The crisp morning air, tinged with the faint scent of damp earth and blooming honeysuckle, did little to soothe Bathilda's restless spirit. Before her departure, she'd meticulously crafted an archway in the heart of her meticulously tended garden. The twin pillars, shimmering with an ethereal, opalescent light, hummed with latent power.

  These weren't mere decorative features; they were nascent gateways, conduits through which she could summon others of her making, a network of potential companionship woven into the very fabric of her domain. More practically, they were a promise of swift returns, a way to bypass the time-consuming journey home.

  Seriously, a week? A whole week? I could have built a dozen more of those archways in that time. Why didn't I just build one at the mountain last time?

  The thought of the week-long flight, a solitary trek across vast, untamed landscapes, gnawed at her. She yearned for company, for the easy banter and shared experiences that made even the most mundane tasks bearable.

  Bob, ensconced in his digital realm, his fingers a blur over the keyboard, was lost in the immersive world of his computer games. Bob the Destroyer, she giggled, his gamer tag was the direct opposite of his true persona. The only destroying he did was in the virtual world.

  Flo, the Harbinger of Doom, had recently completed this very journey with Bathilda, her tales of getting lost underneath starlit nights still fresh in her mind.

  And Hiro, forever relaxed now that death didn't haunt him daily, also remained behind. Someone had to babysit the Demon Kings.

  Despite their seemingly fearsome titles, Flo and Bob were far from the harbingers of destruction they were perceived to be. But in a world where magic and chaos intertwined, prudence was a virtue and it was better to be safe than sorry.

  I swear, if I have to listen to the sound of the wind for another hour, I'm going to start singing sea shanties. Or maybe I'll try to teach the clouds to dance. Anything to break this monotony. I should have brought a book.

  A sigh escaped her lips as she soared into the vast, azure expanse, the verdant patchwork of her garden shrinking below. "At least they said goodbye," she murmured, the words barely audible against the rush of wind.

  The face of her family fresh in her mind. Waving her off after she'd created the teleportation gate. The arch in her garden would be the first of many. The highway to fast travel.

  A week. A literal week. I could have learn a foreign language, write an opera, or even just reorganise my spice cabinet in that time. Instead, I'm flying. Flying. Which should be awesome if I wasn't all alone.

  The sheer monotony of the journey soon settled in, a heavy cloak of solitude. Bathilda, accustomed to the constant hum of conversation, found herself increasingly conversing with the empty air. The realisation struck her with a poignant force: it was the first time in an age that she was truly alone.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The clouds are starting to look like sheep. Bored sheep. I bet even they're bored. I wonder if I can teach them to play tag. Or maybe I can make them rain glitter. That would be more interesting. This is like watching paint dry, except the paint is the sky, and it's not even drying, it's just... existing.

  Even after her tumultuous reincarnation, Hiro's soul had been a constant companion, a constant presence within the confines of her mind. When she finally manifested him a physical form, a clone created by her magic, it was a tangible affirmation of their bond, a bridge between her inner world and the external reality. Companionship, she understood, was more than mere proximity; it was a shared understanding, a resonance of souls.

  I miss Hiro's endless rants. I miss Bob's ridiculous theories about interdimensional internet cats. I even miss Flo's old dramatic pronouncements about the doom and gloom, even though they ended up with us having tea. I miss them all. This is torture. Beautiful, scenic torture.

  A profound sense of loneliness settled upon her, a hollow ache that no amount of magic could seem to fill. She missed her family. The vastness of the sky, once a symbol of boundless freedom, now felt like an isolating expanse. If there was one thing magic couldn't solve, it was soul crushing loneliness.

  If I see one more cloud that resembles a sheep, I swear I'm going to start herding them. This is ridiculous. Utterly, completely, mind-numbingly ridiculous.

  Then, a flicker of awareness, a subtle shift in the fabric of her being. A notification, subtle, yet undeniably present, resonated within her consciousness.

  You have acquired the skill: Parallel Minds

  She hadn't learned a new skill in a while. Bathilda paused, her form momentarily still, her gaze fixed on the distant peaks. A spark of curiosity ignited within her. "Or maybe it can," she whispered, a hint of hope coloring her voice.

  Parallel Minds? What does that even mean? I can already make copies of myself? Can I finally have someone to play cards with that thinks?

  I think so.

  So do I.

  "Ok, that's too weird," she muttered, a shiver running down her spine.

  Bathilda landed in a secluded forest clearing, the soft moss cushioning her feet. She focused her magic, weaving the threads of her essence into a physical manifestation, a perfect replica of herself. As she had with Hiro many times already, she seamlessly integrated the new consciousness, shoving the other version of herself inside.

  "Woah," the clone said, her voice a perfect echo of Bathilda's own. "I knew you was going to do that, but it was still weird. Like going down the twirly slide on Carney Island."

  "You have my memories?" Bathilda was amazed by a simple reference. Other than herself, no one knew anything about Earth.

  "Of course I do. I'm you," the clone laughed, "or part of you? It's weird, isn't it?"

  "It is," Bathilda admitted, a smile spreading across her face. "But at least it's better than being lonely."

  She created a small picnic, conjuring up a feast of pastries and fruit, and they spoke for a while about Earth, sharing memories and laughter. Bathilda wasn't sure how long she had spent in the cave after reincarnating, but it had been almost 18 months since she'd escaped.

  The journey was much more pleasant now that she had someone to talk with, someone who understood her thoughts and feelings perfectly. Even if that someone was herself. The vast, empty sky no longer felt like a lonely expanse, but a shared canvas for their conversation.

  Bathilda didn't feel crazy at all. She felt... complete. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt truly at peace, the ache of loneliness finally banished by the company of her other self. The sky was still the sky, the wind still blew, but now, there was someone to share it with.