Warning: Mentions of fantasy-violence and trauma

"As I assumed, you were feeling thuds and uncomfortable noises in your head, weren’t you?" Mortigus nodded in affirmation. "You are unfortunately incapable of hearing of sharing complex thoughts through contact, in other words, a <balapa>. There are a few people in our colonies that are born this way, as rare as it is. But that also means it’s not that bad," concluded Arber, though an uneasy thought formed in the back of their minds. As Mortigus continued to stare at his hand and recollect himself after the experience, Arbero couldn't help but ponder. As Arbero was able to connect to Mortigus’ body, even partially, they could better read his characteristics, like his Essence, his organ placements, and his immediate feelings of anxiety. But most peculiar was his age. That was the Essence of a Mycolian that reached at the very least 50 years of age, yet it was improbable Mortigus knew it. The body seemed old on its own, but it was difficult to determine when or how the plague doctors got their hands on Mycolian body parts.

 "Other Mycolians, you say," muttered Mortigus. "Are there other Mycolians in this forest?"

  "There... aren't," gulped Arbero, their eyes shifting for a second to the ground, "not in this forest nor anywhere near it. And probably only a handful left on this side of the Wall."

   "Oh. So that also explains why I've never heard of creatures such as you from my parents, or other villagers for that matter. I think people wouldn't be able to oversee you on purpose. And you consider me one of you now? <Balapa> and all?"

  Arbero's eyes widened drastically. As they processed Mortigus' question, emotions rushed over them, making them mumble their words.

 "I—of course I do, Mortigus—I believe I've said it before. I see you as a brethren, a fellow Mycolian. <Balapa> and all."

 "Then there is another Mycolian in the forest besides you, even if only for a week," said Mortigus giddily, pointing his index finger at himself, his mask-like face almost contorting into a faint smile. 

  Arbero goggled at the childlike, innocent gesture, letting out a few chuckles. 

  "Guess I'm not going to be alone for a while," said Arbero, puffing slightly as they tilted their heads. 

  After having Mortigus practice his connection to the underground mycelium a couple more times, as the sky, barely peeking through the mat greenery, had already turned scarlet for more than an hour. The two ended up heading back to the mushroom hut, arms full of small fruits, nuts, and leaves. Not something most would consider a feast, but Mortigus was neither a picky eater nor a gourmand. Both of them had been surviving in the woods for years. They continued to chit-chat from the road to inside the house, Arbero sharing a bit of their knowledge of these woods, and even the history they shared with it. Upstairs, Arbero showed Mortigus his room again before retreating to their own room, offering him some privacy and quiet. 

   Mortigus took the opportunity to eat before his paranoia slowly clicked with subtle beats. He put an uncharacteristically high amount of trust in his partnership with Arbero. It could be a devastatingly bad call to let his guard down. Arbero had greater strength, skill, and knowledge than Mortigus. Their words about Mycolians and Mortigus' artificial link to these beings held a ring of truth—but without a complete picture, the whole affair felt dangerously uncertain. Mortigus drifted in a fog of half-truths for hours. "I won't sleep tonight, that's for sure. Should I leave this hut with my provisions and hide in some improvised den?" Mortigus began to mumble to himself. Suddenly, his eye widened in panic as a thought blitzed in his head: "Arbero can surely sense this whole hut. Not only that, they could control it. I already fell into a potential trap, and so easily too. I never fucking learn." Mortigus' neck had teared superficially as his blunt fingers tried to steep into it, his heavy breathing stifled by the pressure on his throat. He got promptly out of the bed, grabbing what was easier to carry from the room, and peered into the hall of the first floor of the hut. His eye was met with darkness barely pierced by the moonlight through the woven tissues of the hut and the occasional round windows. No sounds, yet only a weird feeling that radiated through all the walls: he could feel Arbero’s presence outside the hut. Mortigus walked downstairs, planning to scout the entrance. The moon timidly placed its spotlight a few meters away from the front of the hut; through the open doorway, a figure stood illuminated in its soft, silver light. It was Arbero sitting on a rugged wooden bench, their eyes looking away from the hut. Mortigus stared intently at Arbero, counting his options. Silently, he stepped lower and lower down the stairs, testing Arbero's reaction and senses. The silence and stillness of the night world reigned as Mortigus reached the bottom floor. Arbero remained still, lost in thought; this was his opening to slip away. Mortigus' heart beat like a slow drum; he could see himself in the figure staring at the sky and the horizon. "One last test of trust," thought the most reckless part of Mortigus’ soul. Stepping outside the hut with discrete movements, Mortigus was now a few meters away from Arbero's back. Arbero, snapping out of a trance, turned around their neck and upper body in a startled manner. 

  "Oh, you’re still awake at this hour too, Mortigus. Is something the matter?" asked Arbero calmly. 

  Mortigus tried to cut his moment of hesitation short, answering with a slightly shrivelled voice: "No, nothing really; just a bit hard to fall asleep in another place after so long. What about you?"
  Arbero exhaled a bit, closing their eyes briefly. "There’s always something to think about, and I suppose I find it hard to relax my mind for tonight." 

  Mortigus recognised a weird wave from under his legs, his soles sensing something similar to before—a signal through the mycelium, most likely from Arbero. With this web under him, Mortigus felt trapped in this discussion, his presence possibly being monitored by the three-eyed mushroom. 

  "Your visit is peculiar, Mortigus. After so many centuries after the Wonder Wall appeared, it’s strange now of all times the Plague Doctors found and used a Mycolian body for experiments. I will not doubt your intentions too harshly, but I still question what decisions have led to this situation." 

  "Pure chance, perhaps? And the Wonder Wall—you mentioned it again, right? I haven’t heard about it since I was a kid. What do you know about it?"

  "I can’t say I know very much; it's embarrassing, after a thousand years, to be honest. But that cursed structure is the reason me and a few others were separated from home, seemingly forever," sighed Arbero. "Been so long since then." Arbero paused awkwardly, Mortigus not daring to interfere. ”I can tell it's not easy for you to put your trust in me. Caution is definitely safer," said Arbero. "If there is anything you need, I'd like to hear it. Nonetheless, you can remain here as long as you need, and if it feels more comfortable, I'll stay outside during the night."

 "That's going a bit too far," responded Mortigus, slightly stunned. "I thank you for your hospitality, but you are right: Placing my trust in you—or in anyone, honestly—feels unsettling. I’ve lost touch with what it means to interact with others.”

  "I do not demand your trust. Boundaries and precautions are a normal reaction for anyone, especially someone in your situation," insisted Arbero.

  Mortigus struggled to express his feelings further, but his words became increasingly disjointed, his sentences unravelling any semblance of sense. He gave up talking, pushing his head into his palm and squishing his forehead. It outright angered him the difficulty of expressing himself, while the fear of escalating this situation into Arbero snapping started to cross his mind again. 

  “Emotions must be a tangled web to navigate, and no wonder. You’re not only starved of human connection, but you also carry the burden of a mind at odds with the mycolian shell you now inhabit. I can relate, to some extent," lamented Arbero, visibly uncomfortable seeing Mortigus’ distraught. "I’ve mentioned Essence before, if you remember. I simplified it at the time, but Essence is the core of a mycolian’s experience. Essence is life; it is breath; it is exhale; everything the world gives us and we give to the world." Suddenly, the ground started glowing faintly in many colours, a shimmering aurora reflected from the grass, casting a gentle glow on Arbero’s back and Mortigus’ face. Growing up to one’s knee, bioluminescent mushrooms tenderly pushed away some of the darkness in the area. Small particles were taken to dance into the air by the wind passing through the carpet of glowing mushroom fruits.

 "Essence is hard to control, just like one’s emotions, instincts, and inner self. Let these flow through you, recognise you cannot ignore them or exist without them. They are part of you. Be distrustful when it is reasonable; be remorseful about the past. But do not let yourself be controlled; they are your subjects. It is your Essence, and, in the end," Arbero raised their leg among shining spores floating upwards like aimless fireflies, "do not let yourself be paralysed by your own emotions. Essence flows in the direction you want it to. Understanding this aspect is essential for any mycolian." 

  At the heart of the glowing spectacle, Arbero held their gaze on the still Mortigus, who appeared momentarily stunned.

  "Well, this night surely turned less dull, I’d say," chuckled Arbero softly as they got up. Walking a bit closer to Mortigus, they asked, "My silly rant hopefully brought you out of your spiral of thoughts. I’ll remain outside tonight, and hopefully you can rest a bit in your room." 

  Mortigus barely gave a half-assed "Yeah" before lowering his eye and backing up a bit. The glow of the mushroom, though weaker than before, felt very calming, and though he didn’t process it all, the explanation of Essence grounded him, pulling him back to the present. As he took in this strange phenomenon, a flicker of memory stirred, though he pushed against it. After standing outside indecisively for another minute, he headed back inside carefully, now pressing his hand across the walls, feeling the pulse of the mushrooms forming the house. Life never seemed so vivid to him before. As he reached his room, his motivation to run away almost evaporated. His suspicions on Arbero grew a bit weaker, and though his eye would remain open for tonight, his heart wavered. "It might be safe to remain here until Arbero finally shows true signs of aggression, but right now this might be the only opportunity for me to understand my existence," thought Mortigus. Mortigus took a steadying breath and turned his steps back outside. 

After a brief glance at Arbero, Mortigus began to recount the turning point of his life, starting from the moment Rhit laid him on the operating table. 

   From the few moments of consciousness as he was surrounded by the doctors to the dull ceiling of his cell. The way Rhit stormed in with a frozen arm and helped him escape, only for Mortigus to leave it all behind.

 "A burst of fire took the whole place, but I didn’t try to go back. I kept running, hoping to hear Rhit coming after me, yet I didn't stop to wait. I just couldn’t control my legs. That was the last time I saw them. Despite all these years, I didn’t go back to see what happened afterwards with the inn; I don’t know if I should blame myself for it. It would be too dangerous, right? Getting so close to humans." Mortigus’ speech kept getting more sparse, his voice getting more erratic. He kept all that he was, all that he lived for what he’d assume to be more than two decades. And in that moment, seeing the opportunity, his heart spilt out—tired of holding it in, weary of the silence. It was the 10-year-old boy fleeing a burning house into the forest alone, locking himself to never know hurt again: a fruitless escape from needs, from people, from the eye staring from the pond.

 “I can't just stay and listen to you blame yourself for the incident. It was not your fault for what happened that night, and you need not feel guilt for running away. You knew getting caught by the doctors again would mean suffering. You had no one to rely on, no one to trust; being so young, thrown into this nightmare. Don’t condemn yourself for your actions. Don’t blame yourself so harshly for wanting to survive. Rhit wanted you to be free, to live, and you are trying to honour that wish, even if they are not here to see it."

   Mortigus’ eye fixated on Arbero, dilating back and forth in an attempt to bring out tears that could no longer be poured. 

"I don't want to presume to know Rhit's wishes, and maybe you shouldn't either. Is it just wishful thinking from a guilt-ridden fool to decide what Rhit would have wanted? Did any of this lead to a good outcome? I’ve done nothing but squander the freedom I gained. To ignore my family. Rhit wasted their life for me." Mortigus’ tone grew higher and higher, making his body crack and tremble under an overbearing weight.

 "It may not be my place to talk, but I do not think Rhit would regret their decision. Please trust in their judgement: they saw you and your state and decided to go against the Doctors, their fellow colleagues, because that’s what felt right to Rhit. Yes, your liberty is earned through Rhit’s sacrifice, but do not feel guilt, specifically because Rhit would not want you to."

 "I—that’s not—" Mortigus stumbled over his words, panting slightly and his body shaking with nerves. "I don’t know if I wanna accept that. I somehow spent years in the forest, just me and my thoughts, or rather just me. I managed to move each day without thinking, barely acknowledging my existence beyond hunger and thirst. I survived for the sake of surviving. The only times my mind wasn’t forced into a blank state was on the nights I stalked travellers and eavesdropped on their stories. And those stories pointed to a blurry future, taking my eyes away from everything I left behind. I ran away in every sense of the word."

 "There is no blame for running; at least that’s how I see it," Arbero interjected, as Mortigus broke down in a fit of guilt. Neither said a word for a while, Arbero questioning their words. Mortigus also seemed to have hit his limit as well.

 "I think this is enough for tonight. This was too heavy to discuss so soon after meeting each other. I am sorry for pushing you so far. " said Arbero, giving some space to his guest. Mortigus showed no response for a few seconds, after which he quietly rose up and retreated to his room. As far as he could tell, Arbero did not enter the hut that night, but his words wouldn’t stop bugging him. It wasn't a calm night.