[Celuien]

"Do you even know who I am?"

Panakeia continued to stare. Slowly, she answered, "Yes. Yes. I do know who you are. Elempí. We met in Dol Gaurgauroth." Her mind traveled back, as it was wont to do, and she relived the first moments of their acquaintance.

Anakron seemed to split in two. Out from Anakron walked a balding, bearded, and bespectacled nincompoop who smiled stupidly at everybody else, trying hopelessly to fit in as quick as possible.

"This, my friends, is my abstemious alter ego, Elempí, a most embarrassing figment, no doubt you can see right away."

Yes. That same man now stood before her. Elempí, Anakron's usually carefully hidden alter-ego.

"Well that's good. For a minute there, I thought you forgot."

"No. I didn't forget. I - I just wasn't expecting - Phizzick! What happened?"

The miracle-healer shrugged. "Beats me. I guess this was the part of him that was still alive. The part that was talking about true love and such. If you don't like it, talk to my lawyer."

Elempí looked ready to pout. "What's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me?"

Was she? Could she accept that Anakron was no longer Anakron, but instead had transformed into his alter-ego? Would Elempí turn out to be the holder of the good in Anakron, as the Grand Anakronist had claimed more than once? Would Panakeia and Elempí live happily ever after, after all? That future all hung upon Panakeia's reply to a simple question. Was she happy to see Elempí again?

Panakeia's lips began to form their answer, but just then a soft thump echoed in the chamber.

"What's that?" she whispered, startled by the disturbance.

In drew his sword. "We shall see." With the expert swordsman in the lead, the group turned towards a dark corner of the crypt, not knowing who or what they would find in its recesses.