The tunnel of trees opened up into an expanse of rolling blond hills, farm equipment, and Issi beasts yoked in the second-newest Issi tech aiding the sunburnt farmers in whatever part of their farming they were working on at this time of year. Sechen had never paid any mind to the farmers when she’d traveled through the fields with Revel, picking whatever crops were ripe enough to eat and walking away as the world snapped back into being, replacing whatever they’d taken with another version of itself.

“What’re they growin’ out here?” Prisoner mused, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh sun beating down on them. “Last I checked, most fields were flat.”

“Oilseed.” Sechen said, trying to motion at the nearest farmer. Instead she yelped in pain, her muscle knotting in defiance of her attempts. “Can I go back to my Issi now? Please?”

“Hmm. No, not yet. The ground’s not gonna be flat for quite a while, so you need to get in as much practicin’ as you can. But once the ground starts turnin’ upwards you have my permission to take an elongated break.” Prisoner gestured at the fields. “And how did you know what they’re plantain’ here, ringlet? Didn’t take you for the farmin’ type.”

“Revel and I walked through a lot of these hill-fields. And oilseed’s the only thing that grows better on hills than on flat ground.” Sechen explained. “But honestly? It’s because you can’t eat it. And believe me, we tried.”

“So you learned what those yellow stalks were because you couldn’t eat them?” Prisoner chuckled. “You’ve got your priorities straight, sister.”

Sechen smiled at Prisoner’s laugh, a sound that was both starting to get on her nerves and become weirdly comforting. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Metea/Irric smiling along, her eyes bright like they’d been before all of this, but when she turned to point it out, the darkness had returned. She frowned and raised an eyebrow at Metea/Irric, who just looked forward with seemingly dead eyes in response. Something was up here, but Sechen didn’t have the time or thoughts to spare for whatever was up with her. She wasn’t even halfway to when Prisoner would start training her on her pathways, and Elach’s two week time limit was rapidly shrinking. By the time they got to the Gilded Night, there would only be ten days left to get him the help he needed. And that left Sechen with a thought.

“What happened to Elach’s bird?”

Metea/Irric tensed up, and Prisoner shrugged. “You mean Flow? They’re bonded to Elach, so they’re with him wherever his mind’s gone off to.”

“I don’t think bonds work that way.” Sechen said.

“Hey, it ain’t my place to try and convince you. Talk to cloudy later and try to pry the details outta her if you feel the need.” Prisoner shot a look over his shoulder. “Seems like she’d crack if you looked at her hard enough.”

Metea/Irric muttered something under her breath, and Prisoner gave her a smile with teeth. Sechen was definitely missing something, and apparently Prisoner thought the same thing. The conversation lulled for a good hour or so as they traversed the rolling hills of waist-high oilseed stalks, giving passing hellos to farmers and farm hands that were met with mostly confusion and a few threats of righteous retribution, but they all faded into nothing as the cracks and snaps of realignment scoured any effect or influence the group might have had on the people and their lands. The hills went on for miles, rising higher and higher until they were almost as tall as they were wide at the base. It was as if it was a natural defence system for the city they were approaching, and Sechen was beyond thankful that Prisoner had let her fall back on her Issi instead of struggling through this on bare legs. And then they reached a hill that was different from all the others.

The first difference was in its size that dwarfed all the other nearby hills, both in height and in width, so tall that Sechen couldn’t see past the crest and wide enough that it seemed to stretch almost indefinitely into the distance. And Instead of golden plants, the hill was coated in a slick, black glass-like rock that shimmered as the sunlight beat down on it, little veins of gold sectioning them off into perfect ten-inch wide squares that couldn’t have been natural. Prisoner walked up to the lowest square and kneeled down in front of it, studying it with a discerning eye until he smiled to himself and wedged his fingers underneath the square. He pried it up with a grunt and held it up, beckoning for the others to come look.

“That is masterful Issi craftsmanship.” Gilt said as he shifted his shape into that of a wolf to give everyone enough room to take a look. “And it bears the colours of the Hoalt on our side of the divide. How intriguing.”

“Yeah, it… wait. What?” Prisoner sounded flummoxed, looking up to Gilt for clarification. “The Hoalt on this side? I know the Gilded night has people on both sides, but there’s only one Hoalt.”

“You weren’t aware?” Gilt looked at Prisoner with surprise. “Your knowledge of our world piece seemed to far exceed mine, so I assumed you already knew of the twin Hoalts. I apologize for my assumption.”

“Now hold on. That ain’t possible. Hoalt’s always had the bizarre ability to influence the other side, but there ain’t two of him.”

“So you have yet to see the colours the great wolf now flies?” Gilt chuckled knowingly. “You are in for a treat, my friend.”

“Chartreuse and black cherry.” Sechen muttered, recalling a brat from the other side she’d seen at Resthollow.

“Tell me I didn’t hear that right.” Prisoner groaned.

“Did he?” Metea/Irric asked, speeding up her pace to walk next to Sechen. She’d taken to lagging behind the past few days as the veil of unapproachable regret grew thicker around her. “I haven’t been out of the glacier in… huh. I’ve never left the glacier since Rainshear brought me there when I was… sick. That can’t be right.”

Metea/Irric shook her head and fell back into silence, her eyes clouding over and her gaze focusing on nothing far in the distance. Sechen didn’t even get a chance to answer her question, and already she’d withdrawn into her mind.

“That clash of hers is gettin’ worryin’. If the two halves of her get anymore out of sync, it could lead to somethin’ amazin’ or the worst thing that ever happened to her. And that’s countin’ whatever led to the mess she’s found herself in.” Prisoner said as he looked at Metea/Irric with concern. “Let’s add dealin’ with that to the docket after bringin’ sleepy back. You good with that, ringlet?”

“With helping Metea/Irric not lose her mind?” Sechen scoffed. “What kind of friend do you think I am?”

“Are you the kind of friend that leaves Revel in danger to help cloudy?”

Sechen snapped her mouth shut, and Prisoner nodded sadly without saying another word. Gilt gave her a sympathetic look, then turned to watch Metea/Irric trudge in circles a few paces away from the group.

Gilt shivered, and his golden ribbons tightened ever so slightly. His next words came without sound, sliding over Sechen’s eyes and into her mind. “You might not be able to sense it as I can, but there are two distinct beings fighting for supremacy inside of that woman’s body, spurred on by her withdrawal from Rainshear’s Issi. They have been melded to the point where they are indistinguishable from each other, in both thoughts and emotions, so when one of them breaks free the smallest amount and has a discordant thought or opinion it wreaks havoc on her mental health. She must be struggling with two different methods of coping with betrayal and deceit, while also questioning what the woman she thought was her closest friend had planned for her had the opportunity to exchange her for Revelation not presented itself.”

Sechen nodded, and Prisoner stayed silent with a pensive crease on his brow. She didn’t know exactly why, but she felt that Gilt was right. There had to be some records of people and manifestations merging together somewhere, and the Gilded Night was the place to go if you wanted information. Prisoner obviously already knew that, since he was leading everyone here to deal with Elach’s little death problem, but Sechen hadn’t thought of what it could mean for her. Maybe she could finally find something to help her with her headspace.

“Alright, I’m goin’ to stop pretendin’ I don’t know what’s ailin’ cloudy. She’s gone through a process I ain’t ever seen firsthand, but I’ve been regaled with enough tales of ‘better times’ that I know that she ain’t finished with her transformation.” Prisoner pressed a finger to the gold wiring and severed it, signalling everyone to take a step back as he removed the black glassy square from the ground. “Now, let’s see if Hoalt’s got more of this figured out than we realize or if this is just a confusin’ coincidence.”

Sechen waited for the righting of reality she assumed Prisoner was alluding to, and it came right on time. The world shook for a brief moment as a loud crack sounded from nowhere, and suddenly there were two of the same tiles; the one Prisoner held in his arms, and another in the exact same place as he’d taken it from. Sechen couldn’t tell if his following sigh was out of relief or disappointment, and he planted his palm on the center of the square as it vanished in a flash of Issi.

“Why did I just see your Issi there?” Sechen asked.

“Well, that’s because your eyes are gettin’ better. Now that your Issi don’t have to work so hard doin’ everything for you, it can start helpin’ you in other ways. Like seein’ Issi flares when the practitioner don’t necessarily want you to see ‘em.” Prisoner held out his hand and a whirlpool of purple Issi with blackened silver veins running through it sprung into being. “This is what most people can see without any help, and it can help you tell what kind of practitioner you’re gonna be facin’.”

Prisoner closed his hand and the whirlpool vanished. “Now, we don’t got a whole lotta time, but I think we can spare ten minutes for a lesson here. Don’t you think so, shiny?”

Gilt sighed and rolled his eye-symbols, stepping onto the black tiles and making for the crest of the hill. “You have already made up your mind. Do not attempt to shift the blame for this delay onto me.”

“See? He agrees with me.” Prisoner said with a wide grin, and Gilt muttered something under his breath that slid across Sechen’s vision like harsh strokes of a too-wet paintbrush. “Love you too, big guy. Seriously though, we’ve got a ten minute time limit before we need to get goin’. Even if you get nothin’ outta this. Follow me and keep your eyes glued to the ground.”

Prisoner walked a few dozen feet up the black-clad hill, then sat down and crossed his legs. He swiveled around and patted the ground in front of him, and Sechen walked up to him and mimicked his sitting position. He lifted a finger, paused for emphasis, and summoned a small wisp of Issi that stuck out like a claw. He then pressed it down on the tile and ran it the length between himself and Sechen, blindingly bright white Issi spilling out of the crack he’d made.

“Tell me what kind of Issi this is.”