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But somehow, Germal always had some placating answer. Or some evading one. Or some means of distracting him. For years and years. And, naturally, since they were already working separately as a trio, it wasn’t terribly abnormal for them to go huge spans of time with zero communication.

Because they had that trust. That hundred-year-old bond. Forged in the fiery death of Trintol. Of their innocence.

When, exactly, had that trust expired? And what was the true cause?

Parson couldn’t stop dwelling on it. Couldn’t stop comparing what he now knew of the creature called Koh with what he’d thought to be the case for so many decades.

If such a powerful secret about the Man-Eater could have been maintained for so long, then Parson could only imagine what terrible truth there must have also been behind Germal himself.

Most of all, his mind kept returning to that fateful incident forty years prior.

The one that had torn the three of them apart.

Especially because this slow march across the landscape had begun to look increasingly familiar. These rolling hills of yellow grass. Waving gently in the wind.

And at length, he saw it there in the distance. That little castle on the tallest hill in the region. Nothing terribly impressive or intimidating by appearance alone.

But he stopped walking, nonetheless, suddenly uncertain if he wanted to take even a single step nearer to that place.

He noticed Damian stop, too.

“You reaper fucks,” said the other man. “This is where you’ve been leading us this whole time? Are you both out of your minds?”

But neither of them defended themselves. They merely kept floating forward silently.

“Hey!” tried Damian again. “Say something, assholes! What were you thinking?”

Still, they said nothing. Nor did they slow their pace.

Damian and Parson exchanged looks.

A terrible sense of dread came over him. A familiar feeling but one that he’d not had in a very long time.

Not since their last visit to this place, actually.

Damian growled and trudged forward. “Guess we’re in for some more fun.”

Parson needed a moment before following. And with each step, more old feelings bubbled up to the surface of his mind--not all of them familiar. And he found himself asking a question without even thinking about it. “How is your memory, Damian?”

“Hmph. Better than I’d like it to be.”

“What?”

“Stay close, Parson.”