"Why is this such a big deal, Hel?" Rafe asked when they returned to their room.

"I just…I wanted you to have a better impression of the Ma'la," Helare said, her voice low.

Rafe shrugged. "Thanks for trying, I guess." Rafe rubbed at his hair, frowning. "But I don't see why my opinion matters. Who am I to judge a whole race?"

"It matters to me!" Helare said.

Rafe blinked at her. "But why?"

"Because…" Helare floundered. "I don't know. It just does, okay. I have this feeling. Your opinion matters, for some reason. It's like the future of my race depends on your judgement of them."

The answer only caused Rafe more confusion.

But then he thought about it. If he was in charge of deciding their fate, what would he choose?

"My opinion on the Ma'la won't necessarily change just because I saw them being cheery at the festival," Rafe started. "But my opinion isn't all bad. I mean, sure, they carried out planet wide genocide; and have enslaved the survivors from their wars, but so what? They are just being people. These kinds of things are more common than you think. I mean, why do you think I hate slavery? It has a terrible history on my planet. But it does have a history. It was there. Probably still is, especially after the system came..."

The room was quiet for a time, everyone probably going through their thoughts. For Rafe, it was the feeling that he was missing something.

Still, would he destroy the Ma'la if he was a god? Not likely. There were innocents there too. They would need a chance to prove themselves. Abandoning them? For sure.

He was young and inexperienced, so probably he would make a world the inverse of their current world. With more land than water. And then he'd put them there, and maybe they would survive, but they would be attacked by those they persecuted before. Their lives would be in the hands of the once inferior species.

But then again, his body was barely seventeen, and his mind was maybe fifty years old, all things told. He was too young and inexperienced.

Obviously a real god would have a better solution. Flooding the world came to mind, but… hmm. Flooding a bunch of water elementalists? Besides, they did have the flying islands.

And imagine the gods did want to resolve the situation, but were unable to directly intervene. Then they would go with the next best thing. A world of lush forests and rare springs and large volcanic mountains.

With a jolt, Rafe realised his idea for how he would judge the Ma'la was too specific. Had he been judging them subconsciously this whole time?

"How do you know about the wars?" Filoria's voice broke through his thoughts.

Rafe's head shot up and his eyes met Filoria's.

In the background, his first racial ability made note of Helare also looking up with raised brows. Like the question hadn't occured to her before.

He wondered what he should tell them; what he could tell them? It's not like they would believe some outworlder was some kind of prophet for their gods. The gods they had not seen in years.

With an internal shrug, Rafe decided lying was the most viable option. With a bit of truth sprinkled in for good measure.

"A few acquaintances told me," Rafe said. "With the most vivid descriptions too. So vivid, I was almost there myself."

"What acquaintances?" Filoria said, her voice dripping with suspicion. "You don't have any friends at the camp."

Rafe glared at her.

"I resent that I have turned into some kind of suspect. I was in a new world. Is it so hard to believe I wanted some information on my new world?" Rafe said, feigning outrage. "Besides, I never said they were my friends. Just a bunch of creepy stalkers!" Rafe said to a corner of the cabin.

A slight breeze blew through the corner, disturbing the dust and curtain. How wind came from a corner of a closed off room, and why the girls didn't find it suspicious, Rafe would never know. At least they should have asked him if he had a wind affinity, shouldn't they?

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***

"What happened?" Ma'la asked her spy when they returned.

It was a bit early. They had two months still to study the boy while they prepared their plans. They should not have returned this early.

"The boy suspected my presence," the other god said, her voice sounding like wind chimes.

A finely sculpted male with a shock of red hair and an always present smirk appeared. "He saw the wind?" Champ, formerly the hero of Primus, asked.

"Maybe he can hear the whispers on the wind," the wind god said. "Such whispers I hear in his presence. In any case, we have run out of time, Ma'la."

"What do you mean?" the mother of oceans asked.

"The Chosen goes after the boy," the winds said. "And his girl… also goes after him. The princess has fulfilled her role. And indeed the boy does not seem inclined to judge your children too harshly."

"Indeed?" Ma'la said with a thoughtful tone.

"What happens to the princess?" Champ asked.

Ma'la could only look at him, her expression pained.

"Might I offer a suggestion," another voice said.

A puddle of water entered the sanctum, and from it stepped a white boy, his hair light blue, his body frozen.

It was obviously dead, but not rotting.

"I will take her," the drowned god said.

"Are you sure?" Ma'la asked.

The drowned god turned and looked in a direction they all knew. The direction where their hope now lay.

"I do not wish to continue my journey alone. I would rather contribute to this great cause. The girl requires a boon."

Ma'la looked at the normally reticent god, but it looked determined. With a nod, she gave her approval, and the drowned god went back to the depths to watch and wait.

****

The princess ended the trip a few days after the whole projector incident.

Filoria knew she was out of time. Her father would check on the dungeon at least within the month. And the promotion was getting closer with every single day.

And the princess was getting bolder every single day. The whole time they traveled back, she shared a cot with Rafael, and by the end they would hold each other in the night.

On their first day back, Filoria knew she had to make some kind of move otherwise things would get out hand. She watched them both.

When the princess was done catching up with her backlog of work, she made to go to Rafael's tent.

Which was strange to Filoria. The princess she knew only ever called if she needed something. This version of the princess would even sleep in that cramped little thing, no problem. And from what Filoria had seen, Rafael seemed to be waiting for her as well.

As the dungeon did not have a dedicated day and night, sleep schedules were not a thing. As long as one was too exhausted to continue, they could sleep any time.

Of course, after years of working here, there was a kind of acceptable time to rest for most of the camp, except of course those who were supposed to guard the perimeter. Rafael, being the inexhaustible machine he was only went to rest when all his assistants, the enchanters and other crafters, went to sleep.

Of course he was not working on metals right now, because he was still technically resting, but habits usually died hard.

It was a whole hour past when Rafael would usually sleep, yet Filoria knew he was sitting near the entrance flap of his tent, probably waiting for the princess. He would be surprised this time though. Would he like it?

In their last days in the city, the princess requested Filoria to give her and Rafael some time alone. Normally she wouldn't have, but she needed help understanding her heart. So she had gone to a famous lady's salon in the capital.

It was one of those secrets only ladies in the in-crowd knew about. It was the go to meeting for advice on getting married or anything related, and Filoria's problem was surely related. They had this policy, where no one could see each other's face, hence she could not see anyone's face.

In the most secure way, Filoria had asked what she could do if the man she had her eye on didn't seem to notice her. If he was interested in someone of higher standing, and if that person was interested in him as well.

The other women had laughed first, but then they got serious. And then one of them spoke.

And thinking about what that old woman said back then, Filoria flushed. But then she fisted her hands.

Her father wanted Rafael, and the chosen always got what he wanted. But, she wanted him too. Maybe if she had him once, she wouldn't care even if her father came for him.

"You cannot go to him, princess," Filoria blocked Helare's way.

"Filoria? Why not? Get out of my way," she ordered, her voice low, threatening.

"Look," Filoria said. "I let you do whatever you wanted while we were traveling, because it was only us there, but you are a princess of Ma'la. I cannot allow this."

Helare paused and frowned at Filoria. "Even if I order you to?" she asked.

"My job is to protect you," Filoria answered. "Even from yourself. I've never had to do that before, but there is a first time for everything I suppose."

"What exactly is the danger to me?" Helare asked, her voice still dangerous.

"Your reputation, my lady," Filoria said. "And your health. How can I allow you to sleep in such a tiny little thing?"

"So you would be okay with it if I called him to my tent?" she asked. "He has slept here twice before, so it should be no issue."

"You think calling him like that will not offend him?" Filoria asked, the words coming to her as if sent by a god.

All at once, the princess looked uncertain. She looked in the direction of Rafael's lodgings, then sighed. She turned around and went back into her tent.

Filoria avoided the urge to jump up and down in joy. Now, all she had to do was wait for Rafael to sleep.

It took two more hours, but the princess had not done anything in that time. According to the women at the salon, she would only need a few seconds, tops. Maybe two minutes at the most.

So she gave it a few more minutes to make sure Rafael was as deep asleep as he was likely to get. The princess also was deep in her tent, and not likely to interrupt her.

She swallowed. She was intent though. It was now or never.

Besides, why should the princess have him. She was going to die soon anyway, even if not by Filoria's hand. The chosen wanted her dead, so she would die, simple as that.

Filoria opened the flap to Rafael's tent, and inside she saw a boy sleeping comfortably, his chest exposed, rising and falling rhythmically like a bellows.

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