Welcome to the Gang, Liesel Hoppertinger!

“What… year is it?” Gus echoed, blinking in disbelief, slime still dripping from his brow.

“...That’s a good fucking question, Doc Brown, but nope, I’ve got absolutely no clue.”

Marcus snorted. “Sorry, kiddo, wrong car. We’ve only got a Golf, not a DeLorean.”

The hobbit girl blinked in confusion, her golden eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light.

"...De... Lorean?"

Before Gus or Marcus could throw out another wisecrack, Caeriel sighed, grabbed both of them by the collar, and shoved them aside like misbehaving children.

“...The year is 3426 after the Fall of Ilkabor, elven reckoning,” she said calmly, her voice steady. “I am Caeriel, Ranger Commander of Haltharan. These are my companions: Bromor of Ironmaw, and the humans Marcus and Gus.”

Gus shoved his way back to the front.

“...and we just pulled you out of a nasty-ass monster that played some really fucked-up mind games with us. Any idea what the hell that was?”

The hobbit girl lowered her gaze, her small hands trembling faintly as if she were weighing the words before she dared speak them.

Finally, she gave a slow nod.

“…That thing was a Geist-Flesh Mimic.”

Bromor furrowed his brow, his grip tightening around his axe. 

“Geist… Flesh… Mimic? What in the gods’ name is that supposed to be?”

She met his eyes seriously, her voice now firm with certainty.

“It begins no larger than a clenched fist. A parasite. It latches onto a host, feeds on their dreams, their memories… and from them it weaves illusions. Whole worlds. Anyone who steps into the fog becomes trapped inside, until their body wastes away, while the mimic grows, feeding on them.”

She looked down at her hands, touched her face as if searching for signs of age.

“…You said the year is 3426?” she whispered.

Her eyes widened, glinting with the shimmer of something fragile.

“Then… I have been inside it for… eighty years.”

The group froze.

“E-eighty years?!” Marcus gasped.

Bromor only nodded, his expression grim.

Caeriel’s face softened and she pressed a hand over her chest, her voice low with genuine sorrow.

“That must be… unbearable. To lose so much time. That’s...”

But before she could finish, the hobbit suddenly sprang to her feet.

“…that’s AMAZING!” she shouted, golden light flashed in her eyes and a broad grin spread across her face.

Everyone stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Eighty years! A whole lifetime of history! New inventions, new kingdoms! I haven’t aged a single day! Ohhhhhh this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

She clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling.

"Oh oh oh, does the Kingdom of Telandor still stand? Did the scholars ever cure Dragon Fever? And tell me, is King Baltrun finally dead or is that wrinkled old ghoul still clinging to his throne?!”

The questions spilled from her faster than anyone could possibly answer.

Caeriel, red-faced with fury, smacked each of the men on the back of the head like a schoolmistress.

“Have you no shame!? Turn around!” she hissed. Then, more quietly, to the girl: “And you...could you maybe…”

The hobbit blinked, tilted her head, looked at herself down, and only then seemed to notice. 

She was still completely naked, bare skin gleaming with slime, yet she didn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest. 

With a shrug and a bright grin, she waved the matter off like it didn’t exist.

“Oh, right! Almost forgot.”

Before anyone could react, she skipped to the mouth of the cavern, where the remains of an old campsite still clung to the rocks; a collapsed tent frame, rusted cookware, a moss-eaten chest.

“Ha! Eighty years, and it’s still here!” she crowed, hauling out a bundle of clothes.

One by one, she pulled them on: a weathered khaki shirt tucked into sturdy shorts, a thick belt around her waist, and fingerless leather gloves worn smooth with use. 

Finally, she lifted an aviator’s cap with wide round goggles, brushing off the dust like it was a crown. 

Her curly, auburn hair, still mussed from the slime, spilled out messily as she tugged the cap on.

When she turned back to them, she stood tall for a hobbit, her wild mane framing her freckled face, golden eyes blazing with energy. 

Like a reborn heroine from another age, hands on her hips and bare hobbit-feet planted firm on the stone.

“There! Good as new. Name is Liesel Hoppertinger, beast researcher, adventurer, and world-class explorer!”

She tipped the goggles down over her eyes with a snap.

“But you can call me Lis. Now tell me everything about the last eight decades!”

For a moment, they were all speechless, staring at her as if she had just stepped out of a dream.

Then Gus cleared his throat and muttered quietly to Marcus: “See… not everyone freaks out over a bit of bare skin.”

Marcus nodded in agreement, while Caeriel gave them a cold gaze.

---

The sky was already glowing red as the group left the hilltop and trudged down a muddy path back toward the car.

“So…” Marcus said, falling into step beside Lis. “What’s a young hobbit girl like you doing out here all alone anyway? I mean... eighty years ago, I guess.”

Lis bounced her rucksack higher on her shoulders, grin bright. “Young girl? I’m thirty-one! Well… technically a hundred and eleven.” She tilted her aviator cap, goggles knocking against her temple.

“I was... ahem... am a lecturer in Beastiology at the Explorers University in Korthaven.” She thumped her chest proudly. “I was on a expedition, working on my Beastiary when that Mimic must’ve caught me in my sleep!”

She opened the bag and pulled out a battered notebook that had somehow survived the decades. 

Her eyes shone as she flipped through the pages.

“But thanks to you, I can finally write a full entry on the mimic! So you’ve gotta tell me EVERYTHING!” 

She scribbled hastily while talking a mile a minute. “So how did you even manage to kill it?”

Gus shrugged, flexing his arm as unholy light rippled across it. “Long story short: me and Handy here gave it a serious ass-kicking.”

Lis’ gaze locked instantly onto the twitching green veins of his arm, her voice was flat, almost clinical.

“Demonic energy? Fascinating! But… isn’t it consuming you bit by bit? That’s usually how it works.”

Caeriel crossed her arms, raising a brow. “Yes, Gus. What about that, hmm?” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

“Shut it.” Gus wrapped the arm back in bandages with a snort. “...I’ve got it under control.”

Marcus cleared his throat, raising his staff with theatrical flair. 

“I, by the way, am a magician, a master of the arcane! With my staff, I weave spells unlike any other!”

Gus rolled his eyes. “You’re a BEER mage… and you don’t even know how or why your spells even work.”

Marcus drooped, pouting. “You always have to ruin my entrance...”

Liesel tilted her head, eyes glinting with genuine interest.

“Beer magic?… curious. If you wield it instinctively, perhaps it taps into some deeper alchemical principle... hmm... fermentation as arcane transmutation, maybe?”

Marcus blinked, then straightened, suddenly looking very pleased with himself.

“Yes! I already thought that myself!”

Gus groaned. “For fucks sake, don’t encourage him…”

Finally, they reached the Golf, and Lis immediately scampered around it, inspecting it with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Wow, technology’s come a long way in eighty years! Incredible!”

“So, Lis,” said Gus, leaning against the passenger door. 

“We’re heading to Ironmaw in this thing. If you want, we can give you a lift. Got anywhere in mind you’d like to go?”

“You’d really do that? That’s so kind of you!” Lis beamed, then tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“…I don’t have any particular destination, but… Ironmaw’s always worth a trip!”

“Then it’s settled!” Marcus declared. “Welcome to the gang, Lis!”

---

A little later they were all crammed into the car.

Gus gripped the wheel, Caeriel sat stiffly beside him, and in back Lis wedged cheerfully between Bromor and Marcus, her rucksack poking both their ribs.

But the car didn’t move.

“Uh…” Gus drummed the steering wheel. “…Anyone actually know which way we’re supposed to go?”

Two minutes later they were outside again, clustered around the hood, a giant map spread flat.

Gus scowled, tracing a random loop. “So… where the hell is Nimmuck, anyway?”

Lis giggled. 

“Nimmuck? That’s the name the mimic picked from my memories? No wonder you can’t find it! That was the name of my neighbor’s cat!”

Gus groaned. “Terrific…”

Marcus jabbed a dotted trail. “I told you, you missed the turn here.”

“Don’t start that again!” Gus snapped.

“You’re both clueless.” Bromor shoved in, tapping a spot. “We already passed this range here. Which means we must be somewhere over there.”

“Pardon me…” Lis chirped sweetly, pulling a battered roll of parchment from her pack. “Mind if I contribute something more… accurate?”

She unfurled her hand-drawn map beside the other, the ink still crisp despite the decades. 

Tiny villages dotted the parchment, crooked names scribbled in the margins, and a dotted line traced Lis’s original expedition route.

“There!” she said, tapping proudly. “That’s us. And northeast, here: Tiraloa. Bustling port city at the Hyazan Coast. If we stick to this road…” she drew the path with her fingertip, “…we’ll arrive straight at its gates. And from Tiraloa, Ironmaw is only a five-day journey inland.”

Bromor stroked his beard, nodding. “Or one day with our steel beast.”

“…Assuming the gas tank doesn’t run dry,” Gus muttered.

Marcus perked up suddenly, eyes wide. “Wait. Port city? On the ocean? You mean beaches? Palm trees?? Cocktail bars!?!”

Lis clapped her hands with delight. “Exactly! Tiraloa is famous as a resort town. Beaches, night markets, oh, you’ll love it!”

Marcus closed his eyes with a blissful sigh. “…At last, a well-earned vacation spot.”

But next to him, Caeriel’s face drained of color, as her fingers dug into the edge of the parchment so hard it crinkled.

“We… can’t go to Tiraloa.” 

Her voice was a whisper.

Gus chuckled, clapping her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Carrie. If you don’t have a bikini, I’ll buy you one. Pink. With frills.”

Normally that would’ve earned him a death glare and a sharp elbow. But this time she didn’t move, didn’t even blink.

“You don’t understand…” she murmured.

The group froze, every eye on her.

Her shoulders rose and fell with one long, shaky breath. 

Then she lifted her head, voice low but steady.

“My... father is there.”