The morning dew clung to the grass like leftover glitter from yesterday's emotionally volatile witch encounter. Dawn sprawled across the horizon like melted marmalade, its gloopy golden hues seeping into the patchy canopy above the camp. A meandering little creek, no wider than an ambitious garden hose's dream, twirled around stones nearby.

Runklebean was engaged in his semi-usual dawn-lit ritual: shaving. He crouched over the creek with solemn devotion, holding a fragment of what was either a mirror or an unusually reflective goblin femur—he had never clarified. His shaving cream was a dubious concoction of crushed sage leaves, fermented yak butter, and something he called "lunar paste," which nobody could quite figure out the origin of.

Runklebean's purple pointy hat, bejewelled with buttons, baubles, and wrappings, rested on a rock beside him. Most noticeably were the two little yellow appendages—shaped like ears but not quite—sewn just above the brim. They fluttered gently in the breeze, as if trying to lift off and escape their own peculiarity.

Nedrick emerged from his tent unusually chipper that morning. His shortly-cropped cowlicks were in an enthusiastic negotiation with gravity. Upon spotting Runklebean mid-scrape, he shuffled over and flopped down beside him.

Without ceremony, Nedrick plucked up Runklebean's hat and plonked it atop his own head. It sat there askew, the yellow ear-things twitching indignantly.

"So," Nedrick began, eyes twinkling with mischief as he played with the odd yellow appendages on the hat. "These ears—you trying to summon a puppy god, or did your head sprout mutations after you licked that lightning bug?"

Runklebean, never one to rush a reply, continued shaving, his face a picture of serene concentration. When all he had left to shave was a tiny moustache, he finally spoke; with the gravity of a poet discovering a metaphor in their soup.

"They're not ears," he said, gesturing vaguely with his razor. "They're fins, inspired by an octopus I met once in Glimmerdeep Gulf. Remarkable creature. Swims with the elegance of a lullaby and does origami with its tentacles. I once saw it fold an entire pamphlet on oceanic etiquette while battling a jellybeast."

Nedrick blinked. "That's… honestly kinda' cool."

Runklebean nodded sagely. "I believe in expressive headwear."

The conversation lulled into a moment of shared creek-staring. A water strider skated by like it had somewhere important to be. Eventually, Nedrick looked sideways at Runklebean, his expression unusually soft as he examined the features usually concealed by that veil; the smile lines, the soft jawline, the way his overgrown hair fell just past his shoulders and framed his face. 

"How old are you anyway, Runklebean?" Nedrick asked, before backtracking to clarify. "I mean, I know you've been around for a really long time—"

"Twelve-hundred years, give or take," Runklebean slipped in. 

"Right. I recall you mentioning that when you were turned into cheese briefly," said Nedrick. "What I really want to know is how old you are physically."

Runklebean paused, his razor hovering mid-philtrum. He stared into the creek for a moment, then shrugged with theatrical mystery.

"I'm not sure. Somewhere between twenty and eternally liminal." He smiled sweetly, with his eyes closed. 

"And you don't age?"

"Nope."

Nedrick rested his chin in his hand, a scrutinizing look coming about him. "I wonder why the Nymbricae chose the features they did when you were exiled."

Runklebean blinked, surprised. "Pardon?"

"Well, when you were turned human." Nedrick motioned his hand vaguely toward Runklebean. "Was your mortal form all randomized, or…?"

Runklebean chuckled. "Oh, no. I was granted full-rights to self-customization!"

Now it was Nedrick's turn to be confused. "So then, you chose to give yourself a big nose—"

"To smell flowers better."

"And big eyes?"

"To see as much of the world as I can."

"Your teeth?"

"Teeth are scary!" Runklebean hugged himself as he shuddered. "I wanted little, unbothersome ones."

"…Uh, right. And your height?"

"I'm fascinated by the concept of scale and perception. Enlarged things are more visually impressive if I'm smaller, I recon," Runklebean explained. "Can you imagine how exciting a raindrop must look to an ant because of how much bigger it is than them? It must be like a huge, shimmering orb — almost like a translucent boulder crashing from the sky. Or tree bark! I bet it's like a vast canyon wall with deep crevices and sharp outcroppings. I wish I was an ant, sometimes. But I don't think they get to relax very often."

'I feel like Red Riding Hood interrogating her lupine grandma right now,' Nedrick thought to himself, unsure what to think, except… Runklebean really was just a kind, curious, pure soul, wasn't he? Perhaps a bit ill-informed when it came to certain aspects of human society, but still. 

Runklebean finally finished shaving, rinsing his razor in the creek. "Why are you asking me all of this, Nedrick?"

"I don't know. I guess I was just trying to figure you out," Nedrick answered. "I guess it was a weird conversation for two guys to have, heh. Sorry."

"What's weird about it?" Lacing his fingers, Runklebean held them beneath his chin and adorably blinked his large, purple eyes. "Sounds like you're trying to call me beautiful." 

Nedrick burst into laughter. "What—?"

Before he could finish, Runklebean lunged forward, and tugged his hat down over Nedrick's eyes. 

"I'm an arcane force of divine will, Neddy!" Runklebean declared, tackling Nedrick to the ground and tickling him. "My society is based not on hierarchy or language, but on harmonic convergence—vast symphonies of light and resonance shared communally, conveying memory, desire, and knowledge. The beings of my kind are only born when a sufficiently complex harmonic pattern resonates in perfect equilibrium—a rare event akin to the birth of a star; and you dare ask why my nose is so big? Of all the questions, you ask me this!?"

Nedrick was laughing so hard, his stomach hurt. Neither of them realized that the rest of the camp had begun to rustle as, one by one, the rest of the gang emerged like groggy woodland spirits unsure if they were ready to socialize, soon breaking into grins when they heard the commotion. 

Finally, Nedrick managed to struggle out, "Lucian, save me!"

"If you seek my favour, you shall—YIPE!" cried Runklebean as Lucian suddenly appeared behind him to yank him aside, playfully delivering a noogie. 

"I caught a Nymbricae!" Lucian announced proudly, his hair somehow already perfect that morning. "Now they shall tell legends of me!"

"Gaahhh, too strong!" Runklebean grunted, grabbing fruitlessly at Lucian's arms and weakly palming the guy's face. "Must—not—surrender!"

"Al, get in on this!"

"I'll pass. It's too early for all this energy," said Alistair, stifling a yawn. "What's the plan today, anyway?"

"Actually," mumbled Runklebean from the crook of Lucian's elbow, "now that you're all awake, I'm afraid I might have some rather unpleasant news."

Growing serious, they all gathered around the creek to hear it, plopping onto stones and tree stumps. 

"It's about the pageant," Runklebean informed them, glancing sadly off to the side. "I don't think it counts as a good deed. I'm worried the count has reset to zero."

For a moment, the princes said nothing.

Lucian blinked. "But we stopped an emotionally unstable witch from trapping us forever in a cave full of hallucinogens."

Alistair nodded. "And she cried tears of joy. I think that's at least worth two good deeds."

Runklebean frowned at his shoes. "It just feels like we bumbled our way through. She was angry, confused, and humiliated—then we gave her hair. It felt like we won by bribery."

Nedrick shrugged. "Honestly, most things in life works that way."

Alistair gave Runklebean a serious look. "We helped her feel beautiful. And accepted. That matters. Good deeds don't have to be flawless. They just have to make things better."

Runklebean was quiet for a while. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"All right," he said slowly. "But if you changed your minds and didn't want to help me anymore, I completely understand—"

"Nobody said anything like that," Nedrick told him, leaning forward on his rock. "Listen, if you're that unsure, is there a way to check?"

"Yeah, who's keeping track of your progress, anyway?" Lucian questioned. 

"I keep a ledger," Runklebean answered.

"I would assume the other Nymbricae are watching, as well…?" Alistair raised a prompting brow. 

"I like to imagine they are, somewhere," Runklebean said with a sigh, slumping his shoulders. "There are times, though, where I wonder what I'm even still doing down here. If I'm just wasting my time—"

"Woah, there," Lucian interrupted, standing to take one of Runklebean's shoulders in his hand. "Honestly, brooding at sunrise is a strong aesthetic. If Alistair wasn't already trying to be the mysterious one, I'd encourage you. But you need to lighten up, Runk! It doesn't matter how long it takes you, because even after we power you up and get our wishes, we'll probably still be hanging out with you, anyway."

Runklebean's head flicked up immediately, his eyes shiny with hope. "…You will?"

Lucian shrugged. "Yeah, unless you'd rather go back home to the other Nymbricae. Which would make tons of sense."

"I know I wouldn't rather be anywhere else," Alistair added from his tree stump, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back on his hands. "Seriously…"

Nedrick rolled his eyes. "Well, I still miss my pigs… so if we're still doing this in, like, a month, can we all go back to my place and do some chores? That'll count as a whole slew of good deeds."

Alistair grimaced at the thought of pig farming at first, before giving it a moment of consideration, and shrugging. "I suppose it's better than a public hanging… All right, fine. I'll try anything once."

If possible, Runklebean's smile got even wider, his eyes even shinier. "Wow… I've never known anyone like you guys before. Thank you, truly."

Lucian patted him on the back. "C'mon, tree-boy. I'm one-hundred-percent confident that we're still on track. The pageant made one person upset enough to retaliate, so perhaps it was almost a reset, but when we made peace with her, I know it counted in all the right ways. Just you wait; one immortal redemption arc, coming up!"

Runklebean looked at them all with a glint in his eye that suggested either a great adventure, or a poorly thought-out breakfast recipe.

"In that case," he declared, striding up and lifting his hat off from Nedrick's head, "we journey eastward to the land of Jibblemurb, where they have shoes that look like sandwiches, and sandwiches that look like—"

"Let me guess; shoes?" Nedrick asked.

"No. They look like clocks." Runklebean gave him a bewildered look. "Now, let's not be silly, Ned."

Nedrick sighed. "I'm going to regret getting out of my tent, aren't I?"

Runklebean placed the hat gently on his head, back where it belonged. The yellow fins flapped once, approvingly, as he threw his veil back over his face.

"Oh, probably," he said. "But it'll be the kind of regret that makes life taste more interesting."