Spring came gently to the roads of Friar.

The wind moved through the grass in long silver waves, and the hills rolled toward the north as if the land itself had grown tired of walls and wished only to lie down. Magnolia walked with her usual calm, her hands folded behind her back, her steps even, her eyes always forward. John of Kum walked beside her with less grace and more curiosity, tapping stones with his boot, snapping seed heads from weeds, and occasionally casting little sparks from his fingers into the roadside brush just to see how quickly they died.

Ahead of them, vast and stern against the sky, stood the mountain of Reaper Lance Altar.

It rose from the earth like judgment made stone.

John looked up at it for a long while. "There it is."

Magnolia smiled faintly. "There it is."

They kept walking.

The mountain remained ahead, then beside them, then slightly behind as the road bent. Neither turned toward the path that climbed to the altar.

After a while John said, "One supposes we ought to have a speech prepared."

"For what?"

"For deciding not to save the world."

Magnolia let out the softest laugh. "Would that require a speech?"

"I think all neglected duties improve under narration."

She tilted her head. "Then narrate."

John cleared his throat and raised a hand as if addressing a crowd.

"Citizens of Solunus. After measured thought, poor planning, insufficient snacks, and a complete absence of emotional investment, we have decided not to ascend the holy mountain today."

Magnolia nodded. "A fair decree."

He glanced sideways at her. "You do not wish to go either."

"No."

"Because of preparation?"

"That would be a respectable answer."

John smiled. "And the true one?"

Magnolia looked toward the mountain. "I do not feel called to save anything."

John gave a satisfied hum. "Good. I was worried you might recover."

She turned to him. "Recover?"

"Yes. Into one of those noble moods. Very inconvenient things, noble moods. They spoil good weather."

Magnolia’s expression remained light, but her voice lowered a little. "Do you think it wrong, not to care?"

John considered. "No. Only unusual, if said aloud."

That pleased her.

They walked on.

Below the mountain were travelers, pilgrims, and supply beasts. Men with ash on their brows. Women carrying relic charms. Adventurers boasting loudly before the climb. They looked at John and Magnolia with the passing interest reserved for strangers who did not seem desperate enough to matter.

John watched them with mild fascination.

"Look at them," he said. "All that earnestness. It must be exhausting."

"They need the altar to mean something," Magnolia replied.

"And you?"

"I prefer things that mean several things at once."

He laughed. "Yes. That is exactly what worries me about you."

She gave him a warm look, one that would have comforted almost anyone else. "And what worries me about you is that nothing worries you for very long."

"That is a strength."

"That is how fires begin."

John looked out over the fields. "When in doubt, fire a Solpyra."

Magnolia smiled despite herself. "That is not a philosophy."

"It is if repeated."

They left the sight of the altar by afternoon and followed an older road westward. A ruined shrine stood near a stream. They rested there and ate preserved fruit and hard bread while swallows cut low through the air.

John lay back against the stone and folded his hands over his chest.

"Tell me," he said, "when Bam Bam found Awum’s temple, do you suppose he knew what he meant to do?"

Magnolia looked across the stream. "No."

"You say that with confidence."

"Corruption rarely begins as confession. It begins as invitation."

John smiled at that. "That is a very polished thought."

"It is true."

"Do you think he loved her, in his way?"

Magnolia was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps. That may have made it easier."

John sat up a little. "And if Awum’s temple still stands, and if it holds anything from that moment, would you wish to see it?"

Magnolia did not answer at once.

The stream went on talking to itself.

At last she said, "Yes."

He seemed unsurprised. "Good. Because I think that is where the better story lies."

"The better story than what?"

"Than climbing mountains for priests."

She watched him carefully then. John’s manner was easy, almost playful, but he had a habit she had begun to notice. He would mention a thing only lightly the first time. A second time he would make it sound harmless. By the third, it had already entered the road.

"And how," she asked, "do you propose we find a temple tied to the Forbidden Islands?"

John grinned. "By speaking to people who read too much."

"Waka Academy."

"Waka Academy."

She turned back toward the west, where far beyond sight lay Gobua, and the brittle towers and vine-work halls of scholars who collected impossible questions like children collected stones.

"The ocean vortex," Magnolia said. "The one that bars passage to the islands."

"Exactly so."

"And you believe Waka keeps records on it."

"I believe Waka keeps records on everything no sensible person should preserve."

That evening the sky went gold, then red, then the pale gray-blue that comes before true dark. They made camp beneath an old tree whose roots had broken apart a traveler’s marker long ago. John built the fire with practiced ease. Magnolia watched the flames settle into shape.

It might have looked peaceful to anyone passing by. Two travelers at ease. Bread warming on a flat stone. Firelight in the grass. Wind in the branches.

But their peace had already shifted.

The mountain they had declined still stood behind them. The world remained in danger, as worlds do. Yet what interested them now was not duty, nor salvation, nor the burden of the cycle.

It was Awum’s temple.

It was the island no one should reach.

It was the pleasure of moving toward something forbidden simply because it was there.

John handed Magnolia a piece of warmed bread.

"Do you know," he said, "I think I like you better away from heroic settings."

Magnolia accepted it. "And I think I like you better when the world asks nothing of you."

He leaned back and looked into the fire.

"Then we are both improving."

She smiled.

Above them the stars appeared one by one, cold and far, while below, on the road that did not lead to the altar, two travelers quietly chose a different kind of ruin.

Next Episode, Next Monday!