I narrowed my eyes at the newcomer. Jun hadn’t told them her name, nor had she told them that I’d found and helped her. Which meant the newcomer could either read her mind or somehow already knew what had happened to us. Or they’d memorized the name of the one recruit they’d lost a few months back, and assumed that we’d worked together in the hazard, which made a whole lot more sense.

But that meant I had to come up with a story, instead of pointing that out and hoping it flustered the newcomer. But even after everything Jun had told me, I didn’t have enough to piece together a realistic story. I snuck a glance at Jun without moving my head, but with our helmets on, I couldn’t determine anything she might’ve been trying to signal to me. And her hands weren’t moving at all, just clenched at her sides in tight fists.

So bullshit it was. I shrugged and tried to look as lost as possible, hoping that it would help take the truths buried in what I was about to say and bring them to the forefront. “I don’t know where I came from. I woke up in the same hazard as Juniper and worked with her to get out, but other than that, I don’t know anything.”

The newcomer winced and nodded in sympathy. “Ooh, memory loss. That’s no fun at all. Well, it’s a good thing ya found Juniper here, since she’s got enough training for the both of ya. I don't want ta think what would’ve happened ta ya if ya hadn’t met her.”

Jun snorted and crossed her arms, drawing a look from the newcomer. “Just a cough, sorry.” She said with a motion for them to continue. “Please, keep telling him how I saved him.”

The newcomer looked between us, then nodded in misunderstanding. “Ah, that must be a sore point. Sorry for bringing it up. Do ya remember your name, blue-and-white? Or was that one of the memories ya lost?”

I didn’t know for sure if ‘Sebastian’ was a name in Jun's world, so I took the easier option; I nodded silently and let the newcomer make their own assumption.

“Sorry ta hear that, blue-and-white.” They said somberly, turning on their heel and starting to walk down the gravel path. “Have I introduced myself yet? I don’t remember, so I’m going ta do it anyway. The name’s Okeria Perek; right eye of Thraiv, and warden of the grand city of Rainbow Basin.”

Jun perked up at the mention of ‘Rainbow Basin’. “Is that where you’re taking us?”

“Eh… no. That’s a lot more than a weeklong walk from here.” Okeria chuckled. “We’re on path ta one of her settlements, in a safe enough place ta train all ya newcomers before ya get sent out ta the scary world we call home away from home.”

Jun visibly deflated as Okeria spoke. “Oh.”

“Don’t be too disappointed there. Walkalong might not be the biggest settlement around, but it’s plenty nice for anyone whose blood isn’t so rich they bleed rainwater.” Okeria insisted, whirling around and missing me by an inch as the spine followed. “Ope, sorry there. But you’ll meet up with your friends soon enough, and then we can get ya running through some of the training hazards we’ve scoped out ta get ya into tip-top shape in a few good years.”

Years? That didn’t sound too appetizing for me, but maybe tip-top shape was higher for Jun’s people than I’d imagined. But the cadence of Okeria’s words told me that ‘training hazards’ and ‘tip-top shape’ were inextricably linked, and that worried me.

It apparently worried Jun too, since she spoke up on the topic before I could. “What’s your definition of tip-top shape?” She asked as nonchalantly as she could. “Hazard tolerance fifteen? Core mastery twenty?”

Okeria snorted and shook his head. “A little overzealous there, Juniper. Or maybe ya don’t know how hard it is ta raise those numbers you’re speaking of so easily. Either way; no. Hazard tolerance five and core mastery ten is closer ta what ya should expect at the end of five or so years.”

That was low even compared to my first go-around. “Shouldn’t those numbers be higher? We were only in that hazard for a little while, and five years worth of that should be a lot more than five and ten.” I pointed out, and Jun nodded eagerly in agreement. Even though I knew the answer to my next question, I asked it anyway to see how Okeria answered. “Does it really get that much harder to level up the further we go?”

“Yes, but not as steep as you’d think. It doesn’t get that scary until you’re well into the double digits, and by that time ya won’t be anywhere near Walkalong.” Okeria answered, then paused. “And I suppose that ya would have a lot more progress on your hands if you went in alone–like the two of ya did–but that isn’t the way ta safely raise the next generation. It’d be like sending grade school kids ta learn from a university; sure, some of them might be fine, but the vast lot of them will get overwhelmed and fail badly.”

“But in our case, failure usually means dying.” Jun acknowledged Okeria’s point with a nod. “I understand now.”

“Good on ya.” Okeria laughed, then looked up at the sky. “It’s about time for my nightly prayer, so I’m gonna find us a nice enough clearing ta settle down in for twenty or so minutes. Either of ya got prayers ya’d like ta say?”

I glanced over at Jun to follow her lead, and seeing that she shook her head I followed suit.

Okeria nodded, then tilted his head to the side at a strange angle. “There’s a good spot two minutes from here, so follow me. We can either rest for the night or keep walking after.”

I already knew that Jun’s people were deeply religious, so it hadn’t come as a surprise to me that Okeria said nightly prayers. What was surprising, in retrospect, was that I’d never seen Jun say her own. And as Okeria nestled into the clearing he’d lead us to, I took Jun to the side and asked her about my observations.

“I can see why you’d be confused.” She said with a thoughtful nod, then pushed me further out of the clearing until we couldn’t hear Okeria’s mumblings. “I guess I’ll start with Thraiv, since Okeria’s out there doing her prayer right now.”

“Each god has different prayers?” I asked, then realized how stupid that question was. Even back on earth the different religions had prayed differently. “Nevermind, stupid question. So how do they differ?”

“Well, Thraiv asks for what we call ‘seasonal worship’. She’s the god of fresh water, and since most of our rain comes in Tempus, that’s when she calls for worship. So all of her devout pray once every day for all of Tempus, then don’t pray whatsoever for the rest of the year.” Jun explained. “I always wondered why it wasn’t the other way around, since all the other months need rain more than Tempus does, but gods don’t work that way.”

“Gods don’t work that way.” I repeated. “But… they’re gods. Can’t they just do whatever they want?”

Jun chuckled knowingly and shook her head. “That’s what I thought too, but then I grew up. Saw all the gods struggling to do anything about anything that wasn’t directly under their domain. Sure, some have a little more wiggle room than others, but even that isn’t very much.”

I didn’t have anything to say in response to that, so I just nodded and motioned for Jun to continue.

“As for me, well, I don’t follow a seasonal god. So I don’t have a specific month, or day of the week, or anything like that that I have to pray on. I only pray after something wonderful happens.” Jun explained, then paused and shrugged. “Which means I probably missed a few prayers. Oh well.”

That seemed almost like giving thanks instead of a prayer to me, since most people prayed for things to happen, and said thanks after they did. But maybe that all fell under the same umbrella and I was completely wrong.

“So which god do you follow?” I asked, since Jun still hadn’t said.

She rubbed her arm and looked down at the ground, as if what she was about to say was shameful or embarrassing. “I follow Moricla.”

That name meant absolutely nothing to me. But from the way Jun fidgeted and refused to look up at me, it apparently meant a whole lot to her. “Is that… bad?”

“Bad? You know it isn’t–” Jun cut herself off with a nervous laugh. “Right, right. Okay. Moricla is the god of innocence.”

I waited for a little more to that description, but it never came. Innocence didn’t seem like something that was that embarrassing to worship, but from the way Jun was still fidgeting and barely moving her helmet to meet my gaze, there was a connotation to it that I didn’t understand.

“It feels like you still have more to say.” I gently prodded, unsure if I was venturing into uncomfortable territory for her. “But if you don’t want to say anything else, that’s fine.”

Jun let out a long sigh. “Moricla’s worshippers are mostly… well… children. Little kids. Not adults.” Jun paused, and the ‘not people like me’ that she didn’t say hung empty in the air until she spoke once more. “Moving on from being one of Moricla’s devouts is a right of passage, but I never did. It just didn’t feel right, still doesn’t feel right, and I don’t think it will ever feel right.”

“And that’s shame-worthy?” I confusedly asked. “Aren’t you free to pray to whoever you want?”

“Well, yeah, but most people don’t keep praying to Moricla. They grow out of their innocence and start seeing the world like it really is. The gods know I’m not innocent, so there’s no reason I should be praying to her.” Jun slowly devolved into muttering as she spoke, and I couldn’t make out much of anything aside from a few mentions of ‘innocent’ and ‘Moricla’.

I wanted to say something to comfort her, but I didn’t really understand why she was struggling with this. Sure, people back on earth had been teased for liking childish things, but people still enjoyed them anyway. Unless I was completely misunderstanding, and praying to Moricla was like wearing diapers or still being breast-fed as a ten year old. And no matter how I thought of how to ask that question, it never stopped sounding demeaning.

So I didn’t.

Instead, I tried to artfully dance around it. To act as the unknowing outsider that I was. “If praying to Moricla is just for kids, then is it a puberty thing for when you stop? Or, like, you stop on your tenth birthday? Something like that?”

“Thirteenth birthday.” Jun grumbled, then didn’t explain further.

“Thirteenth birthday because…” I trailed off, hoping Jun would fill in the blank I was leaving. Or she wouldn’t, and I’d have to try again sometime later.

“Because… because… uh… huh. I don’t know.” Jun admitted, crossing her arms and looking at me as if I was responsible for her not knowing. “I don’t even have a reason why I don’t know. I guess I just accepted that it was normal and never questioned it. Because it wasn’t important enough to question.”