“Magic mould,” Isobel said.

Bell tilted her head, looking at the book Iso was holding up, fingers pointing at a patchy star map on the pages.

Dema’s eyes went wide. “What! Space is mouldy?”

Iso giggled. “Well, it’s not real mould. The Protans called it that. Probably because they hated it.”

She’d just returned from a strategy session with the council, to discuss how to save the world.

“Why did they hate it?” Bell asked. “Is it bad news?”

“It was for them,” Iso said, and put the book down, the pages still open. She leaned back in her chair, while Dema climbed on the table, kneeling over the mould map, taking it all in. Bell had been standing, but pulled a blood-stone stool up with a few hair tendrils, and squelched down on it with a wet splash.

They were in Dema’s house. The fake sun shone through the window into the living room, casting half of Isobel’s face in bright light as she went on to explain, “Basically it’s this magical substance that exists all over the planetary system. Some people say it originates from Zenur.”

“Zenur?” Dema asked.

“Fifth planet. Biggest planet. They say the mould comes from there because all the patches stay fixed in position relative to it, even the ones very far away. Basically, this… substance— well, it’s not really a substance, but it’s very sticky. When you get into the magic mould, you get caught! Messes up space routes. Protans lost some of their expeditions that way.”

“Ah,” Dema let out. “So, dangerous, then. Let’s hope Bun Bun doesn’t get stuck. But there’s so many… Will she be able to avoid them all?”

“Actually,” Iso said, with a proud grin, “for one, this map is a little exaggerated, they aren’t that big. Also, we are thinking of having ‘Bun Bun’ move through them.”

Bell raised an eyebrow. “‘We’, huh?”

“Hm?”

“You said you were only joining the council meetings out of curiosity. But you said ‘we’ just now, like you’re part of it.”

“Oh!” Iso let out, scratching the back of her head, smiling shyly. “Guess I am. Just so happened. But you are too, aren’t you?”

“In the sense that they give us tasks, yeah,” Bell went. “They just want me to secure everything. Put up barriers to protect against fires and other catastrophes while they work on the plans. Make sure the laboratories can’t be broken in some way. But I just do what I’m asked.”

“Yeah,” Dema said, nodding. “Me too. I gotta make lots of blood.”

Bell’s gaze went back to the map. “So anyway, you want her to get stuck in the mould?”

“I mean, like.” Isobel clacked her mandibles and then her belly-leglets in a wave, giving herself time to word the thoughts. “Initially we thought we needed to use the patches to align Theora’s velocity with that of the crab, so they wouldn’t miss each other. But turns out the Devourer can take care of such things by itself, judging from analysis of its prior movements.”

Dema looked at Isobel, still kneeling on the table. “It’s a crab?”Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Bell huffed. “I believe None was joking — again. You keep falling for it. We don’t know what it is.” She looked at Isobel. “So, why use the mould if you don’t need it to decelerate?”

Isobel raised a finger. “These patches are connected by magical lines, like mycelium, forming a large web around Zenur. So, one of the top artificers suggested there may be a way to harness these connections for instant communication. That way, we could stay in touch with Theora throughout the entire mission.”

Bell nodded thoughtfully. “But that would slow her down, right? I assumed she needed to get as far away as possible.”

“Yeah,” Iso said, “But what if the mission fails? What if she goes super far away and the Devourer doesn’t change course? We need to let her know so that she can… Well. We don’t know if there will be time to organise a way for her to return in time, but she could at least… At least…”

Isobel gave Theora a glance, and it was only in that moment that Theora remembered her own existence. The others looked her way too, and she realised how heavy her arms were and how breathing was effort and that the rock she sat on was cold, and the wall she leaned against was hard.

“Yes,” Theora said. “If the mission fails, I can try to target the Ancient Devourer’s velocity with [Obliterate].”

It was the awful failsafe plan. If it could even be called a plan. Targeting a creature of such a size from a long distance was prone to an exceptional amount of misinterpretations. Who knew what [Obliterate] would make of it; if Theora could even properly target a creature unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Not to speak of the ambient damage — it would rip a hole in the universe, probably at least the size of the sun.

But it was worth a try. If everything else failed — if the main strategy didn’t work out and Theora couldn’t stop the Devourer or serve as bait, then at least she’d be far away from home, the ambient damage hopefully only blowing up the empty space around herself, trapping her inside a blotch of permanent damage forever.

Trying to make herself alluring to a creature that wanted to eat her seemed like the better option, especially if she could at least keep contact with her home planet until it was over.

“There’s still a lot we need to iron out,” Isobel said. “Like, for example, how to even do it, at all.” She sighed, but she was smiling. She revelled in this kind of problem-solving.

She proceeded to give a few more details; explained the properties of magic mould they were aware of, and gave a large list of things that could go wrong. Dema was especially interested in this phenomenon, and the discussion soon veered to three mages exchanging their views on the intricacies of magical phenomena, which Theora understood little of.

The three of them were spending most of their time outside, in Heofen. In libraries or with the council, or things like that. That’s why Theora typically took refuge inside Dema’s house, so that she could be alone; but today it hadn’t worked out quite so well. Her interdimensional attire was hanging on a coat rack in one of the central libraries, so people could go in and out.

Theora didn’t feel like wearing Fiantanne’s dresses. Those dresses were perfect and beautiful and Theora wasn’t worth it. So instead, she was wearing old cotton cloaks, rough and grey, and she felt bad for it, since someone had to have put in a lot of effort to make those too.

It was something she’d almost dared to forget; the feeling of not wanting to exist. Dema and the others had made life seem alluring, for a while. But sitting in her hometown surrounded by everyone she’d wronged, waiting to be shot off into space so that they could get rid of her for good was an excruciatingly novel way to be reminded of her own inadequacy.

Perhaps this mission was Theora’s way out.

And, admittedly, she really liked the idea of getting stuck in magic mould. She’d be alone, she’d be able to rest, and the pictures looked beautiful too — maybe too beautiful for her but Theora was going to let herself indulge a little, if nothing else.

It was only then that, in the periphery of her view, Dema was beaming at her, from the table. Theora tilted her head ever so slightly, looking up slightly perplexed, in a question.

“Nothing,” Dema rasped, still smiling, but softer now. “You’ve been looking down all day, but seemed a bit more happy just now.”

Theora blinked, and realised that she’d been smiling, ever so faintly, without even noticing. “Sorry,” she said. “Was just thinking of the magic mould, and that I might get to touch it. I wonder if it’s fluffy.”

“Yeah, right!” Dema nodded. She twitched as if she was about to hop down, but then restrained herself. “You should bring some with you, if you can,” she said instead, giving a shy smile. “As a keepsake.”

According to Isobel’s explanations, magic mould was not a substance. It wasn’t a thing one could take or remove; it was fixed relative to Zenur, maybe similar to how mana crystals worked on Himaeya. Theora probably couldn’t take a little bottle with her to push some of it inside. She probably couldn’t wrap a fold of her attire around to take any of that mould.

But Dema was still smiling, warm and vulnerable. So Theora would try anyway, just for that smile.