“Jaskari…” Päivi croaked into the silent, water-filled chamber. “What are you?” The question hung in the frigid air, heavier than the water pressing in on them. Jaskari felt the sudden, sharp chill of Ukko’s disapproval, a biting draft that sank into his bones. His gaze snagged on Hilla, who met his eyes with a knowing, almost pitying look before turning to the others. She had what she wanted. Ilkka’s massive frame trembled, not from the cold, but from something deeper. He had been mid-roar, a cry of renewed confidence, when Jaskari’s hands had lit up. Now, his voice was a raw croak. “My… my shield… that day at the duel… it wasn’t just the water, was it? It wasn’t me.” His gaze was a devastation of shame and confusion. “You… you made it happen.” Roope, who had just been marveling at his perfectly mended leg, snatched his hand back as if burned. “So, all those times… the traps, the monsters… when we should’ve been… dead…” He swallowed hard, his eyes wide and accusatory. “You just… fixed it? Like a broken toy?” His voice rose, tinged with a betrayal that clawed at Jaskari. “My ‘nimble fingers’ that disarmed that collapsing archway? Your trick, wasn’t it? My ‘quick thinking’ that defused the exploding mushrooms? Your magic!” Roope’s face contorted. “I thought I was getting better. I thought… I was finally useful.” Päivi’s face, usually alight with dramatic flair, was pale, devoid of color. “The slimes,” she whispered, a dawning horror in her eyes. “The acid-spitting chickens. The collapsing mine shaft. The poisonous fogs. The… *gravy*.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes darting between Jaskari and the still-too-perfect leg of Roope. “How many times, Jaskari? How many times have I truly died?” Her voice was barely audible, carrying the pressure of a thousand silent screams. “Did I even feel it? Or did you just… rewind me?” Jaskari tried to speak, to explain, to offer some inadequate comfort. The words lodged in his throat, choked by the icy tendrils of Ukko’s warning. He had wanted to build them up, to make them heroes. Instead, he had eroded their self-worth, making every perceived triumph a deception. Hilla stepped forward, her voice surprisingly gentle, yet edged with a cutting precision. “He didn’t just ‘fix’ you. He brought you back. From the end. Every time. He’s a Reanimator.” Her pronouncement landed like a stone in a still pond, sending ripples of revulsion through the group. Ilkka stared, his mouth opening and closing. Roope recoiled further, a sickened expression replacing his anger. Päivi let out a shaky gasp, her hand flying to her chest. “No,” Jaskari finally managed, his voice hoarse. “It’s not… it’s a blessing. From Ukko. To help you. To make you strong.” “Strong?” Roope scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “We’re puppets! We’re a joke! Every single thing we’ve done, every challenge we’ve overcome, it was all *him*.” He gestured wildly at Jaskari. “We’re not heroes, Jaskari. We’re just… dead men walking.” “He’s right,” Ilkka rumbled, his voice heavy with despair. “My confidence… it was a lie. My strength… a borrowed illusion. I stood there, believing I had earned my title, when all along…” He looked at his own massive hands, as if seeing them for the first time, seeing them as weak and useless. “I’m not the Immovable. I’m just… a coward who needs a crutch.” Päivi, tears welling in her eyes, shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t go on knowing this. Knowing that every mistake, every spell that went wrong… it wasn’t just a mishap. It was death. And you… you kept bringing me back to repeat it.” Her voice was a fragile whisper. “I don’t want to be a puppet, Jaskari. I want to live. Really live. Or really die.” “Then don’t!” Jaskari’s voice cracked, the icy draft now a burning pain in his chest. “If you don’t want my help, then don’t take it! But don’t throw away everything we’ve worked for!” “Worked for?” Roope’s laugh was harsh. “*You* worked for it! We just provided the cadavers!” He turned, his shoulders slumped. “I’m out. I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore.” He limped, not because his leg was hurt, but under the sudden drag of his realization, towards the entrance of the water-filled chamber. Ilkka watched him go, then slowly, painstakingly, removed his gauntlets, letting them clatter to the stone floor. He didn’t look at Jaskari. “I need to find out who I am, without… without any of this.” He followed Roope, his head bowed. Päivi stood for a moment longer, her gaze fixed on Jaskari, a mix of hurt, fear, and profound disappointment in her eyes. “I wish… I wish I had never known.” She turned, her movements stiff, and left without another word. Jaskari stood alone in the frigid water, the icy draft from Ukko now a searing, constant pain. The Sundered Six, the party he had dedicated his life to saving, had shattered. The silence of the empty chamber was deafening, amplified by the sudden absence of the warmth that usually accompanied Ukko’s interventions. Despair, cold and sharp, began to sink its teeth into him. The year-long deadline, once a distant threat, now loomed like a monstrous shadow, ready to consume not just his friends, but their very memories. He returned to the dilapidated lodge, the familiar scent of old wood and forgotten dreams doing nothing to soothe him. The common room was empty. No half-eaten stew, no misplaced spell components, no discarded lockpicks. It was just a room. The icy sensation from Ukko, a constant, agonizing pressure, made it hard to breathe. He slumped onto a dusty bench, crushed by the collapse of everything he had built. A shadow fell over him. Jaskari looked up, expecting the stern face of Antero, perhaps a final, condemning word. Instead, it was Hilla Varis, her usual fierce expression replaced by something softer, almost remorseful. She wasn’t smirking, wasn’t triumphant. Her armor, usually polished to a gleam, had a faint smudge on the breastplate, a detail Jaskari rarely noticed on her. “You look like you’ve been hit by a rock-troll, Kempe,” she said, her voice quiet. She sat on the opposite bench, not too close, but not retreating either. “I… I was wrong.” Jaskari just stared, too numb to process her words. “My jealousy,” Hilla continued, her gaze fixed on a crack in the floorboards. “It blinded me. I saw your party, these… dolts, succeeding where my Steel Gryphons, true adventurers, struggled. It wasn’t fair. I thought you were just exploiting them, some charlatan using cheap tricks.” She sighed, a genuine, heavy sound. “But watching you heal Niska… that wasn’t a trick. That was… something else.” She looked up, her eyes meeting his. “I may not like your methods, or the fact that you’ve been playing god with these fools, but I saw the terror in your eyes, Jaskari. You really do care about them.” She paused, then pushed a small, rolled-up parchment across the table towards him. “This isn’t about exposing you anymore. It’s about something bigger. Something I overheard.” Jaskari, curiosity finally stirring through his despair, unrolled the parchment. It was a hastily drawn map, indicating the entrance to the deepest Glimmering Depths beneath Korpikyla, the same place Antero had spoken of. “Paladin Säde,” Hilla explained, her voice now grim. “She’s been busy since Ilkka’s duel. She feels his victory was an affront, a desecration. She’s consecrated the entrance to the Kajo Depths. She’s calling it the ‘Purification of the Sleeping God’s Tomb.’” Her eyes narrowed. “She’s going in. With a full contingent of her most zealous Paladins. Not to clear the Depths, Jaskari. To seal it. To ‘purify’ Ukko’s prison and make sure whatever power lies within never troubles Suonia again. To sever it from the world entirely.” The icy draft in Jaskari’s chest intensified, now a frigid, agonizing vice. Ukko. His god. Trapped. And now, about to be sealed away forever, taking with him not just his power, but the very memories of his friends. Hilla stood, extending a hand to him, her expression serious. “You can’t do this alone. And whether you like it or not, neither can they.”