Sympathy bleeds into my expression for a fraction of a second. Just a second; enough for anyone to dismiss it as a facial twitch. But Clutter latches onto it like a bloodsucking leech. He switches between staring at me and the construct, all the while growing increasingly pale as his imagination goes wild.

  “No. No, no, no. I’m not… am I…” He swallows hard and grabs his forearm. “Dead?”

  “What?” I half laugh, half blurt out, then snap my mouth shut.

  Clutter only grows more panicked. “If I’m not dead, then what am I? Did something kill the real me, and I’m one of the replacements the quest hinted at?! Am I still even Clutter?!”

  His breaths come quicker and quicker as his eyes become unfocused and he backs into a corner. Claws dig into his forearms as he wraps himself in a hug in an attempt to become as small as physically possible. The bandages prevent any blood from spilling.

  “I’m not even bleeding. I should be bleeding. It still hurts but I can’t bleed!” He says frantically as his eyes flicker over the entire room at once. His entire body shakes like a leaf as tears spill down his cheeks. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.”

  I stare dumbstruck as Clutter squeezes himself tighter and tighter. Squeaks, coughs, and sobs leave him in equal amounts as his gaze flickers from me to Pearl's shell to the construct to the spot on the wall and around again.

  “Clutter. You’re not dead.” I say softly. “You’re just… you. A paindne.”

  He doesn’t register my words. Just… stares blankly from space to space as his breathing accelerates and he shakes harder and harder. I want to help him. But… I don’t know how. Because telling him the truth is only a little better than what he’s struggling with. All my brainpower can’t come up with some way to reach him. So… I… damn it.

  I swallow back a lump in my throat and slowly approach Clutter. He flinches slightly at the motion, but doesn’t seem to actually react to me. Quiet whispers of ‘I don’t want to die’ and ‘I’m dead’ flow out of him in equal measure while his eyes lock onto random parts of the room. Just like they lock onto me and the construct. I don’t know what he’s seeing, but it’s real to him.

  “I don’t know if you can hear me now, but I’m here. I’ll… always be here. For you, for Pearl, for Illumisia, for Briony and Clamber and everyone else.” I say as I carefully reach out to place my hand atop of his. As the words come out, they surprise me with how true they ring. “But right now, I’m just here for you. Even if I have absolutely no idea how to help.”

  Clutter whimpers, and he shifts his hand so he’s clutching mine. His claws dig into my skin hard enough to draw blood, wisps of inky darkness coating the ends of his fingers. I don’t have to grit my teeth through the pain; Clutter’s feeling so much worse right now. And I can’t even tell him the truth, because it’d just lead to another existential crisis.

  I grip his bandage-covered forearm. My blood drips down and soaks into the fabric. Clutter’s eyes flick down to it, and I might be imagining it, but it seems like he notices. I force myself to smile–to be stronger than I feel–and reach up with my other hand to gently scratch between his ears.

  “You’re you. Nobody else. Nothing can take that away from you.” I whisper. His hand clutches harder. “Not the quest, not the system, not anyone. No matter what happens, you’re still you. Flesh and blood. Bone and fur. Tooth and claw.”

  His breathing steadies, but doesn’t slow. He squeezes my hand, slowly retracting his claws until it’s just the force of his fingers attempting to crush my bones. I sit patiently, constantly scratching his head, for as long as it takes. Pearl whispers some words of encouragement to both of us, but I don’t need them. Clutter’s my friend. One that I dragged into this. Even if he says he doesn’t regret his decision, it doesn't change the fact that I’m the reason he had to make a choice in the first place.

  Being here with him in a moment of conflict is the least I can do.

  It lasts so long. Even if it’s only ten minutes, that’s way too long. To be locked in your own mind as it screams the worst at you, and you can’t fully understand what’s going on… I don’t want to imagine it. But his breathing seems to have leveled out. He’s barely shaking, and all the tension has bled from him to leave behind an exhausted, hurt, and terrified bundle of my friend. He slowly looks around, the light finally back in his eyes, and locks onto my hand. With dried bloody divots where his claws were.

  “Did I…” He swallows around a dry mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “No, you don’t have to apologize. Just sit here until you feel like yourself again.” I smile sincerely and flip my hand around to squeeze his. “I’ll be right here for as long as you need me to.”

  “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

  I nod ever so slightly and wait. Silence stretches on as the sound of Clutter’s breathing becomes nothing but a quiet background huff. His grip strength returns from the almost non-existence it turned into when his eyes focused to a normal squeeze–nothing like the frantic desperation of before. Even though all that returns to normal, there’s still an underlying fear and discomfort in his gaze. One that says this’ll stick with him for too long.

  He tries to shake my hand off. “I’m okay now. I swear.”

  “You’re sure? There’s no hurry.” I insist, but don’t resist him. “Worst thing that can happen is the horizonguard comes back here, and that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen. It’s safe.”

  Clutter lets out a shaky breath, then squeezes my hand tight again. “...Thanks. I’m…”

  I shake my head. “Don’t say sorry. Thank you is already more than enough.”

  “Okay.” He smiles weakly. “Then thank you. I… don’t know what happened. Everything just kind of… sucked in on itself until it felt like I was staring at the universe through a pinhole. And everything I could see said I was dead. Or… worse.”

  He swallows hard, then turns to the construct, which has completely rebuilt itself from my coin. I can see the question forming on his lips. But I doubt the construct has the answers he’s looking for–not if it’s just repaired to what it was like when we first found it.

  If he wants answers, he’s getting them from me. “Clutter. I can tell you what you want to know.”

  A soft, shaky laugh escapes his lips. “I was afraid of that. Are they… really bad?”

  “I can’t say. Maybe.” I shrug as he lets go of my hand. “It’s not happy, but it’s infinitely better than being dead.”

  “That’s not really hard to do.”

  “I know.”

  He contemplatively stares at me long and hard. Then, with one small nod, he sets his resolve. “I want to know.”

  A chittering, mechanical whir emerges from the construct. “What is it you wish to know?”

  I wave the construct off as I get to my feet, then offer Clutter my hand. “Nothing from you. Let’s go back to the tower where nobody will bother us.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Clutter accepts my hand and I pull him to his feet. “Let’s get away from this thing.”

  The construct stares at us as we reopen the door to the tower. I make sure Clutter steps through first, careful to watch for a sway in his step or a twitch in his legs. He leans on the wall the moment he’s through, then turns and watches me expectantly. With the knowledge that he’s safe, I follow him through the door.

  Scraping, plastic-y footsteps follow me. Clutter and I turn in surprise as the construct walks right through the door and into our tower without either of us having to give it permission.

  “Um…” He trails off as he glances through the closing door. “Is it supposed to be able to do that?”

  “Definitely not. Is it going to disappear when… nope.” I sigh as the door shuts, leaving the construct in the room with us. “Why did I expect anything to be normal. You, construct. Stay here. I have questions for you later.”

  “Understandable. I, myself, am not quite aware of what has happened to me.” The construct looks down at its hands as a toothy grin splits its face. “‘Me’. Alone. Singular. How intoxicating.”

  Yeah, that’s definitely not concerning. I gently grab Clutter’s shoulder and lead him out of the room with doors, then sit him on the bottom-most stair. He lets free a titanic sigh and nearly turns into jelly the moment his butt touches stone.

  “Walking sucks right now.” He grumbles. “All my muscles hurt a lot. Is the healing thing working right now?”

  “I’ll switch it right over.” I say as I pull out my Class Card and do exactly that. “Oh, right, we’ve got enough magic to have all of them on at once. Yeah, it’s on. Can you feel a difference?”

  He shrugs. “I think so? Maybe my brain’s just too foggy right now. Um… it’s not too foggy to hear what you’re going to tell me, though.”

  Figured. I run my hand through my hair, then gently knock on Pearl’s shell to get her to come out. Illumisia’s the one who told us this, but with Pearl backing me up, Clutter will believe me. She crawls out and sits on my shoulder, her body as motionless and serious as possible. Clutter shivers at the sight of her.

  “It’s that bad?” He whispers.

  “It depends what you think ‘bad’ is.” Pearl replies. “Do you want me to say it, or Shelby?”

  “I’ll–” I start to say, but what Pearl said actually hits me. She’s asking Clutter what he wants. Not me.

  Certainty etches itself into every inch of Clutter’s body. “I want… Shelby… to say it.”

  My name leaving his mouth carries a strange amount of weight. I can’t place why, but it feels… different. Riding the sensation to bring my own confidence to the forefront, I take a deep breath and push the words to the tip of my tongue. Part of them I know is a certainty. The other I’m not even sure I should say, since it’s just a nagging feeling that’s been nipping at the back of my mind. I decide to leave that theory out and put forth only what I know as the truth.

  “The system forcibly uplifted the paindne from painted danes.”