Dhaara chose her words carefully.
"So… are you aware that the tentacles are part of something even bigger?" she asked softly.
Foxen nodded.
"Yes. Asthathug—the entity, right?"
Dhaara nodded as well, her gaze drifting to the small walls of the hut, as if they were listening.
"It needs hosts every million years."
Foxen's head snapped up.
"Wait—million years?" he shouted. "That's not what Darsana said."
"Hundred years?" Dhaara asked quietly.
"Yes."
She folded her hands.
"That isn't true."
Foxen stood up slowly, unease crawling up his spine.
"Then why," Dhaara continued, "do you think the tentacles never spoke about previous wielders?"
Foxen clenched his jaw.
"I don't know. But Mahnstin and I saw a mural on Arcanum. From what I understood… they're probably dead."
Dhaara shook her head.
"You're half right. But they aren't dead."
Foxen looked at her, confused.
"Then where are they?"
"They were absorbed by Asthathug."
The words sank in.
Foxen looked down.
"…That's worse than death."
Dhaara blinked, surprised by how calm he sounded.
"You're not shocked?" she asked.
"I am," Foxen replied. "But I had already considered this possibility."
For the first time, Dhaara looked genuinely impressed.
Foxen exhaled slowly, then looked up again.
"Wait. If Spiracle searches for hosts every million years… how do they even survive that long? Most species in nearby galaxies can't live anywhere close to that."
"That's the catch," Dhaara said. "Once you become a wielder, your body stops aging. You can survive for a million years."
Foxen lowered his gaze again.
"A million years…" he murmured. "Anyone would go insane living that long."
Dhaara nodded.
"That's why they tell you it's only a hundred."
Silence filled the hut.
Foxen's legs finally gave in and he sat down heavily, staring at the floor. Dhaara approached him, concern clear on her face. She bent slightly, her hand hovering near his head—but she hesitated, then pulled back.
Foxen looked up.
"So how do I escape this hell?" he asked, his eyes locked onto hers.
Dhaara felt a pang in her chest.
"Unfortunately… I don't know," she admitted.
Foxen stood up abruptly.
"Then why ask me if I'd quit being a host after learning the truth?" he shouted. "Why ask—if you don't even know the answer yourself?!"
He raised his hands in front of his face, palms trembling.
Dhaara flinched and stepped back, startled.
"I—I'm sorry, Foxen," she said quickly. "I just… wanted to know if you wanted to quit."
Foxen froze. The anger drained from his face as he realized what he'd done.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, sitting back down. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Dhaara stayed silent.
At that moment, Bleca rushed inside, her face filled with curiosity. She glanced at Foxen, then at Dhaara, sensing the tension.
She walked straight to Foxen and sat beside him.
"What happened?" she asked. "I heard your voice outside. Did you two fight?"
"Bleca," Dhaara said quickly, "go outside. We're not fighting."
Foxen smiled faintly and patted Bleca's head.
"We're not fighting," he said gently. "I just found out something. Wanna hear it?"
Bleca's face lit up.
"Yes! Yes! Tell me!"
Foxen hesitated for a second, then smiled.
"I'll be living for a million years."
Bleca burst into laughter.
"Oh! Then you can spend so much time with us," she said happily. "You know Mama is about that old too. Something million… yeah."
Foxen slowly looked at Dhaara.
She nodded.
And for the first time since learning the truth, Foxen felt something inside him loosen—just a little.
End of Chapter 19