August left them there, heading back towards the camp again, and this time Ladybug retook her place on his shoulder. He found Haiko had returned to the [Kiln] while he’d been gone and seemed to be rotating the two taller vases she’d placed inside.

“Kalter has her eyes on building an army of Efkini now,” August said in greeting.

Ladybug valued off his shoulder, twisting in the air to land between him and the cube, a clear protest to the continued unfairness of the August Mana Distribution Network.

“I told them about what you were doing,” Haiko admitted as if what he’d said had been some kind of accusation instead of just an icebreaker. “I also spoke of the problem you were having with being near me. Are you upset that I spoke of you while you were not present?”

August leaned over the furnace to check the internal wall of the sixth and seventh layers. The seventh was drying out but not quite enough for him to add the next layer. He also noted that Haiko had restocked the fire while he’d been gone.

“Would it even matter to you if I was?” August asked, genuinely curious.

“It would absolutely matter,” Haiko said, sitting back to watch him. “I would like to know when I’m overstepping a boundary.”

A boundary that she either hadn’t considered before she told them or had considered and had spoken anyway. The real reason she wanted to know was so she could refine her own strategy for how to communicate with him. Then the next time she passed something along, she would include with it a warning to avoid letting on that they had awareness. It was the exact kind of thing humans did every time they spoke; the Voithos weren’t so different in that regard.

“I’m well aware that people talk to each other,” August said, addressing the inference instead of her words. “I don’t trust anyone with something I wouldn’t want to be known to others because nobody is capable of keeping a secret.”

“Oh?” Haiko said, raising an eyebrow. “What if you find someone who actually has your best interests at heart?”

Even Haiko didn’t sound like she believed what she was saying, and August couldn’t help but laugh.

“You can find a hundred people with your best interests at heart, and every single one of them will talk behind your back when it’s convenient or if they get something out of it,” August said, focusing on better smoothing out the top of the furnace. “Most of the time, it’s not even anything significant—fodder to keep a conversation running or for momentary entertainment. The moment you reveal something personal or important to another person, it will proliferate.”

“That is a very bleak outlook,” Haiko hummed.

“If you disagree, feel free to tell me your biggest secret,” August said, glancing over at her. “I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

“You’re saying you have my best interests at heart?” Haiko said, “That’s sweet of you, August.”

He could have said yes because it was technically correct. He had agreed to help Rittan revive the Voithos in their entirety. That meant he had taken on the responsibility of keeping the group alive, and Haiko was a member of that group. But he was far less confident about telling a relative stranger that he had her best interests at heart, especially when she was clearly attempting to tease him about it.

“No answer?” Haiko asked, humming again. “I suppose you don’t want this information to—what was the word you used—proliferate?”

“With respect to my own best interests, I will not be answering any more questions about this very troubling subject,” August said in deflection, “Have you noticed the weather today? It’s perfect for digging.”

August retook control over his highly advanced digging apparatus, intent on making some more progress before the others finished.

“But I haven’t even told you my secret yet,” Haiko said, clearly amused. “I suppose I’ll have to wait for a more appropriate time.”

August ducked behind the furnace without further comment. It occurred to him now that up until last night, he’d been missing an entire element of context between him and the Voithos. He’d been looking at and thinking of them as roughly the same age—as both him and each other, but that just wasn’t the case.

They hadn’t stated directly how old any of them were, only that they didn’t age and that Gaians generally lived up to a hundred and thirty years. But he was also aware that they counted years differently on Gaia—a thousand days per year, something which complicated the problem with yet another layer.

Haiko had stated that the scientists who created them were ‘long dead by the time of our decommission.’ There was no way to really guess at how old the scientists were when they first created the Voithos either. For all he knew, the Voithos themselves could be the age that they looked—somewhere in their late twenties—or they could be hundreds of years old. That kind of lifespan would have given them way more life experience than he could even comprehend.

From what had been said about how their society had been set up, they would be used to Gaian’s ageing, growing old and dying while they remained unchanged. It left August uneasy and unaware of how he really fit into the group—and wondering how those differences coloured their view of him.

He realised he’d been staring down at the hole for several minutes now and making roughly zero progress towards deepening it. He forced himself to lift up the shovel and then buried it back down into the dirt.

If they were hundreds of years old, did they see him as some kind of precocious child running around like a fool? A strange, nascent thing, wearing a pretend crown? Or maybe those hundreds of years spent under the control of the callous Gaians had ruined their own perspective as well.

It was another layer added to the mental tower he was building to represent their shared ability to communicate. Different levels of technological advancement. Different culture. Different societal expectations. Different classes within that society. The physical differences between them, and now the potential for a different perception of age and maturity. It was a lot to consider, but there was a silver lining—trying to interact with them on this kind of level would have been next to impossible if they hadn’t shared a common language.

For a moment, he considered outright asking the three of them how they viewed him. Rittan was the safer bet to ask about something like that, maybe, but the thought of asking either of the other two had him cringing away from the self-exposure.