the plains on a calm day. She let out a long yawn, stretching her eight-foot wingspan far to either side. She sat down and removed the uncomfortable boots she was required to wear in deep snow and brought out a small pillow that she rested her head on. She closed her emerald eyes and began to nap.

Buta stuck her hand out to brush some errant strands of hair from her face only for Frey to bat them away. “I’m not a child anymore…” Frey mumbled, turning over for what little privacy that allowed. Buta should have felt some semblance of sadness at her objection, but instead she grew a small smile. The sniveling little child she first met all those years ago was growing up… But felt a sadness deep within herself when she remembered the cause for this sudden and extreme growth. The boy that had brought her to them, that same headstrong boy who grew up into a fine young man himself, was gone.

She knelt down and planted a motherly peck on Frey’s cheek, then took out her own items to sleep. Buta laid down next to her daughter and looked up through the cracks of the ceiling of leaves above, letting crisp pieces of gold and brown float down from high on their tired bodies…

They made great time—amazing time. But whether that time was well spent would be decided in just days. Buta closed her eyes and fell asleep.

2

Vincenzo, Plum, and Cammo walked along the branches with little opposition, only stopping for the occasional drink and snack, filling their canteens at small waterfalls flowing from the trees’ great heights. They continued like this for another week, growing accustomed to the bite in the air. They actually started to like it. Vincenzo loved it. The sun didn’t beat on him and after his encounter with the fly, nothing else came to greet them. So when Cammo said that they should be close to the end of Fall, the two couldn’t help but feel down. But then the girl remembered the ocean and cheered up. She reminded Vincenzo of his promise and hurried him along with gusto, hurrying them from the moment they woke with half-open eyes and groans of exhaustion, until the orange hue of a coming night.

“Looks like it's getting late…” Plum said.

Rays of the setting sun came through the interlocked web of branches above them in sporadic beams, bouncing off the falling leaves as the rest of the forest around them darkened. Vincenzo loved just being in the presence of it, feeling more at peace than he ever had back in Italy. In front of him was beauty he would’ve never imagined before. He didn’t know what it was; maybe it was the shape of the clouds, maybe it was because it rained a day prior, maybe it was the temperature. Whatever it was, it was making the sunset a dream.

But a pretty sunset wasn’t going to uncurse him. Vincenzo had the starting’s of a headache. Every night, Cammo put him to “sleep”, and that “sleep” granted him a next-day hike of relative peace, and the start of the next night it would grow again. But, curiously enough, he hadn’t had a single hallucination despite their warnings, and he had no idea why. The damn things had been there even after Cammo punched his jaw off, his headache never left, and the emp told him that the curse wouldn’t lift until the caster was dead. So why was he sane? The spider on the beetle was the last figment he saw before moving on from it altogether. Should he worry about it? It was a silly question but one he had to ask nevertheless, and one he knew the answer to. If he had to ask himself: the answer was yes. Something fucked was going on, but he didn’t know what.

“Papa,” Plum said, turning to her father with a grin. “Knock, knock!”

Cammo rolled his eyes (a little hard to decipher when the eye is one solid color). “What?” he said.

She pouted in such a way that no one in the world would be able to refuse her—Vincenzo included.

He decided to continue in the emp’s place: “Fine… Who's there?”

“Water!”

“Water who?”

“Water you waiting for! Answer the door!” she laughed, having to stop for a moment as innocent giggles escaped her.

Both Vincenzo and Cammo exchanged short glances of pure indifference. She looked at Cammo, who kept his expression, and switched over to Vincenzo, who feigned a small amount of joy.

“Did I do it right?” she asked.

“I didn't know you knew knock-knock jokes. And that was pretty… good,” Vincenzo answered.

Her smile grew even wider with pride. Vincenzo looked at her French braid and spotted multiple frayed hairs…

“Do you want me to redo your braid?”

“Uh huh! I was meaning to ask but didn’t want to seem rude. Do you know any other styles?”

“Yeah, have anything in mind?”

She tossed a small, observant glance towards her father. “Do you know what Berminalitays style is?”

Her father began to stare at her sideways as they walked.

“I have to say I don’t,” Vincenzo said. He didn't even know how to pronounce it.

“It's when you braid two tails facing outwards on the back of your head. Then you curl them up and tie them together in the middle,” she explained.

Cammo turned his attention back onto the path ahead.

What’s up with them? he thought. There was something going on underneath the surface, but he couldn’t tell what. “That sounds complicated…”

Plum turned around with a sad and disappointed look on her face.

“But I’ll try my best,” Vincenzo smiled, patting her lightly on the back; a maneuver that needed him to crouch a fair deal. “I’m sure I can manage it.”

She smiled wider than he’d ever seen her smile before, and they went on for a little while longer. It wasn’t quite night yet.

“Hey, Vincenzo?” Plum said.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you a moon-man? Papa explained what it means to be one… but with the way you treat me makes me think you're not that kind of person.” In her voice was the hope that she was right and her father was wrong, but she knew the answer.

He knew she knew the answer. Vincenzo’s small grin faded away as he followed closely behind. Cammo barely paid the conversation any mind, at least as far as Vincenzo could tell. “Cammo, you said it was a sacrifice, right? Not outright murder?”

“Yes, the two may be similar, but they are different,” Cammo muttered.

Vincenzo turned his attention back to the child who was now tossing curious glances back at him. “I killed someone I loved,” Vincenzo casually admitted.

They turned to look at him; Plum was in shock but Cammo, like always, wore a mask of stoicism. He let them both drink in the look on his face, wiped said look off his face, and then continued on without another word.

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“W-why would you tell me that?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

“You already knew, didn’t you? I mean, he had to have told you how I got here…” He looked over his shoulder at her.

“Well yes, but… Why did you have to say it!” she yelled, becoming angrier and teary eyed.

The fact that she knew the whole time set off a fuse in him. Why the hell did she bother getting close, then? Why the hell did she put herself in danger? The bomb was him. “You're too naive!” Vincenzo exploded, facing his massive body back to her. “How long did you know about it? How long did you know what it took?!”

As he grew closer and more imposing, Plum began to shrink back. Her once resistant expression faded away as tears began to stream down her face. Cammo only stood by, passive to the situation with crossed arms.

“I knew it before you even saved me!” she cried. And it was a cry, as she had burst into tears. “I knew it since I was six!”

Vincenzo looked at her in anger for a moment before regret replaced it. She was too young to scream at like he was doing, and too blameless. The blame was his. He never should’ve gotten close. Now look at what you’ve done, he thought. “I’m sorry, Plum… But you shouldn't trust people so easily… you'll die like that. You shouldn’t trust me… In fact, you shouldn’t even get close.”

“What’re you gonna do? Kill me?” she said, looking up at him with more betrayal than outright anger. It was more of a challenge than a question.

“No!” he said. “Why would I do that? I’d never do that.”

“Then why shouldn't I trust you? Why is it so important?” Plum asked, trying her best to wipe away the tears. “Why are you pushing me away?”

A good liar knew when to tell the truth. “Because I’m not a good person, Plum. I’m not,” he said, wiping the tears off her face with his thumb. “I never was, and I never will be. And there’s nothing anyone could do about it, okay?”

“I don’t think that's true…” she argued, sniffling a bit. The worst of her crying was over.

“It's not about what you think… It’s not about what anyone thinks… It's what I know,” Vincenzo said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you… I don’t like to think about it; when I do, it gets me angry.”

“It's okay… as long as you apologized…” Plum said. She wiped away the final tear with her pink sleeve. “I forgive you. Because I think you’re good, Vincenzo.”

There was no use arguing with her, he thought. She’d learn to hate him the same time she’d learn that it was his father that was hunting them. And even if she still liked him, then, his betrayal would seal the deal. Vincenzo wasn’t going to see one ocean or any ocean with her. He was sure of it. After she was safe, he’d find a good place to die and something to die for—just like on Earth. That’s all he was really looking for in the end. “Come on, let's get as far as we can before the sun sets completely….”

3

They continued like that for a while, but as they walked Plum lagged behind… She watched her large friend carry his heavy pack along without complaint, her mind bouncing ideas against the inside of her skull, trying her best to figure out what the pale, black-eyed giant was all about. But one thing was clear: she loved him. She loved him the same way she loved her mother. And in many ways, the moon-man reminded Plum of Locine. Whatever reasons he had to do it, I’m sure he had good ones, she thought, remembering his abrupt confession. Vincenzo isn’t a bad man. I know it. It was true in the only place that really mattered, in her heart. He wouldn’t change her mind. A bad man would have never risked his life to save hers. She eventually caught up with them, keeping their pace with a faint smile on her lips, and just for a bit, she forgot about their secrets.

4

Night came without trouble.

The camp had been made just before the last rays of an orange sun disappeared, and Vincenzo was glad for that. The fire that Cammo constructed crackled, and they basked in its comforting warm glow, feeling safe and comfortable within its range. It was a cold night, much colder than any of the nights prior. Each of them huddled in their own blankets, hiding their hands and faces from the frigid air as if it were poison. Their comfort wasn't helped by the howling wind that replaced the slightly mischievous breeze the day brought on, sounding eerie as hell. Vincenzo knew that it was just one of those haunting noises that nature produced, like a barn owl’s screech, the cry of a crow, or the howl of wolves—but that didn’t make it any less unnerving. He was still a city-boy at heart, he assumed, even if he’d grown much more accustomed to traveling and living in the rough. At least that bag stopped being so heavy, he thought idly. His soreness after a long day's trek had weakened too. He was probably just getting used to it, he thought… Or had he just gotten stronger? The scream of the night made him remember how bloody cold a Fall night could be and pulled the thick blanket tighter. He could think another day. It was too cold to think.

It was dark as well. Anything out of the fire's immediate glow was an impenetrable black wall as the two moons hid from sight among the trees' tight crown… This was one of the moments he remembered his fear of the dark, and he eyed it suspiciously within the grace of the campfire.

Plum seemed to share the feeling. Despite the natural night vision her giant red eyes gave her, she couldn’t see a thing beyond the flame; it interfered with her ability to adjust her eyes to the black, she said. She scooted her small body over to Vincenzo, joining him under his comparatively large blanket. Feeling both strange and natural he wrapped an arm around her, and to his surprise she didn’t cringe away. Instead, she only rested her head on his big body, her shivering coming to a stop.

“I thought you didn’t want me to get close?” she mumbled, keeping her heavy eyes on the fire.

“I guess there's no stopping you… Well, there is one way… But that’d entail violence, and I’m not doing that. And you don’t seem to listen to reason either. So, this is all I can do…” he relented, looking into the flame. He didn’t like fire, but he also couldn’t deny how captivating the thing was, especially when you relied on it. Fire killed him, but without it he’d be as good as dead. How ironic, he thought. He looked down at the emp and told another lie: “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

It was small and quiet moments like this that he really seemed to become aware of his surroundings. Vincenzo became aware of more than just that actually. The days of journey melted together in his head, each day almost identical to the last: wake up, eat breakfast, walk for a bit, lunch, walk for a while, set up camp, dinner, sleep. But there was also something deeply rewarding about the whole ordeal, how each day chipped away at their ultimate goal. He guessed that was why he didn’t dread waking up every morning, or find it difficult to get out of bed, or hate the coming day.

“Mama always said I was stubborn like that,” she mumbled, her eyelids falling.

The wind restated its superiority with a howl that overcame the flame, quieting the child and any other chance of conversation. The moon-man’s incessant headache dulled, making him wonder if a natural (not getting jaw punched off, he was getting tired of that) sleep possible. But even if it was, would he have nightmares? If that was the case, he’d let Cammo do his work any day.

Cammo of all people finally broke the peace by rummaging through the pockets of Vincenzo’s pack, pulling out three small tin mugs. Plum, who had almost begun to slumber, and Vincenzo, who was enamored by the flame, both raised their tired heads in curiosity. Next the skinny man pulled out a small leather pouch filled with brown powder and his canteen full of water, and combined them in a covered saucepan.

“What are you doing?” Plum finally asked.

He moved it over the raging flame, heating it quickly, using a small wooden soup ladle to stir it. “I was saving this for the cold nights up ahead, but no hurt’ll come from a little bit now… Just a minute. Maybe two.”

Two minutes passed and he poured three mugs before handing them out. Vincenzo leaned in to take a small sniff, pulling the rim up to his mouth. “It's… hot chocolate?”

Plum followed suit, dragging the tin to her mouth and taking a small sip. “It’s delicious!” she said, just before taking large gulps. “It’s amazing!”

“Holy crap!” Vincenzo shouted, chugging it down as well. “Where is this from? Cocoa beans are found on Earth, how did it get here?”

Cammo gently sipped the chocolate gold and favored him with a satisfied, yet small, smile. “I didn't even know that…” Cammo muttered, removing the tin from his lips. “It isn't that out of place however, as spells and the like can bring such things into existence. A moon-man might have decided he wanted this plant, made this plant using a spell, and somewhere along the line it was cultivated, or a seed fell and started to grow naturally. A lot of the plants and animals of Overworld have such an origin. Just as the many plants and animals can trace their origins from Craters.”

“That explains a lot actually…” Vincenzo said, taking another small sip.

“How do you mean?” Plum asked. She held out her mug as if asking for seconds. Cammo obliged, pouring her another cup.

“I noticed a lot of things that were similar to where I came from,” Vincenzo said. “Like the charcoal toothpaste we brush our teeth with, or your vocabulary, and some of your other tools; it just means the other moon-men had some kind of effect on you guys.”

“I don't get it. If you moon-men are so powerful, then why isn't it more obvious?” Plum questioned. “Why aren't you guys the ultimate leaders of the world?”

“One: how would I even know? I just got here. Two: how would you even know if moon-men weren’t on top? For all me and you know, the entire world could be under their command. So ask that guy,” Vincenzo explained, pointing to Cammo on his last sentence.

“Moon-men in control…” Cammo said. The emp finished his cup before refilling it again. “Very few moon-men really survive the first month. They always pop out near areas with high concentrations of mana, and wizards usually hang out in populated areas when the time comes. So, between that, starvation, poisonous fruits and vegetables, monsters, wildlife, the elements, and just being murdered by townspeople, very little make it. The time between the Blood Moon’s awakening is too long as well. Can't take over the entire world without soldiers. The Guerrieros are the only ones who’ve done that.”

“You chose to say ‘entire’ instead of something else,” Vincenzo commented. The drink warmed him to the core, but, God, he could do with a shot of espresso or even a cup of coffee. He doubted Cammo had any of that, though.

“Well of course. Just because there are not very many doesn’t mean they have no presence… Some rule nations, lands, and groups of warriors if they grow in power enough…” Cammo said. The emp finished his second cup in a long chug. “Overworld is a big place.”

“Oh, yeah! Before I forget, can you braid my hair now?” Plum asked, looking up at Vincenzo.

Vincenzo placed the tin at his side. “Wouldn't you want that done in the morning?”

“It needs to be done before sleeping,” Plum said. “Please?”

Vincenzo shrugged and started to brush her hair, removing any knots and straightening out the rest. He thought of what she meant by it needing to be done before sleep, but he then decided he didn't really care. She wanted it done before sleep; she’d get it done before sleep.

“Just a second ago we were all ready to turn in,” Cammo pointed out. “Are you sure you're not tired?”

Cammo glanced up at Vincenzo while silently clutching the back of his own head to remind the Italian of his much needed (almost deadly) sleep-aid. Vincenzo decided that he might as well be safe about it and take the beating. “I’ll sleep later.”

“Me too! That chocolate was pretty good,” Plum said.

“I see…” Cammo said.

Silence began to grow between them as Vincenzo finally started to brush her hair. “Hey, how about a story?” Plum asked, facing her father. “We have time to kill.”

Cammo grew a subtle smile. “A story, eh?” he said, sitting a little straighter. “Have I ever told you about how I met your mother?”

Plum shook her head. “You never told me any stories. Mama did. But she never explained how you met.”

“Then I’m going to tell it,” he said, “but neither of you ask me about Slogine or how I met him. If you do, then I’ll shut my lips tight and you’ll never hear that story again, understand?”

They both nodded.

“Then listen close…”