The spectacled one gestures at the others. “We have been re-evaluated.”
“By whom?”
“The narrative.”
He means the Idol. He’s just afraid to say it.
The genie inhales. “Don’t say that so casually,” he warns. “When the narrative reassesses its pieces, it’s rarely subtle.”
On that, we can agree.
“And what does the narrative say?” I ask.
The scowling one glares. “That we are interchangeable.”
Rude.
The cheerful one winces. “It suggested we could be replaced by ‘a quirky forest collective with less ego.’”
The genie makes a strangled sound. “Collectives are phase two.”
“Phase two of what?” Hart demands.
“Replacement,” the genie replies flatly. “If the Idols are consolidating, they will simplify first. Compress archetypes. Merge functions. Reduce resistance.”
How does he know so much about this? A matter for another turn without an audience.
The Idols are fighting back by changing up the narrative with previously overlooked creatures who will either be flattered by their attention or clueless to what is becoming of them.
I jump to my feet and start pacing as my thoughts bump into each other and scatter out into the world.
“You built an entire mining economy,” I point out. “Housed a fugitive royal. You even normalized communal living.”
The yawner perks up.
The ledger dwarf nods. “Precisely.”
“You don’t need the narrative. You’re already forging your way in this world. I suggest you follow your path and enjoy the journey.”
Hart catches my hand and tugs me to a stop. “You can’t just go around inciting rebellion,” he mutters.
I shrug. “I’m not. The Idols started it when they replaced their own characters. I’m helping them embrace that brave new future.”
“If that’s the case,” Malachi drawls, sliding Excalibur into the sheath at his side, “then why are you here?”
Me? I’m here to find Theo. Did he forget why we ride at dawn?
“Now we would like names,” the pickax dwarf utters.
That’s the reason?
The air shifts, and the genie’s head snaps toward them. “Absolutely not.” Seven dwarves stare back at him. He points at me. “You cannot name them. You are an Architect. When you name, you anchor. When you anchor, you destabilize the existing weave.”
“You’re being dramatic,” I say.
“I’m aware, not dramatic,” he snaps. “There is a difference.”
This is not small; I know that. But we all deserve names. They have existed as “the seven dwarves” their whole lives. A collective noun. A chorus. A bearded cluster. They want to become individuals.
