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((The Monday Triple: page 3 of 3))
The man had been unconscious since Dunehall--and prior to that, he’d been unconscious since Luzo. Hector had never met him properly, let alone spoken to him.

Judging from the way Melchor was moving, the man was still coping with considerable soreness, though he didn’t look terribly exhausted.

But maybe that was just because Hector was comparing him to Zeff.

“Hello,” said Melchor. The man’s reaper hovered silently behind him, but Hector couldn’t recall his name.

Hector lowered the number of cubes around him down to eight. He tried not to let himself feel intimidated by one of his allies, but this man was the oldest Rainlord here by a good margin. “Hi...”

“I hear I have you to thank for my life.”

Hector wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he decided to change the subject. “...I’m glad to see you on your feet again.”

Silence arrived.

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Shit. Maybe he’d sounded too stiff or distant when he’d said it. Double shit.

Garovel came to his rescue. ‘How’s your family doing? We haven’t heard much from them, and we’ve been worried.’

“Ah... I’m afraid I am not as knowledgeable on that subject as I would like to be.”

‘Oh,’ said Garovel. ‘Of course. You’ve been asleep. I apologize if I overreached.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Melchor’s reaper. ‘What is your name, by the way? I never did learn it.’

‘Garovel. And yours?’

‘Orric. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’

Hector saw the expression on Melchor’s face, the flat and hollow gaze at the ground. “...How are you doing?” he asked. “It must be a lot to take in.”

Melchor exhaled a heavy breath. “Yes. Quite a lot.”

Hector wanted to say something more, ask him... something, but he couldn’t think of anything.

After a short while, however, Melchor turned to look at him. “How old are you, Lord Goffe?”

This question again. Somehow, he felt less prepared to answer it every time he heard it. “Uh...”