The heat from Allastair’s body radiates through his steel armor, and the warmth makes 11 not want to leave his arms. She does not need to be carried, of course, but she does not request to get down either, though every passing minute makes her feel all the more guilty for it. After that grueling three-month-long hike to exterminate the mountain demon Gargoloth, having someone else do the walking feels… surprisingly nice.

“Thank you,” 11 tells Allastair for what must be the thirtieth time in the last hour. “I am in your debt.”

Allastair smiles, and shifts 11's weight across his arms as he steps over a root. “You mustn’t feel that you are, m’lady. There is no debt to be paid here.” He pauses. “But, if you insist on thanking me, then may I be so bold to ask for my lady's presence at dinner tomorrow?”

11 glances around, expecting Aralyn to pop up and smack the knight for indeed being so bold, but the elf girl is trailing far behind, her eyes locked on the ground as she gingerly picks her way along the rough terrain. 11 turns her attention back to Allastair, cuddling his full-helm closer to her chest. “If a meal is all my fair knight asks of me, it will be nothing short of rude not to do my utmost best to fulfill his request.” She gives Allastair what she hopes is a friendly smile, and watches the lights twinkle in the knight's eyes.

“You would?” Allastair asks, then coughs to try and hide his disbelief, though he cannot do much about his flaring cheeks. “I-I am honored. M’lady. I didn't think you- That is... thank you. The goddesses watch over me today.”

11 snuggles into Allastair, enjoying the heat of his body. They walk for a while in silence, and 11 thinks about taking a nap, but curiosity gets the better of her.

“Am I not heavy to you?”

“Of course not,” comes the immediate answer. “I may be only D-Rank officially, but I can wrestle with any C-Rank Fighter you pit me against, with nary a sweat. I am a brother of two, and my strength rules unchallenged in my entire household. You can ask Aralyn, she makes me carry her gear all the time.” Allastair sneaks a backward glance, but Aralyn does not give any indication she’s heard him.

The light that streams through the trees starts to dim and redden, signaling the approaching of night. The party picks up the pace, with Fennald acting as lead.

Target Identified.

Species: Human.

Age: 16.

Damage Potential Level: 13.

Threat to Humanity?: No.

11 looks at Allastair next.

Target Identified.

Species: Human.

Age: 24.

Damage Potential Level: 11.

Threat to Humanity?: No.

11 tries to look behind the knight’s shoulder at Aralyn, who has been stopping every so often to make marks on the nearby trees, and 11’s scanners tell her the same thing they did the first time.

Does this mean she really is an elf?

11 decides to try and understand a bit more of this strange world.

“Do you know what an android is?” she asks Allastair, quietly enough so the rest of his group does not hear.

The knight shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, m’lady. Is that a creature of the woods?”

“No. Then, have you ever heard of a God Gier?”

Allastair gives 11 an embarrassed smile. “I am ashamed to say you might be asking the wrong person, m’lady. I may be the strongest Argonston in my household, but I am not the most read. That honor belongs to my youngest brother, Kyros. He’s supposedly headed off to the city, last I heard from him.”

“Oh,” says 11, not knowing what else to say but, “That’s… good. For him.”

“It is,” Allastair agrees, then he looks to Fennald and hollers, “Hey, Fennald! I have a question, if you would be so kind!”

A flock of birds takes flight from the trees, disturbed by the sudden noise. “What is it?” Fennald answers without looking back.

“Know what a – what was it again?”

“Android,” 11 reminds him, “God Gier.” So much for being discreet.

“Android and God Gier! Heard of them?”

The mage uses his staff to bend back an overhanging branch. His voice is half the volume of Allastair’s, but the words reach 11 easily.

“Never heard of the first thing, but I heard about something called ‘God Giers’ from a storyteller back in our hometown.” He is quiet for a while, as if straining to remember. “I think the story went something like this: Nranhana's crystal, you know, the first Crimson Ore, was actually stolen from Sharn's Abyssal Clock. Sharn got furious, of course, and demanded Nranhana to give the crystal back. But at that point, the crystal had become one with the realm and couldn't be removed.”

Allastair nods, listening intently. He looks down at 11. "Are you understanding any of this?"

"Not even a little."

"Good, because I don't either," chuckles Allastair. "And what of the God Gyers, Fennald?”

“God Giers,” Fennald corrects him. “And I’m getting to that. So in a blind rage, Sharn smashed apart the rest of her clock. And it goes, that the crystals inside the clock scattered across the heavens to make the stars, and the clock face covered the sky to make night. Careful of footing.” He pauses in his story to skid down a ledge. “So I can’t remember the next part, but anyway, the bit with the God Giers goes like this: Once every millennium, a piece of the broken clock would fall from the sky, and lay waste and destruction to the realm of men. These stars, as you've probably guessed, are called God Giers. And the tale goes that, whenever you see a God Gier fall from the sky, it means Sharn has marked you for death.”

11 feels her chest tighten. She stares into Fennald’s back as the mage continues talking, as if by willing it hard enough, he might start saying the right things that can put her worldview back together again.

“Are you sure that isn't just the tale of the Blood Devils?” Allastair asks, stepping over the ledge and dropping with both feet onto the soft grass, so steady are his movements that 11 does not even notice that the cloak has slipped downwards on her body. "They sound strangely similar, I must confess."

“I was getting to it!” Fennald snaps, glancing back for the first time since talking. And then his face whips back around so quickly 11 thinks she might've imagined him turning in the first place. “Ah, y-your… uh, my l-lady.”

Is he talking to me?

“I got it.” 11 feels Aralyn’s presence somewhere by her head, pulling the cloak back over her chest.

11 sends a silent prayer of thanks to whichever scientist came up with God Gier underwear. She tries to turn to look at Aralyn, in order to thank her, but the elf has gone back to her place at the back of the line, eyes focused on everywhere but 11.

Did I do something to anger her?

“Well, that was fun,” Allastair says, arching an eyebrow at 11. The woods are beginning to thin, letting in more of the world through the ever-widening gaps around the trees. From this close, 11 can see the orange sunset reflecting in Allastair’s deep green eyes. There is only curiosity there, and not a glint of violence or malice. “I did not think you to be someone interested in legends and tall tales, m’lady.”

Then, perhaps realizing how that might sound, Allastair adds quickly, “I don’t mean you do not look smart or anything, goddesses no. In fact, you look very much like a well-bred, learn-erd and very beautiful young woman…” he trails off, a mortified look on his face. “I think it might be better if I stopped talking."

The silence drags on. 11 feels the knight’s body temperature rising through his armor.

“You look very smart too, actually,” 11 says, trying to smile to show Allastair that she is not offended, though the task seems to be beyond her for now. The knight’s face reddens even more, but he laughs a hearty laugh, and the awkwardness is dispelled.

“Ah, heck, where are my manners,” he says. “You must forgive me, m’lady, for it is not every day that I get the chance to carry a beautiful young woman in my arms. I believe I haven’t even properly introduced myself. My name is Allastair Argonston of Elfendale, son of Bendric the Brave. I am the middle child of three. Speaking of which, I am sure you have heard tales of my older brother, Bendric Argonston, the second of the name?”

11 shakes her head, and worries that Allastair might take offense to that. But the knight plows on without issue. “He is one of the greatest adventurers to ever live. He once beheaded a B-Class hydra using nothing but a blunt sword.” Allastair pauses to check if 11 is listening, and satisfied that she is, he continues. “He is also humble enough to never talk of his adventures, which are plentiful and great, I promise on my knight’s honor.”

“He sounds like an incredible person,” 11 says, and Allastair nods enthusiastically in agreement. “My younger brother, as you know, is named Kyros. ‘The Whimsy’, we used to call him. All in good jest, of course.”

“What about you?” 11 asks, and by Allastair’s look of surprise, she can tell he likely doesn’t get asked that question often. His smile turns self-conscious.

“I’m sure you can already tell from the gear, but I’m a Fighter-class. My rank may be low, but my dream is to join the King’s Dauntless Guards one day.” He grins at 11, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Now, what about you, m’lady?”

The party makes it out of the forest. The thicket clears, the grass giving way to an overgrown dirt path. Fennald calls from the front, “I can see smoke. We’re almost there, gang!”

11 blinks at Allastair. “What about me?”

“May I be so bold as to ask my lady for her name?”

11 opens her mouth to speak, but shuts it again.

‘Whenever you see a God Gier fall from the sky, it means Sharn has marked you for death.’

“My name… my name is…”

Aralyn appears by 11's side, the savior that she is. “Let her rest, you buffoon,” she admonishes the knight. “You can bore her with your family history after she’s properly tended to and rested. Besides, there’ll be plenty of ears available for your ramblings tonight.” She points to the distance. “The celebrations look to be starting.”

11 follows Aralyn’s finger, to see the spiked-tops of a massive wooden fence looming over the hill. As they get closer to the village, the fence rises steadily, until 11 can estimate that it stands more than fifteen meters above the ground, taller than the forest tree line. Thin columns of white smoke drift lazily up from behind the barricade, and the aroma of food beckons to human and non-human noses alike. Even from where the party is, the sounds of voices and livestock can be heard, chattering and mooing and singing.

As if all thinking the same thing, Fennald, Allastair, and Aralyn start to hurry even faster towards the village, exchanging no more words between them.

I get it... but then I don't get it. From within Allastair's arms, 11 looks up at the valiant knight, the blood-orange sun setting in his shiny armor. She then turns to Aralyn, walking to their right, the tips of her red hair peeking out from beneath the dark hood she has pulled over her head. And lastly, 11 looks at Fennald striding at Allastair’s other side, his mud-speckled cloak flapping behind him. The corners of the mage’s mouth are hooked downwards into an uncomfortable frown, as if he is mentally preparing himself for a night of dealing with the noises coming out of the village.

To any layperson, what Fennald has heard about the God Giers may be nothing more than fictional tales, but to 11, they spell the death of a civilization, and the absolute decimation of the future humanity once planned for itself.

The God Gier sets her gaze to the village in front of them, a single thought swirling through her head until it drowns out all the others:

What have we done to this world?