“But you said you—we are supposed to hibernate once or twice; I went through it at least five times! And yet that doesn’t even make up for all the years you mentioned.“

  “You are an anomaly after all. Your body would have a harder time adapting. Your Essence had to work with the union of human and mushroom flesh; one hibernation was too short for a proper form. You had to sacrifice perhaps more than 1 year for each hibernation. Not only that, any perception of time would get screwed after living in a forest so long.“

 “Wait, stop; this is a lot. This is not right; it can't be! I lost more than half of a human life in that forest, is that what this resumes to?! I couldn’t have; it's more than half of a human life. It’d mean I’m 70 years old?! Older than my parents were, or my aunt... that is ...too old.“    

 Mortigus' voice, already so defeated in tone, was silenced by one thought crossing his mind. His hands were shaking slightly besides his body before lifting them to his head. While standing on his feet, Mortigus finally felt the weight of time pressing on his head. 

 “Why did you only remember this now?" he snapped, his words turning almost hostile.

 “It slipped my mind last night; I didn’t connect the dots. I know this must be hard to handle," said Arbero before Mortigus cut them off.

 “It's pretty damn hard to handle, yes!“ fumed Mortigus. “This is too much; this whole conversation and day is too much. I'll just leave; be alone for some time. I’m not leaving the forest, so don’t follow me, I’d prefer it that way.“

  With a trembling voice and unsteady hands, Mortigus paced fast towards the forest, not even giving Arbero a chance to respond. They looked at Mortigus with a worried gaze but understood to respect his need for intimacy. In their head a low-spirited notion was humming: “He lived decades alone, any sense of safety and normalcy being tied to this state of solitude. It’d be only natural to find more comfort in being alone rather than with a tactless stranger like me. He has so many things to consider and to hesitate over. You’d think I’d be the same, but my age only made me more desperate and rash.“

  While Arbero stood behind, consumed by their own ramblings, Mortigus continued walking away rapidly, his breathing becoming irregular, his mind incapable of focusing. No matter how hard he was trying, he couldn’t leave behind the anxiety of what might await him if he ever went back home. He wanted to push away that thought, that possibility, but it clung to him. He barely kept upright as roots tripped him along the way. The forest turned narrower and narrower as his eye kept fixating forward. 

  After running for a few minutes, another clearing of trees seemed to follow. An eerie, large silhouette was coming closer into view as the columns of trees split apart. The shadowy, almost fleshy shapes seemed familiar even from a distance. A few more steps forward, and he could tell without a doubt what they were—an amalgamation of giant mushrooms, just like Arbero’s hut. Yet, besides the sections of tree trunks sticking out measly from its folds, the hut lacked details: no door or windows were to be found, and the twisting mushrooms were of a dirtier brown, older, and slightly dehydrated. Mortigus fully slowed down, now walking with careful steps towards the structure. This pile of nature-defying mushrooms must have been Arbero’s work, yet it was so far away from the furnished hut. Calming himself down, Mortigus lowered his left knee onto the ground and pressed his right palm into the soil. He tried listening, feeling for any Essence he could perhaps sense, yet the ambience of the fake hut crawled into the tip of his fingers, making him shiver, as if holding the frail hand of an ill person. He didn’t know how to interpret such a thing, though it was similar to the atmosphere of the mushroom hut itself, though carrying a different tone and emphasis. After thinking it over, he decided he should ultimately contact Arbero. It seemed as good a time as ever to practice what he learnt, and so he pressed his healthy hand into the ground and sent out a pulse, reaching as far as he could. He felt the underground breath as lines started to awaken. He could discern the ground around him and tried to push further his thoughts, but to little success. No feedback from Arbero either, so Mortigus tried again, with both hands and all his focus, pushing his Essence into the soil and towards where he left Arbero. Like a lightning strike, his intentions left his fingers and flashed through the ground, a weak signal returning back. The shock caused his left hand to ache with numb pain. It was most likely Arbero who could’ve understood Mortigus’ attempt at calling for them. Or at least Mortigus hoped so, as his hand became numb and empty, his Essence depleted.  

  In a few minutes, Mortigus picked up the sound of foliage crumpling, coming closer towards him. In a hurried stroll, Arbero arose from between the sea of trees, looking concerned and a bit alert, though Mortigus sighed in relief that his signal worked. Mortigus couldn’t help but notice the way their tentacles were moving in front of each other in a mix of silliness and creepiness. A feeling of awkwardness settled in the moment, broken by Arbero’s voice:

   “What’s the matter, Mortigus?“ Arbero asked, “You took me by complete surprise. I thought you wanted to contemplate alone for longer; what made you even attempt to call me through the mycelium network? Did anything…“. Arbero cut off his last words as their eyes shifted towards the mushroom monolith. Their shoulders lowered, and their breathing distinctly got slower. After a struggle to better pull together his thoughts, Mortigus answered:

   “I called you for reasons that I think are obvious now. I came in his direction by chance and found this bizarre lump of mushrooms, not unlike your hut. The second I tried to sense its Essence, such a sick feeling tingled throughout my body. Did you make this?“ Arbero took a few seconds to respond, their eyes fixated on the lower part of the structure. 

  "I...didn’t, or better said, I am responsible for this, but in a different way. This is not the only one in this forest, there are other twenty-three to be exact, and indeed, the home I’ve shown you is part of the same origin. Eulogy shrines. That’s what they’re called. They’re eulogies of my dear friends that... were lost in this damned millenia.“ 

 “I’m sorry, Arbero." Mortigus tried to add, but Arbero spoke over him:

 “I did not create these. The soul of a mycolian, in its desperate beauty, blooms in the final moments, bursting into a last gift to the earth that hosted us in our lives. It may just have nothing to do with reciprocity but simply being a selfish wish to be remembered, a mark that carries regrets. Their Essence certainly can feel sombre at times. But all you can do is cherish it the way you cherished the person it was before. We live for long in your eyes, Mortigus, but it can sometimes feel like a flash or a rapid stream, and this is also part of the stream. It is its lake, where water moves slowly, and we can truly stop to appreciate it. Look at the size of the lake, Mortigus, and how encompassing it all seems, from the river that lets days roll in and how they all dug into the ground, receiving depth and width. Only in death can you look at a person as a constant, yet you may never dive deep enough to truly see who they are, and you can no longer follow their stream. Humans, I think, don’t have such grandiose last moments, but they are lakes nonetheless. Their blood may not rise into a spur of mushrooms, but their existence mattered. And you can appreciate it nonetheless, as death does not empty the lake of water; it just doesn’t let the river flow in the way it used to. How many times have I compared you to a river, Novissi? You’d get angry at me if you could speak. It still feels like your Essence swells with anger on your behalf.“

  “That’s how you’re supposed to think of death?“ said Mortigus tactlessly. 

  “Supposed to? There are no strict answers about such a thing. This is just how I process it, Mortigus.“ Arbero glanced back at his guest, struck by the unguarded innocence of his previous words.

  “The hut,“ muttered Mortigus hesitantly, “someone died there too, didn't they?“

  Arbero suffered a clear shiver and turned their head towards Mortigus. “My parent. It is their eulogy. A custom in my birthplace is to live in the eulogy shrine of your parent to mourn them.“ 

  "That's quite different from how humans do it. I can’t say there is any close comparison. But I can offer my condolences, Arbero. I am really sorry for what happened to your people and to you.“

  Arbero finally gestured with one of their tentacles that they should return to the hut. Mortigus nodded, and the two started walking away from the towering shrine, its sad Essence becoming less and less noticeable. “As I said before, you have no fault in these circumstances. And perhaps I have no business fixating on the past. I do appreciate your intention, though. Especially given how fast things must be moving for you.“

  “I did not want to remember that already,“ sighed Mortigus. “It feels like I know myself less and less. And I fear what awaits me from now on.“

  “That’s a very understandable thing to feel, Mortigus. Your path is certainly far from normal or common. Yet I can sympathise with you. Most people reach a point where they believe they don’t know themselves all that well. It’s when you become so aware of yourself that you realise you do not properly understand yourself.“

  “I have a hard time getting what you mean,“ interrupted Mortigus. “If I’m more aware, then why am I so confused?“.

  “In lack of awareness, you barely thought of these aspects of your identity. But once you acknowledge them, it just starts the process. You are on your journey to find yourself, and you have to let your future flow for that to happen.“ Arbero wiggled one of their tentacles like a river, amusing Mortigus briefly.

 “The future must be faced head-on, huh? I thought I already built-up the courage for that, but the moment you revealed what is likely my true age... I just broke.“ Mortigus took a pause, Arbero being able to tell they shouldn’t chip in. “I carried so much quiet, blissful ignorance. I crave change yet shrink from it. I feared you, and a shadow of that fear will still linger. Yet, I’ll stand by my earlier choice.”
“Of course, as I said before, it’d be my pleasure. And I will try to be more careful, more conscious,“ promised Arbero.

 “Yeah. Thank you again. I’d rather do it this way to prepare for my journey. I will reach my parents’ farm, my home, even if I don't know who I’ll find there. I just want to see it with my own eyes, at least for the last time. To close all doors behind me.“ 

 Arbero put a tentacle on Mortigus’ shoulder, nodding gently. The two were close to reaching the dusky hut, as noon brought light through the tree crowns. Mortigus’ eye glimmered with a reborn resolve and more willingness to trust. The forest at his feet began to sing gently, as now he could hear the eulogy of Arbero’s parent, a tune of calmness and new beginnings. 

  The next few days would bring a lot of growth to Mortigus. Under the wise guidance of Arbero, the young human-mycolian hybrid began to truly peer into the meaning and potential of Essence. With slow steps, he would learn and practice, feeling the flow of Essence as if his veins would be visible through his skin. He would attune to the ground and whisper into it. Through meditation, he turned a simple connection into a true conversation, expanding more and more in range. The forest’s underground, teeming with mycelium, became more and more like a new organ, and Mortigus could feel it all, just like Arbero. This was not the only application of Essence. By mistake, Mortigus developed his skills of growing mushrooms back in his days of forest wandering, but crudely self-taught. As Arbero put it, Mortigus was creating spores and rapidly growing them, essentially bringing them into existence by spending his own Essence. This made for very temporary mushrooms that only existed for a few minutes, only for them to disappear once the supply of Essence was cut off. Arbero was impressively dextruous at this skill, helping Mortigus also hone it. There was a second way; however, infusing already existing mushrooms with Essence and expanding them allowed for a faster and stronger effect, but most mushrooms would revert back afterwards. 

  It had been thirteen days since Arbero started hosting him, and Mortigus was strolling in the forest’s heart, water droplets from the last rainstorm brushing off from the grass onto his legs. Such humid weather fell like a comforting blanket on the mycolian. He sat down, leaving away all the tension in his upper body and slowing his breath. His hands were hovering over the grassy terrain as little sparks of sensation rose from the fungi underground, reaching his fingers, now healed on his left hand. The map of the forest slowly formed again in his mind; just like any other day, even the trees were working in the same rhythm as before. His map expanded slowly and all was in order, until a new point appeared, a flickering of anxiety jotting in the north-east as trees were almost ripped out of the mycelium net. Mortigus snapped back, intrigued by what could be happening. He sent a quick warning towards Arbero, and he headed towards the situation in a relaxed jog. The forest’s voice kept its minor screams around the same area as Mortigus made his way there, and then slowly he could also hear it in the air: voices and roars. He picked up his pace sternly, following the sounds of conflict. 

 Broken trees and trampled grass, pieces of cloth torn apart, and small drops of blood were all scattered in front of Mortigus. It was clearly more dangerous than he thought, but who could be involved in this? The claw prints and the sounds brought a grim realisation to his mind, his steps becoming cautious, catlike. Soon, he silently reached the scene, a grey mass overshadowing two people in ragged clothing, the figure’s resounding growl chilling Mortigus to the bone. A bear like none he could forget, with its front claws hanging in the air as its erratic panting and its muzzle muddied with blood intensified its ferocity. Cornered with injured legs and scratched arms were a sorry pair, most likely a human man and woman, barely able to stay standing in front of the beast. From the scene, it was clear the bear's chase left them wounded, and the knife twisted in its thick scruff was a shallow attempt to fight back, just a sting covered by the adrenaline coursing through the bear now.