Vita and I are back in South America, trekking through the untamed wilderness, our banter as lively as ever. Amid a mild argument over our next route, Vita tripped unexpectedly on a hidden root. In that split second, she found herself face-to-face with a venomous snake, its fangs glistening as it poised for a strike. Just as the bite seemed imminent, a portal of shadowy energy burst forth from Vita, and out stepped a towering, goat-headed figure we now call Azazal. Without a word, he lunged, destroying the snake in one swift, decisive motion.

The silence that followed was heavy with confusion. Vita, ever the adventurer with a flair for the dramatic, laughed with relief and immediately introduced our new companion into the fold. I—Bapha—remained more cautious, still questioning whether such an occurrence was normal for her. Azazal offered no words in return, his presence speaking volumes. In that moment, despite the chaos and mystery swirling around us, he became an undeniable part of our little family. Vita’s unabashed affection for him warmed the moment, while I resolved to keep a closer eye on the unpredictable forces that seem to follow her wherever we wander.

After the chaos in Germany and the bizarre events of time-traveling contracts, Bapha, the gang, and I finally found a moment of reprieve deep in the South American wilderness. Amid the lush foliage and soft murmur of distant waterfalls, we set up camp in a clearing that radiated calm. While Bapha and the others busied themselves gathering firewood and scouting the area, I wandered off for a breath of solitude.

In a quiet glen, my eyes caught the gleam of something silver nestled among the ferns. Drawn to its allure, I reached down and discovered a delicate earring with intricate dragon motifs. As soon as it brushed against my skin, it transformed—curling gracefully around my ear and unfurling into a small, silver dragon. I instantly named him Zephyros. With a subtle shiver of magic, Zephyros wrapped around my arm, releasing playful, icy blasts that shimmered in the light.

Bapha and the rest of the gang soon joined me, their faces lighting up in amazement. In that magical moment, Zephyros wasn’t just an artifact or a weapon—he became a friend and a promise of fiery precision in our next wild adventure.

Part 1: Vita’s Silent Entry (handwritten, messy)

I didn’t know what I expected from a "checkup,"
but it wasn’t that.

I watched her move.
My double.
She was fast. Sharp. Cold.

It wasn’t the violence that hurt.
It was how easy it would have been... to become her.
A version of me with no soul behind her eyes.
A Vita that forgot why she fights, why she travels, why she loves.

I didn’t hesitate.
Maybe that’s what scared me most.

One clean strike.
One less nightmare walking the world.

I buried her face down in the woods after the others fell.
No prayers. No regrets.
I left a piece of myself there, though —
the piece that wonders if someday someone will do the same for me.

I’m still moving forward.
Still free.

But for the first time in a long time...

I’m scared of my own shadow.

Part 2: Bapha’s Entry (scrawled in stolen café napkins)

Memo: Never trust anything that bleeds and still looks like you.

We show up thinking it's shots and lollipops.
Instead? Cloneageddon.

I knew something was wrong the minute Vita's blood hit the floor.
Call it cat gut instinct.

Next thing you know, we’re stalking ourselves through a knockoff Nevada town.
Saw my own reflection aiming a gun at my Vita.
Not today, cheap knockoff.

We caught them before they slipped away —
just long enough to crack skulls, burn bridges, and break a few expensive-looking windows.

I won't lie:
Killing a fake version of Vita?
It hit harder than I thought it would.

Watching her bury her double without a word?
Hit harder than that.

I cracked jokes.
Told her it’s over.
Told myself that too.

But when she looked back at that shallow grave,
I could see it in her eyes:

The worst monsters we fight aren’t the ones we meet.

They're the ones we could have become.

Part 1: Vita's Entry (silent notes)

The island still lingers in my dreams.
Not the blood, not the monsters — but the way the ocean swallowed the screams.
I watch the sunrise now with different eyes. Maybe a little less innocent, a little more sure.

We got away, but I know we left something behind.
Not guilt. Not fear.
Maybe just proof that even in the worst places, we can choose who we are.

I spent the next few days patching my gear, counting rations, stealing moments to sketch Bapha’s annoyed face.
He calls me reckless.
I call it living.

The coin's memory itches at me. Not in fear — in warning.
Some things are meant to stay buried.
I’ll keep moving forward. I have to.
There’s too many creatures left to save, too many wrongs left to right, to let old ghosts slow me down.

Still breathing. Still dreaming. Still free.

Part 2: Bapha’s Entry (very much louder)

Memo to self:
When your mute human jumps on a cursed helicopter to a cursed island full of cursed meat-puppets worshipping cursed sea worms...
Maybe stop her next time.

Or don't. I guess that's the gig now. Babysitting a half-feral cryptid whisperer.

Honestly? Vita did good. She didn’t get eaten, zombified, or sacrificed to the aquatic spaghetti monster.
Gold star for my idiot.

Now we’re laying low somewhere that smells like rotten mangoes. Vita’s pretending not to limp. I’m pretending not to worry.

She keeps drawing weird monsters in her notebook — some we’ve met, some I swear she made up. Probably prepping for the next suicidal mission.
At this rate, I’m gonna need a second tail just to wag sarcastically at all the danger signs she ignores.

Still... wouldn't trade her for anything.
Not even a portal home.

End entry. Bapha out. Where’s my tuna?