No. No, no, no.
I killed myself. I gave her whatever that was. It didn’t work. Now she’s burning alive on the other side of this tree. I’m trapped in here—
A popping sound. Then shouting. The mob yelling, confused. Something is happening out there, but Gerald has sealed me in. I can’t see a damn thing.
“Gerald!” I pound on the wood. “Why did you close it? We can’t let her die!”
A small light appears in front of me. Faint, warm, hovering in the center of the hollow like a lazy firefly.
“Well, truly, I am touched that you care so much,” says a voice from the light. “But do you think you could have come up with a better method to save me? The whole drink-from-a-stranger-through-a-hole-in-a-tree thing was a bit unorthodox.”
I whip around. “Elle? Old Elle, is that you?”
The light drifts lower, and as my eyes adjust, I make out a shape. Small. Winged. Iridescent.
“Um, yeah. So I don’t think I’m Elle anymore.” The voice takes on a tone I am more than familiar with. “Oh my goddess, girl, look at this shell. I am flawless!”
I look over to see a beetle, a shimmering, iridescent beetle, in front of a small puddle of water, using it as a mirror. They tiltone way, then the other, admiring the way light catches their shell.
“I mean, I’m sad to lose my gorgeous locks,” they say, “but I must admit, I am stunning.”
I stare at them. My brain is doing that thing it does when too much information hits at once, buffering, like bad Wi-Fi.
“Oh my God,” I drawl. “I know where I am.”
Little mandibles clap together. “Hooray for the brilliant copy of me. Glad to see other versions do have a brain.”
“No, you don’t understand.” My knees buckle and I sit down hard on the wooden floor. “You were the first Elle. This is the first iteration. I’m the one who made you. You’re Peeble. Oh my God, I made Peeble. I need to sit down.”
They shriek. “You need to sit down? Excuse me, but you weren’t the one who just got turned into a talking beetle! I had legs! I had hair! I had—” they look down at themselves—“six legs now, apparently. Six! That’s four more than I started with!”
I wave them off. “It’s fine. Trust me, everything turns out great for you.”
“Oh, well, that’s wonderful to hear. I would hate to think someone who couldn’t even do a proper rescue extraction permanently altered my entire existence.” They buzz their wings in agitation. “Drink this mysterious liquid through a hole in a tree—really? That was the plan?”
I laugh, and the sound surprises me because it’s real. This, the bickering, the snark, the way they’re already giving me hell, this is familiar. This I can handle.
I spend the next few minutes explaining everything I can. The iterations. The timelines. How I ended up scattered across time and somehow landed here. How they, Peeble, become one of the most important people in every version of this story. They nod along, mandibles clicking.
“So, what I’m hearing,” they say when I finish, “is that I’m the hero.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m glad to have you back, Peeble.”
"Time is up."Gerald’s voice fills the hollow, and I can feel the temperature rising. "The fire has spread. You cannot exit the tree without experiencing death."
“Well, that’s just great, Gerald,” Peeble says, adapting to mental tree communication with the ease of someone who was born for it. “So why save me at all if you were just going to cook me anyway? I realize I’m a delectable snack, but I thought I’d have a little more time.”
I could swear the tree groans, but it might be from the fire eating at its bark. I notice the temperature rising as smoke starts to filter inside the room.
"I shall help you toward the next destination in your journey. You must find the dark-haired guardian."
Kaelren. Gerald knows we have to find Kaelren. But if I’ve landed in the first iteration, the very beginning, where the hell is he? Does he even exist yet? Is he—
I hear a cracking sound, then the wood splinters at my feet. The floor drops out from beneath us.
The last thing I hear before the dark swallows us whole is Peeble yelling, “I’ve been a beetle for five minutes and I’m already going to die!”
And then there’s nothing but the fall.
