“So, how long have you been traveling with Nadeden?”

  Shanna asks the question at the precise second that Smith bites down on a full loaf of bread. The warm, tender crust nearly escapes his mouth as he answers, “A few weeks, I think.” He swallows, smiling at the taste of the wheat. Eating has definitely made its way onto the list of Smith’s favorite human sensations.

  “I wasn’t exactly keeping track, though.” He adds, reaching for an apple.

  Shanna shrugs, “Guess that makes sense, so where are you two headed?”

  Smith freezes at the question. He takes a moment to consider how much he should tell her or if he should tell her anything at all.

  But she’s not attached to the authorities and already seems to know Nadeden personally. Smith thinks while recalling the odd reaction the two women had upon seeing each other.

  It wasn’t exactly hostile, but it wasn’t particularly friendly either.

  Smith is still unsure if he would have gone through with his plan to abandon Nadeden had Nadeden herself not caught a glimpse of Shanna in the forest and called after her. The swirl of mixed feelings and the exhaustion of the past few hours certainly made the walk to the village awkward. Having to help carry Nadeden didn’t exactly help matters either.

  How close are Nadeden and Shanna, exactly? Smith wonders, biting down on the apple. Back when I was with Granix, she said that the two of us reminded her of some old friends. Is Shanna one of those? Wait, didn’t she also mention something about betraying her friends? Or being betrayed?

  Smith swallows, figuring that it doesn’t really matter.

  They probably won’t be here for long anyway.

  “Nadeden wants to kill the Emperor, and I want to get back to my home planet.”

  Shanna sighs, “Of course.” She hides the remark under her breath, keeping it to herself before resuming the conversation, “So, where is your home planet? And what brings you here?”

  That’s the question Smith has been dreading.

  The last time Smith told someone that they’re a Machinist who had their consciousness transferred, they were imprisoned and nearly beaten to death. So revealing that information is pretty much out of the question.

  However, the other inquiry is much easier to answer, and the consequences of it are sure to be minimal.

  “Well, my planet isn’t far from here.” Smith nervously chuckles, being sure to make his next answer as detailed as possible to draw attention away from the previously vague one. “As for why we’re here, Nadeden was injured, so we sought medical treatment here, but then the authorities caught on to who she was and chased us through the city. The chase only ended after we fell from that waterfall where you and your child found us.”

  Shanna seems satisfied with the answer, but corrects Smith, “Oh no, Julius isn’t my son.”

  The statement confuses Smith, giving him the need to ask, “But didn’t he call you his Mom?”

  “He did, but it took him a while to start doing that. ” Shanna smiles, explaining, “Julius’s father died before he was born. I married his Mother, and helped to raise him as if he were my own flesh and blood.”

  Smith nods. Perhaps humans are capable of kindness, even if they sometimes have to be forced into it. Smith uses Shanna’s reminiscence as an opportunity to finally pop the question that’s been building up inside of him since they sat down to eat: “So how do you know Nadeden?”

  Shanna grows cold at the words. The chill works its way up her spine and makes her skin crawl. All the bloody memories flood back into her head, stabbing into it in the same way that she stabbed into so many. She has to think of something else, anything else.

  She can’t stay here. She can’t stay in these memories.

  “It doesn’t matter. It's ancient history.” Shanna stands, taking her plate. “Are you done eating? You didn’t touch any of the meat.”

  Smith stares at the small, wet piece of tenderloin resting on the ceramic plate. He grabs it and stands. “It just doesn’t feel right to me to eat something that had a life of its own.”

  “And who's to say the apples and bread didn’t have lives of their own?”

  “Maybe they did.” Smith walks back to the communal kitchen with Shanna, justifying the previous statement with something they were told a lifetime ago: “Those who die in service do so willingly; they give their lives so others can live.” For life is precious, and life is all. I still remember when a Scholar told me that after one of my Builder friends fell into a smelting pool. It's been eons, and I can still remember how they comforted me then.

  So, how could that rusting Mystic have said those horrible things back on that ship? We Machinists should be a caring people.

  I miss the Forge. Smith thinks as they wash the plate with hands that are not their own.

  I miss my body too.

  Shanna laughs, “Yeah, I guess plants are grown specifically to be food, while animals can have lives of their own, you have a point there.” Shanna’s interpretation of Smith’s statement pulls him out of his trance.

  “I suppose I do.” He mutters as unsure of himself as ever.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Once the plates have been washed and returned, Shanna places a hand on Smith’s back. She leads him out of the rickety, poorly furnished town hall and into the village itself. It’s full of sturdy cabins and bustling denizens working together as a well-oiled machine to maintain the well-being of their shared home. The sight eerily reminds Smith of the Forge.

  “Well, you should probably get washed up.” Shanna points to a stout wood cabin lying just past the edge of several gardens and workshops. Steam trails slowly out of it and sprinkles onto the grass. “The Bathhouse is over there, but feel free to stop by my home if you just want to get some sleep in. It's that wide cabin to the right over there with the rocking chairs and flowers on the porch.”

  Smith nods. Shouldn’t I say something? He suddenly recalls the proper pleasantries. “Thank you, Shanna. I appreciate it.”

  “Hey, no problem.” Shanna beams before leaving Smith to his own devices, “I gotta go explain your situation to the village Chief, I also promised Julius that I would help him prep that trout we caught for tonight's dinner. I’m gonna be busy, but call for me if you need anything else; everyone here knows me anyway.”

  Do they also know Nadeden? Shanna is gone by the time the question has entered Smith’s mind. He chooses to keep the inquiry to himself before heading for the Bathhouse.

  Walking through the peaceful, uncrowded village with clear skies and little noise is a unique experience for Smith. Whether it is a pleasant or discomforting one is uncertain to them, but they attempt to enjoy the walk regardless. All the while taking in the sights and sounds around them. The village appears to be mostly inhabited by humans, with an even mix of martins tossed in, although the light illuminating from underneath the crustaceous exoskeleton of a Fluoredon can be spotted as well.

  However, amidst all the idyllic scenery lies an unnerving feeling that Smith can’t seem to shake. A feeling that has haunted them since they arrived. Something doesn’t seem right about this place. The very ground feels uneven, and Smith can’t quite tell why.

  “That’s two of my children you’ve gotten killed!” Shouts an elderly man from a workshop. Despite his age, the man still gathers the strength to shove a woman into a puddle of mud in anger.

  The action intrudes on Smith’s thoughts, forcing him to stare at the mud with the rest of the villagers. Nadeden scrambles for her newly acquired walking stick. The mud drips from the bandana covering her scorched eye and falls back into the wet puddle as she looks up.

  She locks eyes with Smith as her hands claw into the dirt.

  The old man cries again, “Haven’t you already hurt our people enough? Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, Scorched Archer!”

  The villagers take no action to help Nadeden as she struggles to stand. Smith hurries off to the bathhouse, seeking to put as much distance between themself and Nadeden as possible. “I don’t know what Hadel and Helena ever saw in you.” The elderly repairman whispers to himself before breaking down in tears.

  I should have known. Smith thinks to themself later in the bathhouse, letting the solitude of hot water and steam guide their thoughts.

  The people here do know Nadeden, and they all hate her just like everyone else in the universe does. She really is a terrible person.

  She even admitted to it.

  Smith sinks further into the water, submerging the head that is not theirs into it. Their real body wouldn’t even need air, but this one will burst out of the water in only a few seconds to gasp for it. Humans are so insufficiently designed.

  Smith ponders the limits of himself while continuing to think to themself.

  If Nadeden is such a terrible person, why does she keep helping me? Should I have helped her back there?

  No, I already saved her life, so my debt to her is paid.

  No, that’s a human thought. I can’t think like that. Kindness should be priceless.

  Smith rises from the water, examining their hands again as water drips from his spindly fingers. Hadel was Nadeden’s friend. He helped her put me in this human body. If everyone truly does hate Nadeden, how come she had a friend who was willing to help her do something like that?

  Better yet, what sort of relationship does she have with Shanna? Her and Nadeden don’t act like friends, but Shanna is willing to take us in without a second thought. What’s that about?

  Smith steps out of the bath, gripping the pebble that Granix gave them. Something isn’t right here.

  Smith tightens their grip on Granix’s pebble with a hand that is not theirs. I’m not seeing the full picture here. I need answers. Smith wraps a towel around their waist and enters the changing room, where a basket of freshly washed clothes is waiting for them, along with someone else.

  “You’re new.”

  The words startle Smith, but the voice behind them is far more startling.

  “Don’t mind me, I’m just wrapping up here.” An elf woman states as she places her hairbrush down and straightens her dress, speaking in an unnaturally low spectral voice, “I didn’t see you come into town. Are you just passing by?”

  Smith gulps, being sure to keep one hand on the door and the other on their towel. “You could say that.”

  The elf is unsatisfied with the answer, but quickly lets the matter go as she walks to the exit. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then, Mister…”

  Smith has to take a moment to remember that the body they are in is male before they can answer the prompt. “Smith, and you are?”

  “Triminiv. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Smith, even if you won’t be here long.”

  Smith’s eyes widen as Triminiv places her hand on the door.

  With her back facing Smith, the large burn that covers her body all the way up from her spine to her neck is now visible. Somehow, through the steam, Smith failed to notice that Triminiv’s ears are disfigured. They have been burned at the tips and contorted around the folds of her neck, almost as if she had been strangled by a creature of pure fire.

  Smith rushes to clothe their body the instant Triminiv leaves in order to trail her. Running out in nothing more than a pair of workers' pants and a loose-fitting blouse, Smith spots Triminiv just a few buildings past the bathhouse, speaking to Shanna. No doubt on the subject of the village’s new guests. Shanna briefly slashes her eyes toward Smith’s position, sending a shockwave of anxiety through them.

  Smith hastily runs away in panic, only to find themself in a clearing full of stones.

  Smith creeps along the grass, once again tightening their grip on Granix’s pebble with a hand that is not theirs.

  Smith is fully prepared to call for Granix right now and be rid of this clear and present danger that seems to be surrounding them from all sides, but Smith doesn’t do that. Because in front of them is a gravestone. One with a familiar name.

  “Nadeden?” Smith reads aloud before viewing all the other graves. Smith kneels down in the haunting, isolated graveyard, as a dark realization creeps over them.

  That night, Shanna arrives back at her cabin.

  It has been a long day, to say the least.

  She stretches her tired back and yawns as she opens the door.

  “Panam, Julius, I’m home,” Shanna exclaims while lighting a candle.

  She fully expects to see her wife and son in the hall, but instead of being greeted with that warm welcome, she is greeted with a sight that she has anticipated for quite some time now.

  “They aren’t home, Shanna,” Nadeden states in a harsh, threatening, flat tone, stepping out of the shadows.

  Shanna sighs, “Hi, Nadeden, I suppose you’re here to kill me?”