"Not quite. They did a bit of that, but - we are very stubborn. Many of us did not want to evacuate. His sister helped us with defense. He retrieved his mother and convinced her to get off of her ass and help us. Which she did."

"Oh, she committed large-scale genocide and killed every demon on Kystle. It took about a day, it was absolutely terrifying."

Adarin is just going to be over there, filled with silent horror.

"Then she terraformed the planet. It was something of a mess, after five hundred years of - killing and wars and things."

"It turns out that it takes a ridiculous amount of power to resurrect someone. So she could work extremely large-scale. Terraforming killed her, though. That was her last act, before she dispersed."

"So the resurrection didn't use up the power, but terraforming killed her?"

"That is something of a debate, actually. I argue that it killed her because I knew her for five hundred years and she was extremely tenacious about sticking around the entire time. Pretty boy thinks she killed herself immediately after."

"Well, I suppose I could collect her and ask her, but somehow I am not motivated to do so anytime soon."

"Good. Don't. We are all rather glad she is properly dead."

"Though I suppose now we know how to do a cheap, cheating version of that thing Iobel and Edarial have for spellbinder prisoners," Isabella remarks to Adarin. "If it comes up again."

"I suppose so," he agrees. "Though - I don't have any memories from - ghost me. So I don't think that would work for interrogating my alt's Aliya."

"No, it would not have that particular application."

"It's really only a scholarly debate, anyway. I don't think either I nor Adarin care enough to risk bringing her back to find out. Avoid it, please. Possibly forever."

"Mm-hm."

"And that reasonably concludes my history lesson. That last part happened - three days ago? Four, maybe?"

"Sweetie," says Isabella, "we have really bad timing. Let's work on that before future expeditions."

"We have the absolute worst timing," he agrees, staring. "I don't even know how we could work on that, how do we even scry for something like that?"

"Next time," says Isabella, clapping her hands, "we send them a letter. We apologize for the unorthodox communiqué, fellow Bell-and-or-Adarin as the case may be, but we suspect you are an alternate version of me, and would like to come visit, please place a reply on the reverse of this correspondence for scrying twenty-four hours from this sending telling us about when and how you would like to receive this visit and what evidence you would like us to bring that we are not suitable for careless shield bubbling or other hostilities."

"Sleep well?" Isabella asks. "Tell us, if you had received a polite letter asking when would be a good time for your alt and his wife to visit, kindly write this information on the reverse of this letter for scrying, what would've happened?"

"I would have been alarmed and checked the letter for traps. Then I'd write the information on the reverse side of the letter with several exclamation marks and some copious capitalization and wait for a reply."

"And then if we'd shown up on schedule, hostile shield-bubble?"