[ Smoke curls. Ephemera taps the ash away and watches it burn, watches it spiral up and fade to nothing. He didn't smoke before he joined the Helljumpers. Didn't really drink, either. It became one of those habits. Sometimes there's nothing else that will settle him, pull him back from whatever edge he's found and thrown himself against. A small burn to bring him down from the greater damage. Everybody's got their compromises. Sometimes shit changes us.

Yeah, Ephemera thinks bleakly. Yeah, it fucking does.

He takes another drag. Lets it burn through him. Settle in his lungs. ]

Don't.

[ It comes out soft. Just - stay. Let it settle, just for a moment. ]

I don't remember my mother. Not really. I think she was a soldier, though. I remember her uniform, how it felt when I grabbed her collar. And I think she spoke Mandarin to me, but I don't know what she said.

[ He never learned to speak it. Or maybe he knew it once, and forgot. He doesn't know. ]

I know she wasn't the one who named me Ephemera, though. That was later. A joke. It's funny, you know?

[ He tips his head back. Breathes out. ]

Means temporary. Only I'm always the last man standing.