Aranya sits atop the wall, waving and watching as her friends vanish into the shortcut, and she sticks around to send off all the denizens that are going, too. It’s not difficult to see she has complex feelings about everyone going, and she probably has complicated feelings about the dwellers wanting to go, too. I know I do.

She stays for a few minutes longer, after everyone is gone. The sun is fully up by now, but I don’t think she’s simply appreciating the view. Instead of just letting her stew in her thoughts, Grim taps his scythe against the wall and offers her a hand down. She smiles at the quiet scion and accepts his help, and gives him a long look before speaking.

“How do you do it, Grim?”

He tilts his skull at her, and she soon explains.

“I mean… the death. There hasn’t been any in Thedeim’s care, but people still die all the time..” She trails off as Grim nods, then motions for her to follow, which she quietly does.

He leads her back towards the main gate, and gestures at the flower garden, then back at the rows of graves. The kobold looks confused, and he lets her look confused for a few seconds before he scythes a simple daisy from the patch, and moves among the tombstones. He leads her to an aged and weathered tombstone, the grass on the cusp of being unruly. A swipe of his scythe tames the grass, and a touch of his hand repairs the stone. It still shows its age, and the lettering is no more legible than before, but it doesn’t look like it’s about to crumble. He finishes by placing the flower atop the grave marker, before taking a step back to quietly study his work.

Aranya watches, trying to figure out what Grim is trying to say, before she deflates with a sigh. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for your wisdom yet,” she voices, disappointment clear.

Grim doesn’t look disappointed at all, and pats her head as he turns to tend to more of his duties. For her part, Aranya looks briefly annoyed at being treated like a child, before she gives a small smile at Grim’s back. “I suppose I have more pressing issues to deal with, especially if I want to minimize the work you’ll have to do once this is all over.”

Despite not getting what she wanted, I think she might have gotten what she needed, and she heads for the ratkin enclave with a renewed sense of purpose. The guards nod at her as she enters, and she takes a few peaceful moments to just enjoy seeing everyone going about their day. Some move around with purpose, some chat, kids play… it’s the kind of thing I want to defend, and I know Aranya does, too. She greets people as she walks, congratulating accomplishments and commiserating briefly over failures, and encourages everyone as she makes her way to Larx’ home.

The elder ratkin is relaxing on a chair just outside his door, almost looking like he’s meditating as he sits with a peaceful smile. He opens his eyes and smiles wider as Aranya closes in, and she waves him down as he starts to stand. He looks very tempted to stand anyway, but a flat look from my High Priestess keeps his butt planted in his chair.

“Ah, Aranya! How does the new day find you?” he asks jovially.

She does her best to match his mood. “With much to do. You?”

“With little to do immediately, which I often find to be the more trying option,” he answers with a smirk. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Nothing for me, thank you,” she replies, deftly cutting off his sneaky attempt to do something besides rest his bones. “The preparations to head north are going smoothly, then?”

Larx sighs in defeat and leans back. “On our end, at least. The spiderkin are having difficulties with warm-weather gear. Norloke is still working on warmer silk, but I think their best option is going to be to trade for furs or maybe some kind of warming enchantment.”

“Weren’t you working on warming enchantments for your smelters?”

Larx chuckles. “That’d be a bit too warm for them, I think. Our runesmith is still feeling out the class. From what I can gather, the forge enchants are like using a sledgehammer on the problem. For warm clothing, it’d be like trying to thread a needle with the same sledge.”

Aranya winces at that. “Ah. Is there anything else I can help with?”

Larx gives her a considering look. “I thought you said you had a lot to do already?”

The kobold freezes for a moment at that, then sputters as she tries to come up with an excuse. Whatever she might try is derailed by Larx’ laughter.

“Worrying doesn’t count as something to do, my dear,” he admonishes with a chuckle.

Aranya just folds her arms and tries (and fails) to not pout. “Yeah, well… I’m still doing it…”

Larx’ smile softens. “I understand your fears. I don’t even need to ask Teemo to know Lord Thedeim has the same ones.” He smirks at himself before continuing. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t share them. But everyone is resolute in this. We want to help Lord Thedeim, even if he doesn’t want us to be put in harm’s way.”

He smiles at my High Priestess. “Which is one of the reasons we want to do this, by the way. Another reason is… well, you,” he admits, which draws Aranya’s reply up short.

“Me?” she asks, confused. He nods.

“And your people. The thought of a sanctuary being so abusive to its dwellers… it’s wrong in ways I can’t put into words. At least with Hullbreak, he was just trying to protect his dwellers. A mistake is one thing, but what you describe…” He shudders.

“And it’s not just we of Lord Thedeim, either. If the merfolk had the ability to march with us, they would, even if Hullbreak would have a fit.”

“But… the danger!” she tries. “It was a place of nightmare when I left, but now it must be even worse with those terrifying denizens and the harbinger!”

Larx nods. “I know. We all know that we won’t all come marching back. They won’t all come marching back,” he corrects with a note of bitterness. “I’m not suited to a battle like what’s coming, but that doesn’t make me any happier to allow the others to go marching off.” He sighs as his expressions softens.

“But I can’t force them to stay. Lord Thedeim himself won’t take the decision from their hands, so I can hardly try to do it myself. All I can do is try to prepare them. And try to accept the truth of the situation.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, Aranya prompts him to continue. “What is the truth of it? That they have to live their lives… even if it means dying their deaths, too?”

Larx smiles at that. “That’s the philosophical core of it, yes, but I more meant the practical situation. This will be the strongest foe Lord Thedeim has faced yet. Even his scions will be tested, and he won’t be able to quickly react to send more forces. That fallen sanctuary is old, too. Even with Lord Thedeim’s strength, the other dungeon has had much more time to gather its own. I hope we won’t be needed… but I fear we will.”

Aranya looks uncomfortable as her unstated concerns spill from Larx’ mouth. Silence reigns as Aranya struggles how to respond, until she squeaks out her fears. “What if it’s not enough? What if I doomed everyone by coming here? What if-” she starts, before Larx bonks her with his staff.

“None of that. You may be the High Priestess, but I can still try to knock some sense into you. You didn’t doom anyone with your fate affinity. Lord Thedeim has the same one, as does Lady Yvonne. I may not focus on the Weaver aspect of Lord Thedeim, but the spiderkin aren’t wrong in their devotions. I refuse to accept the idea that he’d draw two other people tied with fate to him, only to lead to everyone’s doom. More likely, we’ll be fighting some doom or another, maybe even multiple dooms. If it’s our Fate to face that, I’ll not meet it without a fight.”

His conviction shocks Aranya out of her worry, and I think makes her think about what Grim was trying to tell her earlier. The cemetery isn’t to commemorate peoples’ death. Everyone dies eventually. If there’s anything that doesn’t deserve a participation trophy, it’s dying. No, the cemetery is to remember peoples’ lives. Even that old, weathered grave marks someone’s life. I think Grim even gives it special attention because it doesn’t even need to commemorate a single person.

Not everyone gets a marker. Sometimes… people are just lost, their stories untold and unremembered. He keeps it blank, because he can’t tell their story. He keeps it there because he can at least remember.