ALFG CHAPTER 172

#15: KING by LAUREN AQUILINA

One grounds the older Dirk on the first floor and the younger  one on the second floor. Neither of them can go anywhere other than  their specific floor, and if either of them break quarantine, M has  permission to disembowel the offender.

The First Guardian  immediately appears after they say that, a sudden presence over the  god’s shoulder. The man’s usual frown is nowhere to be seen tonight, his  expression instead serene. In fact, he even cracks a very, very content  smile.

Dirk keeps his gaze on One; if he has to look at the  uncanny valley smile on the First Guardian’s face, the man might decide  to pull the trigger and spill his guts all over the floor. The idea of  seeing meat and blood right now is already making his stomach queasy.

Hal  nudges Dirk up the stairs as soon as One finishes yelling at everybody.  Not wanting to test the First Guardian’s patience, Dirk flashsteps to  the stairs as quickly as he can and makes his way to the second floor,  only slowing down when he’s finally on his assigned level. His older  self looks up at him and flips him off.

“Bitch,” Dirk mouths.

“Asshole,” his older self mouths back.

“Come on,” Hal says from beside Dirk. “You’re gonna get in trouble again.”

Dirk  stares down his other self for a moment later before turning away. He’s  caused enough trouble already, no need to make more a mess. Hal of all people is herding him away from a fight; just how much more immature can he get about this?

So  he stays on the second floor, though he sits on the hallway and watches  his older self take a seat on the couch. For all that he acted high and  mighty earlier, the man looks utterly exhausted, leaning back against  his seat and occasionally reaching up to the scar on his neck. He feels  for the wounds on his face once or twice – though they healed  instantaneously after Three had let him go – but he’s probably still  thinking about the fire.

Sitting in the hallway reminds Dirk too  much of being trapped in that narrow cement corridor, so Dirk gets up  and turns to the ornately decorated wall. The wallpaper here is floral,  with a white base and golden designs. The painting frames are  gold-painted, with carvings of roses and lilies, and most of the  paintings are of sceneries that Dirk hasn’t seen in Kisaragi nor on  Earth. At the very center of the landing on the second floor, of course,  is the painting of One and their siblings.

“Strider?”

Dirk turns. It’s Seven, slowly approaching from down the hall.

“Three wants to see you.”

He  pauses. On one hand, he can still taste blood in his mouth. On the  other…well, he’s not really in any position to say no right now  considering, well, everything.

He nods. Seven leads him  up the stairs – and though Dirk assumed he’s allowed up the third floor  since someone’s asking for him, he still waits for the First Guardian’s  attack anyway. When nothing happens, he continues to Three’s room. Seven  leaves right away and heads down after closing the door behind him.

Three looks alright. Still a little sickly, but he’s not comatose anymore.

“Are you alright?” the god asks.

“I should be asking you that,” Dirk says.

Three waves a hand.

“I’m  on borrowed time, it’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long. I’ve told you  that,” he says. “You, though…the experience of getting your head messed  with isn’t very pleasant. So I’m worried.”

…he should have expected Three would know that. Of course he would.

The god’s smile turns sad.

“A lot of things happen,” he says.

“And you…still picked me up from the ocean when I got here?”

“How  could I not? You’re still my friend,” Three says. He motions to the  empty chair beside his bed. “Come here. Don’t tire yourself out  standing.”

Dirk hesitates, but Three nudges the chair back a bit. He approaches after a moment, but doesn’t sit down.

“How do you feel?” Three asks.

“Fine.”

The  god sighs, and frowns, slowly. “You know, I would really like it if we  didn’t go back to me having to read your soul every time you lie to me,”  he says.

“Well, you lied too,” Dirk says.

“By omission,” Three says. “And for the sake of the timeline. We’re friends, but I’m bound to my role as a god, Dirk. I – ”

He looks down.

“I’ll tell you. Later.” The  god snorts like he’s amused at a joke he’s just said. “It’ll probably  be an hour for me, but it’ll be a couple of years for you.”

Dirk  glances towards the closed door. Everything has been so hectic since his  older self got here that he’s never actually thought about how odd this  must be for Three, to be a god of time whose role is to protect the  integrity of his universe’s timeline, but having to deal with two  different versions of one person at the same instance. The guy must be  walking on eggshells.

Dirk sits. “Is it weird for you?”

“Having  to deal with two of you?” Three hums. “It’s…jarring? Like I’m  speedrunning something. On one hand, I’ve already met you, but until a  year ago, I’ve never interacted with you before, well,  everything. So you’re a very new person to me – or perhaps a new facet  that was a welcome surprise.” He traces the embroidery on his blanket.  “But that’s bearable, though. The jarring part is that I’ll have a  conversation with you that feels like it’s not going to have its  continuation for a while, and then five minutes later, I’ll talk to you  an older you again.”

He lifts a finger in illustration.

“For  example, a few weeks ago, you offered to show me Earth. Tonight, your  older self is already here and I can imagine he’s had enough time to  think that offer over.”

If he changed his mind, Dirk is going to gut him.

“Could you cross over to another universe, though?” Dirk asks.

“Mm.  Probably?” Three tilts his head. “Hal can cross over to this universe  because he reads as a part of One, with their link. Theoretically, it  should go the same way for me if you bring me over to your side. The  only problem would be my overbearing older sibling. But – ” He smiles to  himself. “ – I can convince them to let me go. I’ll act like I’m dying.  They can’t refuse a dying man.”

“You know they can sense death, yes?”

“Ah, but do they trust their magic more than their little brother?” Three innocently asks.

“…did they give you morphine?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“That explains it.” Dirk leans back in his seat with a huff. “You’re an asshole high.”

“I’m  an asshole sober too.” Three chuckles. “I’m just good at pretending I’m  not. Also, if One refuses, you can smuggle me over.”

“No offense, but you’d have to be shorter for that to even be feasible.”

“I thought you were smart.”

Bastard.

Three laughs.

“I  believe in you. You have a handful of years to think it over. I’ll be  expecting whatever you’ve come up with in a bit, though,” he says.

“Yeah,  yeah, I’ll make it good.” Dirk huffs. He relaxes in his seat, the  nonsense of the situation helping him breathe easy. After a moment, he  looks down at his hands, clean and bare of Three’s blood.

He frowns. “It does get worse, doesn’t it?”

Even  without looking up, Dirk knows Three’s gaze is pitying. “I’m sorry,” he  says. “I wish I could spare you this, but even this is outside my  capabilities. If I could, I would.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell  One to kill me?” Dirk asks. “Why not ask for it now? I mean – Christ,  you’re really letting someone that dangerous walk around?”

“You’re  not a rabid animal, Dirk. I know given your own choice, you wouldn’t  needlessly attack people. You barely talk to anyone as it is,” Three  says.

“I could.”

“But do you?”

“Three. I’ll kill you,” he says. Reminds. Is it so hard for the god to grasp that?

“I know,” Three says. “I was there, Dirk.”

He quiets.

“It’s  my place to forgive and I value your presence more than I do my past  and your future,” Three says. “I appreciate having you around more than I  do seeing you in misery.”

He leans forward, placing one hand over Dirk’s.

“I’m sorry for the things I’ve – I will say,” he says. “And all the rage I will direct at you.”

“The hell are you apologizing for, I’d deserve it.”

“I’m  apologizing anyway. I feel sorry for it. I don’t want you to think I’ll  think that way forever,” he says. “I do care. I will not stop caring.  Don’t doubt that I love and care about you, so even if your memory gets  scrubbed, I need you to do your best to not forget this, alright?”

Three looks him straight in the eye.

“I forgive you. I do not resent you,” he says. “Be kinder to yourself, please.”

Dirk doesn’t say anything.

After a while, he nods stiffly.

“Now, how do you feel?” Three asks. “With the whole thing your future self did, I mean. Do you hurt anywhere?”

“I’m fine.”

Three watches him, but lets it go and nods. “Would you like me to compress your memories of it?”

“To what?” Dirk looks up.

“Perception  of time can be very altered in the mind,” Three says. “It’s why dreams  sometimes feel like they span for years even though it was only a few  minutes. Likewise, however long you felt like you spent in there was  actually only a handful of hours in the real world. But with how precise  and practiced your older self is with dreambending, it still sticks  anyway.”

Three lifts his hand, freeing Dirk’s.

“I can  collapse it for you, so it feels more like a dream instead of an actual  linear experience. Please don’t say no just because you think you need  to punish yourself,” Three puts the last part on before Dirk can  protest. “I will keep hounding you about it if you do.”

Dirk mulls on the offer. “Like I said, you’re an asshole when you’re high.”

“Only when you’re being stubborn,” Three says, though he’s smiling. “So?”

#

His  older self is coming up the stairs when he leaves the room. Seven is  also accompanying him, so Three must have asked for him as well. Dirk  watches him for a moment, but it is too late in the evening for him to  even muster a glare, so he just quietly lets the man pass by and get to  Three’s room.

It’s a scene out of one of those medical dramas from  Earth, ones he’s only glimpsed at from clipped scenes online or cliches  Jake’s talked about. A hospital waiting room where someone is handing  out goodbyes and last messages, people taking turns visiting one by one  for privacy reasons.

The doors shut. He stays quiet and waits for his older self and Three to start talking.

“You  know, for someone who loves to mess with time magic, you’re  surprisingly a stickler for not changing things that have already  happened,” Three says. He doesn’t sound mad, not like he had been  earlier. If anything, he sounds amused, but that might just be the  morphine.

“Not exactly keen on making more work for you,” his older self says. There’s no snark behind his tone, just…exhaustion. Defeat.

Three takes a bit.

“Thank you,” he says when he does speak. “Please do be gentler with yourself.”

“I don’t mind,” Dirk says. “I mean, now that I’m on the other side, I get it. There’s just – I get so mad looking at him.”

Three says. “Okay. We need to talk then. Sit down.”

There’s  a few seconds of footsteps and then a chair scraping. Dirk sits there  and listens, and as he hears his older self sit, he gets up and returns  to the second floor.

If it were him, he’d want some privacy. He’s  sure Three would have too, and would just be disappointed to learn he’d  ended up eavesdropping on himself. His older self is right, he shouldn’t  be making more work for a guy who is literally dying.

So he leaves.

#

“I’m  not staying here,” Davesprite declares, after everything has been  cleaned up, the Dirks have been sent to timeout, and the guy who was  dying is herded back to his room. “I’m not fucking staying here. Put me  in a hotel or something.”

“That can be arranged,” Four says.  “Although the rooms here are more spacious, and there’s probably less  chance of mold in the air purifiers.”

He turns to her, mouth pressed to a straight line as if to say are you fucking kidding me; Four only simpers, infuriating as she is.

“I  just saw some weird versions of my bro try to kill each other and this  house get set on fire and you think I wouldn’t take my chances with  mold? I’d take my chances with asbestos.”

“Ah, but you’re not godtier,” Four says. “You’re a sprite, but you’re not godtier. You won’t come back from a stupid death.”

“It’ll  be slow, at least. Compared to – ” He motions to the ceiling. “ –  whatever the fuck is going on around here. What the fuck is going on around here?”

“Time  stuff.” Four waves a hand. In the corner, the microwave beeps, and she  gets up and fetches the pizza slices they were both heating up. “You  wouldn’t get it.”

“Fuck you, I’m the time player here.” Davesprite gets up and leans over to snatch the plate out of her hands. “You wish you were one.”

Four sniffs, turning her chin up. “I wouldn’t want to be you, boy.”

“Uh-huh.  Why the hell are you looking at me like you want to human traffic me,  then?” He takes his slice of pizza and sits back down. When Four takes  the plate back to get hers, he lets her. “You’re not that slick, you  know.”

“I’m not trying to be. I thought we’ve established that I  say what I want and I let you know as clearly as possible what I’m  looking for on the market,” Four says. She takes a bite out of her pizza  slice, finally shutting up for a second, before continuing. “I do have  some ideas for Time magic of your brand, but I would not want to be  you.”

Well, that’s not exactly an insult. Nobody wants to be him; he’s a coolkid, but he’s the off-brand version.

“What do you want it for?” he asks.

Four  summons one of her bear traps, and he freezes for a moment, but all it  does is extend and clamp onto the fridge door to open it. It takes one  of the cranberry juice cartons, and retreats. “What do I want what for?”

“Time magic,” Davesprite says. “Also, do you guys have apple juice?”

The  bear trap places the juice carton on the counter before reopening the  fridge and taking out a bottle of apple juice, depositing it in front of  Davesprite.

“Personal reasons,” Four says. “Nothing nefarious, of course.”

“It’s  time magic. You can’t be vague about it,” he says disapprovingly.  “Though I’m guessing you’ve never held it before so of course you  wouldn’t know anything about it.”

She narrows her eyes at him while he makes a show of haughtily finishing off his pizza slice.

“You’re very rude,” she says.

“You gonna debunk that?”

Four purses her lips, pouting. “I’ve used some Time magic,” she says. “Brother gave me some once, but only some. His magic is very…” She pauses. “Precocious, shall  we say. That sounds gentler. His specialty is his conceptual side, and  the way his magic has developed is too harsh for my tastes.”

“So you suck at it.”

She clenches her fists. Davesprite cracks a small grin.

“It  would be akin to wrangling an active volcano and stuffing all the  pyroclastic flow back in,” she says. “The way one’s magic develops  varies from person to person. Just because it works one way for a player  of similar class or aspect, or even the full classpect, does not mean  it will work the same way for another person.”

The wings on her  back shift and try to arrange themselves, fighting off the instinct to  spread out and intimidate. Davesprite would know, he’s had the things  for years now.

“Our Hal, for example, can drift and dreambend and  at times, subjugate. His Stand’s range, however, is more limited than  even beginner Heart players,” Four continues. “To my knowledge, your  version does not have a conceptual side to his abilities at all, and has  put all his magical development on his Stand, so it has a wide range  and more versatility.” She waves a hand. “Or so hearsay goes.”

“So you just really suck.”

“How would you like to be cooked?” Four smiles sweetly at him.

He  leans away. “Yeah, okay, manic pixie Hannibal Lecter. Jegus,” he says.  “You can’t control your brother’s magic, so you’re looking for other  options.”

“Time players are rare,” Four says. “They have the  highest death count in paradox space. If they’re not present in a  session, they’re dead. You are among the handful of the surviving ones I know of.”

“Mm, and you don’t have any other options.”

“Yours is the safest out of the ones I know. Big brother’s state is volatile enough even if I could handle his magic – to steal someone’s magic is to steal a part of  someone’s soul, and his spiritual state is already so fragile.” She  actually sounds concerned when she says that, eyes to the counter and  tone downcast. It’s the sincerest he’s ever seen her so far. “Your magic, however, is tailor-made to protect you; even before you  godtiered, you were already using it, yes? And never once have you ever  experienced magical poisoning.”

Now that she mentions it…that is a point.

“You’re  a Knight class, so it naturally equalizes itself to what’s safe for  you, unless you do something to really push it,” she says.

“So you want training wheels.”

“If you want to put it that way,” she says.

“Okay.” Davesprite twists the cap of the apple juice bottle open and takes a sip. “Why do you want Time magic? Just cause?”

Four goes quiet.

“Quatro?”

She snorts.

“If you could go back in time and stop everything awful from happening, would you?” she asks.

He stops.

In  front of him, Four has gone back to her fake, airy demeanor, snatching a  glass from the cupboard with her bear trap so she can pour herself some  juice. Her expression is serene, nonchalant, and there isn’t even a bit  of tension in her body as she moves. With what he’s seen of her  family’s situation, though…

He hadn’t missed the big-ass painting at the top of the stairs.

If  he could stop all the awful shit from happening – he’d already done  that, hadn’t he? John and Jade died, and then Rose sent him back here  while she slowly winked out of existence in their other timeline. He’d  managed to guide his younger self to a better path, but at the cost of  his own relevance and identity. He’d succeeded, though, and that was  what mattered.

But did he really? The Rose he’s met isn’t really  his sister. The John and Jade he’s met aren’t really his friends. His  Rose slowly faded away from reality, alone and all by herself in a dead  timeline, and when he’d fallen into that rift, she’d told him she was so  so scared, and for as much as she put up a front, she didn’t want to die alone, so please come back and die with her here –

He  takes several gulps from his apple juice just to have something to do.  This brand is so concentrated and sweet, and the aftertaste is terrible.  He winces.

“I don’t know,” Davesprite says. “I wouldn’t know.”

Four looks up at him, holds his gaze, and then looks back down, tracing a finger on the condensation of her glass.

“What would you want, anyway?” he asks. “From me. For you to get Time magic.”

Four’s  back to smiling, her peppy attitude so obviously false and off-putting.  She points a finger gun at him, and if her other eye was visible, he  could imagine her winking facetiously.

“Simple,” she says. “I want your heart.”

Davesprite chokes on his apple juice.

“Don’t say it like that,” he  wheezes, beating a fist onto his chest to cough up the rest of juice  that had gone down wrong. “You know you sound like an organ trafficker?”

“I’m more of a collector, as I’ve said,” she says.

He  gets up to get himself some water. Four waits behind him patiently, the  obvious attention making his skin prickle; the girl was some unhinged  criminal, that was for sure. He has no evidence to prove her guilty of  anything, especially as she does deals instead of ripping people’s body parts off, but he’s sure there’s a charge for her out there somewhere.

When his throat doesn’t burn anymore and his nose doesn’t feel like it’s on fire, he returns to his seat.

“So, like,” he starts. “I rent you my heart for like a couple of days or something, and you do your thing?”

“Oh,  no, no.” She laughs, waving a hand in front of her face to dispel the  thought. “Magic transfer that heavy doesn’t work like that.”

She folds her hands on the counter, thoughtful, before she continues.

“You  see, the soul is a system made up of all these individual parts to make  up a whole. It’s not unlike the composition of a human body. We have  trillions of cells making up each one of us, and these cells are  sometimes arranged into certain tissues or organs or whole systems that  keep us going,” she says. “The circulatory system to transport nutrients  and oxygen and waste; the digestive system to take in nutrients through  food; the nervous system to connect to our brain – all of these parts  make up the physical self.”

She points to her chest, and then lifts her finger to her temple.

“Likewise,  our surface-self resides in the mind. How we relate to others, how we  project ourselves, our thought processes and memories. This overlaps  with the soul, though Mind is more of the Id.” She lowers her hand to  her midriff. “The soul is what someone is beyond the physical. It makes  up who we are outside of a biological level. This means ambitions,  desires, identity, thoughts, dreams, memories, interests, passions – and  for us players, magic is part of our identity. But – ”

She lifts a finger to illustrate a point.

“ – the Heart is the sum of all that a person is, body and soul.”

Four places her hand back on the table to lace it together with her free one.

“When  someone offers me a deal, they’re giving away part of themselves.  Sometimes it’s a small part. Something they can do without, like, say,  their favorite color when they were five years old. When it’s given to  me, it doesn’t exist to them anymore, it’s mine now. Sometimes, for a  bigger exchange, they can give me a whole day they find inconsequential.  Or maybe something they hate, like lingering feelings for a friend who  turned out shitty, or an ex they would rather forget,” she says. “People  are so quick to exchange these things, but the truth is that all that  we experience make up who we are at the present. But they don’t want it,  so I’ll fill the niche and make a market for these things.”

She spreads her hands, ever the beckoning businesswoman.

“I  can take away emotions. I can take away fears. I can take away grief,  even,” she says, and though her visible eye is clouded over and blank,  Davesprite still feels that uncomfortable spine-chill of someone staring  straight at him. “All of these have their equivalent exchange.  Sometimes it’s easier for people to part with ideas or memories because  they don’t find them important. Sometimes, they trade away a part of  their body. I can usually find a use for those.”

The wings on her back extend in demonstration before pulling back in.

“I  can trade magic on smaller scales, but it’ll run out, eventually,  because what I’m doing is taking a part instead of a whole that  nourishes itself. Like separating a leaf from a whole plant instead of  just uprooting the whole plant and placing it into another pot.” She  lifts her hands to cradle her face, leaning her elbows on the counter.  “So, you see what I mean.”

Davesprite hesitates.

“You’d need the whole instead of just a part for what you’re planning,” he says.

“Time travel is precarious,” she says. “I’m sure you know the wisdom behind being prepared.”

He nods, hand absentmindedly going to his chest, feeling his heartbeat there. It’s thumping fast, nervous.

“If you get my heart, you get my magic?” he asks.

“It’s  the symbolism behind. We both know that Skaia does love its symbolism,  which is why our magic has a conceptual dimension. I am a Thief of  Heart. To take someone’s Heart, then, would be to take their everything –  magic included. If I take half, I’ll just ruin it for both of us  because then both halves will run out; I’ll be on a time limit, and  you’ll slowly and painfully die. If you rent it out to me, you’d kill  yourself because you’d essentially rip your own soul out of your body.”

The girl chuckles.

“So I – ” She aims a finger gun at him again. “ – want your heart.”

She snaps her hand up at an angle as if shooting and bucking back at an imaginary kickback.

“Of  course, I’m not unreasonable,” she says with a sigh. “I could take your  worst memories too; I could still squeeze some magic out of that and  plan around it.”

He nods again, not really listening. “Shouldn’t  you talk to your siblings about what you’re planning first? Or your  First Guardian,” he says. “Time travel’s no joke.”

Four goes quiet again.

“I know,” she says, softly. Sincerely. “But it’s a fun idea, right? Wishing things never had to change.”

His gaze similarly drops down to the counter. If things could stay the same…

If  things could stay the same, he’d be back home in Texas, pestering John,  Jade, and Rose. The game wouldn’t be a thing, and he would never have  had to deal with three of them dead. His brother wouldn’t have died  either. He’d be dealing with his Bro’s bullshit but at least the man was  alive and there to be dealt with in the first place, and then he’d lock  himself up in his room and talk to his friends who saw him exactly as  he was, and they were friends, not people who tolerated him for being a copy. An alternate Dave at worst. Second-best at, well, best.

Maybe  he’d burn Lil’ Cal or throw him into a compactor because that thing  turned out to be some evil juju anyway, but at least his life would be  normal. Familiar. He wouldn’t be this out of the water – out of place in  the grand scheme of things because he was supposed to be dead and was  on borrowed time, out of place with the people he cares about because  he’s not their Dave.

“Yeah. I get it,” he says. And he thinks he means it.

Four looks up at him briefly, and for once she doesn’t look like she wants to eat him.

#

“You’re kicked out.”

Dirk blinks, but honestly, he should have expected this.

“Three  stays as he’s still recovering, and he shouldn’t be moving too much,”  One says, smiling as they explain, though there is a tightness to their  tone. “But I’ve had enough of you two – ”

They swing their glare towards Other-Dirk.

“ – destroying my house. Go home or hole up somewhere else.”

Well,  Dirk has keys to Three’s house, he could just go back to there. Since  his other self’s the one with the ability to fix souls, he’ll likely  pick a hotel nearby to stay at, which means Dirk can at least have peace  of mind. He doesn’t even have to look after Three’s cat for once, who  is more than happy to run around One’s massive mansion or visit his  owner with his precious freedom to roam all levels of the house.

He  takes the news in stride, eats the last breakfast he’s given here with  grace, and leaves at midday. Davesprite, apparently, is going to be  staying somewhere nearby, with Four to check up on him so he doesn’t get  lost around Hivetown. The boy waves off any concerns from him, so Dirk  lets him be. He probably needs the time to get used to Kisaragi; it’s  been nothing but back-to-back events for him, from Four finding him (and  trying to eat him, apparently), the horror terror, Dirk’s older self,  and Three setting two floors on fire.

He gets back to the house  sometime in the afternoon, almost expecting Three puttering around the  living room or the kitchen, but the place is dead silent. The television  isn’t on. Nothing’s cooking. There’s no faint footsteps from someone  else living in the house. The isolation is…almost strange in a way, even though it shouldn’t be.

Maybe strange is too inadequate of a word. Different, perhaps. This house is supposed to be cozy, not whatever liminal space it seems to have become in the absence of its occupants.

Dirk turns the lights on.

He  heads up to his room to take a shower, still disturbed by the utter  quiet and the lack of cat winding around his legs or meowing at him for  food. When he unlocks the door and swings it open, someone else is  already in his room.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he says.

His  older self looks up. He’s got replacement glasses on now, a pair of  regular sunglasses, though since they’re smaller than Dirk’s anime  shades, the raised eyebrow is clear to see.

“Ah fuck. I forgot I do that,” his older self mutters.

Dirk points to the doorway. “Get out of my room.”

“It’s my room.”

“I was here first.”

“I was, linearly,” his older self says. “This is the same room I stayed in during negotiations.”

“Yeah, well, you got exiled,” Dirk says. “Get the fuck out.”

“Find  another guest room, there should be one down the hall.” The man is  reading something, some torn-looking leather journal propped up on his  lap as he sits on the bed, so he looks back down at it. “I’m sleeping  here.”

Dirk’s left hand clenches, the urge to grab his sword and  once again strife with the guy instantly rising, but the last time he’d  done that, he’d gotten a distaste for meat. Besides, if they fucked the  house up, Three would be pissed.

He goes to the closet to  grab a change of clothes and heads for the downstairs guest bathroom  instead. There are a few diners in the neighborhood, so he goes out and  walks to the nearest one, both to cool his head off and get some food  since he’s too tired to make anything right now. Thankfully, the place  has vegetarian options.

He stays there until the place closes up.  When it does, he wanders around town until he finds a bench to sit at,  since if he goes home, he might just start another fight. Maybe he can  convince One to let him drop by if he’s by himself, he’d be bored living  alone so fast.

Before he can overthink himself, he takes out his  phone and hits the speed dial. Three picks up on the fourth ring –  understandable given his state – and answers, softly, like he’d been  asleep prior to picking up: “Hello?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Kind of.”

“Oh. Never mind then.”

Three laughs. “No, no, it’s fine. Did something happen?”

“Yeah,  he took my room.” Dirk leans back against the bench, glancing down the  road that led back to the house. “My older self, I mean. He took my  bedroom.”

“Oh.” Three hums. “Well, you can take one of the guestrooms? Though they’re probably not set up – the ones that are are for the kids...”

“I’ll sleep in the study.”

“At  least take some blankets or pillows if you’re going to. Maybe a spare  mattress. There’s some in storage on the second floor,” he says. “Sorry about…him.”

“The fuck are you apologizing for?”

“I don’t know. I probably should have given you two instructions before One sent you away.”

“It’s fine.” Dirk stands and begins to walk back home, stuffing  one hand into his coat’s pocket since it’s a cold winter night out. He  might be able to experience winter snow in a few days, a winter that’s  not spent holed up in a government basement and escaping from said  government. The ice sheets up north don’t really count, they’re always  frozen anyway. “Are you still on morphine?”

“No, One’s doing pain management for me today,” Three says. “It makes me have weird dreams; I get nightmares often and my magic can’t go haywire while I’m resting right now.”

Dirk doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“How’s your wrist?”

“It’s fine. It’s not bleeding anymore, One says the physical damage will probably be gone by tomorrow.”

“And the rest?”

“I don’t know,” Three says. “I’m not the best with Heart magic. One will have to check if my proximity to death has changed.”

“Has it?” Dirk stops walking.

“I haven’t gotten worse,” Three says, and with a pause, “But I haven’t gotten better either.”

So he’s stable, but stagnant. That’s…better than Three just straight up dying, he supposes.

“I think I could convince One to let you come back here if you want,” he offers. “If not to stay, then just to visit, at different times than your older self.”

“Maybe later,” Dirk says. “I’ll stress you out.”

“Just don’t make me have to stand around or break up a fight. I’ll be fine.” The god chuckles. “Have you eaten yet? I don’t imagine you would have wanted to stay home if your older self was there already.”

“…yeah I have.” Dirk resumes his trek. “I went out, though.”

“I figured. Use the couch in the study, don’t sleep sitting up in a chair again, you’ll cramp your neck,” Three says. “I’ll text if One lets you visit tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

He stays on the line for a few more minutes, though neither of them say anything. Eventually, he says:

“Go to sleep.”

“Thanks. Good night.”

“Yeah, good night.”

Dirk pockets his phone as the call ends.

He  lets out a breath. At least Three’s not mad, about anything at all,  though he wouldn’t have blamed the god if he was, even if it was for the  smallest reason. Nothing seems to faze the guy, even the fact that he’s  literally on death’s door.

Which is concerning. Maybe they should fix that before he goes back to Earth.

#

“Can you fix Three’s soul permanently?”

Dirk  stands across his older self by the kitchen island. The man had woken  up earlier than him and had proceeded to take his usual seat in the  kitchen, even though there were several others available, so Dirk opts  for staying on the other side of the counter, arms crossed.

“Hm?” His older self looks up from his food.

“Can you fix Three’s soul permanently,” Dirk repeats flatly, “Preferably without some big catch.”

His  older self pauses, then resumes eating. Dirk’s ready to sigh and raise  his voice a bit since the asshole is ignoring him again, but then, the  man responds after he swallows down his food.

“We’re not Hal,” he says. “So no, as it is, there’s no way to fix Three’s soul permanently. Nothing I can  do anyway. If we could find a Sylph of Heart who knows how to work on  something that delicately, sure – but there’s still a catch.”

Of course there is.

“You’d  essentially be strapping Three to a nuclear bomb,” his older self says.  “Our magics aren’t compatible – there’s a very specific list of classes  and aspects that can mesh with ours, but Three’s isn’t one of them.  He’s not made to tank damage or synchronize with a Prince of Heart. A  full meld would be like sewing a cyanide capsule under someone’s skin.”  He returns to his plate. “Not something I would recommend.”

“What’s the list?”

“You want it?”

“I’d like to know our options.”

“Off the top of my head – Hope.” Older Dirk points his fork upward. “Hope is magic, so  it’s pretty compatible. With the exception of maybe a destroyer-class,  most classes would blend well. Specific Thieves can take destroyer-class  Heart magic too; Thief of Heart, Thief of Hope, Thief of Doom…specific  Heirs would also work. A Bard of Heart would also be able to take to it  well since it’s just another destroyer-type, albeit with a higher grade  of destruction. Basically, anything that either has the capacity to  store or take, or anything that’s already used to magic this corrosive.”

“Could  one of those other classpects be used as a buffer?” Dirk asks. Four’s a  Thief, right? “Something similar to a binding agent?”

“Then  you’re just adding more shit for Three’s soul to equalize with. Look – ”  His older self tiredly points the fork at him. “We fucked up. Simple  as.”

“I don’t expect myself to just lie down and leave it that  way,” Dirk seethes. “Unless somehow whatever happened to you fucked your  head up so bad you’ve stopped being me.”

The man snorts. “Yeah.  Whatever,” he says. “I think there are permanent solutions to Three’s  condition, but it’s got nothing to do with us.”

“But they do exist?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Okay.” Dirk grabs one of the bar stools and sits down. “Let’s discuss those hypotheticals, then.”

His  older self stares at him for a solid minute before huffing; clearly  annoyed, but he doesn’t pick a fight. “There are…parts of Sburb we  haven’t really gotten into,” he says. “Nobody writes guides for this  shit, and our session was a void one. We couldn’t have known, and we  didn’t really get into it.

“Derse and Prospit are kingdoms, so there are vaults there.” Older-him gives an empathic pause. “Treasures.”

Dirk impatiently motions for him to stop being dramatic and continue.

“Derse  has these moon coins. They’re a whole set, and they’ve each got shit  they do. Not what we’re looking for.” Older Dirk waves a hand as if to  brush the thought aside. “Prospit has one treasure, a single gold coin. It can grant you any wish, and it answers only to its holder. Only downside is that it can  only be used to fulfill one request at a time, so if it’s passed on to  another holder, it loses its effect. If the current holder asks for  another wish, then the current one is undone.”

“Any wish?”

“Any  wish,” Older Dirk says. “Resurrection included. No godtier, no  dreamself, not even a fucking body needed. Soul gone and nonexistent?”  He snaps his fingers. “Not anymore. Imagination’s the limit – but again,  if you use it for something else, you lose what you asked for before.  If you revived someone, they’ll just die again.”

“So we’d just have to go to Prospit and find it?”

“No,  it has to be given to you,” Older Dirk says. “It can’t be stolen; it’s  bound to its holder. Even if you take it as far away as possible from  whoever owns it, it’s still gonna be back there. It has to be passed on.  You have to convince the White Queen to give it to you.”

“And there would have to be an active game, wouldn’t there?”

“Yeah,”  Older Dirk says. “Obviously, we can’t go back to any of ours. If we  somehow managed to, I think only Dave and Rose’s session might have the  Treasure of Prospit. If we hijack someone else’s, one of their players  might need it for their quest. Whether or not that thing’s important  often depends on how the game is run.”

“But under the right circumstances, it can be done?”

His older self doesn’t answer right away again, leveling him with a stare. Eventually, he answers, softly:

“Yes.”

Dirk  nods, filing the information away for now. Obviously if Three’s  survived this long, then he has some time – if his path towards becoming  this older self is unavoidable then…he has some time.

Though, of  course, the faster he can get moving, the faster he can start to do  research. There’s so much to do for when he gets back to Earth.

“How  soon can you send me back when Three recovers?” he asks. The god’s  still not supposed to use his magic, so maybe it’ll be a few weeks  before they can chart Dirk’s way back.

His older self hums, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling as if he were thinking.

“About that,” he says. “I lied.”

“…what.”

“If  I forced you to drift, we wouldn’t have needed time magic, you could  have just followed that back to Earth,” his older self says. “Of course,  Megido and Dave would still be here, but you’d be able to go back.”

Oh. They didn’t need a time player. What a fucking –

Dirk grabs the man’s plate and smashes it over his head.

Notes: