“Let’s go get you some armour,” Oras said.

  Celia was almost entirely unresponsive. When he took a step, she followed, but there was no will in the motion. Oras hesitated to even call what she was doing ‘walking’. It certainly fit the category of the motion, but it felt more like he was watching a stone turn in a watermill.

  “Ya wanna buy some sweets?” Theria tried to make conversation with the blonde. “Maybe some toy?”

  A weak shaking of her head was all she got back. Oras wasn’t even sure that was a deliberate motion or the side effect of a swaying step.

  They tried to coax her into a conversation continuously as they walked. ‘It has to be done,’ Oras told himself, hardening his heart against the guilt he felt for having made her so visibly miserable. His father had made sure to tell all of his children that it took a strong will to make a difficult decision. ‘If it was easy to improve the world, then we would all live in paradise,’ Oras recited the words of his father in his mind, then supplemented them with the scripture of the Cult. ‘Nature tempts us all with vices, and vices grip us tight. To remove a soul from its torment is rarely met with thanks in the moment. Endure, for the balance of all, like the Supernatural Elephant endures the attacks of the unenlightened on its endless march.’

  “Any preferences?” Theria asked, once they had reached the armourer.

  They were going to buy her the same kind of armour they had. Vambraces, shoulder pads and reinforced straps to partly protect the chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give one some wiggle room in combat.

  Celia pointed at a set that was her size and tested it on. She was mute throughout the entire process. Still, it was good to have confirmation that she would react when it was necessary. Once they had verified her Mantis Blades wouldn’t cut through the straps of the vambraces, they went on to negotiate the price.

  Oras managed to haggle the seller down by 10%, leaving them with 20 Gold in their coffers after all was said and done. Not enough to afford any other real improvements to their armaments, so there was no point in staying in the market or the city.

  ‘Should we anyway?’ Oras thought, with an eye on Celia. ‘Maybe she needs some rest?’ He discarded the idea a few moments later. Physical rest was not what she needed and she could do the mental recovery while walking. Oras and Theria usually did their best thinking while in motion. He just assumed the same was true for her.

  Thus, they went for the city gate.

  ________

  Weekdusk, 20th of Octavius, 11th year of the Stringless Era

  Celia did not speak for the remainder of their first day on the road. She did not speak for the second day either. She got a bit more responsive, taking in their surroundings with a healthy amount of wariness, but did not contribute to any of the banter between Oras and his wife. Seeing her miserable like that continued to gnaw on his soul, but the Dragonblood had nothing left in his repertoire. All he could do was wait and walk.

  They were in the middle of the jungle now. After following the western road for a while, they had stepped off onto a side path and then a side path of the side path. The trampled down dirt trail they were now following was just barely enough for a handcart to be rolled along.

  “Ya sure we’re in the right area?” Theria asked, when they made rest for the night.

  “Not entirely,” Oras confessed and re-checked the little sheet of paper he had been given when he accepted the mission. On it was a description of the roads to follow and landmarks that would testify they were on the right way. “We had Torm to guide us to the first ruin and the second one wasn’t hard to find… we are on our own now.”

  “I know that,” Theria told him.

  “I thought you might need a reminder, given how eager you were to ditch our mentor.”

  “Never said he wasn’t useful. This is more fun though,” Theria said. “Fending for ourselves, venturing into the unknown, unknowing and yet valiant in the face of danger and stuff.”

  “This is why I joke you’re suicidal…”

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  The two of them stopped dead in their treks and turned to Celia. The blonde did not meet their eyes, instead focusing on her feet.

  “Yes, I can still talk,” she pre-empted any joke.

  “Glad to hear it,” Oras said, with genuine relief.

  “Ya got too pretty a voice to nev’r let us hear.”

  Celia stiffened up. “Like a songbird locked away in a cage?”

  “Like a songbird,” Oras said.

  The doll woman did not respond to that. She kept her golden eyes locked on the ground, her hands by her sides. Silence settled over them. The day was nearing its end and the jungle prepared itself for rest.

  ‘We should do the same,’ Oras thought, then checked the parchment again. It was extremely cheap quality, paper and ink alike, clearly made for disposable use. “If we are on the right path, we should reach a half-mossed pillar soon.”

  “What does that even mean?” Theria asked.

  “I hope we will know when we see it.” Oras put the cheap parchment away before the humidity could seep too deep into it. “If you’re willing to talk, I would like to once we have settled for the night?”

  “...Sure…” Celia agreed. There was no conviction in it whatsoever.

  They found the half-mossed pillar fifteen minutes later. It was a literal description of a massive, conspicuously tall and narrow boulder that was covered in green moss on only one side. The path circled around it, forking into three different directions. Wooden signs spelled out which village each path led to in burned-in letters.

  “Perfect,” Oras said, feeling a little relieved at the sight. He tapped on one of the signs. “Wilse, that’s where we’re heading. We should be there by tomorrow noon at the latest.”

  “Ya love to hear it.” Theria was already testing the ground off the path. A clearly manmade clearing surrounded the half-mossed pillar, demarcated by a low fence made of stacked slate. “Wonder what they do here?”

  “Harvest festivals?” Oras suggested. “The three villages likely come together to have a really big get-together and to let the young ones mingle.”

  “Ya mean like we did with the people in Tuyulse every other year?”

  “Exactly like that, yes.” They scanned the area for a bit longer, until they found a fire pit. It hadn’t been used in weeks, but it was deep and dry enough for their purposes. They put their bags down, pulled out their blankets, and then left Celia to make things as comfortable as they could be. Oras and Theria went for a quick scan of the area for anything they could eat instead of their rations.

  Theria got lucky, spotting and swiftly killing a rabbit. It was swiftly gutted, the fur stripped, and the meat put into the metal cylinder they carried around to make stews. Water and a couple of edible plants were added. It wasn’t a culinary masterpiece, but it was better eating than they got most days.

  Celia sat by the fire, knees pulled to her chest. When no good moment to talk to her ever surfaced, Oras simply… forged ahead. “How do you feel?”

  “Confused,” the ancient String responded.

  Theria extended a hand towards the blonde, a tree seed between her fingers. “An acorn for your thoughts?”

  Celia blew air out of her nose in either mockery or amusement. “I should not have been able to take that step,” she muttered, her monotone voice growing a little agitated as she continued. “Dolls do not dance on their own. I’m Master’s servant, his property, nothing else… so why could I raise and put down my foot of my own accord? I wanted to prove that I couldn’t. I… am bound by String.”

  The pot’s lid rattled, steam pressing the metal up for miniscule moments. Celia grabbed a couple of rocks off the floor, placing them on the lid to keep the heat and pressure contained.

  “If… if!” Celia raised her voice to normal levels. “If what you say is true… if I truly am bound only by assumptions that were placed upon me… then why do you wish to take these certainties away from me?” Golden eyes snapped first to Theria, then to Oras, staring into their eyes. “I am content in my position as a servant. It is all I know and all I need to know. Can I not be happy within this cage?”

  Oras only responded after he had thought about it for a long while. “Perhaps you can be.”

  Celia gasped in relief. “Then…-”

  “But not with us,” Oras continued. “Call me selfish for it, if you wish. Call me a hypocrite, because I am demanding that you make your own choices. Call me whatever you want, Celia… but I truly could not stomach knowing that I leave you entangled in your own mind.” He locked eyes with the doll woman across the camp fire. The lid once more rattled between them. “If it is truly your wish to remain as you are, then I am sure we can make an arrangement with the Cult. You can stay there, as a servant, for the rest of your days. If you stay with us… then I will keep pushing you, until your choices, be they to serve or not, are yours.”

  “Why?” Celia croaked.

  “You will get no more satisfying answer than what I have already said: because I believe it to be the right thing. Nothing beautiful in nature deserves to be chained by evil.” He hesitated for a moment. “And… I find myself quite charmed by you. The Supernatural Elephant would judge me, rightfully, were I to act on it as you are now.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the lid on the pot jumping a few centimetres into the air. Too much pressure had built, released in a puff of steam. The lid settled crookedly on the cylinder.

  Celia raised her hand, to push the lid back into place, then stopped and shook her head. “It is good like that,” she muttered to herself. “I will stay, Master… Oras.”

  “We’re glad to hear it,” he said.

  “Very glad,” Theria added.

  They ate and slept in peace.