Archive of Our Own

It didn’t take a genius to understand that dungeons are probably the best place to find the strongest magic.

Schezo could walk around aimlessly for miles if he really wanted to. He already has, and it’s no inconvenience to continue doing just that. It’s not like he has anywhere to be, or anything to do, other than challenge any passerby he deemed worth the effort. He sure has a lot of time for that.

It often wasn’t worth the effort. The fleeing portion of any fight made certain that any open spaces were more inconvenient than anything. That’s what made dungeons – with CLOSED ceilings, mind you – all the more enticing.

Beyond that, Schezo can make the easy assumption that the deeper into a dungeon he goes, the more skilled a live magic user likely is. That’s why the big final boss monster is all the way at the dreaded bottom. That’s why his fellow dungeon dwellers are all the more worth it to challenge and defeat before their journey could ever reach its likely fated early end, for if they can’t defeat Schezo, he’d bet the monster at the end of the hall would’ve eviscerated them.

Something that would spill guts and magic. Their deaths are less wasteful by Schezo’s hand.

And it’s not as if Schezo cannot sense powerful magic when it exists. He’s particularly good at that, and it helps him locate the more hidden dungeons, no matter how deeply those powerful mages and beasts might bury themselves. Inevitably, the magic of the creatures attracted to these dungeons only makes for a larger, swirling target. If a mage so happens to be weak when felled by his hand, apparently led on by luck (or perhaps misfortune) to get so far into the dungeon Schezo explores, it’s one piece of that target that Schezo intends to swallow the whole of.

He does not feel guilt for taking the life of someone who was slated to lose it already. He’s well aware of how morally dark grey that is.

…This doesn’t mean that Schezo is completely lacking in morals.

Schezo never thought he’d find another child so fortunate to survive so long in a dungeon, yet so unlucky to find their self where they are currently.

It stares up at him and has the absolute gall to ask, “Are you a good guy?”

Schezo stands and stares back for a moment, shocked.

“No,” Schezo says simply, and steps around it, making his way further into the dungeon. The child’s feet pitter-patter behind him.

“Do you- Mis’er! Do you know where the way out is?” It squeaks up at him, just barely able to run along his normal stride.

“Yes,” Schezo replies simply. “The opposite direction I am going.”

“I don’ believe you, mister,” it chirps, and Schezo isn’t even lying. Why would he head for the exit when his whole purpose here is to go further in? Why would he send this child to be slaughtered with the rest of the mages in here?

Schezo lengthens his stride, and the little- girl? Probably?? – waddles as fast as she can beside him. Schezo can’t even sense any kind of magic worthy enough to take her this far in. In fact, the girl looks rather worse for wear, covered in grime and scrapes, likely surviving by luck alone.

Schezo lengthens his stride, outpacing the toddler’s little steps. She squeals from behind him, “Wait!! Hey!! Mister!!”

“Just leave the other direction! I guarantee you won’t find anything in your path,” Schezo shouts as her waddling fades behind him.

“Mister!!” She whines distantly. Schezo turns the corner and continues on his way.

---

Schezo considers handing her off to whatever mage he next comes across, but he’s deep enough in the dungeon to be remiss about such an abandoned opportunity.

“I’m Arle Na’ja!” The little girl squeaks. “Momma and Gramma says it’s polite to tell people your name. ‘Specially ‘fore you fight them!”

Schezo pauses, and the girl stumbles over their sudden stop. “Are you planning on assaulting me?”

The girl blinks. “A salt you?”

Schezo sighs. “Will you fight me.”

“Hm.. No! I don’ wanna.”

“How cowardly,” Schezo mutters without meaning it, continuing to walk. Something of an automatic response.

The girl puffs out her cheeks like she understands that word, at least, then swivels her glare around her as she waddles after him.

It’s after a whole lot of looking at nothing but walls and empty brick caverns that she finally admits, “I don’ think I can fight anything, here..”

“No,” Schezo replies simply. He doesn’t know if he’s talking about the current lack of opponents, or her total inability to match up to any that might arise. “Which is why you should go backwards, before monsters start flooding the dungeon in the absence of everything else.”

“Wha’s your name, mister?” The girl says, completely ignoring what Schezo just said.

“Why are you pressuring me into giving you my name? Stop asking.”

“I only ast’d you one time, though!”

“Don’t ask again. Stop talking.”

She puffs out her cheeks again and stomps her thin little shoes on the ground. Schezo is unintimidated. Once they reach the fork in the halls, Schezo consults his inner directions while Arle takes the opportunity to patter ahead of him – presumably to find something to fight, or to get away from her unforthcoming conversational partner.

Schezo has an inkling of concern for the little girl before he realizes that there is literally nothing in that direction, and he walks ahead before she can think to turn back.

---

“You, again.”

“You ‘gain,” the little girl mimics, with just as much attitude. It catches Schezo a little off-guard, especially when she goes right back to that innocent usual little tone of hers. “Wha’s that?”

Schezo lifts the magical item in his hand way above the little girl’s stature, wary she might take it. “It’s the key to getting out of this damn room. How did you even get in? It’s sealed both ways.”

“I ‘unno,” she lies. He knows she’s lying. “Can I see it?”

“No.”

The little girl puffs out her cheeks, and looking at her straight-on this time, Schezo chuckles at it.

“Bye, then,” she sulks, and patters off to be somewhere Schezo is not.

Tucking the item away, he decides to follow the little hellion. Surely she found a way in here somehow that Schezo doesn’t know about.

She toddles quickly on her little feet as Schezo has to struggle to maintain a pace just barely slower than even a leisurely walk, and it takes her more than a few moments to realize that his steps behind her aren’t fading. Admittedly, that’s probably more perceptive than most children her age, whatever that may be.

She whips her head back to glare at him with wide eyes, before she quickens her pace. Now, Schezo just needs to walk slightly faster than leisurely.

While Schezo settles into a more comfortable pace, the girl starts to lose her breath, and she squeals at him for it. “Lea’ me ALONE. STOP FOLLOW’N ME!”

Schezo just smirks, and proceeds to follow her close enough to risk stepping on her heels. Arle shrieks in all her toddler rage.

It’s like this: they run around the empty room, Arle screeching and squealing at Schezo as Schezo waits it all out as, he supposes, anyone should do when it comes to any child’s tantrum. He nearly steps on her as Arle, all at once, trips on her legs and ragdolls to the ground.

She just lies there, coughing and catching her breath, as Schezo crouches closer to her level. Not that there’s significant difference in perspective over her from doing that.

“Are you done?” Schezo asks, like it wasn’t him harassing a child just to see what it would do.

Arle sniffles in response, and Schezo immediately feels panic stab at his chest, because he didn’t mean to make the kid cry. But Arle just rubs her snotty nose on her dirtied white sleeve (ew) and stubbornly sits herself up from the ground. She grips the knee of Schezo’s armored boot to do so, and he lets her.

“..col’..” she grumbles as Schezo strains to hear, and Schezo feels an immediate shock of pins and needles down his ENTIRE CALF.

Instinct has him immediately jumping away from the (admittedly harmless) ice spell, but the total lack of feeling in one of his legs makes him stumble and fall right onto his ass.

Normally, he’d be furious and ready for a battle to the death after such a blunder. He IS furious, sword raised to impale any enemies that would normally take the chance to pounce. The breathless laughter of the brat he’d underestimated reminds him of the situation he’s in, and he lowers his sword to bring a hand to his face, instead.

This just serves to make Arle laugh ever harder. Schezo cannot believe he’d been bested by a child.

“Yes, ha ha, very funny. You’ll choke if you keep chortling over there,” he says, hoping desperately that she would. Arle just keeps giggling.

It sends a bit of a warm feeling through Schezo, at least. Children deserve to be happy. Even if he’d rather avoid them, and the apparent embarrassment it takes to bring them joy. Arle flops onto her back and breathlessly giggles to herself some more.

For lack of anything else to do, Schezo drops the hand from his face and remains at rest on the ground after so much almost-speed walking. He drags his sulking gaze along the room, but can’t find a single indent or mismatched wall beyond the one he’d entered through.

“Wha’s that?” Arle pipes up, and Schezo looks to find her pointing upwards at the wall Schezo was almost leaning against. He follows her finger.

It looks like a vent. Schezo knows damn well that it’s not, because no dungeon maker is responsible enough to include necessary airflow in their deathtraps, therefore it has to be their way out.

Schezo immediately wobbles to his feet – stumbling and startling the child he nearly (accidentally) stomps into the dirt – to reach up to the opening. He’s only tall enough to reach a hand into the crevice, and without finding an object or a wall, Schezo attempts to lift himself to reach further in. Without any footholds, and barely enough space to squeeze two hands onto the ledge of the crevice, lifting himself up is simply something he cannot do. He grunts as his shaking arms release him to the ground, and he shakes off the way the corners of the crevice dug into his palms.

He feels the stare of tiny eyes at his back, and he looks to the child blinking up at him. Her eyes belie a somewhat sharp mind as she looks back to the opening, and then to Schezo again, but she doesn’t say anything. She seems aware of what needs to be done, even if Schezo has to connect the lines for her.

“You,” he starts. Arle tenses up, wary after the last time she was singled out by him, and Schezo makes a come-here motion. “It’s time I use you.”

Arle looks distinctly uncomfortable at that. “Umm…”

Did he say something weird, again? Surely a toddler doesn’t understand the nuances in that kind of speech. He brushes it off and tries not to be paranoid about it. “Come on.”

Arle puffs out her cheeks, as she seems to like to do, and grips the ends of her little red cloak. You know, instead of doing as the adult says like a polite little girl.

“Fine,” Schezo grimaces. He gestures to the room. “You see this room we’re stuck in? There are no exits. The only way out of it,” he gestures to the hole “-is somewhere up there. Therefore, I would appreciate your help.”

The little girl seems to immediately let go of her indignation, gazing up at the hole with an expression of greater understanding, before stretching her arms up to Schezo. He assumes that means he’s been granted permission to lift her up, so he does just that.

Stubby fingers grab the lip of the crevice as Schezo brings her to height, and she shoves herself inside, just barely small enough to fit in without squeezing herself. Schezo steps back and waits. He listens to her shuffle around for what feels like an unnecessary amount of time for just crawling through a shallow hole.

And then crinkling echoes out. “There’s a paper! It has words on it!”

Schezo, in his all of his anticipation, almost stands on his toes for all the good that does him. “What does it say?”

She pauses. “I ‘unno. Can’t read,” she mumbles.

Schezo is unbelievably disappointed to find out about this, for many reasons. Aren’t five-ish year-olds supposed to know how to read at least somewhat? “How old are you?”

“I’m four!”

Schezo thinks he can forgive that. “Just come back out, then.”

The toddler wiggles her way out from the crevice, only to hesitate at the ledge. Schezo wastes no time dragging her the rest of the way out the hole, and sets her gently on the ground, where she securely clutches and hugs the wad of paper in her hand close.

“Give it here,” Schezo demands, and the girl hands it over curiously.

Schezo unfolds the crinkled paper – and he’s not sure if he can blame Arle for how pronounced the folds are for the likely long balled-up parchment. All it says is ‘DIG’ in big, bold letters. Arle bounces up beside him.

“Wassit say??” She bobbles, trying to get a look at the paper as if she can magically read it so long as Schezo says it aloud for her. Schezo just balls it up again, cursing the damned thing.

Schezo can only prepare himself for a long, merciless hour of brushing dirt aside for any magic circles.

---

Schezo was lucky enough to claim to find the first circle. But of course, the first of three, it was a trap. Ow.

And the second one. Ow.

Arle was confident they’d found all the circles in the room and went ahead on the third circle, and Schezo had not seen her since.

Schezo, now suffering the repercussions of falling for two trap circles in a row (that was a stupid room, it can’t even be considered a puzzle room, it was just tedious and punishing) limps his way through the corridors, hoping the lack of monsters will persist. He thinks for a moment that their absence may be due to them chasing that little girl around.

It’s a concerning thought, but it’s not as if he hasn’t been telling her to leave this dungeon ever since he’d first found her. He tries to brush it aside, because he surely can’t chase her around right now. For lack of anything else to do, he finds his ears straining to hear the sound of rapid little pitter patters or any high-pitched squeals.

It doesn’t take him too long to reach the end of the hallway he fell into, and he sighs in relief. A dungeon shop. If Schezo cared for any gods and if any gods cared for him, he’d be thanking them.

This shopkeeper, unlike most others featuring more humble setups, has itself settled in a grandiose and mostly ransacked chamber decorated with the tattered remains of wallpapers, tassels, and other decorations that hint to Schezo the importance this grand space once had. It doesn’t really fit the walls of the rest of the dungeon, as if it were plucked from some building to be stored as a casket containing its own memory. Schezo’s eyes quickly skim over the long-dried blood on the walls, and decides that he doesn’t really care for the lore of this place. Not after the bullshittery he just went through.

The shopkeep is sitting on a raised and blanketed section of the floor further back, enthusiastically showing off his “discounted wares” to a sitting Arle with likely barely any bartering skills to understand what that means, and Schezo doesn’t wait his turn stomping his way across the old wooden dais.

The fluffy creature straightens its posture in alarm, and Schezo can’t help but find himself charmed by it, even if it does have that manipulative gleam in its beady eyes. “H-hello, adventurer! So glad to see this little girl isn’t alone, down here!!”

Schezo hums in displeasure. “Do you think you could take her back to the entrance?”

Arle gasps, and immediately pipes up with an “I’m not going!! Stop ask’n!!” She bangs a fist on her knee, rattling around the.. random object the creature had given her to inspect, as Schezo can tell by the way it cringes at the handling.

Schezo irritatedly taps his sword on the ground. “That wasn’t an ask, that was a demand.”

The creature scratches itself in what Schezo knows for a fact is false sympathy. “Ah, you heard the girl. Plus, isn’t it bad practice to leave little ones with strangers? It was kind of your fault for bringing your daughter down here with you.”

“SHE IS- she is NOT my DAUGHTER,” Schezo sputters. “She’s a little brat that’s going to get herself killed if she keeps insisting on staying down here.”

Arle continues to ignore Schezo, inspecting the thing in her hands, and the creature just raises its brow at him silently. “Well. Can’t judge a guy for deciding he doesn’t want a kid, anymore. Anyways, would-“

“What.”

“-Would you like to peruse my wares? You seem a little beat up, there! Classic run-in with those nasty circles the room before this one. I’ve got some healing tonics!” The creature fluffs itself up cutely, and Schezo decides to ignore what it said in favor moving his gaze elsewhere, towards said tonics and potions.

Schezo points. “Three of your strongest.”

“Alcohol?”

“Not yet.”

“Alc’hol?” Arle parrots, and the shopkeep enthusiastically shows her a selection of smaller vials. Schezo immediately decides that he’d rather go without knowing what it’s like to be forced to handle a tipsy 4 year old and nips that in the bud.

“Alright!” chirps the shopkeep. “That’ll be.. this much gold!” It flashes three numbers with more than the average number of fingers, and it takes full advantage of that quirk. Schezo staggers, and then is unequivocally enraged.

“THAT’S RIDICULOUS. THAT’S THREE POTIONS, THIS IS ROBBERY!”

The creature shrugs as Arle stares wide-eyed at his dismay. “I haven’t gotten a lot of customers down here in a while! I’m sorry about that, but if you go ahead a few more rooms, you miiiiight maaaaybe find some chests with some minor potions in them!” It smiles faux-innocently with an adorable expression, and Schezo has to close his eyes and pinch his nose to retain the same level of anger at it.

“Just- just hand it over. Whatever. FINE. Go die in a hole.” He digs into his pockets and throws the offending gold to the ground, snatching up the vials as the creature scrambles to keep them from rolling into the cracks between the wood behind it, and he stomps off.

“Hey, don’t forget your daughter!! I don’t have a babysitting fee set up, yet!!” the thing shouts behind him as he guzzles down the first potion. It leaves a bitter aftertaste.

---

Schezo can make the assumption that due to the previously concealed magic circles obscuring the way forward, he’s not likely to find any more dungeon explorers down here. Pity. That’s what eventually happens when he gets deep enough into any dungeon. He can look forward to whatever is at the end.

At least there are no flying things, here. If anything, the complete lack of ventilation (and Schezo would assume that such a deep dungeon would call for at least some airflow) and the closed ceilings makes it impossible for anything that can’t eradicate foundations to escape from him.

Curiously, the creatures he runs into look significantly more sunken and pale than the ones he’d faced before. Their sightless eyes focus vaguely on him, though their attacks hit with no less accuracy. That, paired with the distinct stench of rotting corpses permeating the halls, hints to Schezo that this might be the den of a well-established necromancer.

Good, Schezo smiles to himself. He might’ve been more wary of such a force, if he didn’t feel ready and willing to challenge it.

..But regardless of the lack of either necromancers or dungeon explorers, just because some of the creatures he’s facing may not speak a language, doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun.

“I am the Dark Mage, Schezo! And I will take from your master what I desire!” he boasts at the gruesome, leathery beast before him, much larger and outfitted with many more extraneous limbs than the rest. It would almost be draconic, if its face looked at all like any one recognizable creature.

Schezo only grins at the prospect of such an immense power.

Or, well. Alas.

The amalgamation fell apart almost entirely on its own, as if it were too heavy and inconsistent to withstand its own form. A jolt from his Thunderstorm seemed to rip it apart from the inside out, and slashing at the joints left the entire mass as a pathetic, squirming pile of rotting, burnt flesh on the ground. He stomps out the glowing embers of a few spontaneous flames, wary of the old wooden hallways catching and burning the whole place down.

Disappointment almost hits Schezo like a boulder, but he decides to catalogue this disastrous use of magic for later. Just because THIS mage doesn’t understand basic anatomy, doesn’t mean that he won’t. This dungeon won’t be a waste of effort from him.

He turns away from the (admittedly disturbing) sight, and finds in his stead two wide little eyes peeking from around the corner at it.

Schezo.. is certain that is not something a child should be looking at. He walks her way, waving a hand for her attention. “Come on, let’s go.”

Arle looks at him just as wide-eyed, as if Schezo inviting her along with him is equally as shocking as what they’re leaving behind. Schezo keeps walking, and little Arle doesn’t have enough time to waver on it before she has to scurry after him.

She tugs on his cape. “Dark May Schezo?”

Schezo huffs. “Okay, I see how it is.” He inhales. “Dark. MAGE. Schezo, is what I said. May-juh.”

Arle just nods, as if she won’t likely mispronounce it again. “Did a nec’omanser do that?”

Schezo’s toe scrapes on the floor as he stumbles. He figures he shouldn’t be that surprised a four-year-old who can’t spell can tell what a necromancer’s horrifically sacrilegious taboo looks like. Arle just waits patiently with much too sharp eyes as Schezo straightens himself. “Yes. You are correct.”

Arle hums, continuing to clutch onto his cape. Schezo feels the weight as she struggles to keep up with him, and slows just a bit to lessen the burden. The thought of picking Arle up to go faster flashes through his mind, but he banishes it just as quickly. She shouldn’t be following him to begin with.

He debates if walking faster would be worth having to hear the girl scream after him when Arle tugs insistently, and he stops completely, irritated. “What. What is it, now?”

Arle stumbles on her feet, but keeps herself upright on his cape. She points emphatically. “Your hand!”

“My- what?” Schezo looks at it. “Oh.”

It’s a bloody mess, but no more than a few gouges, as if one of the amalgam’s extra appendages had dug its outgrown, human-like nails into his sword-wielding hand in a last desperate attempt to stop him from cutting it down. Schezo hadn’t even noticed the pain, or the feeling of warm blood mixing with the.. muddied, viscose juices of the monster.

He wipes off the dribble on his already soiled clothes, spattered with the same muck. Schezo hopes there isn’t some zombified virus swimming around that sludge, but the shopkeep didn’t seem to be selling any antidotes. It’s probably nothing to worry about. Can a man such as him even get zombified? Nah, probably not.

Arle still tugs on him when he tries to move again, and he glares at her. “What is it? I’m not wasting a whole potion on one little wound.”

Arle still looks at it nervously. She digs in the pockets of her little red cloak, and steps on her toes to try to reach Schezo’s hand. Schezo rolls his eyes and stoops down to take it.

It’s.. a lesser potion. That’s admittedly something useful. He expected a rock or something.

“I see. You must’ve plundered one of the chests in here.”

“Nope! I traded,” she assures proudly. She digs back in her pocket and holds out some pellets of something.

Schezo’s first guess, by the amber-gold color of them and the fact that they were used for trade, is that they’re gold pieces. That would be the logical assumption. It doesn’t take even a second glance for him to realize that those.. are berries. Just berries.

“You traded.. berries.”

“Ya!” Arle bounces. “Don’ eat them though.”

Berries. For a lesser potion. In what Schezo now understands as a high-class (or at least low-success rate) dungeon. “You traded.. only berries? Nothing else?”

“Ya.”

Schezo just stares at her.

He knows better than to slight a shopkeep. Strangely, along with their esoteric methods of keeping up their supplies, shopkeepers tend to also have quite the network of information and gossip to spread around. So, if Schezo were to steal and plunder from too many dungeon shops – regardless of their sometimes frankly preposterous pricing schemes – he’d very quickly find himself lacking a lot of necessary items to survive off of, everywhere he goes. Those who take part in trade as their way of living tend to be lacking in magic, anyway, so he wouldn’t benefit from it.

 But all of that gold. For three measly healing potions. And BERRIES are apparently the alternative payment of greater value?

It’s just!! This just feels unfair. Biased. What are they going to do with some bruised and sticky berries? At what point have those ever been comparable to the gold Schezo has to risk life and limb to procure?? He’s not being petty over a child getting favored treatment over a seasoned delver. If this is their way of being nice to the toddler, they’d do better to get her the hell out of here through whatever cowardly backdoor they entered from. He’s about to go back on his rule of sparing shopkeepers by impaling this one’s head on one of their own shoddy, overpriced swords.

Arle must take his empty stare as one of curiosity, because she lets go of his cloak for a moment to pick up the stick she’d dropped to the floor. Schezo hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying one.

She waves it around in his face. “I a’so got a magic stick!”

“…Arle, that’s a stick. A normal stick.”

“Oh.”

Arle looks for the lie in his eyes. When she doesn’t find any, she scrunches her nose at the stick, muttering. “…But tha’ took all my berries…”

“I thought you still had some.”

Arle smiles impishly at Schezo. “I made him think’d was all of them. He wan’d rob me, so I don’ feel bad.”Schezo barks out a laugh, aggravation lost at the silliness of that. Talk about a net zero loss.

“That’s right! Good girl!” he praises, satisfied anyway by the petty act of revenge.

Arle smiles at him weirdly, if not a bit proudly, before shaking her head and pointing at his hand again. “Hand.”

Schezo grimaces at the rather shallow use of a whole potion, lesser or otherwise, but for her vengeance on that damn shopkeep for the both of them, he decides to humor her. “I’m surprised you managed to get a potion out of that whole exchange,” he mutters, popping the cork.

“I di’nt trade for it. He said it was free, ‘cause he didn’ want me t’get hurt. You need it, ‘cause you’re fighting.”

Schezo stands astounded for a moment at the consideration from this little girl. And a little bit ashamed at himself. Misuse of a potion aside, he realizes that Arle might stand to find better use for it on herself, if ever her life were threatened. Little injuries become big ones on a little body, after all.

“…Are you sure that you’re not injured..?”

“Nope!”

Schezo debates the grammar of that statement.

Arle smiles sweetly at Schezo, before waddling off ahead of him. Schezo plucks the cork off the ground and settles it back in the vial, tucking it out of sight before deeming it necessary – if not equally as effective as wandering aimlessly – to keep up with her. He is the one doing all the fighting, after all.

---

Upon observation, she’s a little thing, with an even smaller amount of magic. Most children her age, unless they’re the spawn of gods or legends or whatnot, come with just as minuscule magical ability, with most not having any at all. Schezo had always assumed this was due to the sheer chaos giving children weapons of magic would unleash upon the world.

Not that Schezo has been in close vicinity with any children, for very long. Trips into town markets are as short as he can make them, surrounded by too much magic, too many people, too close. He doesn’t lack self-control or anything, it’s not as if he’ll snap and go on some bloody massacre one day (he doesn’t think he will. He doesn’t want to test it), but avoidance is his form of self-control. If he needs nothing from anyone within a town, he does not go in. Otherwise, no sane or responsible adventurer brings their child with them into an unsupervised, unregulated dungeon, unless they’re getting to that age.

Schezo is pretty certain that four is not the age for any dungeon, period.

He’s sometimes thought on the possibility of crossing paths with some powerful, yet irresponsible mage toting around a small child. Far away from any towns the child could reliably find their way to on their own, or perhaps too confident or paranoid to let them go.

Schezo imagines it’s not the same as killing a mother fox and then playing nice with its burrow of hidden young. A young child would be too afraid to trust any direction he might offer, or perhaps too shocked to even listen. A den of fox kits, if too young, would die a slow death if left abandoned. It wouldn’t be very merciful.

Schezo isn’t entirely sure what he would do with the mage or child. Perhaps little Arle is lucky to have lost her guardian before finding him.

Slaying walking corpses surprisingly isn’t so difficult with Arle running around the scene. He expected a panicked, screaming little thing grabbing onto his legs and tripping up his feet, or gripping onto his cloak and swinging around and throwing off his weight. Instead, Arle is smart enough to hide behind corners the way they came from, sticking a good distance behind Schezo, and at one point keeping a firm grip on Schezo’s shoulders as he’d sprinted through the halls with much too many lumbering enemies on his trail.

Sometimes, the girl just disappears in some direction. There doesn’t even have to be a monster nearby for her to do that. Schezo only bothers to keep pace with her when she appears again, unharmed and not at all undead.

Schezo may also be able to attribute the lack of difficulty to just how slow all the corpses are. Perhaps Arle isn’t panicking or clinging to him for the same reason Schezo hasn’t had to use the last of his two (three, technically) potions. Regardless, she’s a tough girl. He shouldn’t be worried about her.

Right now, all of her running around has her tired out, and seeing as it went well the last time, Schezo allows her some respite by carrying her around in the crook of his arm. He makes sure to tuck his scabbing hand from her sight.

She looks to be dozing off, and Schezo would rather she stay awake. He jostles her gently, and she mutters in yawny annoyance. Schezo huffs, then blows in her ear, and she clumsily swats a hand at his face before cupping it over her ear. “Hey. You don’t get to fall asleep.”

“hy n’t..” she grumbles, and buries her face in his shoulder. He shrugs until she grouses and shows her face again, blinking sleepy, squinty eyes.

“I’ll drop you.”

“N’you wont..”

Schezo raises an eyebrow. She slips quickly, squeaking, and Schezo catches her before she falls more than a few inches. “Whoops.”

Her eyes are wide, now. “Don’ do that!!” she squeals, banging his chest with a tiny fist.

Schezo is immediately reminded of the small bit of magic the little scoundrel has. “If you use that spell again, I’m leaving you to pass out on the floor.”

Arle puffs out her cheeks again, as she does so often. She looks at the ground, kicking a leg. “I wanna go down.”

Schezo shrugs, setting her down, and she quickly wanders off. Assumedly, to find somewhere safe to sleep on the ground. He’s not.. sure how comfortable he is with that thought, but it’s not as if this dungeon is lacking in any nooks or crannies for a small thing like her to squish herself into. He tried giving her a form of rest. It’s not his fault the girl lacks common sense.

He’s still struggling to let go of the thought, when Arle comes scuttering from behind him, apparently unsatisfied with her search, and clings to his cape.

He frowns down at her, annoyed. “If you keep wandering off, why do you bother to come back.”

Arle knocks her head against his leg, hanging off of her grip on him. “All th’ monsters dis’ppear when you’re here….. An’ you cut up the ones that are a’ready dead. An’ you’re kin’a nice..” She headbutts him tiredly. “B’ only a little…”

Schezo isn’t sure whether to be insulted or.. or just bothered, with being ‘only a little nice.’ Somewhat less than that, he’s impressed that Arle knows the difference between a walking corpse and a living thing. He supposes she never saw what happened to the other dried up or sliced up corpses in this dungeon.

The kind of trust Arle puts into a complete stranger is the kind of foolishness that only a child could accomplish.

“Do you know why the monsters disappear, Arle? And the people, too?”

Arle tilts back to look at him, squinting drowsily and swaying backwards on her feet. “’Cause you beat ‘em all up!”

“Because I kill them until they’re cut up corpses, too.”

Arle stops swaying, her eyes widening a bit.

She looks down the hall, her grip on Schezo never faltering. “oh.”

Schezo stares down at her lacklustre response and wonders just why she’s so unbothered. Does she truly lack understanding of her situation? His sword scrapes the ground lightly. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t do the same to you?”

Arle’s head turns to look back up at Schezo. He waits for her response.

…And tears start to form in her eyes.

Schezo’s entire body feels like Arle had shocked him with a cold spell again.

“Now wait, hold on-“

“wwwaaAAUUHGUHH,” she cries, letting go of Schezo’s cape to hide her face in her hands. Schezo stumbles back like it’s a noise spell. “SCAAARYYYY!!”

“WAIT wait no WAIT please, hey, I was kidding!!” Schezo chuckles nervously. “Kidding!! Kidding kidding it was a bad joke-” It was very much not a joke, not a joke at all, but Arle’s unnaturally mature ability to hold it together thus far made Schezo overestimate the amount of fear such a question might put into her heart. She’s a lone little girl, deep in some depraved mass gravesite, with only the protection of a stranger to keep her alive. And he just threatened her.

God, he just threatened a child. What was he thinking? Nothing at all, apparently.

“H-HOT!!” Arle screams, throwing her hands out at him, and Schezo yips as he ducks beneath a strip of flame thrown at his face.

“HEY HEy hey hey please, hey it’s okay!” Schezo lowers himself to his knees in front of her, and sets his sword down beside him, waving his hands in front of her, a good distance away. “Hey, it’s okay. Look, I put the sword down-” Arle hiccups and sobs, peeking watery eyes between her wet stubby little fingers, and Schezo’s heart breaks just a little bit. “See? I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry, that was a bad joke.”

“I don’ believe you!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Hey, I’m sorry. Please stop crying,” Schezo stresses.

Arle sniffles quieter, sobs quieting down to just hiccups, and she rubs at her face persistently, as if adamant her tears make it no further than right below her eyes. She turns to look away from Schezo, hiding her face with one arm while the other continues to rub her face raw, and Schezo is at a bit of a loss on what to do. He’s not sure how to make this better. He really should just leave her to cry, and forge on ahead while she doubtlessly would decide never to get within sight of him again. But they’re too deep into the dungeon for that to be safe for her, anyway.

Schezo lets out a soft breath, and in a matter of heart over mind, thinks about how he would cheer up a child.

…well. The last time he upset her, albeit not to this degree, it took him falling on his ass to get her to get over it. He grimaces at himself. He really did not like the feeling of pins and needles. It didn’t even fully go away by the time he’d been blasted by those trap circles.

Schezo lowers his hands to instead close his eyes and press at his temples. Curse him having the social experience of a damn rock.

He looks back up at Arle to witness her quickly turn her head back away from him. She doesn’t wander off, though. Small miracles. Gives him time to think.

Schezo just sits there and frowns at the ground, thinking hard about what to do, what to say, and not really thinking of anything at all. Offer a hug? No, he just threatened to kill her. Play a game? What have they to play with? Ornate yet empty halls and rubble. Nothing. Act silly? Schezo’s pride won’t allow that. It’s already taken too many hits.

He sulks and fiddles with a stray piece of brick, rolling it this way and that. He hears a giggle-sniff, and looks back up to catch Arle quickly swivel her head away from him. She keeps her face hidden behind her arm.

Oh, he thinks he understands this game.

He looks back down at the brick, scuffing it on the ground, before whipping his head back up and watching Arle rush to turn hers back around, failing to stifle her giggles. He doesn’t look away from her, rolling and scuffling the brick on the ground, and when Arle turns back to look him in the eye, she turns right back around, as if pretending she wasn’t just so obvious. Her giggles are even louder.

Schezo huffs with relief, and can’t help but smile to himself as Arle keeps trying to look at him when he’s not looking. “You little conniver. You were playing with me.” Arle giggles again, and whether or not his claim is true, he’s just glad it’s over. “Nothing but crocodile tears. There are consequences to toying with a man’s emotions, you know.”

Arle stops giggling, stiffening up, and Schezo mentally slaps himself. He flops right on the ground as if slapped in actuality, splaying his limbs every which way, and Arle twirls around in shock.

“That’s it. I’m dead.” He lies an arm over his eyes dramatically. “You stabbed me in the heart with your little tears and I can no longer fight for you.” His arm slips off and he flops his head to the side, tongue out. “Blegh.”

Arle starts giggling again, and Schezo can’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “Noooooo!!” She cries, laughing through it. She waddles up to him and squats down, patting his arm. “You got a get up!”

Schezo twists his head away from her, closing his eyes. “Alas! I’d given you my trust, and it was betrayed. I’m going to become one of the corpses, now,” he declares blandly.

Actually, was that too dark? Schezo’s not doing very well to change the subject. Luckily, it seems not to bother Arle in any way that isn’t playful, and she squeals “NoooOOO get up!! Get up Dark May Schezo!!”

“That’s Mr. Dark May Schezo, to you. Don’t talk to me after what you did.”

Arle continues to giggle and whine over Schezo’s ‘dead body’ while Schezo steadily ignores her, closing his eyes and keeping an ear out for any approaching footsteps and trying not to smile, himself. He’s having a probably concerning amount of fun being a dead body. Eventually, Arle suddenly stops making any sound at all, and just flops right over Schezo’s chest.

He lets her lie there for a while.

…before Schezo peeks open an eye to ask, “What are you doing?”

She doesn’t respond, and Schezo feels an unfairly sharp stab of concern. He lifts himself up carefully, rolling her down onto his lap. Her eyes are closed, and her breathing is even.

Ah, yes. Opportunistic brat. She fell asleep.

Schezo huffs, before flopping back down onto his back. Then, he thinks better, and lifts himself up to lean upright against the wall, settling Arle back into the crook of his arm and keeping his eyes on both ends of the hall.

If nothing appeared from all that noise she was making, certainly nothing will appear if they rest here for a little while. It’s not a bad idea.

---

Damn. Schezo had completely forgotten about the item he’d picked up in the room with the trap circles. Why does it always come back to that room? He probably needed that for the thing standing right in front of him. He definitely needed that.

After waking her up from what felt like a reasonably long nap for a toddler, Schezo and Arle walked in circles around the same set of hallways – now apparently sealed in every direction, including the way in – until Arle started poking at every wall they came across. It was annoying, Schezo was sure they’d notice the way forward on the fourth quick go-around, all the way up until she’d found a keyhole in the wall he hadn’t noticed. Ripping away the soiled wallpaper revealed the outline of a hidden door without a knob, or any sort of catch on it.

Schezo can’t help but feel like the point of this particular set of halls is to just die here if you’re stupid enough to forget the key. The corpses did look more emaciated than previous, but he assumed that was due to decay. He guesses the hell not.

His first instinct is to slam his entire body into it. His second is to use Thunderstorm to explode his way through in a very, very enclosed space, the hallways in this section particularly cramped. His third is to spam Thunderstorm until he burns the whole place down, but he’s still unsure if he was transported to a building exposed to the open air, or if he’s still underground and in danger of being crushed and suffocated.

Schezo’s faced much worse before. There’s no reason to get upset about bad dungeon design. They’re not supposed to be survivable, anyway, so he can’t get mad about it. Maybe this entire dungeon HAS been stressful since the very beginning, or somewhere before he got halfway through it, but it’s FINE. He needs to keep it together. Save that rage for when he impales that necromancer and makes him choke on his-

“Up!!” Arle demands, breaking him from that fantasy. She waves her arms at him insistently, and Schezo is too drained of ideas to really refute her.

“Have you no manners?” he grumbles, stooping down to pick her up. He settles her in the crook of his arm, but she wiggles her way almost back to the floor. “Careful, there. What are you trying to do, kill yourself? I suppose it would be a faster end than what this place intends. I’m afraid I cannot follow you.”

She grips her hand on his chestplate, and digs the other into one of her little pockets, this time under her cloak. Out comes the key Schezo lost, and she clumsily scrapes around the keyhole until she fits it in.

“…” Well. Now Schezo just feels like an idiot. Arle lets go of the key and just watches the door, expectant.

He switches his sword hand to the one under Arle. Then he turns the key for her, actually opening the door. “..you could have just given it to me.”

Arle just wiggles until he lets her down, and scuttles up ahead of him. Schezo shakes off the embarrassment of being out-prepared by a child, and follows with more caution.

Where the halls preceding this one were narrow, labyrinthine corridors of wood and wallpaper – a staple of large manors and small castles of a much older variety looking to confuse intruders and assassins unfamiliar with the layout – this hall is much different. Stone masonry lines the gaping path ahead of him, its purpose likely a protective barrier from any outside forces that may collapse it, a secret method of escape made to last in the event of a siege. Torches without any fuel carry the light of aged, feeble magic, flickering in the stagnant air and sure to blow out should Schezo walk too close to them, too fast.

Or so Schezo assumes. He’s really starting to get that this place wasn’t originally meant as a dungeon. It’s a deathtrap for any who don’t belong. The cowardly necromancer probably capitalized on it, to build its body count.

Schezo notices the lack of echoing pitter patters from down the hall, and he makes his way down a little faster. “Little girl?” He calls out. “Arle! Answer me.”

Only his own voice echoes back, and Schezo buries the anxiety that gives him. He didn’t hear any echoing screams either, so there’s that. She’s probably just being difficult, as the little brat is.

Schezo keeps walking forward until he finds a fork in the path. He trusts his instincts to tell him to go right.

Come on, come on... Where did that girl go? She didn’t go the other path, did she?

Schezo slows down and huffs out in relief as he notices the bright red little figure of Arle standing in place, in the middle of the walkway. “Little girl, there you..” he starts, but something blue catches his eye.

Schezo sprints forward to scoop Arle up before jumping back, sword raised and braced for an attack.

The figure ahead of him fails to move. Schezo only untenses the slightest bit.

The body of some fallen mage hangs fused to the door it surely guards. Schezo can sense the power emanating from it, as though despite lacking a soul, the magic it left behind stays bound with the necromancer’s curse. The narrowed exit is stuffed to the brim with miscellaneous flesh, fused together and sticking out like a writhing, viscous portal to hell, frozen in place. Schezo can only manage to pick out the body at the very surface of it – despite the dozen hands gripping and digging into pruned and rotting flesh – due to the bright armor wreathing the body in bold cerulean blue.

The armor itself didn’t do well to protect the man’s life, it seemed. Schezo’s eyes dart to the empty chasm of the man’s unarmored stomach, holes for eyes, missing tongue and jaw, before slowly, slowly setting Arle back down. He’d rather not disturb this thing just yet.

He expects Arle to make some distance, maybe go down the other fork in the path. He doesn’t expect her to grip his cape. Schezo swats at her hand, keeping his eyes on the enemy. “Go, shoo. You know to stay out of my way.”

Arle shakes her head out the corner of his eye, and he glares straight at her. “What are you doing? Stop being annoying and leave me alone.”

She just shakes her head again, and Schezo can feel her trembling through the weight of her holding herself up on his cape. He kneels down quickly to examine her. Is she spooked? This isn’t the first corpse she’s seen. Did she touch the bodies?

The sound of what Schezo can only describe as the SNAP, CRACK of stiff joints long dead and dried echo through the passage, and Schezo whips his head around, immediately jumping back on his feet. The bodies let go of the mage’s corpse, and it falls to the ground bonelessly.

Arle gasps.

Schezo just stares at it.

...Is that all?

Arle waddles towards it slowly, and Schezo nearly jabs his sword in front of her before he thinks better of it. The sword switches hands before Schezo reaches for her. “Little girl, don’t just-”

The dead mage grabs Arle’s leg, and she squeals in terror as it immediately swings her into the door of corpses. Schezo sprints forward to slash the damn thing to ribbons.

The corpse gurgles something, rotten blood spattering from its tongueless mouth, and Schezo lifts the Dark Sword to take most of the spell’s damage. Frost burns the edges of his fingers from where his fist touches the cross guard and- dammit, that’s COLD.

Schezo takes a few defensive steps back, and-

“SCHEZO!!”

Arle screams from the wall of bodies, and Schezo whips his head over to see it no longer frozen, but writhing and pulling little Arle inside. She’s so small it won’t take even a minute to suffocate her.

Schezo panics.

“THUNDERSTORM! THUNDERSTORM! THUNDERSTORM, THUNDERSTORM, THUNDERSTORM!”

It really only took the first lightning strike to ignite a dry, decaying body.

The stone passage booms and shakes with every incantation, rumbling and crumbling the walls, but manages not to fall apart on top of them. Schezo leaves the standing body to silently burn, slicing through the limbs trapping and pulling at Arle before yanking her out of the wall. He nearly gets his damn sword stuck in the thing before stomping it once, twice, and shoving himself far from its reach.

Schezo breathes heavily. He did not expect a time trial, just now. If this is what parents deal with for however often children attract trouble, he wants no part of it.

…Setting aside that unwelcome thought, Schezo glares down at the offender tucked under his arm. “WHAT were you THINKING,” he near yells. Arle stares at the fire. “Do you want a DEATH WISH?? Is THAT what you’re looking for, going down here?!”

Arle just keeps staring at the fire. Schezo’s more than a little concerned that by setting her down, she’ll totter right into it. That concern is only just barely stronger than the utter indignation he feels for having to deal with her and her recklessness to begin with when he TOLD her to leave and he TOLD her to stay out of his way.

Nonetheless, Schezo is low on magical reserves after that.. overreaction he just had. So, he walks a little back into the passage and sets Arle down. He sits her against the wall, and she pulls up her knees, burying her face in them.

“Stay. I mean it.” Schezo growls, and Arle doesn’t respond. He feels a little bit guilty about that, but gets to work.

Schezo gets as close as he can to the fire without burning himself, then chops off some part of the now collapsed corpse. Arle gasps from behind him, but a quick glance reveals her safe and staring at the fire again, and he focuses on using the tip of his sword to toss that piece of flaming flesh towards the exit. It catches flame slowly, steadily burning through the flesh door. They should be able to move forward soon.

He watches that for a few moments.

Once he begins to see the light at the other end of the door, he steps past the smoldering mage’s body and back over to Arle. He stoops down in front of her.

He watches quietly as she hides her face in her knees, occasionally slipping her arms between to wipe the tears, and Schezo… can’t be angry with that. Indignant still, yes, but not angry. He notices the rips and tears in her clothes and skin, likely from the jagged nails of the wall digging into her, and Schezo digs into his robe to grab the lesser potion. He holds it out to her. “Arle.”

Arle sniffles, looking up only a little. Schezo shakes the vial. “You need this.”

She puffs out her cheeks a little, and Schezo chuckles at what he’s determined to be normal Arle behavior. “Y’r hand…”

“Just take it.”

“…No.”

Wh-

Really?! Schezo is trying to be NICE. “Just TAKE IT.”

Arle snorts up a big, gross blob of snot, and Schezo is absolutely disgusted. “No!”

“TAKE. IT.”

“NOOOOooooOOOOoooOOOOOO.”

Ohhhh my god. “FINE. I’LL TAKE MY OWN POTION, LOOK.” He digs for one of the greater potions and drinks the whole thing. The very minor cuts along his body disappear quickly. “THERE. An entire potion! WASTED. Now would you please take the little potion for little girls?”

Arle just giggles wetly, and Schezo feels oddly like he’s been tricked, again. She takes the vial and fiddles with it for a moment, but drinks it when Schezo gets to the point of tapping his sword impatiently. Some of the tension and vexation drain from him, and he thinks it’s unfair how much sway this cute little toddler has over him.

Schezo watches as the little wounds covering her seal themselves away. “Great. Let’s get going, then.”

“Um…” Arle starts, and Schezo waits. She makes the toddler’s universal motion for ‘up,’ and Schezo rolls his eyes but complies. Anything to get them moving.

Arle catches him by surprise by pushing past his hands and grabbing around his neck, standing on her toes just to reach him for a hug.

Schezo’s hands just kind of float there. Awkwardly.

Arle, completely unbothered by this, gives him one last little squeeze before stepping back on her feet and grabbing his hand, apparently ready to go. She ends up having to let go when Schezo stands to his full height.

Schezo clenches his empty hand. “..just grab onto the cape.” Arle does that.

He feels her gaze linger on the blue armored mage as they pass by its charred ashes.

---

Damn it. Damn it all. Schezo’s entire misadventure through that farce of a dungeon was ruined by just ONE uncontrolled flame.

Schezo sits on the foundation of what was once a grand, rotting manor, nothing but charred rock surviving the calamitous inferno that five consecutive Thunderstorms had ignited. He groans and moans into his hands while Arle waddles around the clearing, doing whatever that Schezo doesn’t give a damn about.

It figures that the necromancer would be idiotic enough to make its emergency fire exit the same stupid path anyone with the key would enter from. It further makes it clear to Schezo that this manor did not, in fact, belong to it. What was it even doing in a wooden building? Damp and musty or otherwise, wallpaper catches fire! Wood keeps it alive!! Even SCHEZO knows that dried bodies burn quickly and he doesn’t even USE necromancy!

And that’s just the thing. Schezo was already frustrated with the wasted potential this idiot mage presented in the reckless way it threw barely functional bodies at him, but at least Schezo was comforted with the knowledge that eventually, that power would be HIS.

SO MUCH FOR THAT.

He couldn’t track down the necromancer’s screeching through all the flames before it petered out. He couldn’t keep looking even after that because of the little girl hogging up his entire right arm.

Arle coughs from across the grassy clearing, and Schezo twitches in annoyance. The necromancer at least seemed skilled in binding magic to bodies, but he doubts anything is left of that thing’s corpse to bind to. There’s nothing he can do.

Schezo absolutely regrets having shown that child kindness. If he had left her to cry, he would’ve found that keyhole eventually. If he scared her off at the beginning, she wouldn’t have even been trapped in there with him. The fire would never have even been SET (until the end, maybe, because he could steal magic from a body in the process of burning and dying. But she would have been gone by then and if not, it would be her own fault).

Schezo has good reason to have that power. He could use the dried up, magicless remains of the people he’s stolen from that had been thoroughly tossed aside in the past, so that body nor magic would go to waste under Schezo’s command. The only thing he wouldn’t be able to save is the soul. But it would be something. Something more than what he’s been doing. Something perhaps just as kind as leading a child through a deathtrap, and a hell of a lot more rewarding.

]Arle slowly forces her way through the tall grasses, before stepping up onto the foundation. She sways a little, staring into the ruins right next to where Schezo is sitting, and he ignores the way her heels brush the edge behind her. For Schezo to have toted her all this way, lost such an opportunity just to keep her alive, only to have her bleed out from a short fall backwards? He snorts bitterly, facing the forest.

Arle turns around and clumsily plops down next to him, sniffling.

Schezo rubs his face with a hand.

He decides… He decides he’s just going to do what he always does. Move on, forget about it, and wander the great swathes of forest until he inevitably senses some other formidable mass of power, be it a dungeon or an individual. Necromancers aren’t an extinct species or anything. It’s fine. He’s not angry.

He feels a tiny fist clutch onto his cape, and Schezo shoots an irritated glare at Arle. It’s a little hard for him to move on when the reminder of why he failed won’t just go wander off already.

She kicks her legs, staring blankly out at the forest. For such a small face to have such an indecipherable look, it’s a bit unnerving, despite the vexation he feels towards her. He wonders if it’s unfair to say that it was out of character for the toddler to break down the way she did, when faced with that armored corpse equally as gruesome as any other she’d seen. She certainly didn’t seem too bothered by the others.

Surely she wasn’t afraid because it still had its magic? He doesn’t think someone so young can sense and evaluate magic like that. Did she know the mage? He thinks about how it still had its magic, so reminiscent of Arle’s paltry little cold spell.

There are an infinite number of cold spells, out there. That thing’s magic really was awfully familiar.

Arle scrunches her little face up, shifting her gaze back at Schezo, who had been staring through her for quite a bit. “Starin’s rude…”

He blinks. Frowns. “Yes, well, you’re quite the pleasurable sight to see,” Schezo grouses, sarcastic.

Arle blinks at him without understanding, and Schezo mentally slaps himself at the wording.

“Why haven’t you dawdled off, already. Where are your parents?” he asks, not keen at all on the little brat following him into the woods.

Arle just shrugs her little shoulders.

Schezo isn’t sure how to take that. He figures it was only one body, not two, and finds reassurance enough in that. “Do you know where your home is?”

Arle shrugs again.

“…Do you think you could find it if I brought you back to the dungeon’s entrance?” Assuming he hadn’t been teleported several hundred miles away in a direction he doesn’t know.

Arle kicks her little legs for a moment. She shakes her head. Schezo gets the distinct feeling that’s a lie, but he doesn’t call her out on it.

“Okay,” he sighs, sitting back on his hands. Arle takes the opportunity to scoot closer, and lean against him.

He thinks back on that mage’s dead body, magic like Arle’s. It would do Schezo no good to let a rotting carcass keep its magic, anyway. Perhaps the necromancer’s spells would’ve been useless after all. He’s not mad. He can’t be mad about that.

…What he could be mad about is not being able to bring the damn head of the person Arle was so distraught about to their relative’s doorstep, as warning to never let their child go loose to bother a man ever again. As long as Arle didn’t see. It would be one way to blow off steam, anyhow.

If Arle doesn’t want to go back to her home, Schezo won’t go out of his way to find out where it is from here. That doesn’t mean he won’t be visiting the next town he comes across, however. He’s going to hand this child off to someone, and if she changes her mind about wanting to go home at that point, whoever he hands her off to can deal with it.

“Alright. That’s enough rest for now,” he declares, and picks himself up. “I’m going, now.” Arle just stares up at him.

With that, Schezo chooses a random direction of relative least resistance, and hikes onward. The little pitter patter of steps quickly follow behind him.

Schezo doesn’t tell Arle to leave him alone, and Arle doesn’t ask permission to follow him. She doesn’t ask permission to wander off, either, when they reach the treeline and she disappears for a few moments, and Schezo’s sure to go through so many cut-off moments of processing the way he feels when she’s there versus when she’s not that he’ll probably give up on acknowledging feeling any way about it at all.

He just sets a pace, perhaps a bit slower than he’d normally go, and little Arle manages somehow to follow it.