The fluff of feathers stops just sort of the doorway, turning back to look at Nope. Maybe it's a testament to Watcher's design skills, but it's not every day that a pigeon manages to look embarrassed. "Well... there honestly isn't much, and I didn't--this would be a really early occurrence, if I'm right. In a couple of places in the future I came from, there were a few small bits of crumbling civilization. A small town, a run-down resort, things like that. They were--are--running now, all that I identified. Satellite images and pigeon scans showed nothing there--just broken and abandoned things, like a lot of--anyway. The thing is, if--the people who lived near those places, all had stories. They wouldn't go near those places, even for supplies, and everyone had a story of someone going there and never coming back. I could never verify them, myself, but--I started calling them Null Zones. I assumed--"

The pigeon's beak snaps shut for a second, as it hops from foot to foot. The feathers all fluff up and then flatten back down. "Flyovers of the forest in the future I'm from had pockets like that, every once in a long while. I had hoped there might be people, but there was no life. No life that I saw, at least. So, I was thinking, and I thought, maybe--it wasn't much to go on, and I still don't have enough to verify it, and people returned to Camp Bubble Brook before July 1st, so it doesn't quite fit..." Watcher's voice devolves into muttering for a long moment, beforethe pigeon's head snaps back up. "But you're fine, and Manchineel hasn't noticed you here yet... I think... so you should be good! That's about it; just a thought, to be careful, and--I'll just--" The pigeon flies away once more.

Spoiler: Helios
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It is difficult to concentrate dispassionately on what you are trying to do--thoughts of what might have just occurred keep intruding, and being summarily suppressed--but you are able to glean a little bit out of the aftermath in front of you. Usually, your Drain Vitality spell essentially uses Life Energy as a type of sponge, drawing the Life Energy of the target to itself to strip away at the Life Energy of the target. This means that a target is exhausted and then rendered unconscious, normally.

The two different way that the Siren responded to your Drain Vitality spell--first physically knocking it aside, and then having such a dramatic implosion--suggest that, quite possibly, there simply was no Life Energy for your spell to attract in the Siren, but only Death Energy. Faced with its opposite, your spell was first repulsed, and then it... canceled out the Death Energy of the Siren.

The undead you have faced when fighting Nergal (and a few other cult members) have all had at least traces of Life Energy for you to draw on, remnants of previous life; the idea that the Siren had none might mean that she was something different from a true undead, something altogether stranger. But still, this is merely a theory; there is still so much about magic that you simply do not know.


Spoiler: Floral
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Free from combat and able to focus completely upon what the plants are telling you, you are able to pick up on two main things.

First, the Siren's appearance was a sudden event. There are echoes of something Siren-like before her appearance, but they are so faint that when they began appearing is hard to pin down (even with your boosting, the plants understanding of time can still be slightly obtuse). If you had to guess, signs of the Siren's appearance didn't began at most a few months before her "arrival", and they were subtle enough that someone without the ability to talk to plants (or an ability to sense mystical energy) probably wouldn't have noticed them. The Siren appeared full-fledged the night that half the camp vanished, and she was responsible for their vanishing.

The second thing you are able to pick up takes longer to tease out. There doesn't seem to be a perfect analog between what the plants are trying to tell you and your own experiences, so something keeps getting lost in translation. Finally, as a moment of random thought, a memory surfaces: a tornado warning when you were in elementary school. The plants seize upon that mixture of fear and odd inevitability, and feed it back to you.

To the rest of nature around Camp Bubble Brook, the Siren had been like a tornado. Extreme, certainly. Dangerous, definitely. But not really unexpected, given the way that the wind was blowing at the time.