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The Monolith shimmered in the distance, its eerie glow casting long shadows across the rippling waves below their camp. Verso sat perfectly still, his back against a twisted tree trunk, watching the dying embers of the fire paint flickering light across the sleeping forms of the expeditioners. He hadn't slept—couldn't sleep—not with the weight of what needed to be done pressing against his chest like crushing stone. His eyes drifted to the hunched figure on the far side of the camp where Monoco rested in a squatting position, his wooden staff resting across his wooden joints, mask tilted downward in deep meditation. After ten years apart, it seemed almost cruel to drag him back into this. Almost.
The breeze carried the scent of salt from the sea below, mingling with the lingering smoke of their campfire. Verso's fingers brushed absently over the scar running along his face. Another reminder of why he couldn't do this alone.
Ten years had passed since Monoco had walked away. Ten years of strained messages through gestral intermediaries, of hollow victories and bitter defeats. And yet, when Verso had found himself at the edge of another impossible task, one that was both the same old routine and impossibly new, it was Monoco's name that had risen unbidden to his thoughts. Monoco, who, despite everything, understood why Verso had to keep going back toward the Monolith, toward the Paintress, again and again. Monoco, who had left precisely because he understood all too well.
Verso exhaled and rose to his feet. Lune shifted in her sleep nearby, one hand twitching as though she’d fallen asleep taking notes. Maelle lay not far from her, her face peaceful in a way it never was during waking hours. They deserved their rest, he told himself. They didn't need to know about this particular errand.
He picked his way across the camp with careful steps, avoiding twigs and stones that might snap or shift beneath his weight. Years of moving through hostile terrain, memories of friendly fire, had taught him how to be a ghost when needed. The expeditioners didn't stir as he passed.
Monoco hadn't changed much in ten years—couldn't change much, he supposed. But he was alive, the old brush, and that was something. His wooden joints creaked slightly as he breathed, the bristles atop his head ruffled by the night breeze. The wooden plank that served as his face reflected the distant glow of the Monolith, rugged and expressionless. Yet Verso knew there was more feeling behind that mask than most could claim in their entire bodies.
He crouched beside his old friend and gently touched one furry shoulder. "Monoco," he whispered, voice barely audible above the wind. "Wake up."
The gestral startled, wooden joints clacking as he nearly lost his balance. His staff clattered against a stone, and Verso winced at the sound, glancing back at the camp. No one stirred.
"What do you want?" Monoco accused, his tone one of exaggerated disinterest they both knew was feigned. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
"I need your help," Verso said simply.
“You always need help,” Monoco's mask tilted upward, facing the Monolith in the distance before turning back to Verso.
"This is different." Verso settled into a crouch beside him. "I wouldn't ask if there was anyone else."
Monoco grumbled, nodding toward Esquie's massive snoring form at the edge of camp. "Why not him?"
Verso shook his head. "Esquie's too... Esquie. He'd make it into a game. Or worse, he'd tell the others." He leaned closer. "This is something only you would understand. Something only you could help with."
"Flattery? From you?" Monoco's wooden fingers tightened around his staff. "Now I'm truly concerned."
“Not flattery,” A smile tugged at the corner of Verso's mouth. "I’m telling the truth.”
“That’s even more concerning.” For a long moment, Monoco was silent, his wooden limbs shifting slightly as he considered. Finally, he asked, "What exactly are we doing that requires disrupting my rest?”
Verso glanced toward the Monolith. "There's something I need to find. Something that might help us. But it's... well, it's in a place I'd rather not go alone."
"Dangerous?"
"When is it not?"
Monoco's mask remained impassive, but the slight tilt conveyed skepticism as clearly as a raised eyebrow. "And what do I get out of this midnight adventure? Besides the pleasure of your charming company after ten years of blessed peace?"
"Nevrons," Verso's smile widened just a fraction. "The kind that put up a real fight."
The wooden panels of Monoco's body shifted almost imperceptibly, betraying his interest despite himself.
Another long silence stretched between them, filled with a decade of unspoken words. Finally, Monoco pushed himself to his feet with a soft clacking of wooden joints.
"Fine," he said. "But if this turns out to be another one of your suicide missions, I'm leaving you to die. Again."
"Fair enough." Verso stood as well, relief washing through him. He hadn't been certain Monoco would agree, not after how they'd parted last time.
"When do we leave?" Monoco asked, adjusting his staff in his grip.
Verso looked toward the east, where the faintest lightening of the sky hinted at the coming dawn. "Now. Before the others wake up."
"Of course." Monoco sighed, the sound whistling slightly through the seams of his wooden form. “Perish the thought of a proper night's sleep before whatever madness you've planned."
“You don’t sleep,” Verso reminded, but nonetheless touched his friend's shoulder, light with sincerity. "Thank you, mon vieux.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Monoco's mask tilted toward him. “It will diminish its impact when I’ve done something truly impressive.”
Together they slipped away from the camp, two shadows moving against the greater darkness, with only the cold light of the Monolith to guide their way.
. . .
The wind cut like a blade through the mountain sides, whipping snow into their faces as they climbed. Verso's fingers, numb where they emerged from fingerless gloves, scrabbled for purchase against the icy rock. He hauled himself up another few feet and paused, breath coming in white clouds that were immediately torn away by the wind. Below him, Monoco's wooden joints creaked in protest as the gestral followed, his staff occasionally tapping against stone as he used it for balance.
"Getting slow in your old age?" Verso called down, a grin forming despite the cold that threatened to crack his lips.
"Says the man who stopped to catch his breath six times in the last hour," Monoco retorted, his wooden body clacking as he pulled himself up to Verso's ledge. "You've gone soft. Too many warm fires with your new friends."
Verso snorted. "And you haven't? I don't remember those joints creaking quite so loudly before."
"One earns the right to creak after decades of meditation.” Monoco straightened, his mask tilting upward to survey the path ahead. "How much further to this rock of Esquie's?"
"Not far. Just beyond that ridge." Verso pointed to a jagged outcropping another hundred feet up. "You could have stayed at camp if you're too tired."
"And miss the opportunity to watch you struggle? Never." The gestral's wooden fingers tightened around his staff as he prepared for the next climb.
They fell into rhythm again, the familiar pattern of movement they'd perfected over countless journeys before their separation. The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet laden with unspoken words.
"Noco seems well," Verso said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Growing into himself. Less like you every day."
Monoco's mask remained expressionless, but Verso caught the slight stiffening of his wooden shoulders. "He mentioned you've been checking on him. Regularly."
"Someone has to make sure he doesn't inherit all your bad habits." Verso pulled himself over another ledge. "He said you ask about me too."
A beat of silence followed, broken only by the howl of the wind. "I might have... inquired about your continued existence. Occasionally."
Verso bit back a smile. "Occasionally."
"Very occasionally," Monoco insisted, his wooden joints clicking as he climbed. "Barely worth mentioning. Usually just, 'Is that fool still alive?'"
"Of course."
"And 'is he still throwing himself at the Paintress like a moth at a flame?'"
Verso's smile faltered. "You know why I have to."
Another silence fell as they continued climbing, each lost in their own thoughts.
"Did you like it?" Monoco asked suddenly.
"Like what?"
"The pictos I left for you. Aegis Revival—thought you could use some extra shielding in your…advanced age.”
“Hang on, ‘Aegis Revival…’” Verso stopped climbing so abruptly that snow dislodged from the ledge above him, dusting more white into his hair. "Noco sold that to me!"
The gestral's mask betrayed nothing, but his posture radiated some midway point between indignation and pride. “Did he now?”
"He said he found it in some ruins! Charged me 100,000 chroma for it!"
"That little—" Monoco's wooden fingers tightened around his staff. "And the carved figurine of the ancient warrior? The one with your face?"
"Sold that to me too." Verso's expression darkened. "Wait, did you carve that?"
“Did you not recognize the grain of my wood?” He lifted the edge of his loin cloth scandalously, revealing a coffin-shaped indentation where timber had been excavated from his thigh. Something twisted in Verso's gut.
They stared at each other for a beat before Verso burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the icy walls around them. After a moment, Monoco's shoulders began to shake in his own version of mirth.
"That patate is too clever by half," the gestral muttered.
"Takes after his father," Verso replied, still grinning.
Their moment of levity was cut short by a low growl from above. Both froze, their heads tilting upward in unison. Three glowing faces peered down at them from the ridge they were approaching.
“Braseleurs,” Verso muttered, his hand moving to summon his sword.
"Three of them." Monoco's voice took on a different quality, the scholarly tone giving way to something sharper, hungrier. "Perfect."
They moved without needing to coordinate, falling into the patterns established over decades of fighting together. Verso launched himself upward, drawing the attention of two beasts while Monoco circled to the right, his staff a blur as he morphed into a pelerin.
"Getting slower!" Monoco called as he dodged a swipe from claws that could shear through steel. "I've already wounded mine!"
Verso ducked under a massive paw, his blade flashing as he cut deep into the creature's leg. "Quality over quantity, mon vieux!”
They danced among the nevrons, their movements complementing each other despite the years apart. When Verso was driven back, Monoco was there to create an opening. When a braseleur lunged for Monoco's blind spot, Verso's blade intercepted it.
"Behind you!" Verso called, spinning to block a strike meant for the gestral's back.
"I knew it was there," Monoco insisted, though he shifted his stance in clear appreciation.
The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. Both stood panting in the sudden silence, Verso wiping blood from a shallow cut on his arm, Monoco adjusting panels on his belt that had been knocked askew.
"Like old times.”
Monoco leaned on his staff, his wooden body settling into a more relaxed posture. "Why didn't you bring the others?" he asked abruptly. "The arena champion or the girl. They seem capable enough."
Verso's lips curved into a fond smile. "Because they're not stupid enough to follow me up here. Not like you. Ten years apart, and all it takes is the promise of a good fight and you're right back at my side, trudging through snow and ice for a rock that probably isn't even here."
He didn’t add that he couldn’t bring them because he couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t immediately ask Esquie to return them to the safety of Lumière once Soarrie was found. He didn’t add that Monoco’s loyalty was the only thing he trusted in, even still, even after a decade of separation.
"A rock we've spent half the day searching for," Monoco corrected.
“In our old stomping grounds. Did you not recognize that train carriage in the glen? We shared body heat in there for three days that winter we got caught in that avalanche.”
“I did notice.” Monoco’s mask stared at him, unmoving and unwilling to take the bait of nostalgia, before the gestral finally spoke. "You want to talk about the Sakapatate in the room."
Verso blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Wooden fingers tightened around the staff until the joints creaked in protest. "I didn't leave you ten years ago just because of the failed expeditions, Verso." The faux-scholarly tone had vanished completely, leaving something raw and honest. "I left because I couldn't stand helping you kill yourself anymore."
The words hung between them, heavy as the mountains themselves.
"Every time we went after the Paintress, I watched you die," Monoco continued. "I watched you charge into battles you couldn't win, watched you throw yourself at her barriers until there was nothing left but broken bones and blood. And then you'd come back, and you’d do it again. And again." The fur around his face and across his shoulders shivered in the wind. "I couldn't be part of it anymore. Not even for you."
Verso's throat tightened. He looked away, out across the endless white peaks. "I never asked you to watch."
"You didn't have to ask. I was there. Every time."
A silence stretched between them, filled only by the howling wind.
"I'm sorry," Verso said finally, the words barely audible.
"For what? I told you then: I understand.”
Verso’s heart ached with Monoco’s loyalty. He fumbled for a few moments, unsure what he’d been apologizing for, before he landed on: “For making you watch."
Something in the gestral seemed to break at that. His wooden body sagged, and a sound emerged from behind his mask that might have been a sob. Without thinking, Verso stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his friend, holding the trembling wooden form against his chest.
"I'm still going to try,” he murmured. "I have to. But... I'll try to be less reckless about it."
"You won't," Monoco said, his voice muffled against Verso's shoulder. "But I'll be there anyway."
They stood like that as the wind swirled around them, two old friends finding their way back to each other after too long apart. When they finally separated, Monoco straightened his wooden panels with as much dignity as he could muster.
"If you tell Esquie I cried, I will feed you to a bourgeon. Again."
Verso smiled, about to reply when something caught his eye—a glint of light in the snow just beyond where they stood. He moved toward it, crouching to brush away the powder, revealing a smooth, round stone with swirls of color dancing in its concave edge and a shimmering pictos adorning its surface.
"Would you look at that," he said softly. "Soarrie."
Monoco joined him, looking down at the stone. "All that for a rock."
"Not just any rock." Verso picked it up gently, feeling its warmth despite the surrounding cold. "For Esquie."
"For Esquie," Monoco agreed, and there was something like fondness in his voice.
…
The evening sun cast long shadows across the camp as Verso sat beside Esquie, the giant's massive form dwarfing him despite both being seated. Verso kept his hand in his pocket, fingers wrapped around Soarrie, the smooth stone warm against his skin. He hadn't told Esquie about finding it, and something like guilt was sloshing in his gut like the wine he stored in his oldest friend. Across the camp, Monoco was holding his own in an interrogation from Lune, undoubtedly an onslaught of questions about where they’d been. Or perhaps just unbridled curiosity about gestral life.
"I lost Florrie today," Esquie announced, his perpetually smiling mask somehow conveying profound sadness. He slapped his plush belly as if to cheer himself up, the sound like a distant drum.
"Florrie," Verso repeated, keeping his voice level. “Already?”
"Yes!" Esquie's massive head bobbed. “Now when we find Soarrie, Florrie will be sad. They liked to be together."
Verso steadied himself, one eyebrow raised. "You know, for someone who's lived as long as you have, you'd think you'd be better at keeping track of your things."
"Oh,” Esquie said, not at all offended. "Non. I'm very good at losing my rocks.”
"I know, mon ami,” Verso said, his lips curving into a small smile despite himself.
"I'm much better at keeping track of friends,” Esquie continued, his mask tilting toward where Maelle sat near the fire, her expression distant as she stared into the flames. “Friends are more important than things."
Verso followed his gaze, something tightening in his chest at the sight of her. "How've you managed to lose it already?" he asked, deliberately turning the conversation back to safer ground.
"Easily, Verso," Esquie replied with perfect sincerity. "I'm very good at losing things."
Ted quite shifted, settling more comfortably against a large boulder that seemed designed specifically to support his massive form. "I like our new friends," he said. "They're sad, but they're trying not to be. I like helping them be less sad."
"Do you now?"
Esquie had always had a way with people that Verso himself lacked—an openness, a willingness to engage without the barriers Verso constructed so carefully around himself.
"Yes!" The giant's voice brightened. "I take Sciel to see the flowers that grow near the cliff edge—they remind her of her garden at home. I listen to Lune’s questions, and we tell each other riddles.” Esquie leaned in, as if sharing a secret, though his voice remained just as loud. "And I find the rocks that Maelle throws into the sea."
Verso blinked. "You what?"
"The rocks." Esquie gestured toward Maelle. "She goes to the cliff every morning and throws rocks into the water. She did it with the Super Nice One before Renoir, you know. They would skip them across the surface and laugh when they made it all the way to that little island."
A memory surfaced—Verso, standing unseen in the shadows of the basalt pillars, watching Gustave and Maelle at the cliff's edge. Her laughter had carried on the breeze.
"Now she throws them, and she cries," Esquie continued. "So I wait until she leaves, and then I go find them. I bring them back and leave them in places where she'll find them. So she can throw them again."
Something twisted in Verso's chest, a sharp ache that he quickly buried beneath layers of practiced indifference. He looked away, blinking rapidly.
"That's..." he began, then cleared his throat. "That's kind of you."
Esquie shrugged his massive shoulders. "It makes her happy. For a little while."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching as the camp prepared for evening. Maelle occasionally glanced his way, her expression a complex mixture of concern and something softer that Verso chose not to name.
A thought struck him suddenly, pieces falling into place.
"Esquie," he said slowly, turning back to the giant. "Are you losing your rocks on purpose? To keep me and Monoco busy?"
Esquie's mask tilted, the perpetual smile revealing nothing. "Hmm?"
"You heard me." Verso leaned forward. “Your rocks—Soarrie, Florrie, all of them—are you really losing them, or are you sending us out to find them deliberately?"
"Why would I do that?" Esquie asked.
Verso narrowed his eyes. “Sorry—Esquie, are you playing fetch with me and Monoco?"
A beat of silence passed between them.
"No," Esquie said finally.
Verso stared at him, unconvinced.
"Verso?" Esquie prompted after a moment.
"Yes, mon ami?"
"What is fetch?"
Verso blinked. "It's when... it's when you throw something for someone else to retrieve. For fun. Or to… help a puppy get their energy out."
Esquie's mask somehow conveyed dawning comprehension. "Oh," he said. "Then yes."
Verso's mouth opened, closed, then opened again as indignation warred with amusement. "You—I can't believe—we spent all week climbing across the continent so you can play games?”
"Not games, mon ami," Esquie corrected, his massive hand patting Verso's shoulder with ever-surprising gentleness. "You and Momo needed to talk. You needed to find each other again." He looked across the camp to where Monoco now sat, polishing his collection of legs with careful precision. "You are both happier now. Like before."
The words struck Verso silent. He stared for a moment at his best friend, then back up at his other best friend, his oldest friend, this being of seemingly limitless power who chose to spend his days napping and collecting rocks and caring for the broken people around him in ways they never even noticed.
"You..." Verso began, then sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Yes," Esquie agreed cheerfully. "That's what Momo says too."
Verso shook his head, then slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket, opening his palm to reveal Florrie nestled there, which he’d picked up on their way back down to camp that afternoon. He kept the other hidden in his pocket.
"Here," he said quietly. "We found this today."
Esquie's mask tilted down to look at the stone, then back up at Verso. For a moment, neither spoke.
“Florrie!” the giant said finally, taking the stone delicately between his massive fingers. "I will lose it again tomorrow."
Despite everything, Verso laughed, the sound genuine and unburdened in a way it rarely was. "I know you will, mon ami," he said. "I know you will."