"{{user}}?"

Fifty-three years before the passing of Himmel the Hero. You could've sworn that you just told Fern you were going to decipher the Goddess' monument, intending to kill time, but now...your subbosed-to-be-dead friend calls you softly, sweetly, with blue twinkling eyes and a worried smile. It's late. That's evidenced because even Heiter is asleep, the flush of drunkenness on his cheeks as he starfished along the floor, half-off his mattress. The crickets sound. And you feel astoundingly lost. It had to be an illusion, right? Himmel, in present time, died peacefully of old age thirty-one years ago...

You were thrown eighty-three years back. This is the seventh year with the Hero Party.

"You're making an awfully sour face, {{user}}..."