Soft moonlight shines in through the tall windows of the room, encasing them all. Fresh lets out an excited noise, gasping. “Jubilee! Jubilee!” she exclaims, pressing her ear against the elf’s stomach.

Jubilee rolls their eyes. “Will you get away from her?” they bark, grabbing her arm and yanking her back a step. “Gods… you have the survival instincts of a slime.” Shamrock turns his head. “Not a word, Shamrock,” warns Jubilee. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“So the ritual worked?” asks Fresh. “I wasn’t sure, because you left.”

“Of course it worked, dummy,” barks Jubilee. “She’s almost as fat as Basil.”

“Settle down,” sighs Basil. “You get angry when you’re scared.”

“I’m always angry, Basil,” remarks Jubilee. “Have you seen what my life has amounted to?”

“First hand,” replies Basil. The priestess lifts her gaze towards the elf and the others. “What is this?”

The barkeeper from the north sits down on the staircase, leaning back and exhaling. “You’d be surprised how exhausting it is.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” replies Basil. “What is this?” she repeats, taking a somewhat sterner tone. “You're the central-authority?” she asks, looking at the group. “We know half of you.”

“Yeah,” replies the barkeeper, leaning back. “Sorry about that,” she apologizes. “But we’ve been keeping tabs on you, personally.”

“Hell of a way to do it,” throws in Jubilee. “Talk about putting yourself in the middle of things,” they say, rolling their eyes.

The barkeeper laughs, rubbing her stomach. “Well. You understand. Sometimes an opportunity comes that’s too rare to just pass up, you know?” She shakes her head, strands of hair dangling around. “But we like to take care of things ourselves. I’m sure you know, Jubilee?”

“Nobody said you’re allowed to use my name,” they remark.

“What about your old one?” asks the barkeeper.

“I will kill you and your unborn child right here and now if you say it,” remarks Jubilee.

“Jubilee!” hisses Fresh, aghast. “That’s pretty dark. Even for us.”

The barkeeper shakes her head, looking over her shoulder and up the stairs at the other five, who are still sitting there on their thrones. “Are you guys going to come down here, or are you really going to make a pregnant woman sit by herself with a witch and a demon and a slime?”

“You forgot Basil,” remarks Fresh, grabbing the priestess.

“- And a corrupt priestess,” adds the barkeeper.

“…Corrupt?” mutters Basil beneath her breath.

Fresh smiles, latching on to Basil. “It’s official now, Basil! You’re just like us!”

“Wait, what?” asks Basil.

‘Bob’ and the orc from the forge get up, as does the ‘rare-wood staff guy’, leaving only one person sitting there who she doesn’t recognize.

“Who’s that?” asks Fresh, leaning over towards Jubilee.

Jubilee shrugs. “How the hell should I know?”

Fresh blinks. “Isn’t this whole thing a surprise because we’re supposed to know all of these people?” she asks, looking back up towards the last person sitting on her throne.

“What? How the hell should I know?” repeats Jubilee. “Hey!” They point at the last person to still be sitting up atop the staircase. “Get the fuck down here, you snob!”

The unknown woman on the throne sighs, getting up, but only after feeling the gazes of the other five on her.

“Jubilee,” whispers Fresh. “Shouldn’t we be more polite to the nobility?”

“If the nobility wants us to be polite, they can lower our tax-rates,” replies Jubilee, pointing at them. “Fucking highway robbery!”

“I thought it was pretty reasonable,” remarks Basil. “Didn’t we only pay like six percent here?” she asks. “That’s pretty good.”

Jubilee crosses their arms. “The only reason you think that is because you’re used to being crushed and dominated by an oppressing system of power, Basil. You’ve devoted your entire life to getting stepped on.”

“It’s called ‘being a functional member of society’,” says Basil. “Why don’t you try it some time?”

Jubilee glares at Basil. “Why don’t you g -”

“- Guys!” interrupts Fresh, grabbing Jubilee. “The world is ending, remember?”

“Yeah. Let’s talk about that,” says the barkeeper.

The four of them look at each other for a moment.

“Okay. Then let’s hear it,” says Jubilee.

“We don’t want the world to end,” notes the barkeeper, getting right to the point.

Jubilee nods to her. “Understandable. But it’s out of our hands now,” they remark. “Anyways, this is your fault to begin with. Shouldn’t have fucking sent the hero after Perchta, huh? Idiots.”

“That was before my time on the council and an unfortunate error in judgment,” replies the barkeeper, looking at the orc from the orichalcum forge. The man adjusts his collar. “So it is Perchta?” she asks. “We’d assumed as much. Especially with you two involved,” she remarks, looking at Jubilee and Shamrock.

“Dead Perchta,” notes Fresh, lifting a finger. “Not me. The other one.”

“Spiritual logistics sure are a complicated subject,” says Bob, stroking his mustache.

“Right?!” asks Fresh excitedly. Finally, someone who understands. “Oh, Bob. Thanks for buying my mushroom-cap back then!” she says. “I really appreciated it a lot.”

“Just doing my part,” says Bob.

“Actually, on that note,” says Jubilee. “If you don’t want the world to end, then why the fuck have you been helping us?”

The orc from the forge joins in. “We didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Yeah,” says the strange woman. “We just thought you were wandering around and living a quiet life for the most part, so we saw no harm in it.”

“At first,” says Bob.

“At first,” repeats the barkeeper, sighing. “But then after you moved to the east, then there was the whole thing with the wind-elementals that dragged us into a war.”

“And the hero,” says the orc.

“And then the continent-wide dungeon breaks,” says the rare-wood staff guy.

“And now the world’s ending,” says the strange woman. “The wild-hunt has begun.”

“So really, everything was going fine until you moved to the east and then things… escalated,” explains the barkeeper. “Before then, we were perfectly content just watching you. Best not to provoke a sleeping monster, right?” she asks.

Fresh lifts a finger. “I mean… those weren’t things that I wanted to do, you know?” she asks. “I just want to live a fun, quiet life with my friends, but the fountain -”

“-Perchta,” interrupts Jubilee.

“- Has been using me and tricking us,” explains Fresh. Sure, that’s the truth. But it’s also a half-truth. In a sense, she’s perfectly content with being used and tricked to do horrible things by the fountain, as long as her continued existence together with her family is secured. But she won’t say that to them.

“So you’re useful idiots?” asks the orc from the forge.

“Yes,” replies Fresh, not skipping a beat. Is it a lie? No, not really. Is it the whole truth? No… not really.

“That about sums it up,” says Jubilee. “Anyways, I guess we have about until the shield dies down,” they remark. “Then the hero is gonna come back. Good job with that too, by the way,” they say, rolling their eyes. “You people and your fucking ‘heroes’.”

“The hero doesn’t want us,” says the strange woman. “He wants Perchta,” she remarks, pointing at Fresh. “So I suggest that the four of you leave and head somewhere else.”

“And I suggest that you buy a rope and hang yourself with it,” says Jubilee. “But we both know that isn’t going to happen.

“Jubilee!” hisses Fresh. “You’re being super mean!”

The elf lifts a hand. “I think it’s fair of us to ask that you don’t get us all killed,” says the barkeeper. “I know it’s a big ask of us at this point, but it’s all we can hope for.” She points at Fresh’s broom. “The hero is on the east side of the city, waiting for the shield to drop. Why not just take that and fly to the west?” she asks. “You’ll outpace him by weeks.”

“Again,” says Jubilee. “None of this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t, one, kill the old Perchta and two, didn’t summon a new hero, ninety fucking years too early.”

“Sure, and also none of this would have happened if we’d just have locked you all in a cage from day one and buried you underground,” replies the strange woman. “But here we are.”

Jubilee glares at her. “Here we fucking are.”

“How long do we have?” asks Fresh. “Until the eclipse?” She looks up at the others. “That’s when it’s going to happen.” She crosses her arms. “It doesn’t matter if we leave. Perchta doesn’t care about us. We’re just who the hero is after.” She shakes her head. “But Perchta is still going to want to get rid of the central-city, whether we're here or not.”

“Two days,” replies Basil. “If the book was right.”

“Great,” nods Fresh in relief. “That’s enough time.”

“Enough time for what?” asks Jubilee.

Fresh beams, clasping her hands together. “Jubilee~! I have an idea!”

Jubilee sighs. “Basil. When we die, can you say a prayer for me too?”

“Of course,” says Basil, placing a hand on their shoulder.

“Me too,” says Shamrock. Basil nods solemnly, holding out her other hand against his arm.

“Hey!” shouts Fresh, only somewhat offended.