Marian stared in disbelief at the little girl beside her. Her world, and everything in it, was gone? It was an absurd thing to say, but Tracey didn't seem to be joking.

Marian shook her head. "You're wrong."

"Wish I was."

"You're lying."

Tracey gave her a patient expression. "Why would I lie about this?"

"I-I don't know, but you have to be..."

"Marian..."

"Maybe you're mistaken. Maybe it went somewhere else, and it's just hidden. You, you said earlier that you'd never seen... what was going on, before."

"I did," Tracey admitted. She sat back in her rocking chair as she thought.

"So, so I need to go and see if I can find out where my world went. The Wyvern Hunter is waiting for me! I have to-"

"You fought someone," Tracey interrupted. "In the church?"

The sudden swerve in conversation threw Marian. It took her a moment to adjust, then the images of Barney, Buleyak, HC-0064, and the others came back to her. "I did, yes."

"Did you beat them?"

She could see the broken body of HC on the floor, then the ring of enemies appearing all around her. "One of them. But there were so many..."

Tracey nodded. "Could they have destroyed the world?"

"I-I don't really know what a world-destroyer would look like..."

"Hm. Bad question," Tracey grunted. She rocked for a moment as she reconsidered her approach. "Could they have made the sky dark?"

Marian remembered the strange way Buleyak and the other shades had manipulated the darkness in the chamber. Five shadow creatures had cloaked the room with little trouble. If there were more of them...

Reluctantly, she admitted, "Maybe."

"Could they have destroyed that town?"

A legion of HCs, men in uniforms, man-sized bats, zombies, and other creatures filled her thoughts. They rampaged through her memory of the once-thriving Greenbriar Copse. Her mind was filled with images of tearing, goring, mutilating, eating, and burning until nothing remained...

In a quieter voice, she repeated, "...maybe."

Tracey didn't ask any more questions. "I'm sorry."

Marian stared at the blankets. "Thank you," she mumbled.

The two sat in silence. For a minute, the only sounds were of the chair creaking and of a clock somewhere ticking. The window rattled in the night breeze.

Everything is gone... Everything is gone... The words repeated over and over in Marian's head. In a way, it was too difficult for her to wrap her head around, such was the unreal totality to the simple phrase. The violent imagery of the doomed town and her hopeless fight against Barney's army became abstract - flashes of meaningless violence to underscore the miserable rondo echoing through her mind. Everything is gone... Everything is gone...

"I'm going to stop this," Tracey eventually said. "Stop whoever is doing this."

The witch glanced at her without emotion.

"Don't know how yet. Need to work on a plan. Get more heroes. We'll figure something out."

Marian couldn't think of what to say, so she simply nodded as she turned back to her feet. The sounds of the rocking chair and the ticking clock filled the room once more.

Familiar faces started to filter into Marian's mind. She could see the large dining room in Cobblestone Keep, where her party was assembled for some forgotten feast. Wendy was telling a story, sweeping her arms in wide gestures as she casually embellished the details. Nathaniel was cutting his food into small pieces, chuckling at Wendy's exaggerated story as though it was part of an elaborate inside joke. Sandra was interjecting with her own narrative, offering what she would have done with pointed flourishes of her cutlery. Gordon was futilely trying to chastise Sandra for her interruptions while he filled his plate. Vanguard the wolf was emptying Gordon's plate every time the monk turned his head away. The Wyvern Hunter was at the head of the table, silently enjoying the chaos around him.

These were torn away as the words repeated in her head once again: Everything is gone... Then there was no feast, nor companions: just death and the emptiness it left behind.

Tracey broke the silence again. "I need your help."

"I'm not a hero," Marian replied automatically.

The rocking chair stopped. Marian turned to see Tracey, who seemed to be studying her.

"I'm not," she repeated. "The Wyvern Hunter was the hero. I just worked for him." She looked down as she added, "You saved the wrong person from the end of the world."

"You fought with the Wyvern Hunter, right?"

Marian let the question hang in the air as she looked to the window, silence serving as her answer.

She could hear Tracey shift in her seat. If the little girl had a reaction beyond fidgeting, Marian didn't care to see for herself. The last thing she needed right now was to see the depths of disappointment on the little girl's big, expressive face.

"I-I..." Tracey's voice cracked as she started to speak. There was a pause before she tried again. "...I need to go. Be right back."

Marian didn't move. She eventually heard Tracey's chair creak once more, then soft feet shuffling over old floorboards.

It wasn't until she heard the door easing shut that Marian spoke up. "Before you go..."

Marian turned to see Tracey partway into the hall. The little girl was clutching the doorknob in her hand. She stood still, with all the caution of a deer sizing up a hunter.

Marian pointed at the dresser. "Can I have my spellbook?"

Tracey gave her a curious expression.

"Please? I... I just want to see it."

She nodded, then gave Marian her glasses and magic tome.

"Thanks," Marian said, taking the book and setting the glasses aside.

"Won't be long." The door shut with a click.

Marian watched the door for some time, then turned back to the book in her hands. There was a comfort to its heft and the faint chill of its engraved cover. There was a spot where the leather bent in a little on the bottom near the binding. She circled that with her thumb as she considered the tome.

After a few moments, she turned the book over and started flipping through the pages starting from the back cover. She had no idea where Tracey's home was, but it shouldn't matter; "Migrat" would still let her return to any city or waypoint she'd been to. Tracey probably meant well, but Marian needed to see for herself what was going on.

It didn't take long for Marian to reach the page labeled "Travel". She placed her pointer finger on the page and ran it down to the entry for "Migrat". She read the memory written there, remembering that quiet morning she'd spent watching the ducks start their flight south for the winter.

Those ducks are dead.

It was a strange thought to get stuck on. Yes, those ducks were all probably dead. This memory was from a few years ago. She shouldn't be surprised by that. She reread the memory.

Those ducks are dead.

Marian reminded herself that wild ducks didn't live particularly long, having an average lifespan of three to five years. Ducks were also fairly low on the food chain, so most of them had probably been eaten. She reread the memory.

Those ducks are dead.

Logically speaking, everything was dead. The ducks were part of "everything". Therefore, by the Transitive Property of Equality, the ducks were dead. Q.E.D. She reread the memory.

Those ducks are dead.

Yes, yes. That was what ducks did: quack a lot and then die. There was no reason why Marian should be fixating on that. She had more important things to do than grouse over a bunch of dumb ducks. She reread the memory.

Those ducks are dead.

Marian sighed. "This is pointless..."

She became aware of the thrumming ache in her leg. Maybe that was the problem? Her leg was still hurting, and she hadn't had the time to heal her injuries. If she took care of the pain in her leg, she might be better able to concentrate on her magic.

Marian flipped through her book until she reached the page containing "Salve2". The memory tied to this spell was of the time Gordon miraculously healed a man's broken leg.

Gordon Remir is dead.

Marian had never felt especially close to Gordon. He'd always been a bit too stuffy for her tastes. He was the sort of man who'd lecture anyone as though they were one of his pupils. Even so, he was a good man. He hadn't deserved to succumb to the end of the world...

Marian shook her head. "Focus," she told herself. She reread the memory.

Gordon Remir is dead. The man he healed is dead.

This was proving to be another waste of time. Marian's finger trailed up the page to "Salve". It wasn't as strong as "Salve2", but a healing spell was a healing spell. She started to read the memory of how her mother-

Costançia Harradin is dead.

"No. Mother is alive. Her and Father-"

Costançia Harradin is dead. Aloysius Harradin is dead.

Marian shook her head. "Mama and Papa can't be dead! They're not supposed to be dead! They're back in Sanddust City, waiting for me to come home!"

Costançia Harradin is dead. Aloysius Harradin is dead. Sanddust City is dead.

"No no no no no no no... I never got to..."

In a flash, Marian remembered the last time she'd seen her Mama and Papa. It was the day she left behind Sanddust City forever to be an adventurer. She could remember sitting in the parlor, breaking the news that she'd been kicked out of Starry Night University, but that she would be okay, and that she was going to be a great hero instead. She could no longer remember the words exchanged, but she remembered her father's disappointment and her mother's worry. She remembered that niggling doubt, planted that evening like a poppy seed in her mind, that perhaps she shouldn't have been so quick to throw away the schooling she'd spent her life working towards. And though she'd insisted over the years in her letters home that she was still pursuing her dreams, she never could find it in herself to face her parents again. And now, it was-

Marian violently slammed her open hand on the side of her head. "Focus, you stupid girl! You just have to go see them! If you would just get out of here-!"

Those ducks are dead.

She clapped the sides of her face again. "If you would just heal your stupid leg-!"

Gordon Remir is dead. The man he healed is dead. Costançia Harradin is dead. Aloysius Harradin is dead. Sanddust City is dead.

Marian's breath came out in desperate gasps. Her magic only worked if she could focus on a memory long enough to remember the emotions her spells were tied to. She'd never be able to cast any of her spells if she kept fixating on people and things being dead. She needed to make a spell - any spell - work.

Marian frantically paged through her book until she came upon her "Offensive" spells. She looked to the entry for "Burn 2". It was a spell she'd studied and cast so many times over the years. Surely everything would come back together as she recalled the time she and her companions had faced off against-

Wendy Willowbrook is dead. Nathaniel Castillian is dead. The Wyvern Hunter is dead.

"NO! He's not! He and the others are still alive! They-!"

Marian's mind was filled with images of the bloody trail she'd followed through the Dungeon, and of her companions being slaughtered at the hands of Barney and HC-0064.

The Wyvern Hunter is dead. Wendy Willowbrook is dead. Nathaniel Castillian is dead. Vanguard the wolf is dead. Gordon Remir is dead. Sandra MacCulloch is dead.

She began hyperventilating. She looked away from her tome, her eyes settling on the blurry image of the potted plant. Her right hand raised, fingers and thumb outstretched as though she were grabbing at it. She could incinerate that plant with a fireball if she could just cast "Burn 2". Her arm quivered as she tried to will magic through it.

"Please... please... please..."

Yet, no matter how hard she tried to remember what it felt like to knock Barney off that rooftop and join the party of a world-class hero, all that went through her head was, The Wyvern Hunter is dead.

The tome slipped out of Marian's left hand, falling uselessly into her lap. Her arms fell next, and there was a twinge in her leg as her right hand hit her thigh. Through this, her concentration stayed on the potted plant she'd been unable to ignite.

Magic had been a part of what Marian was for a very long time. She'd been able to cast magic ever since she was a little girl. Mastery over magic had driven her academic pursuits, and it was what filled her lonely days when left behind in Cobblestone Keep. She hadn't realized how much she'd come to rely on her magic as a source of comfort until everything else she'd ever known had been taken from her.

Yet now, when she needed her magic most, she couldn't cast a single spell.

All feeling bled from Marian as she stared into space. Variations of the phrase, He is dead... She is dead... they're all dead... reverberated through her head. The words grew stale, but for a time, they were all she could focus on.

By and by, she became aware of the sound of the breeze. She let her eyes shift towards the little window to her side. Wherever she was had a moon and stars, and by their light could she see into the night. The shapes of trees, naked as in the winter, stood outside in a sparse, staggered copse. Somewhere behind them was a wall of stone that loomed high. Though this scene was foreign to her, the objects that composed it were familiar.

"Guess there's some comfort in that," she muttered under her breath. But at that moment, the words felt as hollow as her heart.

Marian couldn't understand why she no longer felt anything. People were supposed to feel something after going through a major disaster, weren't they? Her entire world was stolen from her; should she not feel anger? Everyone she'd ever known was gone; should she not feel sorrow? She was still alive; should she not feel relief? She had seen terrible things; should she not feel fear? But these emotions were as fleeting as the night wind that rattled against her window.

She tried instead to cling to questions. Was her world really gone? Were her companions really dead? What was the Emucave? Had it always existed? How did Tracey know about it? What was this world - Tracey's world - like? What were the other worlds like? How could an entire world disappear? Who - or what - was Buleyak? Could Tracey stop Buleyak?

Desperately, Marian clutched at these doubts and worries. She tried to wring them for the emotions they promised - hope, terror, wonder, anger. To have any of these emotions was to have a reason for her sitting in bed, still breathing, still living. But it was like squeezing a rock and hoping for wine.

In the end, for all her effort, Marian only felt like a candle blazing in the middle of a vast, empty cavern. For whom was her light burning? For how long would it burn? And how would her light fade - by her wick burning away, or by a sudden breeze? And when she did fade...

"...will anyone care?"

In the yawning silence of the room, Marian found her answer.

Gently, she picked up and closed the tome. She hugged it to her chest, feeling the weight of it push against her as she breathed in and out. She looked nowhere, concentrating simply on keeping the names and records as close to her heart as she could. She let her eyes close, and nothing else in the world registered.

Marian hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep again until the knock at her door woke her up. In her fatigue, she reflexively mumbled, "Come in," even though the door was already creaking open.

Tracey had returned, carrying a wide wooden tray with handles on its side. On the tray was a new glass of water and a couple dishes. The smells of slightly burnt bread, cheese, cooked chicken, and bone broth intermingled in the air.

"Sorry to make you wait," Tracey said as she gingerly walked into the room. "Thought you might be hungry." She carefully set the wooden tray on the table beside the bed, pausing to move the empty cup out of the way.

If she had been prompted, the subject of food would have been towards the back of Marian's thoughts. However, confronted by the savory aromas, her hunger lurched awake, shoved her melancholy aside, and took charge. Her stomach sounded off, greedily clamoring for the life-giving sustenance in a gastronomical roar.

"I guess I'm hungry," she said, affecting casual disinterest.

Tracey gave her a knowing look. "Let it cool a little," she instructed. "Still hot."

Marian ignored this advice and picked up a slice of the sandwich. Being accustomed to holding fireballs in her hand, she only felt the heat when the molten cheese hit the roof of her mouth.

"Hhhohhh hhhat'sh hhhot," she observed as she reached for the water.

"Warned you." Tracey said as she eased into the rocking chair.

Taking the glass in her hand, Marian administered a generous pull of water to cool the contents of her mouth. The tepid lump that resulted didn't have much of a taste, though she couldn't tell if that was a result of Tracey's cooking or her own toasted taste buds.

"It'sh... good." The clump of sandwich felt like a rough stone as it slithered down her throat. "Thanks."

Tracey nodded. A black curve marked a faint smile on her face. Though she couldn't explain how she knew, Marian could tell that the expression was uneasy, more polite than sincere.

Marian peered at the side of the sandwich where she'd taken a bite. She could see the melted cheese seeping out from between the slices of bread. She gently blew on it, sending steam billowing away. "Why the food, though?"

"Thought you were hungry," Tracey repeated.

"No, I mean... People don't usually interrupt a conversation to make each other..." Marian checked the window - still nighttime. "...dinner?"

Tracey shrugged. "Seemed like you needed it. When I have a bad day, grilled cheese and chicken soup always helps. Makes it hurt less."

Marian took another bite. The burnt bread's texture was harsh on her raw tongue. She exhaled to vent hot air, further irritating the roof of her mouth.

"...I shee," Marian said before swallowing.

She continued working her way through the sandwich. Though it was small, she took her time as she tried to juggle her hunger with the sandwich's heat. All the while, she could see Tracey carefully appraising her.

Eventually, Tracey's staring was too much for Marian. She sighed. "What?"

Tracey looked down in her lap. In a guilty tone, she admitted, "Marian, I really need your help."

Marian shook her head. "Tracey, I..."

Her voice cracked, and she realized quite suddenly that she couldn't admit to losing her magic. There was no point in her hesitation - she'd seen it for herself, and Marian was no liar by nature. Nevertheless, there was a weight to that admission that she just couldn't bear, as though giving voice to it would be to etch into bedrock the pointlessness of her own existence.

She set her sandwich down and looked back towards the window. After some deliberation, she settled on a half-truth. "...I can't. I'm not strong enough."

"Not... you don't have to fight."

Marian turned back to Tracey.

"If you don't think you can... I won't make you." There was a note of sad resignation in the kid's big eyes.

The witch stared, uncomprehendingly. "Then, what...?"

Tracey's eyes shifted. Now there was focus to them, filled with their own quiet determination. "You saw something down in the church."

"I saw a lot down there."

"You know what they can do."

"I know what some of them can do."

Tracey scrunched her face with obvious distaste. Marian supposed she was being petulant, but it was hard to care.

Carefully enunciating every word, Tracey tried again. "You have a better idea of what's making the worlds disappear than I do."

Marian opened her mouth, but the repartee died unspoken as she considered this. Finally, she conceded, "I guess I do."

Tracey nodded curtly. She continued slowly, speaking the words as though she had to concentrate on saying them correctly. "I need to know what you know. Can you please tell me what happened?"

Before Marian could respond, Tracey held up one of her hands to interrupt her. She still spoke carefully, though her voice softened. "It's OK if you just want to rest. I'm sorry to ask so much from you. I don't want you to suffer more than you already have. If you aren't ready now, we can talk later."

The lonely witch looked at her companion. She was struck once again by how much Tracey looked like a little girl's self-portrait. She had a big, expressive face. Her head was disproportionately larger than the rest of her body. Her hair was a vibrant pink. Her arms were short and terminated in simple-looking mitten-hands. She wore embroidered long underwear with built-in shoes as nightwear.

But those words of understanding surprised Marian. For as simple as Tracey's speech was, there was a quiet maturity to the ideas she tried to communicate. Though she had to tilt her head back to look at her, Tracey seemed to be treating Marian as an equal.

Marian found herself reflecting on Tracey's actions since they'd met. The little girl had traveled to a distant world in search of heroes. She had been transparent about things she didn't understand. She apologized and owned up to her mistakes. She had tried following Marian into the middle of enemy territory. She had refused to leave Marian for dead, even though it meant guiding her across separate realities. Even to the point of exhaustion, Tracey had stayed by Marian's side.

Were those really the actions of a child...?

"Sure," Marian finally answered. "I can talk."

"Thank you." Tension ebbed out of the small woman in a long sigh as she eased back into the rocking chair.

"Yeah..."

Marian had no idea what there was for her after she told her story. She had nowhere to call home, no one to call her companion. The Wyvern Hunter, and everyone else she'd ever known, no longer existed outside of her memories. Marian couldn't even conjure a single spell, and with her leg in its current condition, she was as good as useless to whatever plan Tracey came up with.

But Tracey had cared enough to save her from the end of the world. Marian owed this woman more than she could ever possibly repay. She could at least keep it together long enough to tell her story. After that...

Marian looked at her spellbook again. Maybe she'd have better luck with her magic after some rest? She had her doubts, but what else was there for her to do while she recovered?

When Marian looked back, Tracey had produced a notebook from somewhere and was flipping through its pages. It wasn't long before she stopped, having apparently reached her destination. She gripped a writing implement in her mitten-like hand, then regarded Marian with what the witch took as an encouraging expression. "Whenever you're ready. Take your time."

Marian gave her tome - the sole testimony of a dead world - a squeeze for good luck before she began.