2:00am-3:00am

The hushed whispers of steady rainfall from outside permeate the cool, still air in the cavern bedroom.

Four-year-old Eoleo lies on his bed in said bedroom, cocooned in a light linen blanket.

His carved wooden toys and assorted playthings are scattered randomly across the floor around him.

Brown eyes barely peer out from behind a curtain of flaming red hair.

Eoleo stares a moment into the dimness.

With a rustle of fabric, his hand emerges from under the covers.

The fingers extend.

His eyes briefly flash golden.

A particularly ratty stuffed shark floats up from the ground...hovers...and zooms into his waiting palm.

His fingers curl around the well-loved toy.

A sharp crack of thunder rattles the walls.

Eoleo clutches the shark and hugs it to his chest, hiding under his blanket again and curling up even tighter.

He clenches his eyes shut.

The rain continues to fall.

...Eoleo sits up.

He swings his legs over the bed, sending the blanket fluttering to the floor.

He toddles to the other side of the room, to another bed.

He stands by the bed for a moment, tentative.

The shark swings from his hand by its tail, its cottony stuffing bleeding out from between the stitches of the fabric.

"Mommy?" Eoleo asks quietly.

No answer.

"Mommy? Mommy, wake up!"

The sleeping form of Chaucha slowly unfurls as she yawns and stretches before rolling over to face her son. One eye slides open, then the other. "Mmm? What is it, dear?"

Eoleo grasps the bedsheets. "I'm scared," he whimpers.

"Of what?"

CRR-ACCK!

Eoleo yelps and jumps into the bed, clinging to his mother.

Chaucha sits up and puts her arms around him. "Oh, sweetie," she says, "there's nothing to be afraid of! It's just the smith god Mun-Hethra making weapons for all the other gods so they can protect us from the bad things in the world."

"It's loud."

"It's not much different from when you play with the metal drum of yours, you know." Chaucha laughs, her voice light and airy. "Actually, I think sometimes you're louder than thunder ever could be."

Eoleo doesn't answer.

Chaucha kisses his cheek. "It's all right. You can stay with me and your daddy until morning."

"O-okay..."

"Chau, what's going on?" comes Briggs' groggy voice from somewhere behind her.

"It's nothing," Chaucha says. "Eoleo's just scared of the storm."

"What?" Briggs sits up, rubs his eyes, and blinks at Eoleo. "My son, afraid of a little rain? Don't be ridiculous!"

CRRR-AACK!

Eoleo holds tighter to Chaucha, his tiny hands on her arms.

Chaucha shoots Briggs a withering look.

Briggs gulps. "O-okay...why's he so scared?"

Chaucha nudges Eoleo gently. "Eo, tell your daddy why you're so scared."

"'Cause it's loud."

"Is that all?" Briggs claps his hands in glee. "Well, now, that's easily fixed! All you've gotta do," he says, holding up an authoritative finger, "is plug your ears like this!"

And Briggs sticks two fingers into his ears, his elbows sticking out to the sides like wings of a totem pole.

Eoleo stares at Briggs.

Briggs grins stupidly.

A pause.

CRRRRRR-AAAACCCKK!

Another thunderclap, the loudest one yet, splits the silence.

Father and son flinch at the same time.

Chaucha rolls her eyes. "Honey, he can't very well sleep like that," she says. "And anyway, it doesn't seem to work all that well."

Briggs simpers. "Okay, okay, so that wasn't the best idea I've ever had," he admits. "How about this, then: let's go play a game!"

Chaucha arches an eyebrow. "At this time of night?"

"Oh, come on, it'll be great! If he can't sleep, he might as well do something fun both to pass the time and to make him forget about the storm! We can play Pirates' War! You'd like that, wouldn't you, Eo?"

"...we go play a game?"

"Briggs, he's been staying up late for the past few nights already," Chaucha says sternly. "That's right, sweetie, don't think I didn't hear you playing with your stuffed animals under the covers or that I didn't see you sneaking out of bed to the food chest." She holds tightly but motherly to a wriggling Eoleo. "I don't want him to get into the habit of doing this. You know what they say: the less sleep you get, the less of your soul that comes back from the dream world. And if you lose enough sleep, you lose your soul."

Briggs snorted. "Oh, and who told you that? Shura?"

"No, but she's certainly claiming that I'm not taking care of her precious nephew properly. I wouldn't put it past her to claim that I'm sucking out Eoleo's soul. And of course, it's all my fault. Big brother Briggs possibly couldn't do anything wrong, could he?"

Briggs frowns. "Fine, so we won't play a game. What do you suggest we do, then?"

"I want to go to Obaba and see if she has any herbal remedies to induce sleep."

Briggs' mouth drops open in a horrified 'O'. "Are you insane?" he screeches. "I'm not going to let a single drop of her so-called medicines get down Eo's throat, so help me Sekhu! Those things are poison, I'm telling you! Anyway, he's going to be a man and tough it out. Isn't that right, my boy?"

"...I'm hungry."

"He's going to be a man," Chaucha shoots back, "but right now he's still a child, and he needs all the love and care that he can get." She pushes aside the bedcovers and slips her feet into some soft moccasins waiting by the side of the bed. She hoists Eoleo into her arms. "I'll see if there's something she can do."

"Wait, wait, wait, you're going to see her now?" Briggs' face is pale. "That's suicide!"

"Well..." Chaucha turns to smirk over her shoulder as she heads for the door. "Eoleo's going to be a man and tough it out. Isn't that right, sweetie?"

O-O-O

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Briggs mutters as the three of them march down the dark cavern halls.

"If you're so worried, then go back to bed," Chaucha says. "I may be a woman, but I'm strong enough to carry the lantern by myself.

Briggs sighs and holds the lantern higher, illuminating their way.

Eoleo clings to Chaucha's hand, looking down.

Thunder continues to rumble.

Briggs winces slightly.

Eoleo wraps his arms around Chaucha's waist.

Chaucha pats Eoleo on the head.

They soon reach a curtain-covered entrance hewn into the stone wall.

Chaucha carefully pushes aside the heavy curtain and walks into Obaba's bedroom. "Obaba?" she says softly. "Are you awake? Sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you about something. Hello?"

Briggs follows in after her and looks around. "Hey..." he says, stopping in his tracks. "She's not here."

Indeed, the bedroom is devoid of any human presence. The bed is neatly made, and the chairs are in their proper places at the table. Glass containers of varying shapes, sizes, and color line the walls on shelves carved into the rock. Hanging from the ceiling are two lanterns shaped like salamander heads, glowing orange with a magically sustained flame. There's no indication that anyone's been in it in the immediate past.

Chaucha frowns. "I wonder where she could be this late at night?"

Briggs lets out a relieved laugh. "Well, too bad for us!" He grins and turns around. "Guess we've no other choice but to play that game, then—"

"Surely she must have something on these shelves somewhere..."

Briggs looks over his shoulder to find Chaucha perusing the glass containers. "H-hey!" he stammers. "Don't mess around with that stuff! The last time I rummaged through those evil things, Granny smacked me with a bundle of starched river reeds! And when I say the last time, I mean 'the last time'!"

"Oh, it'll be fine." Chaucha peers at some of the yellowed, peeling labels, some of which sport cheerfully morbid hieroglyphics. "I'll be careful not to spill anything, and when I'm done I'll put it back in its rightful spot. Hold the lantern higher, please? I can't see what some of the labels say."

Briggs grumbles and instead hands the lantern to Chaucha for her to use. "I still say we do this the natural way and tire the kid out."

"Honey, this is a natural way too." Chaucha takes the lantern and holds it up closer to the shelves. "It's putting the gifts from the land spirits to good use."

"If these are gifts," Briggs says, eyeing some of the darker bottles warily, "I want to return them." He heaves an impatient sigh and lets his gaze wander around the room, both out of boredom and out of fear of what his grandmother's apothecary held. "Whoah, there!" he suddenly exclaims, spotting Eoleo crawling around on top of Obaba's table. He quickly scoops the tot into his arms. "Not so fast," Briggs says, smiling. "You're not ready to scale the mountain heights just yet."

Eoleo whimpers and reaches out with his hands. "I want the lady."

In the center of the table stands a beautiful painted clay statue of the sea goddess Msim in a fairly provocative pose.

Briggs looks at Eoleo, then at the table, then at Eoleo again. "No, Eo," he says, cracking up, "you can't have her yet. You're not old enough." He calls out to Chaucha. "Hey, Chau! Did you hear this kid? He's gonna be a skirt-chaser when he gets older, I'm telling you!"

"That's not very funny," comes Chaucha's distracted response. She is still concentrating deeply on finding the sleeping potion. "Hmm, could this be it—'Draught of Shallow Death'?"

"What!" Briggs scurries over to Chaucha. "You are not feeding Eo anything labeled with 'death,' you got it?"

Chaucha sighs. "The labels aren't literal, you know."

As Chaucha and Briggs bicker over the accuracy of potion labels, Eoleo is staring forlornly at the statue of Msim over his father's shoulder.

He flails his arms around a little.

The statue remains ever elusive on its pedestal, an unattainable prize.

Eoleo slumps in Briggs' arms, seemingly defeated.

"Just because you have no competence with the art of the apothecary doesn't mean that I don't know what I'm looking for."

"I have competence enough to know that this is all cock's crock!"

Eoleo's head suddenly pops up.

He reaches out again, and his eyes glow gold.

The statue of Msim wobbles slightly, then slowly...angelically...floats up into the air.

Eoleo attempts to guide the trinket to him with a calculated movement of his hand.

"Geez, Chau, I'm not trying to make fun of your beliefs, okay?" Briggs insists. "I'm just asking you to think practically!"

"Calling herbal remedies 'wussy whiskey for old biddies' isn't endearing me to your sentiments."

Briggs sighs and turns around, adjusting Eoleo in his arms.

The statue of Msim is still hovering in mid-air.

Briggs freezes.

Msim wiggles her hips.

Briggs shakily points. "H-holy Mother Shanrada!" he screams, his knees caving in.

"What?" Chaucha turns around.

SHHRAAKKK!

Msim falls from grace and shatters into pieces upon the ground.

Eoleo starts wailing.

Briggs sweats with fright.

"What in the world?" Chaucha abandons the vials she's been studying, placing the lantern on the table to go soothe Eoleo's tears. She takes him from Briggs and massages his back. "There, there, now, it's all right, Mommy's here..."

"I want the lady!" Eoleo cries, reaching out his arms again. "Lady!"

"Lady?" Chaucha then sees the shattered remains of Msim on the floor. "Oh, dear..."

"Th-the darn thing was floating!" Briggs stutters, shaking. "Floating! Like it was possessed or something! And then it was there, and th-then it went crash! Chau, let's get out of here, I think Granny's got some of those fire freak spirit things of hers here and they don't like us!" He bites his nails. "Oh, man, she's going to kill us!"

"Calm down." Chaucha, with Eoleo in tow, returns to the shelves and plucks a medium-sized, rectangular bottle from the masses. She tucks it in her pocket, then presses a kiss to the side of Eoleo's head. "I've got what I need. No need to worry—I can take the blame for whatever Obaba decides to do. You can claim that you were sleeping and didn't know what I was up to."

Briggs gives Chaucha his umpteenth horrified look. "No way am I letting you martyr yourself in front of that harpy! I'll take the blame and say it was my idea and that you didn't know any better. What kind of husband would I be if I didn't stand up for your mamerly instincts or whatever it's called?"

"That's 'maternal' instincts." Chaucha smiles. "You're so selfless, sweetheart. That's why I fell in love with you in the first place." She pats a still-sobbing Eoleo on the back, then takes the lantern from the table. "Now let's put that potion to some use. After all, we don't want your martyrdom to be in vain."

Briggs beams. He straightens up, as though accepting a medal of honor.

Chaucha suddenly turns around. "Oh, would you mind sweeping up the pieces of that thing? I have to get some bloodberry juice from the ice room to mix with the potion so it's not so strong."

And before Briggs can protest, Chaucha is gone.

Briggs gazes at the fallen goddess at his feet, then at the room around him.

The flickering flames of the salamander lamps throw leering shadows on the wall.

The potion bottles on the shelves seem ready to swarm him once darkness takes over.

Briggs gulps. "Deathday, here I come," he whispers, and he gets down on his knees to pick up the pieces of the statue.

O-O-O

Back at their bedroom, Eoleo sits on his own bed, sniffling and swinging his feet back and forth.

Chaucha is stationed at the table, trying to read the instructions on the bottle she borrowed from Obaba's shelves. A bottle of bloodberry juice, obtained from the ice room, stands patiently next to a clay mug.

Briggs sits across from her, watching the muscles in her forehead contract as she strains to make sense of the scrawly handwriting.

The light from the lantern threatens to die.

Briggs quickly gets up and fetches a container of oil. He adds a single drop of oil to the lantern, successfully sustaining the flame for a little while longer.

Chaucha smiles her thanks and continues to decipher the instructions on the bottle.

The bottle label reads "The Gate of Dreams."

Eoleo is rocking back and forth on the bed, trying to amuse himself while waiting. He decides to pick cave bugs out of his blanket.

Meanwhile, the storm rages on outside.

Chaucha hums an old Ankohlian folk tune as she reads...the only one that's survived from that lost era. "Obaba used really old Champan for this," she mutters to herself in between bars. "But it wouldn't be so bad if her handwriting didn't look like hen scratches..."

"Say, Chau."

"Hmm?"

"Do you really believe that we lose a bit of our soul whenever we lose sleep?"

Chaucha looks up to glare at Briggs. "I hope you're not looking for another chance to poke fun at me," she says.

"I'm not!" Briggs says, holding his hands up in defense. "It's an honest question."

Chaucha puts down the bottle and thinks for a moment. "Well...I don't see why it wouldn't be possible," she concludes. "Haven't you seen how people act when they don't get enough sleep? They're absolutely lifeless! Either that or they're horrid monsters."

Briggs laughs. "I get you," he says. "Shura's a living mummy if she doesn't get to sleep on time."

"And it'd also explain why sleep-deprived people look so much like skulls, what with the dark circles under their eyes. If losing sleep doesn't suck out your soul, it's bad for you at the very least."

Briggs taps his fingers on the table, recalling a strange memory. "Felix looked like that, you know," he says after a time. "Dark circles under his eyes, tired, lifeless, things like that. He was the living dead even when he fought. It was like there was something else driving him, 'cause he himself didn't have the will or energy to go on. Like he was possessed by something."

Chaucha nods. "I was so surprised when I found out how young he was—he looked and acted much older."

The lantern flames illuminate Briggs' dark eyes. "I've seen his type of face on the older folk here...but never on a kid like him." He frowns in contemplation. "Why in Sekhu's name would he need to lose so much sleep?"

"A hard life, perhaps," Chaucha says, measuring out a spoonful of the sleeping potion and then pouring it into the clay mug. She then takes the bottle of bloodberry juice and pours in three spoonfuls of the beverage. "Maybe he didn't have community support like we do, to tell him to take care of himself and get some sleep. Maybe he didn't have good sleeping potions to help him when his body wouldn't do it."

"Maybe he never had a dad to play games with him to tire him out."

Chaucha rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

Briggs takes the potion bottle and looks at the label, then sets it back on the table. He can't really read. "D'you think you can ever regain the parts of your soul lost in the dream world when you don't get enough sleep?"

Chaucha looks startled. "How would I know?"

"Well, you're the one with the belief about the soul and sleep and stuff."

"I only know what they say, really." Chaucha swirls the juice-potion mixture with her measuring spoon.

"Who's 'they'?"

"The older people here. They've lived out their lives, had experiences...if they say something, they should know what they're talking about, right? That's why I try to listen to their advice."

Briggs shrugs.

Chaucha clinks the spoon on the mouth of the mug to get the last drops of liquid out. "Maybe we could ask Obaba about that. She would know whether you could recover, probably. "

There's an uncertain silence.

Chaucha notices Briggs looking disturbed. "Sweetheart?" she asks. "Are you all right?"

"What's it like to lose your soul?" Briggs asks.

Exasperated, Chaucha puts her hands on her hips. "You're asking me as though I've lost my own soul."

Briggs snickers. "I have to admit, there are days where the thought has crossed my mind."

"Briggs!"

"I'm just kidding." He lapses back into a thoughtful mode. "It's gotta be horrible," he mutters, shuddering. "If Felix is any indication of what being soulless is..."

"Let's not worry too much about it," Chaucha replies cheerily. "We'll take good care of our Eo so he won't end up like that. And Obaba probably knows a solution to regaining lost sleep, so even if it does happen, there's nothing to worry about." She stands up with the mug in her hand. "Eo, sweetie, come here. Mommy's got something that will make things all better for you. Eo? Eo!"

No answer.

"Eo...?" Chaucha asks again, slowly approaching his bed.

Eoleo is lying down on his side, his thumb in his mouth.

Chaucha lifts a lock of red hair from his face.

His eyes are closed.

He snores ever so quietly.

Chaucha blinks. "Well, now," she says, looking at the mug. "I guess we won't be needing this then."

"I'll take that, thanks," Briggs says, coming up behind Chaucha and reaching for the mug. "I think I'll need it tonight after all this talk about Felix as a soulless, undead creature."