Ruho's brain was still trying to process the concept of a 7.67-million-square-kilometer island being classified as "small" when something else Azirel had said caught his attention.
"Wait," he said, holding up a hand even though nobody could see him in the dark burrow. "Wait wait wait. Go back. What did you mean by 'locals'? You said something about checking on what the locals call it."
"Hmm?" Azirel's voice was distracted, like he was still admiring his own geographic data. "Oh, yeah. The local residents. The people living on the island."
Ruho sat up straighter, his back protesting the movement. "There are PEOPLE here? Like, actual intelligent beings? Civilization?"
"Well, yeah," Azirel said, like this should have been obvious. "I mean, what's the point of creating a massive fantasy world if there's nobody living in it? That would just be a geological simulator. Boring."
"You didn't think to MENTION this earlier?!" Ruho's voice rose. "When I was struggling to build shelter and hunt and almost got eaten by a hundred-foot crocodile, you didn't think 'hey, maybe I should tell him there are people nearby who could help'?!"
"Oh, well, when you put it like that—"
"How else would I put it?!"
"Look, I was going to tell you eventually," Azirel said defensively. "It just never came up naturally in conversation. Besides, the settlements aren't exactly close to where you are. The nearest one is probably a few hundred kilometers away."
"A few hundred—" Ruho took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. Tell me about these locals. What are they? Humans? Elves? What?"
"Actually, this archipelago is what we would consider 'not worth the effort' landmass," Azirel explained, and Ruho could practically hear him making air quotes around that phrase.
"Not worth the effort?" Ruho repeated. "It's seven million square kilometers!"
"Right, but compared to the major continents and the prime real estate islands, the Quartet Archipelago is kind of... underdeveloped. Remote. The good stuff is elsewhere." Azirel paused. "Actually, let me clarify something. When I said this is the smallest island, I meant the smallest inhabited island over one square kilometer that remains above sea level year-round."
Ruho blinked. "That's a very specific classification."
"Well, yeah, because there are obviously tons of tiny acre-sized uninhabited islands scattered around," Azirel said. "Little rocky outcroppings, sandbars, that kind of thing. But those are boring and don't really count as proper islands. This is the smallest island that actually matters. The smallest one with permanent residents and consistent landmass."
"You're really bad at giving me important information," Ruho said flatly. "You realize that, right?"
"I'm giving you information now!" Azirel protested. "Do you want to hear about the locals or not?"
"Yes! Tell me about the locals!"
"Okay, so, there's a population of about two hundred kobolds living in the mountains on the western side of the island," Azirel began, his tone shifting into that enthusiastic world-building mode again. "They've got a pretty nice setup—underground cave systems, some basic metallurgy, tribal social structure. Very classic kobold stuff. And then in Zabris Lake, the one you fell into, there's a community of snapping tortles. They're—"
"I'm sorry, did you just say 'tortles'?" Seria's voice cut in, sharp with accusation.
"Uh, yes?" Azirel said carefully.
"Tortles. And kobolds." Seria's tone was flat. "You didn't even try to come up with original names. You just copied Dungeons and Dragons."
"I did NOT copy—"
"Tortles are literally from D&D," Seria interrupted. "They're turtle people. Introduced in like, what, 5th edition? And kobolds are one of the most generic D&D monsters in existence. You couldn't even be bothered to make up your own species names?"
"I totally thought of new names!" Azirel said, his voice rising defensively. "I just... I use the D&D names as shorthand for convenience! The actual in-world names are completely different and original!"
"Really," Seria said, her skepticism palpable. "Okay then. What are their actual names?"
There was a long pause.
"Azirel," Seria pressed. "What are the real names?"
"They're, uh..." Azirel stammered. "The real names are... um... the tortles are actually called... Turt... tl... ites."
Another pause.
"Turtlites," Seria said slowly. "You're telling me you came up with the original, creative name 'Turtlites' for your turtle people."
"It's a work in progress!" Azirel squeaked. "The name might change during beta testing!"
"And the kobolds?" Seria asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "What's their original, definitely-not-plagiarized name?"
"The kobolds are called... Red... lizard... ers," Azirel said, each word coming out more reluctant than the last.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Red Lizarders," Seria finally said. "REDLIZARDERS."
"I TOLD YOU IT WAS A WORK IN PROGRESS!" Azirel shouted. "I've been busy with the geography and the magic system and the wildlife! I haven't had time to finalize all the species naming conventions! Do you know how many species are on this planet? Thousands! Maybe tens of thousands! I can't come up with unique, creative names for all of them!"
"You could at least try harder than 'Redlizarders,'" Seria shot back. "That's literally just describing what they look like! That's not a species name, that's a noun phrase! You might as well call humans 'Pinkskinwalkers' or elves 'Pointyearlonglifers'!"
"Those are actually kind of catchy," Azirel muttered.
"They're TERRIBLE!"
"You're just mad because you didn't think of them first!"
"Nobody would WANT to think of them because they're BAD NAMES!"
"At least I'm creating things!" Azirel's voice was getting shrill now. "At least I'm putting in the effort to build entire worlds and ecosystems and civilizations! What have you created lately, huh? Besides excuses for why you can't do your job?"
"I TOLD YOU, MERCY WORK IS IMPORTANT!"
"And I told you, CREATIVE DEVELOPMENT TAKES TIME!"
"CALLING TURTLE PEOPLE 'TURTLITES' IS NOT CREATIVE DEVELOPMENT!"
"SHUT UP!" Ruho screamed, his voice echoing through the burrow so loudly that he heard startled chittering from the Pakisuchus somewhere deeper in the tunnel system. "BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
The gods went silent.
Ruho took several deep breaths, trying to calm the rage burning in his chest. "I am tired," he said, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. "I am so, so tired. I have been awake for—I don't even know how long. I've been dropped from orbit, broken every bone in my body, nearly drowned, almost eaten by a giant crocodile, chased through a swamp, and trapped in a dirt hole with dog-sized crocodiles who think I'm their baby cousin. I am covered in mud. I am wearing pants with no underwear. I have no food. My magic spell is JUMP. And I am DONE listening to you two argue about naming conventions and work quotas and who's more creative!"
He pointed at the ceiling of his chamber, even though he knew they couldn't actually see the gesture. "I am going to sleep now. When I wake up, I want useful information. Not arguments. Not debates about D&D plagiarism. USEFUL. INFORMATION. About how to survive on this nightmare island with the Turtlites and the Redlizarders and the giant murder reptiles. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," Seria said quietly.
"Understood," Azirel mumbled.
"Good," Ruho said. He walked over to the corner of the chamber where the Pakisuchus had left the pile of dried grass and leaves. It wasn't much—definitely not as comfortable as even his shitty mattress back in Seoul—but it was better than sleeping on bare dirt.
He lay down on the makeshift bedding, his bruised body protesting every movement. The grass was scratchy and smelled faintly of reptile, but he was too exhausted to care. His eyes closed almost immediately, the darkness of the burrow matching the darkness behind his eyelids.
"Sleep well, Ruho," Seria said softly, her presence fading. "I'll make sure you're not disturbed."
Ruho was already half-asleep, his consciousness drifting away from the divine drama and the impossible geography and the terrible spell and everything else that had made this the worst afterlife imaginable.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Azirel muttering something that sounded like "Redlizarders is a perfectly fine name..." but even that faded as sleep finally claimed him.
For the first time since dying, Ruho Jin slept.
And in his dreams, he didn't jump at all.