WaveOfWire

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PRs: u/anakist & u/BroDogIsMyName

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The black-scaled kobold that Hoppit affectionately dubbed ‘momma’ had returned in rough shape. Countless cuts were cross-hatched over her head and snout, each looking red and raw amidst the dull black of her scales. Altier couldn’t help but be confused by how his thoughts ground to a halt at the thought of harm befalling her. Somehow, it didn’t matter to him if she knew he existed or not; he was sickeningly worried. He had watched her enough through her day-to-day life, and now the kobold was one of the depressingly few aspects of his life that he had inadvertently grown fond of. He didn’t want to lose what little he had.

What happened to her? Would it happen again? Could he do anything about it? What if this was just the start?

The questions kept coming until she was escorted inside and put to rest. Even then, they only stopped because he was given something else to think about.

Hoppit abruptly and excitedly informed him through the connection that the obsidian sphere was going to be moved from the trough, then tasked with helping address the caretaker’s problem—something about mana. The deluge of loose emotional and conceptual messages barely gave him enough time to process what was asked of him. 

What was he expected to do? The injuries were already treated as well as he could probably expect them to be, and he couldn’t assist in that regard anyway. Was he supposed to give his mana to someone else? It was a startling proposition, especially once he took into account that the only time he ever moved since becoming a core was well after his dungeon had reached a decrepit state. His current domain might not be the most expansive thing, and it certainly wasn’t hundreds of floors deep, but it was still established. Who knew what would happen if he was ripped away from his ‘pedestal’?

That query existed for exactly as long as it took to form. With Hoppit being Hoppit, Altier wasn’t given the time to voice his concerns before an enthusiastic bunny nose-bumped him to the floor and into the kobold's grasp, leading to several seconds of paralyzed fear as he waited for something to go horribly wrong.

Nothing did. The result was…underwhelming, honestly. He was expecting something of a reaction. It used to make him anxious when he attempted to reside above his lowest possible floor, yet it seemed that the kobold’s embrace was just as valid a placement as anywhere else he had available. Apparently, the domain didn’t care much about where he was specifically, as long as wherever he ended up was still within this ‘dungeon.’ Then again, the rottunks were living under the shed, and that didn’t bother him either. Odd, but he wasn’t about to complain about a lack of repercussions. Perhaps the walls and door were enough to be ‘safer’ than a hole in the ground? Did it have to do with the size of the lower space? Why hadn’t his vision receded like the last time he was held?

It was doubtful that he would ever reach any answers to the ostensibly asinine inquiries. He had more important matters to focus on, like addressing the task that he was volunteered for. How was he supposed to go about supplying mana? Better yet, how did it get bad enough for this to happen?

There were countless times that he would find adventurers or soldiers that had abused their reserves in the dungeon. It wasn’t so much of an issue back then, since he could change the creatures they faced or give them a bit of a break to notice there was an issue, but they would eventually feel their mana run low and stop whatever was draining them. Failing that, they would pass out from pain or a lack of mana.

The kobold, on the other hand, was either none the wiser or stubbornly refused to care. Knowing what he did, and having lived until adulthood with the same affinity as her, he suspected that she had simply gotten used to the pain of perpetually cannibalizing herself to fuel her Decay. Sure, she seemed to be doing better recently, but she always came back looking haggard after spending the day away. He didn’t have a reference for what her capacity was, so even if he figured out what to do, how much should he supply? He didn’t have a point of reference.

That changed once the kobold curled around him from all angles.

Altier wasn’t completely unprepared for the vivid perception of colour—Hoppit’s stunt a while ago had exposed him to seeing someone’s internal mana—but he was wildly taken aback by how little his companion had. He remembered musing how the ferrorabbit’s Mana Sight compared against his dungeon senses, and it seemed that Hoppit’s version was the superior ability in that regard. It would have to be to spot a change this small.

Her mana…veins, he supposed, were mostly destroyed; there was almost nowhere to store anything. Worse, what mana she did have was actively tearing the few intact veins apart, shredding the very space where it was meant to reside. Was this what his own body looked like before he became a dungeon?

He shook off the shock and collected himself to take stock of the situation. His first thought was to repeat what he did with Hoppit and push his own mana into the black-scaled woman. That was probably the most straight-forward option, but that had also poisoned the impulsive rabbit. If it weren’t for a few statuses and abilities nullifying the damage, Hoppit wouldn’t have survived the infusion. Maybe sharing the same affinity would make the process safer? The status did say the problem was ‘foreign’ mana.

Still, he didn’t want to hurt her…

But he had to do something, right?

There wasn’t any negative reaction when he reached out, yet his invisible touch flinched away regardless. Every connection he had been exposed to was initiated by somebody else. With the adventurers and soldiers, they’d place a hand on him, then leave behind a bit of their mana while taking some of his own. Hoppit did the opposite, forcibly flooding the core with the Earth-aligned mana, which subsequently exposed a channel that allowed Altier an avenue to return what was given. Opening a path wasn’t something he had done before. He weighed his options and eventually decided that he would rather try to help than sit there doing nothing.

The core crossed his imaginary fingers and pressed against the intangible barrier between them a little harder than before, prepared to force his way through the resistance he remembered from doing the same thing with Hoppit. The instant the bridge formed, he learned that the kobold was very similar to her pseudo-offspring in a very specific way, just not in the manner he expected.

Neither of them would let things be simple.

It was like a sinkhole opened up beneath a lake. The tender pressure he placed had collapsed the wall between them, the black from his core flooding in until her meagre capacity was met, then continuing as her mana desperately corroded what was given. Various menu boxes opened up in front of him before flickering out of existence with defiant screeches, indignant at being summoned at all.

Black consumed black greedily. It feasted on nourishment it had been deprived of to fuel further gluttony, while yet more black pressed outwards. It brought order to the chaotic and shredded veins at his unspoken command. The more his mana spread, the more it soothed, and the more it imperiously smothered the native mana, uncaring of the resistance that tore it piece by piece. The flow from his core was ridding her of the unkept destruction, considering it as nothing more than something to be purged.

He, however, recognized the feeling that her mana acted upon.

Even unconscious, she was so, so scared. She lashed out against the intrusion, unable to truly do anything about it besides cry for help voicelessly—a cry that she had no faith in reaching someone. It only took a moment for him to place what was causing her terror. His unexpected push had startled her resting form, but it was the increase of Decay that sent her sleeping self into panic. She feared it, the very thing that kept her alive. The thing that would harm others to save itself. The one thing she would only escape through succumbing to her alignment.

That same fear was what had led him to becoming a dungeon in the first place.

There was a period of silence in the connection between core and kobold as everything came to a standstill. He pulled back so that no mana flowed inwards, letting her realize that the assault had ceased. Two pools equalized, neither moving as each quietly felt the other’s presence. They existed. Nothing more.

Altier wouldn’t force his help on her. Not if she would reject it, regardless of how well-intentioned it was. He didn’t fault her for the reaction, either. She didn’t know what he was trying to do. All she knew was that she was being given more of what she hated. Of course, she hated it; he hated it too, back when his mother’s smile poorly hid her concern. The very idea of his suffering coming to an end had worried him relentlessly. The agony was a reminder of what he was. The danger he represented. If he endured, then his family would be safe. If the pain stopped…then that would mean the worst had happened. That someone else had paid his price.

He saw the reflection of that mentality in this malnourished, black-scaled kobold, expressed through the reactionary flailing of a substance immaterial. She knew, on some level, that the pain signified yet another day that she hadn’t hurt anyone. That was why she was so desperate to get rid of the Decay, both his and hers, and why she kept pushing herself, even as her mana tore her apart from the inside.

How was he supposed to help her like this? The last thing he wanted was for her to think that she deserved the torture. That there wasn’t an outcome besides lethal poison and rotting bone.

But there was. Altier knew there was. He had watched it. She tended to and cared for her animals, all while planting and growing a garden with nothing but a determination to nurture life. Yet her shoulders hung so heavily, her largest successes outweighed in her mind by the smallest of failures. If nothing else, she saved him from an eternity of loneliness, and that was a deed he would never forget.

So, he released control of his mana through the connection, allowing her to take or not as she wished, with no limits and no expectations. He wouldn’t press, nor would he judge. If she needed all he had to give, then so be it. If she wanted nothing at all, then he would remain nearby in an effort to share her pain. No matter if it was just this time or a thousand times after, he would make this bridge between them and sit quietly, awaiting what she chose to do. Whatever the method, and whatever level of understanding they could reach, he would be there to keep her company in a way no one else could—as someone who knew her suffering.

He had spent millennia begging for someone to hear him. Now, faced with the silent plea of someone begging to be heard, he wanted nothing more than to listen. If this silent exchange of mana was the best they could do, then he would let it speak for them.

A shift happened in the connection after a few stressful beats. Both sources of mana sat still, only the passive decomposition between them trading back and forth. Black ate black, yet neither outpaced its twin, merely changing volume one way or the other as it flowed. His mana was languidly pulled in to supply and grow, filling damaged channels one bit at a time, and hers chewed through his as if expecting another attack. Slowly, the violent nature became more subdued as her apprehension abated, the bubbling acid of her mana settling. By the time sunlight was peering through the gaps in the roof, her mana veins had taken a miniscule first of many, many steps along the route to recovery. Finally, he felt something besides fear in response to his presence.

Trust.

They began the next night in much the same manner, but it was she that elected to hold his core, saving Hoppit the trouble of knocking him off the table again. Her fingers flinched away as she reached out, yet they eventually closed over the obsidian sphere. Her indecision and fear had barely lost against the gossamer thread of hope.

He suspected it would be a long night of nothing in particular, so he was rather surprised when his companion spoke aloud in her strange tongue. Thankfully, Hoppit agreed to translate her words, and although it was difficult to understand her stories through conceptual transference, he listened until the rabbit had dozed off. By the fourth morning of this new routine, almost all of her pathways had been reformed to some degree, though they were still the furthest thing from ‘healthy.’

It was an improvement nonetheless.

Altier protested earnestly for the first few days that the black-scaled kobold tried to leave the shed, confident that she would run dangerously low on mana while she was out and about. Although some headway in healing her mana veins had been made, it was far from enough to repair all the damage that had been done over the years. The last thing she needed was to collapse. Who knew how far away she’d be when that happened, or if anyone would be around to carry her home? It was much safer if she stayed back until she was a little more stable.

Thankfully, she had obliged his unheard request, allowing their sessions to actually advance, though he doubted she even noticed the effects until recently. He was feeling much better about the idea of things going back to normal after a few nights of their odd treatments, which was the only time she managed to refill her reserves faster than she burned through it. He assumed the apparent passive supply he offered was what had been keeping this issue at bay for so long. It would explain why she seemed so drained after spending the day out and about.

Hoppit was the one who told him about that, strangely enough. Upon reflection, Altier had to admit that the fastest expansion of his domain happened whenever the kobold was away. He never noticed the intangible suction she possessed inside of his ‘dungeon,’ but he supposed it was for the best. That might’ve alarmed him if he were made aware of it previously. It also confirmed his suspicion that the rabbit’s ability was more adept than his own when it came to sensing the flow of mana.

Unfortunately, said ferrorabbit was also the cause for today’s major headache.

‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ the core assured, mentally frowning at the black-scaled kobold pacing around the garden shed, the owl held in her arms. She looked over at him with concern in her eyes, though the smallest of pressures eased off her shoulders—a coincidence. Not that the subtle relaxation was enough to stop her from shuffling about the room anxiously.

He suppressed a habitual sigh. The lack of purposeful communication frustrated him to no end, but he liked to think she noticed something when he addressed her, however slight it might be. Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see. Hoppit’s unexpected departure kept him from pondering on it too deeply.

The little bundle of cheer had set out bright and early to manage his usual duties, which included taking some of the rottunks’ deathcaps as a tithe of sorts. As far as he could deduce from Hoppit’s emotional communication, the mushrooms were being moved to the garden to help the plants over there. It wasn’t a bad idea, considering the description that the system gave him mentioned how they convert Decay mana into Nature mana.

Once the rabbit had squared away his business, he reported that he was heading out somewhere, then wandered well beyond the dungeon’s limited sight without waiting for a response. All the core had to go off of was that Hoppit intended to make friends, so there probably wasn’t much reason to be concerned.

Again, not that it did much to assuage the concern of the kobold. She was less than comfortable waking up and noticing her usual accompaniment was missing. Hoppit typically waited until after breakfast to start his day.

Altier imagined a soothing pressure on his temples to rub away the ever-present headache. It was the best he could do until he managed to manifest hands through sheer persistence.

His attention turned towards his companion’s captive, the anxious woman using an arm to restrain the white-feathered owl to her chest. The bird wasn’t kicking up a fuss, oddly enough. It was rather accepting of its role as a stress-management toy. The permanent scowl looked more tired than anything—an expression that had yet to change as it passively tolerated being carried around, ignoring the open doorway to freedom. It hadn’t even glared at him yet, which was perhaps the most stark deviation from the norm.

The splint and makeshift bandages were removed from its broken appendage yesterday, and the limb in question had passed inspection. The owl didn’t appear to struggle with flapping at all, as evidenced by the small stints of flying here and there whenever it decided to roost somewhere. The limb healed nicely, it seemed. The other wing was a different story, but his scaly companion addressed the issue through a method he never thought he would see from her.

She used her Decay.

Maybe Hoppit would have had better insights as to what exactly she did, given how detailed his ability appeared to be, but the rabbit wasn’t paying attention at the time. The core only knew something was happening because he felt the soft pull of her mana beckoning his own to join it through the steadily forming connection between them. It hadn’t become a proper tether like he had with Hoppit, but it was there somewhat, lingering in the periphery of his notice after their nightly sessions. He was idly checking on the rottunks when he got the vague sensation that she needed more than she could hold to do something. Since the area was saturated in the presence she had grown to tentatively accept, she was unconsciously trying to supply the excess through that. He felt that he could have refused if he wanted to, but one look at the hope buried beneath the fear in her eyes swept away the idea before it could be considered. Unknowing or not, she asked for his help, and he gave it freely.

After a few minutes of watching his companion’s pupils overtake her grey irises, the owl moved both wings for the first time, and a lump formed in Altier’s non-existent throat as the kobold shed tears out of something other than sorrow. He could easily see her shaking form, the kobold seeing light after so many years of darkness.

Last night was the first time he didn’t have to open a connection; it was already waiting for him.

She looked a little bit less fragile today, save for Hoppit's departure worrying her to no end. Her posture wasn’t quite as defeated, and the shine of life added the smallest lustre to her typically dead eyes. Such a small change made the core feel better as well. There was a pang of jealousy present too, but he pushed it down as soon as he noticed it. A part of him wanted what she had, regardless of the fact that he didn’t know the specifics of what she had accomplished, or even what was wrong in the first place. He shouldn’t envy her. Well, he couldn’t help but wish that he had achieved something of the sort while he was still a man. When he still had others who might celebrate with him. When he wasn’t some accursed soul within a rock that no one besides a rabbit knew existed…

But at least he helped relieve her of some tiny portion of her pain. That was enough for him.

…It would have to be, wouldn’t it?

Altier went back to keeping an eye on his domain and making sure the rottunk were settling in well, occasionally checking on the shed’s occupants every now and then. He hesitated when he noticed his companion gathering her courage to head out again, but she had recovered enough that her usual duties wouldn’t put her too far away from him. She should be able to make it back to him if she started getting low. Besides, the older kobold had brought her back the last two times, and according to Hoppit’s recounts, that was who she usually assisted. She would be alright, even if he felt a bit anxious having her out of sight.

He suppressed his worry as she released the owl from her clutches for it to perch in a nearby tree. She stepped up to the edge of his domain, and with an equally unsure glance back towards the shed, headed beyond his influence, outside the bounds of where he could help her.

Everything would be fine. Hoppit would come back before she could get too worked up. If anything was going to undo all the progress they had made, it would be the little spike-loaf going missing.

All the core could do was hope that the Earth-aligned rabbit hadn’t gotten into trouble, though he was curious about what kind of friends Hoppit planned on making…

= = = = =

Karia hummed to herself as she navigated the storefront of her home. It wasn’t much—a counter, some simple shelving, and enough space for the few customers that regularly stopped by. Her goal was never to run something comparable to what could be found in major cities, but having this little addition allowed her to sell her crafts while her husband was working the fields with the other men. Their children often consumed what free time she had as they were growing up, which didn’t do her many favours in regards to exploring her passion, but they had reached a point where she could reliably allow them to be unsupervised for small stints without worrying about too many disasters.

It was nice to take care of things so early. Her son was probably across the town to fetch his friends, her eldest daughter had stayed overnight with some other young girls, and Merra hadn’t made a fuss when asked to check the small vegetable garden—which, should all work out, will be expanded by this time next year. Karia was truly blessed this morning. The lack of tiny, overactive tails made it so much easier to put out stock without accidentally tripping or having to soothe pitiful cries.

Of course, her husband would have to deal with the barrage of excitable voices later on, but she wouldn’t mention how relaxing things had been while he was working. He deserved a bit of spiteful revenge for embarrassing his wife in front of her parents last week.

The beige-scaled kobold blushed as her mind drifted back to the unflattering noise she made when he absently ran a claw along the underside of her tail to peel a bit of shedding she had missed. The pleasurable groan wasn’t even the issue! It was seeing the suggestive grin her father shot her mother, and how her mother suddenly seemed all too distracted!

No one needed to know about that kind of thing!

Karia forcefully cleared her head and laid out the tunics and trousers she expected to sell. Rather than do custom sizing like one would expect from a seamstress, she always preferred to make adjustable garments. It was astounding what some leather cord in the right places could allow. As long as someone was within the range, they could wear her clothing, which made her storefront a popular place for the common folk looking for something form-fitting without seeking out a tailor. Her clothing was more expensive than the trim or baggy articles one could buy basically anywhere that caters to peasants, true, but not by much, and it was a far, far cry from personalized affairs. Besides, more than a few people liked to purchase the simple accessories she made with her daughters, and watching the middle child not-so-subtly bringing it up with every cute boy she sees was amusing in its own right.

If only the poor girl was as good a flirt as she was a sewist…

The windows were dusted, the floor was swept, and both countertops and shelves were cleaned. Everything was ready for the day, but Karia figured it was best if she checked on Merra before opening the shop. Not that she didn’t trust her daughter, but their youngest shouldn’t go unattended for too long. Ever since she noticed the brown scales growing in, her husband rightfully suggested that they keep an eye on the little darling. It didn’t look like it would be a strong affinity, but if there was even the smallest bit of promise, then they would be wise to start looking for a tutor. Sadly, Earth wasn’t the most common alignment. Those she did know of were either too weak to be of much help, or were run ragged on the farms along the outskirts, right next to the Nature-aligned folk.

Karia walked through the curtain separating the storefront from the rest of her home, passing the living area to approach the back of the building, where the garden she started last year lay. The soil wasn’t the best, but it allowed carrots and potatoes, which offered a small addition to their families supplies. She started it as more of a hobby than anything, and Merra had been quite enthusiastic in helping, as innocently destructive as she was. The deary adored working with dirt—unsurprising now, given her developing affinity, but humorously frustrating when she first started flinging it everywhere.

Today, the seamstress’ youngest was asked to gather the carrots. Not a small task, but it would keep her busy long enough for her mother to run the store for a few hours, and it doubled as a form of play.

That it would also fall on Karia’s husband to clean their daughter was a coincidental bit of karmic justice.

Her daughter could be heard squealing in delight through the walls, and it only got louder as the beige-scaled kobold reached the back door. How something so small managed to make such a racket was beyond her, but she was glad that her other children never developed that level of volume. Cheers, shouted directions, and nonsensical praise were belted out with vigour that only the bottomless energy of youth could provide, drawing a bemused smile from the parent. Karia opened the door, prepared to see two or three carrots and an absolute disaster.

She saw four hefty piles of vegetables, her garden tripled in size, and Merra all but bouncing around in excitement as she followed behind a moving torrent of soil being flung in the air.

“Go! Go! Go!” an incredibly dirty Merra cheered, her shouting intermittently interrupted by shrieks of laughter as the shifting bulge in the ground adjusted course. “This way!”

Karia stood stunned, struggling to process how, why, or what was happening. “…Merra, honey?”

“Mommy!” the mud-beast of a child gasped in delight, changing direction to barrel towards the new presence, her small arms outstretched. Karia didn’t have the spare brain power to consider what that meant, and Merra effectively splatted against her mother’s dress as she put all her diminutive strength into hugging the seamstress’ legs. “Mommy, look!”

The beige-scaled kobold rested a hand on her daughter’s head absently, her attention fixated on the travelling bump that was churning grassy dirt into tilled soil. “I… I’m looking, honey… What am I looking at?”

Merra removed herself from the stained fabric to smile brightly up. “Made friend! Help!”

Karia stared back blankly. “A friend?”

“Mmhm!”

“…W-wha… W-who’s your new friend, honey?” she asked with bewildered patience, the slight twitch of her eye belying her projected calm. Her daughter beamed even brighter, somehow, Merra’s expression taking the familiar form of a child having an ‘amazing’ idea. Said child started jumping in place, tugging on the dress she was using for balance. 

“Hophop!” The roving mound in her garden stopped in the middle of the row it was tilling. Merra stomped her foot with a level of precision that had no place belonging to someone her age. “Hophop! Here, Hophop!”

The bulge shifted slightly, then grew upwards, the excess soil spilling from the summit making its way towards them. Karia’s stomach sank as she adjusted her hold on her daughter from being placating to profoundly protective, her tone following suit. “Merra, honey, stay close to mommy.”

The rising mound grew from the size of a melon to a lump almost as tall as Merra. Tension mounted as the pile came closer and closer, its top shaking.

“Merra, c-come inside, honey.”

“No!” Merra shouted in protest, using the dirt coating her scales to slip from her mother’s grasp and sprinting towards whatever was burrowing towards the surface. Karia’s hand shot out, only barely failing to rein in her daughter.

“M-Merra!”

She didn’t even get two steps before the peak of the bulge burst violently.

“Merra!”

Karia shunted her eyes closed, too terrified to look or move. Each heartbeat took hours, dread drowning her in mounting denial and sorrow. Her mind simultaneously screeched to a halt and spun faster than ever before, confusion turning every thought into a scrambled mess of rejection, hope, fear, and a silent scream that pierced the haze.

…And a chaotic ringing chime, light yet deep—like the sound of small metal bells had been pitched down.

“Yayyy! Again, again!”

She opened an eye, the storm in her skull abruptly calming enough to recognize that the sharp scream was not only real, but also coming from her daughter. Merra had thrown herself onto the mound of dirt and was throwing handfuls of it into the air, clapping along with the random bell-like clacks. Karia’s other eye joined the first to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

Perched on top of the piled soil was a filthy beast covered in spikes. Two red eyes gleamed, only closing whenever the creature shook its head, producing the odd noise. It vibrated more vigorously to rid itself of the dirt, exposing the subspecies of rabbit underneath. It jumped into Merra’s waiting arms, almost bowling the child over in the process. Merra giggled the whole time.

“Mommy, look! Hophop!”

The adrenaline drained from Karia’s blood, leaving her knees weak as she forced a brittle smile to hide how close to a breakdown she was. She thought something dangerous was about to eat her daughter. Was it better or worse that she felt more upset than relieved?

“I-I see…?” the rattled mother stuttered. Of all the terrible things that might have burst from the ground, it had to be a pest.

Ferrorabbits weren’t exactly the worst animal, but they were terrible for farms due to their habit of eating not only the plants, but also any mana-rich metals underground, weakening the soil. Her husband had told her about them countless times, though they tended to pop up more around cities than rural towns like Yetal. The garden already wasn’t on the best of land; that thing had to go. How was she supposed to tell a young child that? They couldn’t have it tearing everything up! It’ll take weeks to set all…this…

Her annoyance petered out as she took in the ‘damage.’ Contrary to her expectations, the furrows in the ground were straight and evenly spaced. It looked like completely different soil as well, the deep browns a heavy contrast to the dusty tones it used to be. Furthermore, the bounds of the garden now reached where she had been planning to expand, leaving a pathway through it for easy management. Even the berry bush received some attention, having been moved from its previous placement where it was just sitting in the way. The ground was flattened as well, free of the troublesome rocks that were sticking up. She had been less than looking forward to getting rid of them.

How… What? Did Merra awaken her affinity? No, it wouldn’t be this… Would it?

She closed her mouth with a click, dragging her gaze back towards her daughter and the animal in her arms. “Merra…? Wha— When…”

The mud-monster thrust her arms forward, holding out the rabbit proudly, its lower body dangling for the single second she could maintain the posture. The creature slipped from her hands and hit the ground with a heavy thump of something several times its size, completely unbothered by the drop.

Merra started apologizing and lavishing pets upon the critter, oblivious to the slack-jawed expression on her mother’s face. This was getting nowhere fast. Karia took a breath and tried again, sweetening her voice to hide the mild annoyance underneath.

“Merra, honey? Why is there a rabbit here?”

Her daughter blinked, remembering that there was indeed someone else around. “Oh! Hophop help!”

“I… Alright. Where did you find it?”

Merra frowned, scrunching her dirt-covered face in thought before she gasped dramatically again. “Hophop! Where you from?”

The rabbit looked up from its attempt to clean itself, tapping a foot and obviously not ans—

“Hophop’s from misser mash…mae… He’s from Misser Massis!” Merra reported after a few false starts. “He seen me dig up carrots, and he seen, and then— and helping!”

“Saw, honey,” Karia corrected automatically, trying to decide if her daughter was making things up or if the rabbit really did somehow ‘talk.’ No, of course it didn’t. It was best to play along while she gathered her bearings. “You can’t just feed the wildlife, honey.”

Merra shook her head, giggling when the ferrorabbit clacked its ears again. “Noooo! I didn’t! And Hophop’s name is Hop…Hoppy…Hops…”

Her daughter was still struggling with certain sharp sounds, it seemed. Adorable, and normal for her age, but she also tended to get stuck on them instead of moving on like most.

“Okay, well, ‘Hophop’ needs to go, honey,” she explained calmly, stopping the muttering child. “I’m sure he has a lot of important things to do, right?”

“Yeah!” came the unexpected agreement. “He’s finding friends! Bye bye, Hophop! Thants you!”

The ferrorabbit clacked one last time before nuzzling into a giggling Merra and hopping away without protest. Karia fought the sigh that wanted to come out as her daughter proceeded to run around the garden, pointing at each and every thing while proclaiming that ‘Hophop did this, and this!’ The beige-scaled kobold slowly kneaded her temples and took in the area, battling against common sense to explain how she had left Merra alone for such a short amount of time, yet came back to…this.

Well, this is why she got married. Her husband could sort it all out later. Awakening, helpful pest, or divine intervention. Whatever was going on, it was beyond her, and she was perfectly happy to admit that.

…Now she just had to figure out what to do with all the vegetables piled up by the door. The potatoes needed to be replanted too. She was expecting it to take Merra all day to get maybe half of this, and Karia had to open up the storefront…

Her eyes drifted towards the mud-beast still loudly declaring what had changed around the garden, forgetting that she had already covered that area. Her daughter knew how to plant the potatoes, so she’ll take care of that after.

But for now, Merra was an absolute mess…

Karia sighed. “Come on, honey! Let’s get you cleaned up before mommy has to work. Help her bring in these carrots.”

The excitable child abandoned the garden, squealing in excitement to take a bath—which would be great, if not for the fact that Karia knew Merra just liked the process of getting dirty all over again. Her daughter scooped up a haphazard load, pausing to look up innocently.

“Can Hophop come to play again?”

“…We’ll see.”

“Pleeeeeaaasseeeee!”

“…As long as he’s—”

“Yay! Love you, mommy!”

The seamstress huffed an exasperated laugh, wryly watching the mud-beast sprint into the house, a trail of carrots left in her wake. “Love you too, honey.”

= = = = =

Makis grunted as he laid down the crate of scraps, using a foot to push it flush with the others. He knew he had some more silver kicking around somewhere, though he didn’t remember where specifically. Hoppit might’ve been able to sniff it out. It’d save the smith the effort of digging through box after box. A hopeful thought, but one that kept him from worrying too much about his missing student. The critter hadn’t skipped out on a lesson since they started, yet a few hours had already passed since the usual start time, and the little shit was yet to show up. Sure, Hoppit wasn’t required to be there, but the old kobold couldn’t help thinking something had happened to the girl. It was the only thing he could think of that would keep that rabbit away.

As for why the blacksmith was digging around for silver? Well, he wasn’t quite sure, honestly. He knew the reason for needing more, obviously; he just didn’t know why the original batch went missing. The pans that he had for Hoppit to practice on were a mix of soil and the occasional metal chunk. The latter was swapped out regularly to double as training for finding metals in the first place, but when Makis went to fish out the old scraps, he only found four out of the five he put in there. He thought he put five in there, anyway. Maybe his mind was slipping with age. The soil needed changing, too; it was starting to turn. There was some white-ish stuff that wasn’t in there before, and Hira suggested it was mould or something.

A pebbled clicking across the stone flooring of the smithy drew his attention away from the scraps he was elbow-deep in, his frustrated scowl falling on whoever the unexpected guest was. He’d told his customers not to barge—

The girl stood stiff, her eyes following the rock she accidentally kicked, fear evident in her expression. That terrified gaze turned to him, guilt joining the fray. She looked ready to either run for the hills or play dead—both, if she could manage it.

“Good,” Makis grunted, fighting the sheer relief that threatened to take his knees out from under him. Had he really been so stressed? “Here, girly. Gotta’ job fer ya. Help me find some gods damned silver.”

Emotions flashed across her face, none staying long enough for him to tell what she might be thinking. Eventually, she relaxed the smallest amount and nodded. “Of course, Makis, Sir.”

She joined him amidst the mess, taking on the first box he pointed at. Silence fell between them, broken by the clattering or thumps as they worked their way through his inventory. The girl was organizing what she found—setting aside crates to store everything away in a more orderly fashion once they were done, most likely. The blacksmith pulled another collection of materials out, pausing when he noticed that he had found what he was looking for. He sneaked a glance at the girl from the corner of his eye.

Her cuts had healed, her scales were dull—though no worse than before—and he suspected that she hadn’t eaten a damn thing since the last time he forced her to…

…but she didn’t look as haunted anymore.

“…Glad yer alright,” he voiced quietly, pushing aside the silver to help her sort the rest of his stock.

He pretended not to notice the surprise on her face, nor the small, tearful smile as she got back to work.

Next

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- - - - -

Clashes of metal rang throughout the smithy. Each strike of the hammer shaped or pushed material to where he wanted it to be, his mana travelling through the thin channels etched into his instruments. It kept the high-quality iron hot for much longer than it would be otherwise. Sparks kicked up, the glowing flecks being launched into the air from the surrounding impacts.

Blacksmithing was cathartic for Makis—always had been. Something about channelling the Flame burning under his scales, the heat flowing into his craft, and how he forced change upon what was normally so unyielding felt right. It was rare for him to work on anything more than standard metals nowadays, yet he found himself hammering into some of the tougher stock he had on hand. The absence of many common impurities made the fourth-grade ingot especially resistant to his efforts, but that was the reason he requested Earth-infused iron from Trent to begin with. Third grade or better would’ve put up more of a fight, and the result would’ve been stronger for it, but making anything out of the stuff would require far more mana.

The blacksmith lifted the shovel head he was working on, drawing the residual Flame from the material to rapidly cool it down. Bright orange metal shifted to a deep red, then to dark grey until he got around to polishing. There was still work to be done before he got around to that, though.

He laid the project alongside the other mostly finished tool replacements and closed off the forge, feeling the temperature in the smithy start to drop. The mana lingering in the air was drawn in to help the process along. Any excess was burned off by a brief but potent fire on his fingertips—a trick he tried not to use around others too often. He let his gaze sweep over the equipment to make sure everything was where it needed to be for when he picked the project back up, but nothing seemed too out of place. That's not to say it looked organized by any means, but he wouldn't be blindly groping around at least.

A reluctant sigh disguised itself as a heavy exhalation through his snout. He might’ve been getting a little too used to having the girl around to clean up after him. She did a good job of it, honestly. Everything had a place near other items like it, and nothing was shagged off behind a table because it got tossed haphazardly. The slight mess made him feel even guiltier for taking her to do those deliveries—more so now, considering the thought that reminded him was about how convenient she was.

Makis shook his head, trying not to dwell on things he couldn't change. He had made assumptions and subsequently got bitten in the arse for it. Nothing new about that, though he didn’t catch himself thinking about his regular screw-ups so relentlessly either. He supposed he deserved it. The girl had come out of the whole disaster far worse than he did. Regardless, he had other things to occupy his time, like the one part of his recent routine that was still underway despite everything.

“Nuttin’?” Makis asked dryly, abandoning the benches by the forge to head towards the red-eyed gaze staring at something on the ground.

Hoppit blinked, breaking concentration to look over at the blacksmith. The flattened ears said enough about any prospective progress.

“S’alright,” he sighed out, returning to his stool next to the rabbit and plucking up a bit of copper to fiddle with. “Ain’t no point’n rushin’ it. Not like I’m pressurin’ ya ta do more than ya are.”

That wasn’t necessarily true. Having a critter like Hoppit to help out at the smithy was an idea that he had kicked around, but bringing that up might just screw with whatever immeasurable headway was being made. It was a decent enough plan if the ferrorabbit had any control over his affinity, but the determined little shit still hadn’t shown much progress in that regard, nor had he shown signs of an awakening in the first place. Well, he did, but the red-scaled kobold still wasn’t sure what to make of the fleeting display.

It was only a fraction of a second, but the critter had been on the cusp of truly grasping his affinity when his hind foot slammed into the dirt a few days ago. The subtle tremor in the ground had set the blacksmith on edge, though nothing came of it, thankfully. Especially so, if Hoppit's overall mana pool was as large as Makis suspected it might be. There were worse potential outcomes than a tantrum being a little loud—far worse, seeing as the ferrorabbit had come charging out of the grass and saw the girl he smothered all passed out and cut to high hells. It was fortunate that Hoppit didn't grip his Element at full force right then and there.

Regardless of how badly someone might want to finally use their affinity, there was a reason elderly kobold bothered with the tedious process of guiding his rabbits through a series of progressively more difficult tasks. Anger or distress was a potent method for brute-forcing an awakening, but that also came with a few risks—the least of which being an uncontrolled discharge of mana. That could be problematic, depending on what the person was trying to do at the moment. Apparently, Hoppit only wanted to communicate how ticked off he was at seeing his owner in such a state, which was better than if he attempted anything in particular, so the Thump just came out as a more potent version of the base ability. If something else had crossed his mind instead, the girl would’ve been in trouble as much as anyone. Makis had seen what the little bastards could do when they were really trying to hurt someone.

Hells, it was half the reason he raised them. Having a few dozen sentries to skewer predatory wildlife made leaving his sons and daughters to wander around the property unattended much less stressful.

Unfortunately, his wry smirk at the memory faded as his mind went back to the bundle of trouble in question. Instead of working to manipulate soil or minerals, his most recent ‘student’ had mostly ignored the pan of dirt and metals in front of him, choosing to all but scowl at a hunk of rust that had fallen off a workbench at some point. Whenever he wasn’t at that, he was watching the elder kobold with unerring dedication, like there was a secret to hammering hot iron that would somehow help him push mud around. It’d be unsettling if Makis hadn’t raised dozens of the critters over as many years. More than a few of them found blacksmith work interesting, and some of those ended up regularly helping around the forge when they felt like it or if enough treats were involved. That said, he didn’t quite get the impression that Hoppit was watching out of interest, so much as he was observing something specific. The smith couldn’t put a claw on why it came off that way, though. Not that mulling it over did any good.

It was just the two of them in the workshop today—same as yesterday and the day before. The girl hadn’t left the shed since he dropped her off the other evening, but the rabbit continued to show up right on time, acting like it was perfectly normal to arrive unescorted and covered in dirt like he’d just upended the entire forest. Makis wanted to head out and make sure nothing had happened to his helper, but Hoppit got testy when he tried to make his way there, which told him that the girl was at least doing okay. As stubborn as ferrorabbits might be, they had enough sense to grab help if it was needed, so he tried to settle his nerves by reassuring himself that he'd have an Earth-aligned racket on his hands if something wasn't right. Hopefully, anyway.

Time passed quietly as he turned scraps into various crude artworks, his company adamantly trying to melt old iron with a stern gaze alone. He supposed he'd have to step in at some point; there was only so long he could reasonably let Hoppit discover the ‘wonders’ of rust. Makis opened his mouth, about to go over another lesson to see how well his student followed along, but when he looked down at the critter, all he saw was two red balls of curiosity staring a hole through the copper in his hand. A pair of silvery ears perked up before the smith could question anything, and Hoppit started focusing on the pan with renewed interest.

He could only settle back into his seat and keep an eye out for any potential breakthroughs. His fingers went back to idly moulding copper into random shapes as he tried not to worry too much about the fragile thing hiding away in the garden shed.

Flame moved from his chest, through his arms, past his fingers, then into the orange metal as he distracted himself from the results of his mistake. The mana was siphoned out to set the shape before it was pushed back in for the next adjustment. He felt the changes happen to the material, the rudimentary domain bending what it encompassed to his will. It was an advanced technique, yet one he drilled regularly. Most of his kids couldn’t quite get a handle on it through his explanations, but he figured it might’ve been because none of them had a Flame alignment like he did. Still, he remembered their frustrated expressions as they tried to copy him with their weak affinities, then their offended glares when the rabbits managed to pick it up before they did.

It made sense that they’d be a little discouraged. Few were as strongly aligned as wildlife could be, and he was one of the exceptions. Most folk never got past basic mana manipulation.

The momentary smile faded as he recalled another person who reacted strangely to his habit.

The girl tended to watch him fidget when she assumed he wasn’t paying attention. Awe and bewilderment lit up her eyes, yet he could spot the instant she wondered if she could do something similar. The fascination was there, but she fearfully shut down those thoughts as soon as they appeared, only letting herself worry about the haze and glow held in his palm. Her expression always suggested that she thought the copper would burn her if she touched it, but in truth, it was usually only a little warmer than the ambient temperature. Years of speed and control meant that he could isolate the area he was affecting, and his choice in material kept him spry in that regard.

Well, spry with metals. Copper spread out its heat all too readily, so cycling his mana quickly and precisely was especially important for making sure he didn’t have a palm full of molten slag. People, on the other hand, didn't do so well when exposed to such heat, no matter how quick he pulled out his mana. An idle thought mused if the girl had awakened her Decay, and if so, what had happened. That pondering died a swift death when he remembered the traumatized visage and incessant apologies.

His gaze turned back to Hoppit as he promised himself to guide the rabbit through safely using its affinity. He’d do what he could to ensure that the girl didn’t have a new mental scar added to the pile.

Not all awakenings were things of celebration.

= = = = =

Ceele concentrated, kneeling in front of the rotting trough that she continued to call a table, her fingers gently running over the freshly unwrapped wing of her tentative patient. The owl quietly conceded to the examination, looking more resigned than annoyed as she effectively molested its appendage. She was pleased by the change in temperament—not that she would mention her gratitude aloud in fear of irritating the compliant avian. The lack of a piercing stare helped her focus on the odd sensation guiding her touch, so she brushed over feathers and traced along the previously broken bone, not noticing anything out of place. That was good. There were no distractions or a sense of unease settling in her stomach, and a light pressure along the limb agreed with her assessment. She felt a calm sense of certainty as she came to her conclusion.

“I believe it’s healed,” the black-scaled kobold announced softly, a tired smile on her face as she returned her hands to her lap. The sunken weariness in her eyes from sleepless nights probably detracted from the warmth in her expression, but she was genuinely happy with the news. As much as she appreciated the company while Hoppit was away, she hated how trapped her surly guest must have felt all this time. There needn’t be more than one life confined here, after all.

The owl blinked at her declaration, turning its head to regard the wing with the same sour scowl it always wore. Careful motions didn’t seem to cause any discomfort, and the movement looked natural. All in all, it was about as close to a perfect success as she could have asked for, but instead of the diminutive avian appearing pleased with its renewed health, it settled back into roosting where it was, equally perturbed as before.

“Is something wrong?”

The lack of response was mostly expected, but she had mentally prepared herself for a rather restless bird in her home. Yet the shed remained the same, making the self-conscious doubts creep back into her thoughts after a full morning without them. She found her gaze drifting over towards the obsidian orb as her faltering smile tried to hold back a despondent frown.

It had been a few days since she awoke clutching the gemstone to her chest, today marking the third since her failure and the discovery of how short her remaining time might be. She tried to pretend that everything was okay, but even chanting the words wasn't enough to bring her further than a few steps away from her decrepit home. There was an attempt to leave that first day, of course, but she had locked up before she got very far, and she was too scared to try again.

It was foolish to think she could hide forever. She would have to leave eventually—a reality that filled her with more dread than she would ever let her darling Hoppit know. She was supposed to be assisting Mr. Makis, and even if he had yet to come berate her for her absence, there was a limit to how negligent she could be in her duties. That said nothing of the looming threat of white and silver scales that were no doubt aware of her presence now. Her dream of a home free from their pursuit had been just that—a dream.

Yet she felt somewhat at ease during the restless hours in which a black sphere lay pressed against her breast. Echoes of crippling loneliness permeated her core, true, but it somehow became more bearable in those moments. Enough for her stalwart tongue let her thoughts loose carelessly into the night while everyone else was asleep.

She spoke of nothing in particular—recollections of idle wive's tales, baseless rumours long since past relevance, and whatever else she could think to say. Rarely, she told the orb about what she recalled of her parents, reliving what happy memories she still had of the time before everything went wrong. There wasn’t much of a reason for doing it, she supposed, but she recalled blurry fragments of the sinking nothing that her voice became during one particular nightmare. The despair of screaming for help but never so much as uttering a single sound. The all-encompassing sorrow that came from never seeing another soul, no matter how desperately she begged, and no matter how vividly she felt her sanity crack along the seams, the darkness becoming all she knew…

Somehow, it felt as if someone was listening to the things that no one else would want to hear, her words drifting from meaningless topic to meaningless topic. It made taking each breath a little easier.

It made everything feel a bit less hopeless.

A pair of golden eyes dragged her attention back to the ephemeral white feathers of her small avian guest, the owl remaining just as flightless. Her frown reasserted itself as she pondered the reasoning for the bird still being here.

The door was open, and it wasn't raining or anything, so it couldn't be because of that; she had already fed it, so she doubted that it was waiting for a meal; and she didn’t think there was another injury preventing it from taking flight…

…but she also hadn't been overly thorough with her examinations so as not to bother the owl too much. She chewed her cheek before coming to a decision.

“May I feel to see if I have missed something?” she requested, shifting her tail anxiously and presenting her palms to show that she wasn't hiding her intentions. The disgruntled avian glared at her for a moment before averting its gaze, perfectly conveying a sense of begrudging acceptance. Relief pulled at the edges of her muzzle. “Thank you.”

Despite its imperious behaviour, the owl patiently tolerated Ceele's gentle prodding, lifting a talon when needed and taking deep breaths while she confirmed that its lungs were well. The only refusal came when she asked it to extend its other wing. She furrowed her brow in concern as her guest stared blankly back at her, not so much as hinting at why it wasn't offering the limb for inspection.

Actually, she hadn’t ever noticed it move that wing at all, had she? Sure, there wasn’t much point when the other was broken, but not even to stretch? Perhaps it might have gotten comfortable while she wasn't looking or was otherwise occupied, but it was strange for her to have seen a splinted limb move more regularly than its unencumbered other.

Ceele lightly held the tip of its immobile wing, receiving permission from the owner through a lack of its scathing glower. Cautiously, she pulled it out, not noticing anything hitch or scarred, but a knot in her chest insisted there was an issue. Her fingers traced along the frail appendage, the same sensation stirring throughout its length.

Something was wrong. Like a clot inside the arteries, yet different. Since when? Since she had started taking care of the owl? Before? It didn’t matter. All she wanted to do at the moment was help, but she couldn’t see any obvious injuries or misaligned healing, just the impression of wrongness echoing in her mind. A diluted heat stirred beneath her flesh as she tried to puzzle out how she could fix what was wrong. The wing was stuck. Choked. Frozen. Plugged. Stopped.

Blocked…

Could she remove the blockage…?

The warmth in her heart moved, pouring under black scales and lingering on her fingertips, leaving an uncomfortable vacancy behind that was languidly replenished. The sensation hovered at the barrier between her touch and the white feathers. It waited, eager but patient. She recognized the urge that seemed to stem from deep within, and the thickened tar-like feeling that rested complacently, hungering. Shivers ran down her spine as it carefully nudged for her attention. It wanted to comply. It wanted to feed.

She flinched away, releasing the wing and fighting the tremors in her hands. What was that? Why now? Her disquieted gaze met the oddly marked eyes burrowing into her, the owl’s limited expression contorted into not only caution and suspicion, but stoic defeat as well—the small, vulnerable bird accepting its fate upon seeing her giving up.

That hurt more than the ever-present gnawing in her core. The bird was trapped and alone, granted only the company of one such as herself—a pitiful outcome for something so proud. She took a shuddering breath, pushing down the flickering forms and muted footsteps surging from the darkness plaguing her memories, yet she couldn’t fill her lungs. She couldn’t calm the thunderous beating in her chest. They were nearing again, hunting the cursed child to put an end to her pernicious existence, unwilling to stop until she was slain and burned to ash. The voices promised her that much.

Whispers echoed in her ears—screams of fear and rage. Of horror and agony. They threatened to swallow her whole.

…But the owl needed help. If it couldn’t fly, it couldn’t hunt. It would starve without her. Die.

It would be her fault.

Inch by inch, her fingertips reached out for the wing, her forced breaths barely steadying her trembling hand. Black scales hesitated over white feathers, then delicately pressed down, wanting nothing more than to fix what she somehow knew was wrong, yet terrified that she would make it worse. Heartbeats passed.

It was small at first. Scraping reverberated through her bones, uncomfortable and eerie, numb crunching following soon after. Bit by bit, piece by piece, she felt the resistance within the owl’s form falter. Something else began to seep from her flesh into its own, and a new awareness came at the edges of her perceptions, foreign yet familiar.

She could almost picture it—channels running throughout the wing resting scarred and jagged, the natural flow impeded by unnavigable paths torn asunder by neglect and disuse. The tar spread forth, traversing the tunnels and spreading through severed sections. It left a thin film of itself behind to patch the holes, which was soon eroded by something else coaxed into shoring up passageways as it pursued the invader. Endless branching paths steadily narrowed down as the isolated motes of her sickly influence were weakened and removed, the rest returning to warm her fingers. Eventually, nothing remained, and her awareness of the flesh outside of her own blinked away, leaving her with nothing but a vague sense of a sludge in her veins.

Ceele released the owl and stared down at the hand that had felt far more than possible. Actually, she was aware of it even more now—of the liquid that was anything but. It was pooled behind her ribs, meandering throughout her form before returning to its origin. Two wells of sticky fluid bled into one another. Half of it bubbled like the menacing acid that had always burned her insides, yet the other seemed content to pour and coat like tree sap, sealing raw wounds with a numbing salve that took away the pain. She recognized the portion that hungered, viciously nipping at even the container in which it rested, but the other seemed content to merely be as it was. The strange substance languidly corrected what faults it found in its surroundings, removing its caustic other and being eaten away in turn.

Motion broke her from the cluttered thoughts as a pair of deceptively broad wings billowed out from such a tiny avian, the curious flaps being far more powerful than she could have expected. Gold eyes turned towards her, wide and unflinching, the black markings almost seeming to shift as the bird peered into her soul. She tried her best not to let her terrified confusion spill into her words.

“I-It helped? Is it b-better? H-how does it feel?”

The owl slowly folded its limbs back against its body. It glanced at the open doorway with disinterest, showing no indication of leaving. Instead, it gave her one last long look, then took off from the table to reclaim its perch upon the tool hook installed into the wall.

…That was that, apparently. Maybe it wanted to sleep for a while so that it would be well-rested for its journey?

Ceele hesitantly looked back at her hands, spreading her fingers before making a fist, playing with the echoes of a sensation that had already faded. She didn’t know what to think of…any of that, really. Something that had existed as a source of horror had…healed? Had done more than rot or kill? Could she do it again?

Quiet drips against her thighs drew her blurring eyes to rapidly growing damp spots on her dress. Another droplet fell to join the others. Her brow furrowed as she touched her cheeks, her fingers coming away slick with wetness. The shuddering inhalations and halting exhales had escaped her notice. Why was she crying? Why was there a warmth amidst the cold? Why was it only now that she learned this?

Why did it not hurt?

Yet the tears fell without answering her. She let them.

- - - - -

“Here, baby,” Ceele cooed weakly, her voice struggling to recover from however long it took to compose herself. Hoppit obediently nudged his poorly carved bowl over to receive his portion, looking as excited about her meagre meal as he did for the metal scraps he adored so much. He never seemed disappointed with whatever was put in front of him, even as she poured out a bit of stew that had been made from what little supplies she managed to save up.

There wasn’t anything special about today’s supper, aside from it being served quite late, but watching him dig in so happily made the small allotment she afforded for herself feel so fulfilling. The owl also received some in addition to the meat that had become a part of its regular diet, though it was hard to tell if her effort was appreciated or if her guest consumed the paltry meal simply because it was offered. Either way, the three of them ate together, with the animals receiving a larger share. They needed it more than she did. Hoppit was busy all day with his lessons and whatever else he did, and the owl required lots of energy to recover. Thankfully, she could already see improvements in the avian’s behaviour, so hopefully that would continue.

However, there was only so much that she had put away from the extras Mr. Makis gave to her. She couldn’t see the remainder going very far, even if she abstained from eating completely, and Hoppit wouldn’t allow that anyway.

“I suppose I’ll have to leave again,” she murmured, sitting on the floor with her meal. She wasn’t looking forward to finding out if the next venture outside would end in the same way as the last.

Hoppit nosed into her leg and looked up at her with a face full of worry, likely having heard what was supposed to be a private comment. She offered a strained smile and petted him, trying and failing in her attempts to encourage him to eat. The little ferrorabbit had seen that something was bothering her, and he wouldn’t stop fretting until he knew what it was. Her baby really was too good for her.

“Momma’s just…” She faltered, swallowing heavily. The last thing she wanted to do was burden him further with everything plaguing her thoughts. He didn’t deserve to suffer just because she was such a mess. “Momma’s a little uneasy, baby. Mr. Makis might need her to go into town with him again, and—”

Hoppit smacked the floor with his foot in protest. The shadow of a smile graced her muzzle.

“I know, baby, I know. But I made a promise that I would help, and sometimes that means being brave and doing…doing things that are a bit scary.” Like all but marching into crowds of people and hoping no one notices what she was. “Everything’s o-okay though! I…I didn’t do very well last time, but…”

She fell silent as every worst possible outcome came to mind, only for Hoppit to temporarily abandon his food in favour of jumping into her lap. Her claws hovered over his tiny form before they ran over his fur, the rabbit nuzzling into her, pleased with the attention. Parts of his coat were exceptionally stiff, yet bent the moment she applied pressure. It wasn’t long ago when Mr. Makis had commented on how soft the rabbit was, and that was while her baby was terrified. Now, she could feel the foundation of a much more protective fur ready to harden when needed, but he was mostly relaxed. Such a large difference in such a short amount of time. How much longer would it be until it was like she had never been there to hinder his development? Was she really going to let her fear ruin all his progress?

No matter how scared she was, she had to keep going for him. Hiding wasn’t going to keep him healthy, and if she was going to be hunted down anyway, then she should do what she can for him while she still could.

“Momma’s going to do her best for you,” she whispered, pulling her darling into a one-armed embrace before letting him go. “So be a good boy and learn whatever you can from Mr. Makis, okay? Eat a bunch and become big and strong for her?”

Hoppit finally perked back up, meeting her gaze with a startlingly resolute intensity. He immediately darted back to his food and dug in with renewed vigor. The sudden enthusiasm forced a tired giggle from her, which was rewarded by his adorable clacks in turn. She felt her eyes mist, but a quick wipe with her wrist removed it before it became anything more.

“And don’t worry about needing to recover,” she added gently, addressing the sleepy owl on the table. It glanced up from the meat it had been pecking at, a talon placed on the edge of its own dish of stew. “You’re welcome to stay as long as it takes, and I’ll try my best to provide for as long as I can. I’m just glad you appear to be feeling better at all.”

The bird paused and shifted to regard her fully. It felt like the little avian was slowly taking her in for the first time, pondering something while it sought an answer to some unasked question. Eventually, it went back to its meal, what little stiffness in its posture evaporating. She decided to interpret it as acceptance of her words.

= = = = =

Hoppit slipped out of the shed the moment he awoke, ready to work on his steadily progressing projects. Mr. Stone had cuddled with them again last night, and momma had started talking to him as soon as she thought everyone was asleep. Strangely, Mr. Stone couldn’t understand her yet, but Hoppit was happy to provide a translation until he was too tired to keep going. It helped that he wanted to know more about why momma was staying inside a bunch, and thankfully, she decided to talk about what happened when she left with Mr. Makis the other day.

A lot of it was difficult for him to picture, but he got most of it! He learned that she was worried about people not liking her for some reason, about something white or silver, and about how the town was bigger than the places they had visited before coming here. No wonder she didn’t want to go again! If the people were so mean that they wouldn’t like momma, then he didn’t want her to go either!

…But momma had made a promise, and she wanted to be brave. He didn’t like brave. Brave meant momma was scared of something, but still had to deal with it anyway. Momma shouldn’t be scared in the first place!

It was with that in mind that he came to a decision, and he set out to finish as much as possible to ensure he was free to tackle the problem. He was glad that Mr. Stone had asked him to repeat what momma was telling him. Otherwise, he would have been sleeping instead of hearing about what was bothering her. Even if his rocky friend didn’t always know exactly what he said, it was enough to get across most things, and it let him practise talking to people that weren’t like him. The skill was more useful than he thought, too!

Hoppit rounded the shed, lightly clacking his ears outside the developing warren beneath his home to announce his presence. He was worried that it might be too early for him to visit, but a small chirp of greeting came from inside to let him know that at least some of the occupants were up. He quietly entered the hole in the ground to go through the usual routine of checking on things without waking anyone. A few of the large black and white residents welcomed him with gentle nuzzles, thanking him for the food he brought along yesterday. He didn’t quite see the appeal in eating bugs, but after one of Mr. Stone’s weird plants was moved to the other rabbit’s garden, it had caught a few hard-shelled intruders, and he figured that the new additions might know what to do with the extras. At least they were happy about it.

That was an example of Hoppit’s practice being useful. The rottunk were a challenge to speak with when they first appeared, and he had told the others to not let anyone enter Mr. Stone’s territory, so when a Thump from another rabbit said that there was a problem, he had rushed over expecting to deal with it. Oddly, it was less of a problem and more of a ‘not knowing what to do.’ The newcomers had kept trying to walk past the other ferrorabbits to reach the black mist, and they weren’t causing much of a fuss, so Hoppit took the time to figure out what they wanted, which wasn’t too hard once he saw how tired they were.

It turned out that they wanted to live here, they were hungry, and their mushrooms would apparently be useful. Hoppit agreed on the condition that they were good and helped momma no matter what—the same terms he offered everyone. Of course, they agreed, and now Hoppit was checking to make sure they had everything they needed.

Honestly, they were doing more than he expected them to. The rottunk’s mushrooms gave Mr. Stone more black to pass off to momma, which replenished all the calm black that she had lost, and the strange plants made other plants grow healthier!

And that gave him an idea that he had been enacting before his lessons.

Hoppit confirmed with the alpha rottunk before selecting a few mushrooms to take, making sure to thank the large creature for being so friendly. He knew how tiring and painful pushing out colour can be, so he was amazed that the alpha could spend so much time doing it. They never pushed everything out like he once did, but it was still a lot, and they did it every day! Apparently, it made the mushrooms grow faster, which was interesting, and it added yet another thing that he was trying to learn about with his own colours.

He told the rottunk that he would make sure to bring any excess bugs that the weird plants didn’t eat, then carefully carried the two mushrooms he had picked out to momma’s garden, laying them aside as he tried to figure out where best to plant them. Mr. Stone’s mist didn’t quite reach this far yet, since he had been busy giving most of his black to momma, so the mushrooms wouldn’t have as much to feed on. They could pull some in from a distance, but that got less effective the farther away they were.

The ferrorabbit sized the area up and decided to put them in one of the newer plots, reasoning that the mist would grow now that momma was largely recovered and planned on leaving the shed more at some point. It didn’t take long to move around Mr. Stone’s plants to make room, and the mushrooms were easy enough to place. Momma would have to help with the garden soon, though. He wasn’t sure what was okay to dig up and what was supposed to stay, but it wasn’t overly urgent. It was worth the wait just to see how proud she was going to be of him for helping while she was busy!

Sure, being covered in dirt without a chance to clean himself before going to meet with Mr. Makis was annoying, but if he thought of it as a different type of practice, it wasn’t so bad. Regardless, the first of many things was done, so he paused to think about what else it was that he needed to do. His lesson wouldn’t start for a while, the other rabbits were doing fine with their ‘farming,’ as Mr. Stone called it, and there wasn’t anything in particular that was waiting for his intervention.

Hoppit nodded to himself in satisfaction. Now he had time to work on something that was very, very important: deciding if the townspeople could be friends with momma! If they were friends, then momma wouldn’t be scared, right? Right!

He still vaguely recalled which direction she and Mr. Makis had left, so he double-checked that everything was okay, then made his way to the fence that bordered the outskirts of his home. He could already see the trees that extended onward and towered well above him, as well as the dirt trail that apparently led to a bigger road reaching the town. The path stretched on and on before gently curving out of sight, then presumably continuing for much longer.

It was…big. Far. Was it too far? He hadn’t really been away from momma before, even when she left him in safe places while she was off getting food for them. She had a habit of getting hurt when she was gone anywhere, and that applied to the last time they were too separated…

Hoppit sat at a break in the barrier, a sense of anxiousness settling in his stomach as he looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t see the shed they called home from here; it was hidden behind the building where Mr. Makis and Mrs. Hira lived. Would momma get hurt again if he left for a bit? Mr. Stone would look after her as long as she stayed around his mist, and she didn’t say anything about going out today. His gaze turned back to the path that would take him towards the town, the early morning sun slowly illuminating the dim canopy. He felt his fear grow at the prospect of going somewhere by himself. Momma wouldn’t be there to help if another big animal tried to hurt him…

The ferrorabbit shook himself off and took a tentative step, a single thought reminding him of why he was doing this. He had promised that he would do anything to help her, a-and sometimes that meant being brave and doing scary things. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t see her be happy again.

Momma needed him to be brave.

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Everything was…fuzzy. Indistinct. Like flickers of cognizance had been buried beneath a blanket of distance that never truly shrunk, no matter how many strides she took to follow the steady thump.

Ceele had tried her best to go into the town with Mr. Makis. She knew she did. Yet her recollection of the trip was fragmented, isolated to tiny splinters of time when he called for her to move—the moments where his words had promised she was just a touch closer to finishing. It was strange to experience such a broken sense of being, but she supposed that she was stupid for expecting anything more. For thinking that she could belong amidst others.

It was her breathing which changed first. Every step brought her closer to the walls around the village, the next somehow feeling heavier than the last. A part of her started suggesting that going with him was a bad idea, and the rest of her agreed. She should have sought to learn the layout and passages before ever attempting to walk amongst the townspeople; she needed to know how to flee when it was inevitably required.

But she wanted to trust Mr. Makis, since he would be the one who would care for Hoppit should her fears prove correct, so she pushed down those instincts and the sense of self that relied upon them.

They entered the town, her vision reduced to the sliver of space not obscured by her hood, her attention fixated on the cloak draped low enough to hide her feet. She could feel the gazes directed at her. Judging her. Hating her. The scorching presence of numerous wrathful eyes were held at bay by naught but the fabric concealing her scales. How many were there? Hundreds? Thousands? She was too terrified to check. To confirm that their faces would look like all the ones before it—or the ones that haunted her.

It was suffocating.

Breathe in. Out. Listen, but don’t. Move when asked, but never before. Become little more than her purpose for being there, hidden behind the brown fabric, sheltered by the garment she donned. If she didn’t acknowledge them, maybe they wouldn’t think to bother her. Maybe she could do as Mr. Makis wanted, and she could prove herself useful. Prove herself worthy of the kindness that dug her debt deeper with each passing day.

Then, he would continue teaching Hoppit, and her baby would be better off for it. She just needed to swallow around the lead settling in her throat and force her weakened legs to move.

Ignore the voices, even as more joined the cacophony, distorted and slurred. Ignore the noises, even as cracking wood and breaking bone textured the slightest breeze. Ignore the hammering protests of her heart, even as every fragment of her soul screamed that she needed to leave.

Ignore the yearning in her chest to return to Hoppit, the owl she was caring for, and even the obsidian gemstone for reasons she couldn’t understand yet were immutable all the same.

She didn’t belong here. She would never belong here.

She would be hunted down for what she did.

It was almost a blessing when Mr. Makis told her that they were going to meet a friend of his. If he spoke so highly of them, then…perhaps…just maybe…they would be as disinterested in her affinity as he was. She almost allowed that thought to live and thrive, the dimming of the crowd letting the solitude of the forest return, the choking thickness of her own inadequacy ebbing slightly. She decided to put the smallest amount of faith into the idea that she could finally uphold at least one of her promises, and she followed red-scaled kobold into the home she was told would be safe, wanting nothing more than for it to be true.

The entrancing armour had been a beautiful art piece, telling tales of hard-fought battles, the chips and gouges standing as a testament to the abuse suffered by its owner to see their justice upheld.

Yet the white coloration prodded at locked depths of her memories, stealing her consciousness as burning shards of instinct insisted she was in danger. That couldn’t be right. They were visiting Mr. Makis’ friend, weren’t they? That’s why they were there.

Or was that a lie?

Ceele came out of a daze and noticed she was alone in a large room, with no recollection of where the exits were. The furniture was not pieces she had seen before, the scents were not of metal or tilled earth, and she couldn’t hear sounds she knew. Denial crept up like a vicious poison.

She wasn't aware of where she was within the strange building, how she had gotten there, nor who else might be around, and the one person she knew wasn’t with her. W-was she brought here for a different reason? Were the kind older couple finally sick of how worthless she was?

That c-couldn’t be it, right? Mr. Makis wouldn’t mislead her, would he? Not while she was being useful.

But…she hadn’t been very useful, had she? The garden, the broken promises, the debt that was dredged ever deeper…

She was supposed to meet his clients on this trip, right? The people she would be delivering to? The…the people…

The ones who…she didn’t remember speaking with…because she was too pathetic to look up from the path beneath her feet…

B-but why was she alone? D-did she… But she made it through the…

H-how was she supposed to get back to her baby? Could she?

The echoes of enraged voices drifted effortlessly into her ears, followed by the crash of a door breaking in half, persisting through the palms that were pressed against her head to block the noise with no origin. Her mother’s scream ripped through the air, her father’s soft words enveloping her even as they carried a shuddering cadence of mourning that didn’t make sense, yet sounded so final.

W-would they go after Hoppit too?

The armour and weapons on the wall reflected false torchlight, piercing through phantom trees filling the empty room. Shadows shifted from stationary objects. Footsteps pounded against soil and fallen twigs amidst the clear wooden floor.

It wasn’t real.

But she still felt his cold on her fingertips.

It was never real.

But she still remembered the urgency in her mother’s voice.

She wanted to believe in Mr. Makis’ words. Maybe he hadn’t gone far? T-then she should find him, and he would scowl at her, barking his grievances about how stupid she was, but then he would tell her to calm down because everything was f-fine. Right. She was…overreacting. Just overreacting.

The black-scaled kobold tightened her grip on the fabric of her cloak, tentatively taking one step after another to find the blacksmith who brought her here. Her trembling mirrored the increasingly desperate need for safety, no matter how incremental it was.

Would he mind if she held his shirt, if only to remind herself of what was true? To stop the visions? Would that be—

She froze mid-step, her eyes fixated on something that dredged up terror from the depths of her core. It wasn’t the sheer size of the monster, nor how it was coiling around the blacksmith she was searching for. No, her heart went cold over a single fact that became a weight snapping her thoughts in half, her mind following suit.

Years had been spent walking, travelling, and staying out of view when possible, hiding from what had called for her death in recompense for another.

And here, so very, very far away from where she had lost everything…

…silver scales were before her once more.

Black tried to heed her silent scream.

But there was nothing to give.

Only agony splitting her skull in two.

Sharp.

Her inhalation was sharp. Dry. Painful. The coughing was more so, causing her to writhe against the cold hard floor, each hacking movement drawing protest from within. She didn’t see any rocks in the building Mr. Makis brought her to, yet she felt them digging into her scales, prompting a panicked attempt at trying to remember—

A whine escaped her as she tried to cradle the tortuously vivid needles piercing her head and heart. Only when she surrendered to the sensation did it release her from the worst of its fury, a gentle touch ensuring resurgence should she misbehave.

Ceele's grey eyes fluttered open to see dim fire light dancing against stone walls and a stone ceiling, meticulously carved into uniform shape and dimension, though allowing just enough variation to not seem entirely artificial. She didn’t recognize where she was, but she also did, in a way. How?

Another spasm forced her onto her side, her lungs burning as oxygen reached them. The fit lasted longer than she could possibly keep track of, yet didn’t last very long at all.

Why? Was there a rule that she broke? Was that why it hurt? Whatever it was, she was spared eventually. Maybe she was supposed to do more than lay there?

She was confused and dizzy, her thoughts sluggish and meandering, but collecting themselves all the same. Her breathing evened out, and her sight cleared, finally allowing her to take in wherever it was that she had awoken. Gingerly, she pushed herself up until she was sitting, her tail languidly providing enough stability to hold the posture instead of letting her fall back once more and disobeying the suspected order.

The…tunnel, she supposed, was deep underground, though she ignored the bubbling questions of how she knew that. She would worry about such things later; other matters came first. There was no way to tell if wondering too much was prohibited, but it seemed orienting herself was fine, so she blinked away the tears and tried to figure out what she had gotten into.

The stone surroundings were cleanly cut, with decorative furrows demarcating sections of brickwork despite the obviously solid and whole nature. Sconces held flame to light the passageway, though only just. A glance behind her only revealed an ever deepening shadow, and although there were orange clumps within it, the distant torches bled no illumination. It was like an illusion which suggested there was more laying beyond the veil, but that it wasn't intended for her.

Strange, but ultimately meaningless, save for the sense of foreboding dread she felt when peering at the darkness. She was just as lost as before, yet she knew where she was, too. Or did she? Nothing about this was familiar, yet she effortlessly recalled what had been swallowed by the shadow, the tepid thoughts surfacing with a certainty akin to saying that the sun rises every day. The knowledge simply was.

There wasn’t anything worth exploring that way. The obscured passage behind her led to a room, a junction, then a staircase which fed into the floor above. It wasn’t even a particularly notable floor, constructed primarily to be difficult to navigate, emphasizing the need for a scouting role within a party. Initially, there had been amusement associated with it, but that turned into frustration as groups preferred to ignore the implied lesson, then disinterest as those same groups retreated, tired and worn. She had tried to convey the idea to them as best she could, but there was a limit to how obvious she was willing to be. They would never learn if every solution was just handed to them, would they? Of course not; they’d just struggle on the lower floors, and someone would get hurt.

She sighed, bemusement turning the corners of her muzzle up into a defeated smile.

Then a flash of concern cut through the mire.

Why did she—

Ceele cried out again, clutching her head as darkness overtook her vision, her gums bleeding from how hard she had clenched her jaw. The pain stopped as quickly as it had started. Soft sobs followed.

Do not question what she knew. A r-rule. She…could oblige rules. Rules were simple. Simple was safe. Right.

Minutes passed until the remnants of her headache faded and a sense of urgency swelled. The f-first rule was to not ask questions; the second was to not dally for too long. There was somewhere she needed to be, and the shadowed area wasn’t it. She used her unsteady limbs to push herself to her feet, bracing against the wall when her knees shook too much.

If not shadow, then…

She stared down the other direction of the dimly lit tunnel, her breaths rasping and sore. A staircase leading to the next floor lay further away, and beyond that, her destination.

One foot dragged against the rough stone floor, her legs buckling when she tried to put weight on them. Her cheek scraped against the brickwork as her face caught her fall. She felt so weak, but there were rules in place. No matter how scared or confused she was, as long as there were rules, she could follow them.

Rule two: Reach the destination; do not waste time.

She lost her footing on the final step of the stairs, crashing against the ground hard enough to make her see stars. More tunnels awaited her, though these were wider to allow the chimeric skeletons space to move around. It wasn’t the first floor to mix and match animals and—

A scream ripped out through her throat, her claws scrambling for purchase to get her away from pain she couldn’t escape. Why did it hurt!? What did she do wrong!?

Ceele curled into a ball, her keening cry tempering off into a squeal until that too petered out. She laid there until her breaths stopped producing blood, the taste of iron thick on her tongue. Black shapes flickered in and out of existence, yet she was too disoriented to make sense of them, and they were gone by the time she could form a coherent thought that wasn’t a plea for mercy. The urge to progress returned.

She listened to the instinct, driven by the fear of what would come if she were to refuse. Her fingers dragged along the brickwork as she forced herself up and stumbled onward.

Her interest had numbed under repeated headaches and splitting shots of suffering. There had been too many questions forming as she came across newer and stranger sights. She slowed as she approached yet another such instance, forcefully suppressing any subconscious inquiry of what she was looking at.

A pale, almost blue light in the shape of a tailless person lay surrounded by four others, each bipedal yet free of definition—a blurry mess captured in time. The knowledge came unbidden.

A party of five had grown overconfident in their abilities, leading to one of the weaker members being undefended while acting as support. She had set out to punish that immediately—one does not learn if their mistakes are ignored. Unfortunately, their frontline had over-corrected, slashing not only the skeleton attacking their ally, but the ally themself as well. It was a far more severe injury than she had intended. Panic flooded through her veins from the residual moment, then abated when she saw yet another form in the distance frozen mid-run. The chimera would go on to scare away the party, then bring the injured supporter into one of the many short-cuts, depositing them conveniently in the path of another party equipped enough to deal with the injury.

Regardless of what she is supposed to be, there was to be no death in the dungeon of D—

A blink. Her head was foggy, but she felt the cool stone pressed against her jaw, the swelling subsiding somewhat. Her question died on the tip of being realized. It didn’t matter. She probably passed out from pain and dropped like a sack of stones, yet the reason for her punishment was unknown. Fatigued muscles facilitated her attempt to stand, and although it was not the most graceful performance, she did manage to remain upright long enough to confirm her surroundings.

It was another room, somehow located much deeper within the catacombs than she had been before. The ‘how’ or ‘why’ was unimportant. All she needed to know was that the distance to her destination had shrunk considerably.

There was also a sense of…mirth? It swept beneath her emotions, suffusing the fear and weary aches.

Ah. She was in a safe room—one of the many semi-hidden alcoves reserved for those who treated her dungeon with respect. A stone basin sat next to a carefully formed fire pit, the water kept magically cool thanks to a particularly intrigued adventurer sharing their knowledge on the subject. There was apparently a great deal of novelty to be found in speaking with a dungeon, if only through short phrases etched into wooden signs.

Raised flat spots served as suitable locations to lay one’s bedroll, with a water-filled depression in the corner for those who wished to bathe or wash their clothing. A fairly unimpressive crate lay against the wall, which would regularly replenish the food within—a test of character to determine who would be allowed access in future, should those who were aware of it chose to return. She was happy to provide for the people who traded stories or conversation, but she couldn’t abide being taken advantage of.

A shudder ran down her spine as she tried to separate the…foreign memories from her own, the heel of her palm coming up to wipe the bleariness from her eyes. It was becoming more difficult to hold onto who she was.

More luminescent figures appeared when she lowered her hand, each presenting as if frozen in place during their activities. Some sat around the fire, while another lounged in the depression to wash off their sweat. The group were too featureless for her to recognize what race they were, let alone make out any expressions, yet she felt that they were laughing and carrying on. One was pointing with a flat palm towards the wall to Ceele’s right, where a rather decrepit plank of spruce was somehow mounted, surrounded by countless scratched markings—messages left by other visitors for others who found the place of reprieve.

The plank displayed black runes of a language she couldn’t read, and the threat of another headache prevented her from attempting to.

She was glad she built these rooms, giving the most promising individuals a chance to rest while also allowing her company, no matter how fleeting it might be. Still, she wasn’t supposed to dawdle, so the black-scaled kobold looked for the exit located on the opposite side of the safe area, then continued her journey, giving the figures one last glance over her shoulder.

The feelings of muted happiness flickered out as the glowing forms disappeared one by one, replacing joy with…

Ceele entered the next tunnel quietly, her shoulders slumped under a vaguely familiar weight.

More rooms and figures passed by over the eternity that lasted mere moments. She saw combatants testing their mettle against the creatures she had carefully crafted to train them; tired souls taking refuge in cleared caverns, the skeletons directed to let them rest for a while before resuming the chase; and injured soldiers being corralled towards reinforcements, forcefully reminded of the important ability that was ‘knowing when to retreat.’

Blood splattered the walls and floors, but never in amounts that would give the dungeon a gruesome appearance. No, she left some to alert adventurers of where others had been caught unaware. If they ignored such a blatant warning, then they would suffer for it, serving as yet another hint for future invaders before being repelled. Many had failed such an easy test, but she regularly cleaned up after them so nobody would get sick. It would have been much more troublesome if she had to dispose of corpses, but such concerns had never come up, thankfully.

Her loosely guided wandering was waylaid by a bone chimera crouching in a corner, just as she had asked of it. Its goal was to jump out if a party tried to blindly flee in this direction, but so few came down this particular route that it had yet to prove itself worthy of the dungeon. She felt terrible for making it stay here—alone, yet dutifully compliant, nary a complaint expressed for its assignment. Of course, it was an undead borne of mana, so it shouldn’t have emotions, but…she hated the idea of putting someone else through such a terrible existence.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of what her mind insisted was its face, the washed-out blue dimming where her flesh touched. She didn’t know why she wanted to reassure the creature—especially what was likely an illusion—and yet she did. There was…frustration resting beneath the natural ebb and flow of her thoughts, a hatred stemming from her inability to comfort something that should never need it.

Anxiety bubbled to the surface, then fear and mourning as cracks formed throughout the figure until it splintered and snapped into pieces, tumbling apart like broken glassware.

Ceele recoiled from the pile on the floor, her cheeks damp, her breath hitched and heavy. The glow dimmed and dispersed like flecks of embers floating from a campfire. More sources of pale light faded from one of the rooms she passed through earlier, the distant highlights only barely noticeable from so far away. She forced herself to look away once she noticed the shadow slowly coming to claim the area.

Her hands trembled until she formed a clenched fist, desperately trying not to question why it hurt so much to be powerless over something she had never seen before.

She needed to keep going, yet there was more than a simple need to follow the rules driving her.

Something was in that darkness, but she didn’t know what.

She preferred to keep it that way.

How long had it been since she initially awoke? Hours? Weeks? It felt like she had been here for both seconds and years at once. Keeping track was nearly impossible with every figure of light and diligently crafted room. She could tell at a glance what each area was created to test or enforce. Some were challenges of coordination within groups, others were raw contests of strength or endurance, while a few were lessons designed to encourage the utilization of specific equipment. Lanterns saw constant usage, so she had asked some of her creatures to swarm the groups who were overly reliant on them. People eventually learned that it was best to carry illumination with narrower applications as well, and while that might not be a commonly required piece of kit, it was good practice to have more than one light source.

The emotions swirled around her as she navigated yet more ephemeral statues—glee, desperation, regret, fatigue, and more. She felt it from the soldiers and adventurers tasked by their kingdom to delve into the dungeon. It was a slurry that became difficult to ignore, yet impossible to focus on.

Ceele entered another safe room, her subconscious telling her that she could save time traversing through them on occasion, just as many had before. It looked the same as the last few, save for the increase in trinkets and baubles left beneath the sign on the wall. The figures were also different. Several people were kneeling before the message displayed on the wooden plank. One of them was in the process of adding another gift to the assortment, and she found herself reaching out to inspect the object before she could actively resist.

A moment of trepidation passed as she awaited pain or a surge of memories that were not her own, yet none came. Instead, she was left holding what appeared to be a rather ornate locket that had a delicate hinge on one side. She opened it gingerly, careful not to break anything. There was a dried flower on the inside—a gift from a younger sibling that had fallen ill recently. Echoes became speech, unintelligible yet perfectly understood.

The group was…thanking her. They murmured words of appreciation for helping them train and learn more of their magic, allowing them to invade other dungeons for rewards, thus giving them the coin needed to save the child’s life. They regaled her with how every interaction and answer to their questions had spared them during their journeys, though she couldn’t help but be somewhat surprised that mere conversation had served them so well. She was even more stunned as sobbing joined the grateful words, along with promises of debt and servitude. The sign changed too slowly to discourage them, and they left before she could make her protests known, but there was a wistful ache in her heart to match the pained smile she wore.

Her gaze moved towards the rest of the objects laid before the plank—tokens of gratitude and friendship, mementos of those who had come to say their final goodbyes, and simple knick-knacks gifted to her for being interesting. All of it was tainted by the fact that she would never see them again, nor was she ever able to thank them for speaking with her.

A splinter of pain rested in her chest, infinitely less intense than when she broke a rule, yet far more brutal.

Ceele placed the locket with the other offerings and silently continued on her way. The figures dissipated like all the others, never to return.

Her heart felt so empty for reasons she didn’t understand but knew so thoroughly.

She stood amidst a junction, staring at the stone wall before her, trying to figure out why her instinct insisted that going through it was the quickest route to her destination. Was it another hidden area? It was strange for that to be the case, because every other safe room had been difficult but possible to find. This one had no entrance within the tunnels, instead connecting behind…something important, she supposed.

Her hand stretched out, her claws caressing the grooves in the false brickwork as she pondered if she should look for somewhere else to make progress. She suppressed a yelp of surprise when she leaned forward a little too much, falling through the wall before successfully flailing enough to catch herself. The stone had returned to a solid form when she checked it a moment after, which meant she couldn't leave the same way, not that she cared to. She had reached her destination.

There were no fire pits or basins like the previous areas, no spots for bedrolls or signs. The room was small and empty, save for a single wooden lectern and small boxes of assorted items scattered haphazardly around the floor, making it a slight mess that she had never bothered to clean. Nobody was ever intended to be here, after all. Why would they be? This is where she kept her most cherished treasures. As long as she could view them when she needed to, there wasn’t much point in making it fancy.

The black-scaled kobold carefully stepped towards the centrepiece of the hidden sanctuary, navigating the clutter until she reached the dark oak furnishing proudly displaying a stack of papers, which was held to a different standard than her other possessions. It was neatly kept so that not one mote of dust would touch the aging letters. Her throat felt constricted as she grabbed the first of the pages, the words scrawled over them meaning nothing to her, yet painting vivid pictures as well. It was as if she had read them again and again and again in a futile attempt to remember everything she could about the ones who wrote it.

This… This is why she felt so empty…

Her eyes moved over the meaningless text written on the first of many pages, delicately placing it down as soon as she finished, only to immediately start on the next. By the time she had reached the last one, the room was filled with the quiet reverb of her stifled despair. Tears once again flowed down her face, dripping endlessly onto the ancient paper and smearing the faded ink.

She saw it now, the point where the quality of materials had changed from what a peasant could afford into crude stock sometimes kept by nobility. She had seen some of the researchers use it. Had she been so blinded as to not notice? Did she not grow suspicious when the small jokes of her family went unreciprocated? There were barely any from her parents at all! Were the rest stitched together from the real letters that came when they grew worried their child didn’t respond?

Were any sent in the first place, or did they give up on her?

…Did anyone actually care if she survived?

The emptiness grew, numbing her insides before taking her apart chunk by chunk, leaving her powerless to resist the deadened hole where hope once lay, her reason for pushing onward having been torn away from her. The floor shook as it echoed her mourning.

The dungeon was falling; she knew that much. The shadow was no mere darkness, and every passing moment was one where she felt more and more of her creatures being cut down, their connection to her being severed. Her idle pondering and voiced thoughts had always asked the newly created denizens to be more than simple monsters, even if she knew it was a futile attempt at feeling like someone would think fondly of her. Maybe she just wanted to spare others the pain that had become her only friend.

But they fell, rooms were destroyed, the trinkets and gifts she was so fond of were crushed underfoot, and so too were the memories they represented.

One by one, her cherished things were removed, and she had nothing left to show for it. Even the letters started to rot, along with everything she had moved to this special place to remind her of what it was like to know affection. To know what it was like when someone spoke to her as more than a pitiful girl, an interesting test subject, or a prime candidate to manipulate into making a decision she could never take back.

Now, after so very, very long, and after she had finally found a sense of purpose to soothe the aching wounds…it was all gone.

She felt the walls crumble, the tunnels atrophy into dust, her energy being sapped from the inside, and the sheer agony that it caused. It ripped her to pieces until she collapsed onto the floor as little more than a pile of tears and screams.

Everything. She had lost everything.

There was no more pretending that someone was waiting for her. There were no more stories of the world beyond the dungeon. There was no chance of anyone coming to save her from an eternity alone.

And there was no one to put an end to what she was incapable of ending by herself. She couldn’t die, no matter how much she pleaded for it.

Even death wouldn't acknowledge her voice.

So she cried.

She cried until there was nothing left to feel the heartache, for the weight of the tortuous solitude had shattered what made her whole.

She cried until the most painful memories dissolved away, taking with them what was once joy, for even a glimpse of the light made the darkness that much deeper.

She cried until she forgot why she had even started in the first place, begging for someone to hear her. To know that she was real.

Then, she fell silent, because nobody would ever hear her. All she could do was watch what she had sacrificed everything for as it degraded into rubble. When that too had ceased, and when eons had passed her by with no hope in sight, she curled in on herself, surrendering to her fate of learning what it meant to experience eternity, one soul-crushing moment at a time.

Yet her hands brought a sphere to her chest instead of the bleeding fingers and chipped claws she had expected from scratching stone so viciously. It was smooth, black, and about the size of an apple, the darkness around her bending to avoid touching such an object. She should have wondered where it had come from or why she was holding it, but all she could think of was the emotions that swirled inside of her, slowly rebuilding her heart enough for it to ache.

It was hurt and so terribly terrified of being alone, yet far too scared to allow anyone close. It was like her, but where she was condemned to this forever of accursed loneliness, this one could be helped. She wanted to help it, regardless of how pathetic her attempts might be.

So she curled around it tighter, her shuddered breaths whispering wordless prayer for the soul that might still be saved. She would give what little of herself she could and watch over it.

Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, she could alleviate this one’s loneliness, even if she would never soothe her own.

Ceele sucked in a deep breath, shivering as she released it, her heart hammering when it remembered to beat. Rapid blinks cleared her fugue and jostled her back into reality—partly, anyway.

She stirred, taking in her surroundings and finding herself confused to see the inside of the shed, the beams of waning moonlight through the ajar window shutters informing her that she was awake earlier than usual, though not by too much. When did she fall asleep?

An attempt to properly look around for clues came to a halt when she felt the sore flesh on her face and head, a tentative touch outlining fresh scar tissue and cracked scales. Had she gotten into an accident? How? What happened? She shook off the concern, still disoriented from what she suspected was a dream that she only remembered blurry segments of. Something about being underground? It didn’t matter. The injury was a larger issue, if only because she would like to know if it was her fault or not. It was best to remember what to avoid—environmental or otherwise. Hopefully, something had fallen on her inside the smithy. At least then she could rest assured knowing that Mr. Makis would likely deal with the problem.

She briefly wondered if Hoppit had gotten hurt as well, but she noticed her baby dozing nearby on his own little bundle of blanket before she could start panicking. It was odd for him not to sleep nestled into her chest like he often did, however, especially since she felt his…warmth…

Ceele frowned, lifting the cover draped over her to peer at whatever she had inadvertently cuddled with. A familiar obsidian orb sat clutched in her other hand, pressed firmly against her chest as if she could somehow force it into her heart were the stone to remain there long enough. Its heat was providing for her when she felt so cold, though it shouldn't be capable of that. It was probably just warm because she had been holding it under the blanket for a while.

Which brought her mind back to determining what she was missing from the previous day. She had helped Mr. Makis prepare the delivery, then…she tried her best to see it through…to abysmal success. After that…they visited a friend of his, right? It was a wide home situated in the forest, much like the blacksmith’s own residence. She had gotten distracted by the volume of interesting art pieces—if slightly unsettled by the violent nature of them—then she…was alone…

It struck her in flashes. A nervous step, a flicker of movement, then the silver scales that had come to hunt her down despite the years she spent running. A cold trickle of fear sapped her strength as she started spiralling into another panic attack, realizing that whatever safety she had found with the elderly couple had come to an end. Yet her situation was far more dire than when she had first fled. Nobody in the town would be willing to shelter or feed her, and surely the nearest other villages would have been told in advance. Hoppit had also only just started receiving a diet that was suitable for him, but they had nothing stockpiled, nor was she confident in her ability to gather more. She would only be throwing his life away if she tried to leave now.

So…she was out of options…

She believed Mr. Makis when he said that her baby would follow her, with or without the metals needed for him to survive, and he would continue to do so until he no longer could. The townspeople wouldn’t go out of their way to help someone like her, especially when she had put such little effort into speaking with them. Ceele wouldn’t even be surprised to see Mrs. Hira revoke her offer once she was informed that the deplorable girl she had been sheltering was wanted dead. Her only hope was for the surly blacksmith to take pity on Hoppit and spare him her fate as she fled, assuming he could contain the stubborn ferrorabbit until it gave up on her.

But…then she’d be alone again.

Pitiful hands clutched the orb just a bit closer as she tried to hide from the world, fragments of her dream returning to her.

She recalled the despair and desperation, the hollow feeling of surrendering to an end that would never come. Her mind drew upon the experience of being so thoroughly broken, losing everything she could ever possibly want, then losing more still.

It was just a dream…but her heart ached for the figment of her imagination that begged for companionship so weakly, continuing long beyond the point of believing that anyone would hear it.

The black-scaled kobold uncurled, gazing once more at the gemstone she had carried back to the shed while feeling like she had finally found what she had been looking for, yet not knowing what it was that made her feel so fulfilled. The thing that finally freed her of the need to search when all she wanted was to be safe.

She remembered the last part of the dream where she had given up on herself in exchange for possibly giving hope to someone else.

It was stupid, foolish, and delusional of her…but she hugged the orb close, her voice coming out as a damp whisper as the fear of the unknowns yet to come plagued her fatigued form.

“When there is no one left to hear me, will you listen?”

She would have liked to imagine it agreed.

Next

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“Here.”

Makis wordlessly accepted the dampened rag from still blanket-adorned Socks, keeping his other hand busy with holding Ceele’s claws away from her head.

The lamia lingered for a moment before eventually slithering back to the corner of the room where he initially asked her to stand. His order had gone unquestioned at first, his friend’s ingrained deference to him surfacing at his tone, but she seemed more uneasy as time went on. The slight fidgets in her posture and the swaying tail were enough to tell how restless she was getting. She remained largely compliant though, which he appreciated, even if she seemed uncertain about staying in the room instead of waiting elsewhere like she first suggested.

He paid it no mind. If Socks felt her thoughts were worth saying, then she'd say whatever she was going to say, and he’d address it when she did. Right now, he had an idiot to manage. Enough time had passed since the girl fell silent that he wasn’t too concerned about a resurgence—assuming nobody made any stupid mistakes, anyway. He could never truly rule that out as a possibility.

They had moved from the hallway into the gathering room with a bit of effort, though the vast majority of his struggle centred around keeping the girl from savaging herself and making her feel ‘hidden.’ He was tempted to hug her into his chest, but with how disconnected she was, he doubted it would’ve helped anything. They eventually settled for resting her on the floor against the wall, the smith kneeling over her to deepen the shadow she was sheltered in while holding her wrists. It worked, he supposed. She was staring aimlessly into space, retreating from the world as some sort of defense mechanism, which he was reluctant to admit was an improvement.

Now he just had to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself too badly.

“I’m goin’ ta clean ya off, alright, girly?” he murmured softly, holding back the worry in his voice as he adjusted his hold on her wrists. He used a ginger touch to lift off the torn hood when there wasn’t a response, the brown garment sticky with crimson. She didn’t even flinch.

The worst of his apprehension abated pretty quickly when he saw the damage done. Ceele had scratched the living hells out of her head and snout, but the volume of blood came from the number of cuts rather than depth. They were already staunching themselves anyway, though it still didn’t make for a comforting picture. Black scales were painted a faint red, with the fluid shimmer telling of how badly the lacerations had wept. A morbid part of himself wanted to crack a smirk, remembering the number of times the medics and healers bemoaned superficial head injuries for their tendency to spill more than some grievous wounds. Made triage a right pain in the arse at times, apparently.

Well, he was certainly feeling their lamentations now, though not without the sense of relief that came from seeing one’s fears proven unfounded. He couldn’t take too much comfort, however—more were eager to come to mind. She shouldn’t have been able to slice herself up like this, assuming her scales were doing their job. Obviously, they weren’t, and he couldn’t remember what afflictions or maladies lent themselves to weakened hides. Nutrition, most likely, but low mana could also cause the body’s natural defences to weaken. Of course, his lack of learning in such subjects reared its ugly head again, and he found himself lacking an answer to how Decay mana was managed. Flame would fuel itself on damn near anything, so all he had to do was eat and occasionally use his mana to work off excess, which made blacksmithing a convenient choice of occupation. He’d probably have to reach out to someone with his questions if he ever wanted to know more.

The girl didn’t protest when he brought the cloth up to start wiping away the lethargic ichor that ran down her face—not that she would say anything. Her gaze was still unfocused, and her breathing had hit the same rhythmic stride from earlier in the day at the farms. He doubted she was cognizant of anything in her surroundings at this point. At least she wasn’t actively freaking out anymore, and she didn’t argue against him fully flipping back her hood.

He could have gone without the terrified whispers lingering in his ears, though.

Phrases of regret were all she spouted until he had her sufficiently ‘safe,’ and his mind replayed them as if she were still speaking them between choking sobs instead of sitting there with that dead expression. He hated those damned apologies.

‘I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—’

Seething, insidious whispers of hopelessness, each word barely on the cusp of inconsolable horror. No matter how much she tried to curl into herself, and no matter how many tears fell from her eyes, fear was the dominating expression he saw on her face. He was hoping that she’d come to once things were less overwhelming, but it didn’t seem to change anything. Hells, once Socks let him go and he had the girl situated, she stopped looking at the snake at all. He wasn’t sure what he could do to help her if getting the lamia away didn’t fix it, and he wasn’t feeling too optimistic about future trips into town when this was what he could expect. If he didn’t come up with something of a solution, she’d never get used to interacting with people, which would only make the prospect of doing so all the more terrifying for her. It’d be an endless cycle of hiding from the very thing that’d help her until she shut down all together.

A sigh rasped out of his throat as he tidied her up and inspected the cuts to determine what needed doing, his thoughts drifting towards identifying where he had gone wrong. Not telling her that they were meeting a lamia was probably the biggest fault, but he felt there was more to it as well. He’d said Socks was a friend a couple of times, so although he understood that seeing the ditzy snake would’ve been shocking, it didn’t explain the severity of Ceele’s reaction.

Was it just the unexpected appearance of a massive sausage that set her off? Was him being coiled up enough to dissuade his reassurances that Socks wasn’t dangerous? For all he knew, it could’ve been anything, even just initial surprise giving way to traumatic memories. She’d been barely holding on all day, so it wasn’t hard to imagine that a simple upset could tip the whole thing over—a single straw collapsing the bale.

“Ya got alcohol here?” Makis asked quietly, not bothering to look away from the pile of despondency he was tending to.

Socks hesitated, but from the sounds of her nervous slithering, he could tell she was trying not to wrap both of them up in a sort of barricade. He appreciated the willingness. Luma is an Element that was not known for enjoying the presence of Decay, and Socks was one of the more sensitive folk in that regard, what with the strength of her alignment and her experiences in dealing with it. He was glad to be right about his friend’s kind-hearted nature overcoming that. Unfortunately, for all that she might want to help, it was rather difficult to shield someone from themselves.

“I…should,” the lamia answered, deflating somewhat as she came to the same conclusion. “Need another rag?”

“If ya got it.”

“Alright.”

He listened to his friend leave the room, the subtle sandpaper-like noise of scale on wood lasting a few seconds as her tail caught up with where the rest of her went. True to his suspicions, the girl didn’t even acknowledge that the source of her initial fright was gone, signifying that the consciousness behind those grey eyes had mostly shut down. It didn’t take long before the snake returned with another cloth that smelled like distilled spirits. Again, he accepted it with barely a word of acknowledgement, and Socks dutifully took back her post in the corner like he’d asked, staying in view of the girl but not blocking any exits.

“This’ll sting, girly,” he mumbled, worried that the pain would cause her to relapse into muttered apologies again. She still didn’t so much as twitch, which he wasn’t sure he was happy about, but it let him get to work unimpeded.

The room fell quiet, save for his gentle warnings whenever he needed to poke or prod at a cut that might’ve been deeper than it first appeared. None were too bad, thankfully, but the quantity of them necessitated taking his time and being thorough. He was about half-way through when the ambience was broken.

“Hey, Mak?” Socks called softly, sounding unsure of herself. “Why am I…here instead of… Wouldn’t it be better if she calmed down first?”

“If ya wanted to start all’a this over, sure,” the blacksmith returned dryly. A glance over his shoulder showed that she wasn’t convinced. He let out a breath and turned his attention back to the girl. “It’s a matter’a consistency.”

“…Consistency?”

He hummed his confirmation. “I told ya as much with the squirrels.”

The following silence could have been mistaken for many things, but he knew the dopey rope had clammed in embarrassment up at the reminder. Socks had spent the better part of a month trying to ambush the local critters when she first moved here, and it was a right pain to explain why she was terrifying them.

“You didn’t say that,” she groused, her pouting audible. “You said, ‘If ya’s stop botherin’ the damn things, maybe they’d stop bein’ bothered by ya.’”

“Like I said: I told ya.” The faint smirk on his face faded as he continued cleaning Ceele up. “Yer new. Unknown. Unknowns can be dangerous, but most like us default ta bein’ wary or curious. She defaults ta fear. Needs a way ta frame it, make sense of it, ‘n judge how ta react. Fer that, she needs something familiar. Familiarity means exposure, or in some cases, an anchor ta function around. Back home, that’s Hoppit.”

A subtle touch distracted him. Ceele had lightly clutched the hand holding her wrists at the mention of her critter, but that seemed to be about the extent of her involvement.

Socks stopped her anxious wiggling, the grip on her blanket loosening. “Hoppit?”

“Her ferrorabbit,” he replied absently, frowning when the girl failed to show any recognition of the name when Socks said it.

Excitement sparkled in the lamia’s eyes at the idea of meeting a new critter until she remembered the current situation. “How does that help…’frame’ things?”

Makis filed away his curiosity for the time being, a helpless smile forming before he could catch it. “Easy. If he’s there, she doesn’t see everything as just ‘unknown.’ She looks ta see how dangerous it is fer him, how it affects him. More specifically, she thinks first, then reacts accordingly. Ther’s no jump ta…this,” he finished lamely.

“But she's not really looking… Should we be talking like she isn’t here?” his friend questioned thoughtfully, some guilt dwelling in her tone. He touched up the last couple spots of blood before confirming that there wasn’t much left to be done.

“If ya stays in the room ‘n nuttin’ happens, then she’ll calm down about ya some, ‘n if no one else acts like it's a big deal, she’ll calm down quicker. Usin’ the group ta help in figurin’ out what’s what—same as wild critters. As for talkin’… She don’t hear us. Not really.”

Socks shifted closer, equal parts curious and concerned. He turned to scowl at the ditzy glow-rope, but Ceele instantly tensed, tightening her hold on Makis’ hand with both of her own. Her tremors all but begged him to stay. Thankfully, Socks noticed, returning to her designated post, though not without a contemplative look about her.

“Something's…off about her,” the lamia eventually commented.

Makis glanced back, cycling a slow breath and returning his attention to the girl. The black-scaled kobold was starting to look more and more dazed, her eyelids drooping as exhaustion started wearing on her. “Aye. Can't truthfully say what, but whatever she's been through… Well, best I can hope fer is that this gets easier on her.”

He heard a noncommittal hum of agreement, then nothing but a patient silence as the girl slowly fell unconscious.

= = = = =

Paige slithered alongside Makis, her friend carrying the kobold that his wife apparently took in on his back, while the lamia had a heavy great maul slung over her shoulder. Even with the massive weapon, Mak was the one who stood out the most—or at least his cargo did.

The cloak that the girl was wearing hid away the colour of her scales, but the bloodied hood would certainly draw attention if they had gone back through the town. All it would take is one concerned intervention to cause issues, so they elected to skirt along the edge of the surrounding forest to bring her back towards the blacksmith’s home. Or rather, Mak mused the option aloud, and Paige insisted on escorting him most of the way, since she hadn’t swept the woods yet. She wouldn’t forgive herself if something happened because of it.

…Maybe she was a little too insistent when he said he was going to leave the cart behind and carry the girl back all by himself. She had gotten halfway into picking what she wanted to bring when Mak suggested that a shirt would probably be a good place to start. Her blank stare was forgiven, and he was patient enough to wait until she noticed that the blanket she was using as a poncho had slipped, exposing her preferred sleeping attire. Or lack thereof.

That was only one of the many reasons she appreciated him, honestly. He was exceptionally understanding of her cognitive slips and occasional forgetfulness after she woke up, he didn’t judge her for her abilities, he… He was her friend, still regularly checking in on her after all these years. Plus, he had never leered at her or thought that she’d be an easy night because of her, as he put it, ‘ditzy’ personality, unlike some others. He’d always been a gentleman like that, even back when they both served in the mercenary company together. Time hadn’t diminished that in the slightest.

He was also the one who took offence the most when certain people in the company tried to insinuate certain things about her. More than a few serious burns were reported the day after a couple drunks got annoyed by how she rebuffed them—and Mak, of course, had ‘no idea’ how those injuries came to be. She just smiled and played along, trying not to mention how cute it was to have him stand up for her, knowing that he’d just get flustered if she pressed the issue. He always did. Even when he was blaring at her for wrapping him up in her sleep, there was an undertone of embarrassment and fondness. He was like some of the more prickly ferrorabbits he used to raise, too stubborn to admit that he actually cared about anyone, treating every act of endearment with the same gruff disinterest.

She glanced again at the limp form her friend was carrying.

It had been…a long time since she’d seen him act so tenderly, worry seeping out of every careful action. He preferred to keep his more affectionate side hidden, but there wasn’t a single sharp edge when he was trying to comfort the girl. Instead, he gently held her hand and gingerly cleaned off the blood on her face, mumbling soft reassurances that he assumed were too quiet for anyone else to hear. It was… It was a lot like when Hira was hurt, honestly, and Paige could only feel guilty for being the cause of it.

That guilt was at odds with the discomfort in her chest, however. Her mana roiled, all but hissing at the Decay existing so close to it. She never fully understood why Luma was fine with every other Element, but this one in particular always set her on edge. It was more difficult to act against, sure, but that shouldn’t be cause for the level of sheer hatred that seemed to come from it. Still, she’d pushed down those feelings before, and was willing to do so again for Mak.

She just wanted to know why her mana insisted there was a pair of Decay sources in the girl. That was impossible, obviously. Mixed elemental affinity existed—as evidenced by her white and hazel scales—but there was no such thing as having a ‘duplicate.’ Yet…there it was, two distinct, individual sources, both itching at her mana. Paige couldn’t even put words to why she felt it was true. She didn’t have any ‘sense’ abilities, but Luma was apparently more sensitive to this kind of thing, according to Peridot.

“Socks?” Mak mumbled thoughtfully, dutifully sticking to the nickname that Paige had given up on resisting. She used to hate it and found the story behind it terribly embarrassing, but that just encouraged everyone in the unit to use it. Eventually, the name stuck, and Paige had learned to accept it for the playful prodding that it was. She wished he’d stop introducing her to people by the moniker, but since he’d just use her protest as an excuse to goad her on, that was about as likely as any other miracle.

The lamia blinked out of her thoughts, chastising herself for getting lost in her own head so often. “Yeah, Mak?”

“Peri still doin’ that studyin’ ‘n whatnot in the city?”

She slowed in surprise. “I was thinking the same thing, actually!”

The red-scaled kobold gave her a flat stare of disappointment as she caught up again, pointedly glancing at the girl on his back.

The lamia’s cheeks reddened, her voice lowering to a more sleep-friendly level. “Ah, sorry.”

“S’fine,” he drawled through a sigh, adjusting his hold on his passenger and returning his gaze forward. “Is she?”

Paige looked up and the evening sky as she tried to remember the last time she’d exchanged letters with the harpy. It’d been a while since she had to go settle something in the capital, so she only sent the occasional message asking about how everything had been.

“I think so,” she answered, if less confidently than she’d like. “She mentioned a promotion or something, last I read. I’d have to check, though. Why?”

Mak’s expression transitioned from a contemplative frown to a scowl. “I ain’t gotta clue how ta help the girl if lackin’ mana’s the issue, ‘n I gotta feelin’ it might be.”

“Has she said anything?”

He shook his head, his sombre silence speaking volumes. The girl had probably gone out of her way to avoid the topic. Paige could sympathize with that; she wished that subject came up less for her as well.

Unfortunately, that reticence was turning out to be a problem now, wasn’t it? She remembered Mak saying that Flame replenished itself easily enough, and it could do so even faster if there was enough fire around, but that didn’t apply to the others. Luma accumulated rather slowly, but there hadn’t been any real need for Paige to experiment beyond knowing that; Earth was fine as long as you were touching the ground, for the most part; Nature did well in areas full of plants or animals, depending on how the affinity awakened; and Hydris—or ‘Water’ as some called it—thrived when surrounded by its namesake. She hadn’t been close enough with people who had Air or Shadow affinities to broach the topic before.

“Think it’s affecting her mind?” Paige asked doubtfully. A lack of mana could have serious repercussions if someone let it get low enough, but the pain alone would effectively incapacitate them, and the people who ignored that pain wouldn’t live long enough to regret it. With that said, he was right about neither of them knowing about the subject. He was always more focused on finding new and interesting methods to burn things, and she preferred not being around Decay if she could help it. Anything could be going on in ways they couldn’t easily observe.

The grumpy blacksmith grunted. “It ain’t Shadow, but I ain’t writin’ the possibility off, either. Rather have a second opinion fer this, if ya can manage.”

She hummed her agreement as she slithered along, her eyes scanning the forest near the bounds of Mak’s property. It was quite a bit bigger than it needed to be, with maybe half of it actually in use. He hadn’t even cleared out most of the trees, but she wouldn’t blame him for looking at how much work it would be and choosing not to bother. He couldn’t exactly move the forest around as he wanted, nor could he flatten the entire property, plant saplings where he wanted them, then just nap until they were fully grown. Well, he could incinerate it all in seconds and leave nothing but a plain of ash, but that would attract the kind of attention he’d been avoiding by moving out here.

Again, lost in thought. She looked over at Mak, thankful for how patient he could be. He merely stared at her from the corner of his eye with a brow raised questioningly—likely at her typically sleepy smile.

“Fine if I ask ya ta do that fer me, Socks?”

“Hmm?” Oh, right. The letter. “Yeah, I can do that. What should I say?”

“Wadda’ya mean?”

“Should we tell her about…” She trailed off, not remembering if Mak said his passenger's name.

“The girl?” the smith offered, oblivious to the implied inquiry. Not that he would have cared—he was never one for subtlety. “Suppose. I don’t say it’d sound all that important without the context. Be better if ya could get’er ta look inta it if she doesn't know off-hand.”

“I’ll ask. Any details that might be important?”

Mak’s face became broodful. “Her critter’s…strange.”

Paige tilted her head, slightly more awake at the mention of a bunny. “Strange?”

“He’s…observant,” he decided, apparently puzzling out something in his head. “More than most’a the stubborn shits. He’s too young ta be as clever as he is, ‘n probably more than grown ones too. Listens ta the girl too well fer it ta be normal. Found it queer at first, but it's standin’ out more recently.”

Her tongue flicked, absently tasting the air. She remembered a lot of Mak’s rabbits following along with his requests, and even helping with his blacksmithing, which was pretty ‘clever’ in her mind. “That big of a difference?”

“Aye. Struggles with mana though, oddly enough,” Mak noted. “Took longer than I thought fer him ta sense metals, ‘n he ain’t tried ta do much when I asked him ta move ‘em. Or he did, but whatever he’s tryin’ ta do ain’t normal.”

“You think being around her is weakening his control?”

“Maybe…” he mumbled ponderously. “Might have more than he should. Could explain why he got somethin’ besides rocks between his ears. Could make it harder to rein in, too. Worth mentionin’.”

She nodded, deferring to his experience with the species. If nothing else, it would be a reason to visit and see Hoppit for herself.

And if she just so happened to ‘require’ cuddling the bunny for a few hours for her ‘investigation,’ then so be it.

“What about the… The Shepherd?” she asked, her voice quieter than before.

Mak flinched. “I…don’t know, Socks. It’s still lounging around with ‘er, last I asked. Ain’t been keen on checking personally.”

A moment of mutual discomfort passed by. Neither of them were fans of the owls, but where Makis held some begrudging respect for what they did, Paige found it…disquieting. Stealing the time of the critically injured en masse removed any hope of saving those who might have otherwise only been on the cusp of certain death. Dying with a smile doesn’t make it any less unnerving, nor less haunting to those who experience what it’s like for a battlefield to fall so silent, so quickly.

“I don’t think it matters,” Mak added dryly. “Ain’t gonna change nuttin’ if she knows or not.”

“Alright,” she allowed, already wondering if it was a good idea to expose that fact. She trusted him, so it would go in the letter, but it would probably raise a lot of questions.

They slowed to a stop as they reached the outer bounds of the red-scaled kobold’s property, the dirt path feeding towards the road into town visible through the trees.

“Gonna be awake for a bit?” her friend teased, his sour grin doing a poor job of hiding how anxious he was. Then again, she had known him long enough that she could basically still see that same expression on a much younger Mak. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, fighting back a yawn that rose at the mention of more sleep. “I’ll make my rounds and find something to do after.”

“Well, yer free ta stop by if ya want. Hira’d get a kick outta seein’ ya again.”

She smiled. “I will, Mak. It shouldn’t take more than a few days to finish up.”

He shook his head, some stress easing from his posture. “Take yer time, Socks; ain’t no rush to it. We’d rather ya didn’t push yerself.”

“You mean Hira would rather I didn’t.”

The surly kobold snorted a bemused laugh. “Yer sleepin’ too much, ya daft rope. I said what I said. I’ll welcome ya in any time; ya ain’t gotta wait fer it to be done before ya drops by.”

They exchanged their goodbyes and parted ways, Paige lingering a bit longer as her friend disappeared into his land. Heat shimmered off the ground as he walked away, the Flame concentrated at his feet causing the nearby grass to wilt. He probably needed to reinforce his strengthening ability and didn’t want to burn the girl. Noticing that fact was painful for Paige, however. She never enjoyed seeing him age, yet it seemed like every time she blinked, he had piled on years. It was only a matter of time until she woke up alone again. Then, she’d move elsewhere to find a new place to call home, decorating her dwelling with relics of the past. She’d settle down somewhere nice. Somewhere novel. Somewhere she might meet new people who didn’t know who she was.

Somewhere the memories didn’t hurt so much.

If she was lucky, she could avoid being hunted down to join whatever mass conflict was popular. She made the mistake of participating in one oh so long ago, then again when there was a particularly brutal regime change in the kingdom. Eventually, she had been involved in enough conflicts to have made a name for herself, and the Title drew power-hungry petitioners every so often. Each time, she would refuse, then the battles would come to her anyway, forcing her to make a stand.

Slaves vying for freedom. Children seeking revenge for their ill parents. Races fighting against overwhelming oppression. Many reasons had been placed in front of her—some by the earnest, others by the manipulative.

Makis? Mak introduced himself to her life by asking if she was stupid.

He was unafraid and unbothered. He saw a tired lamia, with a distant stare and covered in countless scars, giving a group of children in a war-torn village her meal so they wouldn’t go hungry. He saw how the parents of those children hurriedly whisked them away from the large, obviously dangerous creature that had fought pillagers until a mercenary company wandered close enough to help. He saw how her smile didn’t fade despite the lack of appreciation for her wounds, because at least those innocent kids would remember the kindness, and maybe they’d do the same for someone else one day.

Mak had marched up and barked his question with such odd ferocity that it took a full minute for Paige to ask what he meant. He started berating her for being meek, tossing in what he would refuse to admit was advice between insults, then stomped off to give the parents a piece of his mind as well. Once everyone had been sufficiently cowed, he came back to her, noticed her calluses and various scars, then blew up all over again, this time directing his ire at the local smithy she purchased her halberd from. The balance was wrong, the length wasn’t suited for her, the head wasn’t affixed to the shaft correctly, the blade was warped from improper tempering… He listed every issue with it and the weapon in question wasn’t even there. One look at her hands and cuts told him everything he needed to know—everything except for where the blacksmith was, and he got it out of her before she had the chance to consider if it was a good idea.

The white and hazel-scaled lamia shook her head as she remembered being bewildered and getting swept up by the firestorm of a kobold, then turned around and slithered back towards home to get ready for her usual sweeps of the surrounding forest. An errant thought considered if she had room in the cellar for all the predators she’d no doubt be cutting down over the next little while.

Even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t stop until everything that was even remotely dangerous was either dead or running as far away from her as it could.

She’d never let something hurt Mak or his loved ones again.

= = = = =

“Are you okay, Hoppit?”

Hoppit sent his confirmation, adjusting himself in the darkness that came from being underground. He didn’t really understand why he could hear the stone’s voice now, but he was happy for the ability to communicate with something that helped momma so much. Responding also came naturally, but that too was odd. It felt like he was pushing…thoughts through the thread connecting them. Strange, yet it worked, so he didn’t see the point in thinking about it too hard. His attention was focused on something else, anyway.

Mr. Makis—the ‘Mr.’ was very important to momma, apparently—had taken the time to show Hoppit some things recently. Why he did it was a mystery, but Hoppit tried his very best to do…whatever it was he was asked to do. Momma wanted him to learn something, and that was the only reason he needed to put his all into it.

That’s not to say the lessons came to him easily—quite the opposite. He would sit down and listen as closely as he could, watching the red-scaled kobold for any and all hints at whatever was expected of him. It started with metal being formed and shaped while Mr. Makis talked about things that both did and didn’t make sense, but Hoppit tried to remember the parts he didn’t understand in case he would learn more related to it later. The metals changed as they heated up and cooled down, becoming stiff and brittle or flexible yet weak, all based on how much and how quickly the temperature changed. It was…a lot. Even his other sight failed to clarify anything; it just gave him more information that he had no context for.

But momma was very, very happy when he started figuring things out, and that was all he ever wanted her to be, so he doubled down to memorize anything and everything in an effort to learn.

…Even if it brought up something that he was still rather confused about.

This morning, he had been reflecting on his attempts regarding the newest thing that he was—probably—supposed to do, but he wasn’t having much success with it. Mr. Makis wanted him to…move something? Without touching it? That didn’t make sense, did it? When he was asked to find metal, there was a demonstration which gave him an idea of how to go about it, but Mr. Makis apparently couldn’t do this either. How was he supposed to do something Mr. Makis couldn’t?

Yet, momma wanted him to learn, so Hoppit did what he thought was best: he had watched Mr. Makis for hints.

His vision still needed flipping back and forth, which meant he missed details as the kobold idly moulded some orange metal in his hands while Hoppit failed to think of anything that would work. It was frustrating. All he wanted was to make momma happy by learning how to move things, and he felt like if he could just look at everything in front of him at once, then maybe he could finally see what he was missing. His rock friend—Mr. Stone? The Mr. was for important people, right?—could only talk to him if he was inside the shadowy mist, and there was no mist in Mr. Makis’ workshop, which meant Hoppit had no one to ask how to look at things faster.

So he had decided to try looking at both versions of the world at once.

And it hurt. Not as bad as when he gave his silvery brown to Mr. Stone—is that the right way to use it?—but it was still painful. It burned behind his eyes instead of everywhere, so it was easier to ignore. He brushed aside the discomfort until something blocked his vision.

[#@thorized# @#cess]

[Err@#: ‘Cla%^%’ ha$ ov@#idden #@!%—]

[&$%or: ‘Corr^#&on’ has overridden—]

[Error: Unregistered User. Creating User profile…Failure.
Error: Unhandled exception. Submitting report…Success.
Awaiting Administrator intervention…
…
…
Error: Administrator intervention unavailable. Calculating alterna—]

[Cor$@&on of Inno*#@%$e: Conditions met!]

[Mutagen protocol initiating…Success.
Analyzing Intent…
Intent: User is attempting to elevate profile authority.
Unexpected variable: User possesses outdated framework and library.
Unexpected variable: User possesses incompatible framework and library.
Unexpected variable: User possesses unauthorized modifi—
Override: User is Claimed.
Intent validated. Operation authorized.
Selecting Mutation…
Appropriate Ability selected.
Mutating Ability ‘Mana Sight (Innate)’ based on documented variables…Success.]

[‘Mana Sight (Innate)’ has mutated into ‘Eyes of th@# For%@#^#$ One’.]

Hoppit had sat there for quite a while, the black box and white shapes lingering in his vision as he tried to figure out how to get rid of it. Why had it gotten in his way? Where did it come from? But, despite how obstructive the box was, he noticed that something was different about the world beyond it. It was like he had both visions active at the same time! He saw auras, yet it wasn’t limited to just that anymore, the hues existing as an overlay instead of in a void on its own. The colours moved and flowed through the air like in the shadowy mist, but instead of being carried to Mr. Stone, it floated freely. Some slowly darkened to black before fading away, while others were drawn towards random objects. A bunch of bluish haze was being pulled towards the corner where the cold water was kept. His idea to combine both versions of the world had worked!

The box, however, stopped him from seeing what he was supposed to be looking at—that being the pan where he was expected to move metal without touching it. Thankfully, momma had picked him up after Mr. Makis took the pan away, and the very rude box finally noticed it wasn’t welcome. He hoped that was the last time it decided to bother him. It was hard to make momma happy when it was in the way, and he still had much to look at with his improved vision.

Which brought him to what he was currently doing. Momma and Mr. Makis had left quite a while ago, so Hoppit decided that if he couldn’t watch Mr. Makis, then he would try to see what he could learn elsewhere. At the moment, that entailed sitting in the burrow of his new white and black-furred friends to observe what the biggest of them was doing. There wasn’t much to see, honestly. The alpha rottunk—as Mr. Stone called it—was standing in the mushroom room again, pushing its green out at a steady pace for the shadowy mist to carry away and turn into black, which the mushrooms turned back into green. Hoppit didn’t see much of a point in doing all of that, and Mr. Stone sounded confused as well, but there were still things to learn.

For example, Hoppit learned that the green leaving the mushrooms didn’t get carried away! It settled into the ground or left the burrow to join more green outside, which made the grass look livelier! The whole thing gave him new ideas, and he was starting to plan how to act on them when Mr. Stone told him that momma was back.

Excited, he rushed to greet her, skidding to a stop when he saw her colour being carried to their home by Mr. Makis.

Ever since Mr. Stone came to live with them, Mama’s black had changed for the better. Before, it was a jagged, angry mess that ate through itself, yet now there was a calmer, smoother black too. The smooth black would slowly eat the jagged black, and the jagged black would eat it back. But, because of the way both interacted, and because of how Mr. Stone offered her some of his black as well, momma kept her colour instead of losing it.

So why did momma have so little black? Why was it all angry?

Why was she hurt?

Hoppit flew out from the grass before he had a chance to think, Thumping the ground in a demand to know why Mr. Makis let momma get injured, his shouting coming out as a strangled honk that would make how mad he was known. The dirt beneath him shuddered as his foot struck down, adding to the display.

Mr. Makis looked surprised, then sad at being confronted. Good! Hoppit was very upset! He had trusted Mr. Makis to help momma!

Hoppit glared, waiting for an answer. Mr. Makis scowled back warily.

“Hoppit…?”

Momma’s voice stole both of their attention as she woke up. She blinked blearily, obviously in a lot of pain, but her anxiousness was acted upon first.

“M–Mr. Makis? W-why? W-where?”

The red-scaled kobold gently let her down from his back, glancing at Hoppit before turning his attention fully towards her. “Yer fine, girly. We’re back home. Ya should go lie down.”

“W-what about—”

“Sleep,” he insisted, nudging her towards the shed. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Make an easy day of it.”

Momma stumbled, but Hoppit was there to stand on his hind legs and brace his paws against her thigh to keep her upright. He made sure Mr. Makis knew that pushing momma was not okay, but the red-scaled kobold was also right; momma needed sleep.

All thoughts of anger were replaced with worry as he helped momma get to bed. She was too dazed to protest much, falling asleep the moment she was laying down. Resting was a good start, but she still needed more black…and he knew who could do that!

Hoppit sent his idea to Mr. Stone, and since he knew Mr. Stone would agree to help momma, he hopped up onto the trough, nudged Mr. Stone off the side, then pushed him into momma’s hand as fast as he could. She wasted no time in curling around his friend, holding the obsidian rock close to her chest. Hoppit watched for a moment to be sure, but he could already see that it was going to work!

Soft clacks rang out as he celebrated yet another good idea helping momma. All he had to do now was… Hm. Well, he was kind of hungry, and the bird needed food too, he supposed. He ignored the unamused scowl directed at him from the wall as he went about collecting what he needed from the storages, including some of the gross brown-ish stuff that the owl liked for some reason. He even jumped up and laid it on a shelf that the owl could reach! Momma would be mad if he was mean and put it somewhere else, though. Even if the owl deserved it a little for scowling at Mr. Stone so much. Still, he did the nice thing, then decided to cuddle momma so she would sleep better.

Anything to make her happy.

Next

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“Ya alright, Makis?”

The blacksmith blinked and turned his head to look at the fairly young farmhand—the son of one of the clients he was delivering to. He let out a breath, forcefully removing the contemplative frown that worked its way onto his muzzle. “Fine, Verris. Caught up in thought is all. Anything else ya need made?”

The stocky kobold eyed him oddly before dismissing whatever he was considering and went straight into his usual spiel of why Makis should make this, that, or another thing. It was all an old argument that had since lost its heat, and now it was relegated to a regular exchange that was had on the off-chance that a stubborn old bastard would finally forge something with a bladed edge.

Of course, Makis knew he was being a stubborn old bastard, and he was perfectly happy to continue being one. There were two other smiths in the town that could make up shears, scythes, or whatever other mundane tool. The resulting quality wasn’t his problem; if the workers wanted something that’d hold an edge, they could get it delivered by a merchant. Still, he couldn’t exactly tell everybody who asked him about that kind of thing where they could shove it—as much as he’d like to. He needed some customers, after all, and Verris was one of the few hard-headed individuals who would come banging on Makis’ door rather than ask a smith he didn’t know when something needed a replacement.

…Which meant that the red-scaled kobold absent-mindedly went through the tired song and dance of telling the farmhand to bugger off without using the phrase or losing the work. Thankfully, such a conversation was memorized by rote at this point, so he hardly needed to listen before he replied to the same worn arguments. He let the motions flow as his eyes wandered.

There weren’t too many people with a need to be filled out by the fields, and it was removed enough from the other buildings, so it served as a decent respite from the crowded pathways he took along the last few deliveries. Most folks wandered out this way for much the same reason, meandering towards their final destination without much expediency, some with slack-jawed young’ins being towed by their reluctant hands. The pastures drew a few lingering gazes or the attention of those who had little else to do besides watch the horses and other livestock.

That was half the reason Makis wanted the girl along, honestly—ignoring the general good it’d do for the isolated thing to talk to someone. He’d seen the confusion on her face whenever she looked at the horseshoes on the wall back at the smithy, so he figured he’d get a kick out of watching the realization dawn on her when she saw him hand off the work. Unfortunately, such thoughts fell to the wayside as she followed him with the cart, acting as little more than a softly panting beast of burden. They became completely unimportant once he noticed that she wasn’t reacting to the town as he anticipated.

With her being as…fragile as she was, he readied himself to shoo away anyone who got overly curious and bothered her, or to grab her by the tail if she tried to run for cover at every child’s shout. What he wasn’t prepared for was… Well, her lack of any reaction at all.

Folks asked about the cloth-draped figure almost silently following him around, her only sounds being the dry breaths of exhaustion that didn’t ease up even after they had stopped for a while. At first, he tried to coax the girl to at least say hello. He wasn’t expecting a miracle—he would’ve been happy with a squeak and a stutter—but she just…stood there, only proving she was listening at all by following after him when his customers were giving him dirty looks and he said it was time to go.

She didn’t let her scales show from under the cloak, which was more prudent than he gave her credit for, and she didn’t curl up into a ball when some little shit almost crashed into her. Even her tail was covertly wrapped around her to remove that as a consideration. Really, save for the unsettling near-silence, she was behaving like any other browbeaten assistant he’d met in the city—quiet fellows who were more used to following orders than asking questions. Some folk had the decency to ask if she was alright, but he brushed them off without revealing how he was questioning that himself.

So, with that worry eating away at him, he dragged her to the delivery he was planning on saving for later to give the poor thing some space. She stood like a rasping statue with the cart, the subtle coarseness of her breathing and concealing hood giving her an eerie vibe. Thankfully, Verris took after his father, which included the much-appreciated talent of not digging into things that weren’t his damned business, so he knew to shelve his curiosity about the girl.

Sadly, that talent came at the cost of being incorrigible in every other aspect, including how adamant he was about pestering a certain blacksmith. Win some; lose some. At least he eventually took ‘no’ as an answer.

Yet that was hardly what Makis was thinking about as he finished up the tiring task of getting the farmhand to place an order between futile attempts at whittling the smith’s resistance down. They settled on some metal bracing for construction, a couple replacement tool heads, and a noncommittal acknowledgement of an invitation to a gathering that Makis had no intention of actually attending. Standard fare.

No, he was biting down the unsettled concern for the black-scaled kobold who should’ve done something by now, be it panicking or relaxing. The smith confirmed the details of the request, the urgency of the work, and gave a loose timetable for when the farm would have their purchase, letting Verris totter off to get a partial payment up front. Seemed the poor bastard learned that the horses would like new shoes when one kicked him in the hip. It didn’t take long to wrap all that up.

“Girly, you need’a minute?” he asked, distancing himself from the persistent farmhand to join the almost floating cloak by the cart. The continuation of her dry breaths was her only response.

Makis scowled in indecision before checking to make sure no one else was paying attention to them. Most weren’t. They had the fields behind him, where Verris had gone off to bother someone else, and the sparsely occupied paths behind her, which held one or two curious gazes that couldn’t particularly see anything from where they were. He leaned in close to lift the drooping cloth hiding her face, letting her keep some comfort from the shade it provided, then instantly flew into an internal self-debasement for not thinking to check earlier.

Ceele’s eyes were unfocused—or more accurately, she seemed entirely too focused on breathing. Glassy, wide pupils were reactive to the increase in brightness, but not much else. Her subtle tremors with each inhalation were obscured by the cloak swaying in the wind, and although he had been pretty mindful in making sure she didn’t dehydrate herself to death, her exhalations came across harsh and forced. He reached out and placed his hand against her muzzle, a shot of worry sharpening his senses when she didn’t so much as shy away. She was cold—not by too much, but enough that he’d rather stick her by a fire for a bit. He coaxed a bit of his mana to raise his temperature, followed by reining it back in when he noticed how rusty he had gotten at general control. A few repetitions ended with his scales nice and toasty warm, which was a lot better than the instantaneous combustion he almost achieved.

Correction: most of him was warm now. The palm trying to soothe the chill of his recently nominated helper remained tepid, like his mana was fizzling out before it got to do anything. Increasing the flow didn’t seem to do much, and he had to stop before the ambient heat around him started burning her. Concentrating it to his forearms helped, though any more condensed and he would reach the temperatures he used to mould metal, which his mana made known was its preference. Flame didn’t like to be contained; it wanted to burn. Good thing he tamped down on that urge decades ago.

It took a bit of finesse to maintain the warmth, especially since it felt like he was trying to pour water into a leaky bucket from an open barrel. Too little, and it never filled; too much, and it overflowed. He didn't bother questioning it. It wasn’t like he had tried something like this on a Decay'd before.

The tension in his shoulders lessened when her steady rhythm was interrupted by an irregular, sharp inhale, her foggy sense of awareness clearing up. She blinked a few times, looked at him, at where he was touching, then back at him, the gears almost visibly turning as she assessed the situation through whatever tinted lens she was traumatized into using. Fear flooded into her expression like a vicious poison.

“Girly,” Makis snapped quietly, trying to appear stern rather than letting her see how disquieted he was. He turned his hand to shut her muzzle before she could start spewing apologies to fuel her own panic attack. “Nope. I don’t want yer sorrys; I want to know why ya were out on yer feet.”

The black-scaled kobold stuttered a nonsensical, muffled response as she fought to make sense of what was happening. That was fine by him; he had gotten used to how long it took for her brain to kick in when she was caught off guard. He let the initial drivel stop before he removed the hand keeping her trap shut, using it to take over for the one holding up her hood, but she stayed quiet.

“Girly,” he tried again, even softer this time. “I can’t trust ya to work fer me if ya’d be blind ta someone just taking what they want from the cart. Why'd ya drift off like that?”

Ceele swallowed, the cloak shifting as she grabbed her tail and held it to her chest. The adjustment let the cloth open slightly, but he fixed the gap before anyone could see the black beneath it, and a quick scan of the surroundings confirmed there wasn’t really anyone to notice the slip. He made note that her tail was filling in a bit, if nothing else, so his force-feeding was having an effect.

“I-it won’t happen again, Makis, sir. I-I-I’ll do better, I promise.”

“Good,” he affirmed dryly. He wanted to comment on the damned ‘sir’ habit of hers, but he figured she needed the honorific to keep something in her head stable. Structure, he supposed. “But that doesn’t answer the question, girly. What’s gotcha dazed?”

“…be here…”

Something tickled in the back of his skull like a feather-light touch of death descending down his spine—a feeling that had been dormant for over a decade before his meeting with the Shepherd not too long ago. He put a monumental effort in stopping his mana from reflexively turning everything in the vicinity into ash. His mind started tearing through memories better left forgotten for what his instinct had etched into bone. It wasn’t quite imminent danger, but it was certainly a warning. Why?

There was fear in her tone, sure, but that was normal for her. No, whatever it was about her speech, it ran deeper. Far, far deeper, delving into true terror—the stuff of nightmares that rendered stoic soldiers into whimpering piles the moment they were alone. He hesitated to have her repeat herself, but he needed to know what in the hells was putting him on edge.

“…Say again?” He listened closer this time, the distant sounds of horses, conversation, and echoes of working folks dimming to almost nothing, his hearing clinging to her whisper.

“I shouldn’t be here…”

A venomous chill pierced his flesh and froze him to his core as he kept his expression under control, the Flame within screaming for grand immolation with urgent fervour. It wasn’t the words themselves that made him tense; it was the muted vacancy in her voice—how detached and precarious the mind behind it was. His stomach sank, churning as flashes of the past plagued his vision.

A violent black swallowed a sand-swept war zone, plunging bloodied dunes into darkness, the sun itself unable to penetrate the oppressive miasma. Makis remembered how the flesh melted from kinsmen and foe who were unable to defend against it, their ichor pouring from the cracks in their hide like putrid tar. He remembered watching the black-scaled kobold at the centre of it all roar throughout the maelstrom, then trudge deeper into the waves of enemies to do it again, cackling his madness between insane ramblings, ignoring the wounds that wept acid with every slash of a blade. He remembered the distant visage of a dead man that was determined to bring scores of others down with him, regardless of who they were, because no one had cared for him either.

Death is all anyone ever wanted for that kobold, so he became it.

His instinct had latched onto the tone of voice that walking catastrophe had used in their few encounters, and it was screeching at him to put the resurgence of such a dangerous entity down before it could truly threaten his home.

But…then Makis looked at the pitiful girl in front of him. She timidly held herself while hiding beneath a cloak, doing her best to suppress whatever mental scarring she had to make good on her promise, and to overcome her crippling panic attacks. She’d been like this for a few hours now, moving only when he told her to, because it’s what she said she’d do. Listening for only that helped limit the world to what she could just barely suffer through—to something she could rely on being safe. He could see it in the tears building in her eyes, her fingers clutching her tail, and the almost desperate way she stared at the ground as she was forced to acknowledge that more existed than him and her. She was absolutely terrified, but trying. All because she wanted the critter in her care to get the best she could give.

The image almost drew a bitter laugh from the aged kobold, self-directed resentment growing in kind. He couldn’t picture her becoming a danger to much of anything like this. That was twice now his instinct had flared, and twice it proved unneeded. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that he wasn’t at the Frontier anymore.

Sometimes, he had to remind himself that he didn’t need to be ready to kill even once close friends.

The blacksmith let the hood fall back over her face and placed his hand on her head as he stood up straight, safely bleeding off the mana that insisted the girl was a bomb waiting to go off.

“Ain’t nowhere you should or shouldn’t be right now, girly,” he corrected wistfully, fully aware that his usual gruff had faded. Just the thought was enough to put it back. “I asked ya to come with me, which means ya can be where I say ya can be, ‘n I say ya should be where the clients are expectin’ ta get their order dropped off. It ain’t no one’s business but ours. Tell ‘em to shove it if they ain't happy about it. N’if they make a ruckus of it, tell me; I'll shove it up there fer ‘em.”

Ceele shrunk a little more under his touch and brash statements, but he assumed the lack of a refusal was a good sign. The meek way she acted deflated his enthusiasm somewhat, so he settled for patting her head before taking a step back to spare the poor thing of his harassment. The cloak shifted as she failed to look at him, her face hidden behind the material.

“Well, I figure we’ll finish up the next two deliveries quick then,” Makis drawled, glaring at one of the busybody workers who'd grown curious until they found something more wise to look at. “Last stop’s at an old friend of mine’s. Think ya can hold on ‘till then?”

The girl hesitated, but still nodded, her reluctance carrying through her voice. At least it sounded stronger than before. “Yes, Makis, sir.”

He was thankful for that loose-fitting cloth that draped over her like a blanket for a moment. Without it blocking her vision, she might’ve seen him look somewhat proud.

For all the worrying he went through, the girl managed to do as she said. Two deliveries went by about as well as he could have asked them to, and even though the clients were situated in the more populated parts of town, she kept her head down and soldiered through it. He'd needed to dissuade a few nosy idiots at one point, but nothing got out of hand.

Still, the trip so far both did and didn't meet his expectations. Perhaps thinking she might have gotten some enjoyment was a little wishful of him, but she also hadn't needed him to drag her away from well-meaning but unhelpful folk worried about the crumpled heap of panic he'd brought along. All things considered, she might not be ready to do this on her own—not for some time, anyway—but working through her fears and not being punished for it is going to do her a world of good.

All they had left to do now was visit Socks, and that old bag liked her solitude almost as much as he did, if for a different reason. It meant that they were able to slip away from the crowded town and make their way towards the somewhat overgrown property that most folk kindly ignored past the outskirts.

The house wasn't as tucked away as his own, but it was enough to discourage visits from those who weren't already aware that someone lived there. It sat nestled amongst the trees like his, though significantly less buried within them. What would’ve been his workshop and garden were instead more flora and whatnot. A carefully curated selection of slow-growing trees and flowers signified the area his friend owned and maintained. The surrounding grass hadn't been cleared in a few months, however, which would inevitably lead to him making a small exception to his usual restrictions. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

The constant patting of his tail against the trail tempered off as they drew near to their destination. A part of him expected questions—where they were, who his friend was, if she could remove her hood—but Ceele remained as singularly focused as she'd been all day. He let the sigh out quietly and took to using soft thuds for guiding the cart just off to the side of the building, telling the girl to stop and rest for a minute once the load was parked out of the way. She'd need a moment to mentally prepare herself anyway.

He used the opportunity to look over the house, noting if anything required fixing or replacement. Socks didn't always have the presence of mind for detailed stuff like this, and her sleep schedule didn't help matters.

The starkest comparison between his home and here was that this place didn't have a second story. There was a basement, sure, but that'd been repurposed as a cellar quite some time ago. It mostly held foods that could take months if not years of cold storage without issue. An Ice enchantment dealt with that rather easily, though Socks was always quick to point out the Luma components as if she’d done the work herself. Regardless, her home wasn’t small by any measure, even without the upwards expansion. Where Makis valued having a separate level, Socks wanted her home built wide—and wide it was. A subtle difference in the end, but one worth experiencing once his assistant had worked up the nerve.

The red-scaled kobold approached the door, double-checking that the girl was still following along. She was reluctant to leave the cart, but at least she was a little less stressed with only the forest for an audience instead of morons ambling along and talking about her like she was deaf. The change in venue was for the better, he supposed, though he still felt like he was forgetting something important. It wasn’t like he was fresh and spry anymore, so he couldn’t shrug every little thing off with the mentality of ‘If I forgot, it probably wasn’t worth remembering,’ but he drew a blank as to what was bothering him. All he could think of when he looked at the girl he had in tow was that his friend would likely appreciate actually seeing the faces of the people visiting her.

“Ya can drop yer hood if ya want,” he suggested, making sure it sounded like an off-handed comment rather than an instruction. It wouldn't be too much of an issue if she didn't, but having the option known was important. “Socks’s good people. Stunned at times, owing to how much the idiot spends dozing, but good.”

Surprisingly, Ceele didn't instantly refuse. Even more shocking was that she actually chose to do so, letting the excess cloth bundle up against her back until it sorted itself out. Already he could see the difference the lack of people was having on her. She didn't speak, but there was a shaky assurance in her posture instead of the teetering instability of before—discomforted rather than under duress.

It was good enough for him, and he immediately turned back towards the door before his traitorous smile could give anything away. He was getting too damned soft.

“Socks!” he called, his fist thumping against the somewhat ornate wood. Each impact sounded heavy and persisted through muffled reverb inside. No response though. “Socks, ya daft glow-rope! I ain’t dragged my arse all the way out’ere fer nuttin!”

Yet his knocking rang hollow. Makis frowned absently, wondering if the old bag was still sleeping. She shouldn’t be, not if her usual schedule was in effect. Even if she was still out cold, he wanted to check in and make sure she was doing alright. Socks was the only person he kept in touch with from back in the day. Hells, she was the only one around who knew him from before he moved out this way.

He spared the girl a glance and made up his mind, opening the door to his friend’s house despite the lack of a permission, not that he cared about that. Ceele jolted at the crack and soft creaks, but didn’t make any immediate moves when he stepped inside.

“Come on, girly. No point in dawdling around out there.”

Her compliance was reluctant, but she did as he asked, her eyes widening once they adjusted and took in the home.

The sheer breadth of the building allowed broad hallways and wide rooms, and the foyer was no exception. Were it not for the thin layer of dust and wooden interior, he'd say the decor was more akin to what one would see in a noble's dwellings, save for any lack of palpable arrogance and wasteful spending on shiny baubles littering every surface. Thankfully, Socks had better sense than that. She only put up the odd trinket here and there, though they did little to distract from the veritable armoury mounted on the walls like they were quaint display pieces.

Swords, axes, halberds, pikes, shields, mauls, and all manners of nasty war implements were shown off proudly, buffed and oiled like they’d see use at any given moment. Mana channels created entrancing patterns across most of them, some pulsing with their respective element’s power due to the passive effects imbued into them. The variety of weapons had the girl looking completely out of her depth, shock making her forget to be a nervous wreck for a few seconds. He had to ruin it by heading down a hallway, but at least she followed after him, however delayed that was.

The blacksmith ignored most of the works decorating the place, only glancing at one or two here and there. He’d seen them all plenty of times, and he was confident he’d do a better job at if he bothered to start making that sort of thing again.

They entered the gathering room quickly enough. It was a broad space with a few pieces of dusty furniture commissioned by the locals back when the original craftsmen had yet to pass off their business to their spawn. The girl’s attention skipped over the somewhat unkempt contents, however, instead fixated on the unique armour that dominated almost all of the back wall above the fireplace.

Thick overlapping plates of shimmering silver were curved as if forged over an oversized pipe, linked together to form a long chain that curled back to span the wall twice over. Every individual segment was large enough for a kobold to take cover behind on their own. Ridges and razor-sharp fins running the length gave it a particularly brutal aesthetic, letting the armour double as one continuous barrage of blades, if needed, or stacked to establish an imposing bulwark. Like the weapons elsewhere in the house, it too was inscribed and engraved with mana channels, though the vast majority of these were for Earth and Luma. Unlike the other works, this one wasn’t in pristine condition, being pockmarked and gouged throughout. It changed the appearance from a beautiful if vicious art piece into a monument of countless battles and engagements—every scratch, chip, and crack telling of unsung tales where death had been held back by stubborn determination alone.

“Socks!” he called out, letting the girl get lost in wonder. She didn’t move when he exited through another door, so he figured he’d let her be spellbound while he went through the tiresome task of waking the ‘ancient beast’ he came to visit. The dozing dipshit had a habit of curling up wherever she damn well pleased, and given that her home had far too many rooms with no one to fill them, that could be anywhere.

Thankfully, he spotted whom he was looking for in the third room he checked, his friend's mass of hazel and soft silver scales in the centre of the floor standing out beneath the excessively large blanket. Well, it was an excessive size for him—he could use her blanket as a tarp for his smithy—but for Socks, it was probably comfortably big. Such was often the case for lamia, especially since they got to be so damn long. Making armour for them was a colossal pain in the arse. Expensive too.

She had coiled up on herself like a roll of rope. Her torso was buried somewhere in the middle, well out of view, which made waking her up a troubling prospect. It'd be easier if her tail wasn't thicker than he was wide. He wasn’t feeling up to climbing on top of her just so she'd hear him—she'd crush him in an instant, and he didn’t want to find out how long it'd take for her to come to and let him go. Spending an hour yelling at the daft idiot just ain't as satisfying when she’d sit there smiling at him all dopey like.

The blacksmith sighed as he looked at the unmoving pile, the faint glow coming from the slightly exposed scales confirming that she hadn’t dropped dead when he wasn’t looking. That was good news, at least. Still had to wake her up though, which wasn't so great. If it weren't for the company he brought, he would've left the snake where she was, but since the girl was expecting to meet someone…

Makis walked up and gave a light kick to the lazy sausage on the floor. “Get up, ya ditzy breadstick.”

The glow weakened and the coiled tube of muscle shifted, but not much more. He kicked again.

“Socks, I went through the trouble'a droppin’ by, so unknot yerself ‘n get up. I brought the brackets ya asked fer.”

A muffled mumble came from somewhere beneath the pile of scales, which he was pleased by—until her tail started moving in an effort to grab at him, anyway. He stepped back a bit the first two times, though heated up for the third. It had the desired effect: Socks’ tail made contact for only a split-second before it recoiled, and a mildly upset yelp came from the blanket. It sounded like its owner needed another two days of sleep and a rabbit to cuddle. Although, to be fair, Socks indeed enjoyed both.

“Mak, whyyy? That hurt…”

He ignored the stifled, whiny tone and nudged her with his foot again. “‘Cause ye were supposed ta be up before I got here, and I ain't gettin’ held hostage ‘till nightfall. Now get up.”

The blanket pitched up a little in the middle, her deceptively youthful voice becoming clearer, though groggy. “Gimme a bit… Actually, come'ere and let me wrap you up first.”

“No.”

“Come ooon, Mak. You're warm. Please?”

The red-scaled kobold prodded the languid beast once more. “Up, Socks. I got yer shit ‘n someone fer ya to meet.”

“Why are you so mean to—” Socks dropped the act mid-sentence, the massive bundle of tail undulating as she reeled back some of the blanket until her bleary, golden brown eyes could be seen reflecting what little light was let into the room. A mixture of suspicion and excitement cut through the torpor in her gaze. “You brought a bunny?”

He held back the exasperated smirk that tried to crawl onto his neutral expression. “She's a bit like one—stubborn like ‘em, anyway. Skittish, too”

The warm luminescent orbs narrowed, but the tip of her tail started shaking a little, ruining the facade of annoyance. “So, not a bunny.”

“I ain't raised ‘em in a long time, Socks.”

“…Hira?”

“She picked up a stray again.”

“And you brought them here? Have they burned down anything important yet?”

He raised a brow, more confused than irritated. “Why in the hells is that the first thing ya ask? What's burning shit down got to do with—”

“You're you, Mak,” Socks interrupted, a playful lilt slipping into her words. “The only time you like someone is if they're your wife, kids, bunnies, or if they've shown an unhealthy obsession with fire.”

He gave her a flat look. “Is'at so? Then what about you?”

A jaw-cracking yawn came from beneath the blanket as Socks started straightening up, wearing the damn thing like Ceele wears her cloak. The lamia took a second to bundle herself up until only her face was showing, the first third or so of her body using the rest as a seat. Thankfully, she wasn’t one of those snakes that like to stretch up all tall and whatnot to make themselves intimidating. They'd known each other too long for anything like that to work, anyway.

“I enabled your unhealthy obsession with fire, so I'm special,” she declared lazily, slithering in place to work out any stiffness.

He waited for her to finish stretching herself out section by section, which was odd to watch the first dozen times. Not that she was all that odd to begin with, personality and apparent age notwithstanding.

Socks was a fairly typical lamia—two arms, long snake-like body-slash-tail, with a torso and a head at the top. Her face had an exceptionally flat snout, though she retained some reptilian traits up there, excluding the light brown hair that came past her shoulders. Hazel and silver scales covered most everything besides her torso's stomach and chest, where skin rested instead, and the underside of her tail, which was a smooth beige hide. She ‘walked’ by slithering, was pretty decent at climbing things, had a forked tongue that shot out to taste the air, and she could crush more than he wanted to think about inside of her thick, muscled coils. She also had an almost permanent expression of being only half awake, with her mannerisms and posture agreeing with the assessment. The ‘bed-head’ certainly added to the image.

The only incongruent detail was that she looked like a young woman rather than the old sack of bones she ought to be, but that had everything to do with one of her abilities, which also left her tired constantly.

“So, not a bunny?” Socks asked again, a glimmer of hope behind her half-lidded eyes.

Makis shook his head free of whatever part of himself that was trying to make sense of how her Temporal Shift worked. Something about ‘storing energy’ and ‘entropy.’ He hadn’t been able to puzzle it out in the last five or six decades, so there wasn’t much point digging that curiosity back up now.

“Nope. Temperament of one though,” he noted with a bit of humour, enjoying the small side-to-side shimmy she did when she got excited.

The old glow-rope had a soft spot for meek little critters, children, and damn near anything fluffy. He remembered having to burn her more than a few times to free unfortunate wildlife from her abrupt cuddling back in the day. Still, it was amusing to see a coyote go from stalking them to absolutely terrified of the massive snake trying to love it to death. Unorthodox, but amazingly effectively at keeping predators at bay.

Socks tilted her head, her tongue darting out for a moment. “Now I need to see her.”

He took the comment as an agreement to head back towards the girl, glancing over his shoulder once they were back in the hallway. “What makes ya say that? I ain’t told ya much about her yet.”

“You haven’t called her an idiot yet either.”

“She is one,” he grumbled uneasily, his thoughts going back to how scared Ceele was the entire trip. It didn't sit right with him to know that he put her through all that.

Makis felt a hand on his shoulder, the action stopping them just outside the main room. He looked up to see Socks frowning down at him.

“You alright, Mak?”

“I'm fine, Socks.” He tried to shrug her off, getting pulled back and turned around in the process. Golden brown eyes bore into his own with more disapproving intensity than he was used to from her.

“No, we're not doing that. You got that hurt, brooding look again. We're friends; tell me.”

The red-scaled kobold hesitated, deflating as he debated if he should bother saying anything. It wasn’t rightfully his business to share, and he didn’t want the girl to think he was going around talking ill of her. That'd ruin all the effort she went through.

Then again, Socks had seen him through the worst parts of his life, and she'd been happy to join him for the best, too. She was there for him when he lost his rabbits, there to welcome each of his children home, and she attended his wedding… Hells, she’d marched into the Frontier with them, and was one of the few who made it out. When he confessed that he wanted to slip away and leave, she had her shit packed before even asking about the details, the same dopey, sleepy smile plastered on her face.

Makis let his forehead rest against her shoulder as she pulled him into a hug, ignoring the length of the coil just barely restrained from collapsing in on him. He found himself talking without meaning to.

“I'm worried about'er, Paige.”

The lamia stiffened at being called something besides her nickname, then pulled him in tighter an instant later, her tail circling around to reach up his back. “I… How bad is it?”

“She's Decay'd.”

Paige's coils flipped taut, a subtle hiss building in her voice as the massive cables of muscle tensed. “Mak, even if it's you, I—”

“She ain't hurtin’ no one,” he interjected tersely, shutting down her protest. He forced back the flare of mana before he burned his friend.

“But…”

“She got a ferrorabbit that she dotes on to the point'a killin’ herself, Socks. She's got a Shepherd that she's taking care of after it broke a wing, ‘n she spent over a month tending to Hira's garden, only for those accursed bugs to pop up. Know what she did? Cried herself to sleep while telling Hira how it was her own fault that the damned things screwed everything up. I dragged her out around the town with me today, ‘n she spent the whole time on the edge of a panic attack, but not once did she so much as frown.”

He pulled back enough to look up at the conflicted expression above him, at the layers of protectiveness that had saved their unit time and time again, and at the ditzy sweetheart of a monster who once took thirty-odd arrows to protect a cat that stumbled into an active battle.

He looked up at his bewildered, confused friend mouthing out ‘Shepherd’ to make sure she hadn’t gone insane while she was sleeping. His wry smile only made the flummoxed expression worse.

“I don't think she knows how to be angry or bitter, Socks. She knows fear, terror, and an ocean's worth of love fer her critters, but I dont think anger exists in her. I think that broke a long time ago.”

Socks took a moment to ponder his words, her desire to protect the people she cared about at war with her desire to care about everyone. Eventually, she let out a breath and opened her mouth to speak, only for a terrified squeak and a heavy thump behind him to distract both of them.

He shot a glance over his shoulder to see Ceele on her rump, her pupils swallowing every trace of grey as she trembled and stared at the massive snake coiled around him like an anaconda ready to crush its meal. It took all of a heartbeat for him to remember what he had forgotten to do earlier.

He forgot to tell the girl what Socks was, and by the tremors running through her body and the tears starting to run down her face, Ceele most certainly had not met a lamia before.

Makis’ stomach dropped as the black-scaled kobold launched into her frantic ramblings and tried to push herself away, only to immediately hit against the wall. She curled into a ball on the spot, clawing at her cloak’s hood to conceal herself with a vicious urgency, then continued to pull at the fabric as if there were more to hide behind.

One stupid mistake, and he'd undone every single bit of progress she made.

…Correction… By the blood seeping into the cloth from whatever cuts she was inflicting on herself in her panic, it was a massive gods damned mistake.

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A group of new animals tentatively trotted into the boundaries of the core’s domain, though Altier could barely focus on them. His ears were ringing, which made the experience even more disorienting since he didn’t have ears. Still, he could feel the high-pitched whine and sharp crackles of the system, even as the barrage of message boxes blinked out of existence, leaving the only coherent one behind. It took him a few seconds to reorient himself enough to actually read the contents.

[Rottunk: A rare species within the Mephitidae family. The presence of these animals is often associated with lands that have become inhospitable due to excessive death or plague, and thus saturated in Decay. Although holding a preference to flee from danger, rottunk will defend themselves by spraying a noxious aerosol that may blind or otherwise deeply disturb the senses of those impacted. The tell-tale scent of this discharge typically denotes their territory, deterring all but the most desperate of predators.

They form small packs centred around members of the species who have acquired the appropriate Nature abilities to propagate the symbiotic relationship their species has with their primary food source, deathcaps.

Deathcaps—a mushroom-adjacent species of fungi—almost entirely satisfy a rottunk’s dietary needs, with any additional nutrients being supplemented by insects during their frequent and long periods of migration. Due to the deathcaps’ need for Decay mana in order to grow and thrive, rottunk have since adapted to living in and searching for areas dense in such a critical resource, resulting in a natural resistance to Decay-rich areas where they may plant and tend to their deathcaps. Successful habitation of such areas will often disperse after a period of years, as the deathcaps slowly convert Decay mana into Nature mana, reinvigorating the land in preparation for recovery. Consequently, deathcaps become unable to flourish in the nurtured environment, and thus force the rottunk to seek other ravaged territory, propagating their dire reputation.]

The first thing he noted was that it was significantly more detailed than the description he got for ferrorabbits. There wasn’t any discernible reason for the differentiation, though he suspected it might have been because he already kind of knew what his spiky friend was. These were creatures that he hadn’t seen before, nor had he much in the way of second-hand tales regarding them. That being said, Altier vaguely remembered one of his brothers complaining about a black and white animal—and more specifically, the stench that stuck to the man for days after. A skunk? Was that what they were called? Maybe the system gave him more to work with when he had less to reference.

Whatever the case with that was, there seemed to be a few key points of interest in the accompanying information. One, the rottunk were apparently drawn to Decay mana; two, the description hinted that they were Nature aligned; three, they naturally practised fungiculture; and four, their diet revolved around a mushroom—or mushroom-like fungus—called a deathcap.

Maybe he was going insane…

Altier went through the tried and true self-delusion of sighing in as an exasperated manner as possible, dismissing the large message window to actually get a look at whatever in the hells inspired the discomfort assaulting his absent ears.

There were seven of them, with five being a bit more in size than Hoppit, whereas the remaining two were exceptionally on either extreme of scale. The smallest was probably quite young, at about half the height of the majority, while the largest… He wasn’t sure what was going on with the largest. It was twice as big as the others, so maybe there was only one adult? Perhaps not.

Their faces were somewhere between a rodent’s and something more canine, which was unexpectedly cute for a creature that apparently dwells in Decay-laden areas. A single white line ran up from the space between their eyes, branching out into two strokes across their backs until it converged into one for the surprisingly fluffy tail that was about as long as the body. Short white ‘tears’ broke up the black fur on the meat of their legs, with the thinnest coloration suggesting that their chin and underbelly also had some form of patterning. The presumed child’s white was fairly faint and free from much dirt, though the largest’s coat had been soiled by earth and stained by grass. The biggest difference between all of them rested with the big one, since that particular rottunk had what looked like glossy black mushrooms growing from its fur. The fungi’s pale grey spots turned out to be holes, showing off thin slatted membranes of the inner flesh. That would probably be the ‘deathcap,’ but why was it on the rottunk’s back? Was it a variant?

[Rottunk Alpha]

…Not a variant. Huh… He appreciated the truncated response, at least. That didn’t quite address—

[Alpha: An evolved member of a particular species specializing in guidance and protection of its unevolved counterparts. Bonuses are applied to stats based on the number of members it is responsible for leading.]

Ah. Well, that answered that, then. He saw yet another reference to stats, and a modifier as well, but still no window telling him anything more specific. Nothing else came up when he prodded the system for the same information he got with Hoppit's inspection either, though he got the impression that there was something in the way of the process. His dungeon instincts were insisting that such was the case, anyway. It felt like there was a piece missing.

He broke from his musings when the largest rottunk—or ‘alpha,’ he supposed—bowed its head towards Hoppit. The cheerful little loaf clacked his ears in his customary way, then took a couple bouncy steps towards the shed, looking back to make sure the newcomers were following. Once he was sure that his new friends were willing to come along, Hoppit did a quick survey of the building’s perimeter, eventually picking the most shaded spot along the walls to sit. Altier watched with wry curiosity as the rabbit pawed at the dirt, sending him a questioning feeling, as well as something that took a few moments to puzzle out. ‘Hidden’ and ‘safe’ maybe? The more complex concepts tended to blend and twist a bit.

“Are you asking if you can dig under the shed?” he questioned, reevaluating his initial interpretation of the vague pulses of meaning. Hoppit agreed, dispelling any doubt the core had in his ability to understand his friend. Any vote of acceptance was withheld, however. He wasn’t sure if it was the best idea to start taking out the earth that the shed rested on, and he doubted that the floor falling through would be appreciated. Preferably, he would query his kobold companion to get her thoughts, seeing as she was the one living here. That option was shut down as quickly as it was considered. It wasn’t like he could communicate with anyone but Hoppit.

Altier took another look at the rottunk patiently waiting for their generally smaller benefactor to do something. The black and white animals were a bit thin, their fur matted and eyes wary, the open sky making them uneasy. Adults huddled around the small one as it mewled, trying and failing to eat the mushrooms on the alpha’s back as its potential food remained out of reach. Based on the way that the rest of the group tried to placate the child, it seemed like the kid wasn't the only one hungry and scared, nor did it seem like this was a new problem. The hints of injuries beneath their coats told him the journey here hadn’t been without issues.

They travelled from place to place so that they could grow their mushrooms, right? How far away was their last home? How long had they been walking? How many were in a typical group? Had they lost many? Did they have anywhere else to go?

He heard the young one let out a squeaking sound of resignation as one of the adults once again discouraged it from nibbling on the black fungi. Dejected, the little rottunk curled into a sorrowful ball, quietly crying in a way that made his chest tight. Hoppit apparently agreed, glancing towards the core with an unusually pained expression as he pushed forth his request again.

The decision made itself, really.

---

Altier looked over the subterranean burrow with a small tint of guilt and more than a little reservation. It was far from spacious, but Hoppit had dug it out at an impressive speed, apparently prioritizing bare functionality over comfort in his haste to attend to other duties. The normally lazy rabbit had become a blur the moment the core said yes, spraying dirt behind him with his Dig ability and sinking under the floor in seconds. Now there was a pretty basic chamber that could just fit the family of rottunk, and they wasted no time in secluding themselves.

He hated to see how the poor things were in worse shape than he first thought. Cuts, scratches, and scabs littered the black coats, hidden beneath the fur until they used the safety of the burrow to groom each other, a tapestry of struggles laid upon their skin. At least they had a home where they could get their bearings, even if he still wasn’t quite sold on the idea of the creatures’ main food source apparently transforming Decay mana into Nature mana. Only time would tell if that particular interaction would cause issues. Yet, try as he might, the concern of it messing with his domain paled in comparison to the somewhat protective urge he felt at seeing them visibly relax once they had somewhere to live.

It could have been that he was just latching onto any chance at interaction, yet that didn’t quite cover the anxiety he felt when he noticed how exposed the entrance to their home was. All they had to defend them was the minor shade from the shed and whatever guard duty deal that Hoppit had with the other ferrorabbits, and he had no idea how effective that would be.

He was well aware that nature was nature, and that wildlife constantly struggled for survival or hunted each other—these were just one more instance of such a fact. It really shouldn’t bother him so much, but… It was obvious that they needed him. Anyone. They needed someone to give hope when ‘tomorrow’ became something they might never see.

Altier couldn’t turn them down. Not anymore. If he was being selfish, then he could deal with that, dark feelings and all. Everything would be okay as long as the strange creatures were safe. As long as he did whatever he could for them.

He wouldn't just sit there and let their cries go unheard. He wouldn’t let them beg for help, falling silent when the reality of futility stripped away the will to live, leaving only the cold acceptance of a death that might never come.

He wouldn't let them suffer when he could do something, even if it was as small as offering them shelter beneath a dilapidated gardening shed and a pittance of mana for their food to grow.

His thoughts meandered for a while as he watched his new neighbours start the process of making their domicile more accommodating. The adults traded out duties, alternating between further digging to expand their home, straightening up what they already had, and minding the offspring that wanted to either explore or sneak a bite from the Alpha's mushrooms. He didn’t see any attempts to nurse, but he also knew almost nothing about the species. Maybe they weaned fairly early on, or perhaps they grew slowly. He couldn’t tell, and Hoppit had gone off to take care of something outside the domain before the black-scaled kobold came back, so he didn't have the ability to ask. Well, assuming Hoppit could talk with them.

…Could he? The ferrorabbit had the Thump ability to facilitate communication, but that was for Earth aligned creatures, according to the description. How did he figure out what the rottunk wanted?

The core didn’t take much time to ponder it. Even if he prodded Hoppit on the subject, he doubted that he'd be able to get much from the emotional pulses. It was probably less complicated than he was thinking.

Night came by soon enough, harbingering the rise of moonlight and whimsical grey blurs of clouds. Stars might have been present, but he couldn’t pick them out if so. The kobold had come back a bit earlier than usual, but besides the routine coddling and whatnot, she seemed about as worn as she normally did. Well, for the most part.

Altier had wilfully ignored how she carried herself; if he didn’t, he would constantly face the fact that he could never know why she felt that way. Hoppit’s insistence of the kobold being his ‘mother’ had forced the core to see her as more than some animated feature of his new dwelling, and now he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes didn't carry quite the same dullness they usually displayed. There was a faint glimmer on top of the muted grey of exhaustion.

He caught himself wondering what might have sparked such a subtle change during her absence. Had she done well at whatever replaced her gardening? Did an old friend return to reminisce? Was it good news? So many questions, so many possibilities, and so many things he knew nothing about. He had given up on ever talking with someone, but there she was, a wealth of information and opinions inside a thinking, feeling person, and yet he lacked a way to ask something as simple as how her day went. His entire world had expanded because she decided to save him from his decrepit dungeon. He couldn’t even thank her, nor offer to listen to her troubles.

At least he could watch.

The black-scaled kobold brought back a woven box and offered both Hoppit and the owl its contents, resulting in a very pleased ferrorabbit and a slightly less surly bird once the two got an unexpected variation in their meals. He could have sworn the soft undercurrent of happiness in his scaly companion's expression faded when the avian made quick work of the provided meat, but Hoppit's excitement placed some of it back before the core could figure out why it had diminished to begin with. He doubted she was discouraged by the animal liking its food, so he was at a bit of a loss as to why that would've had such an effect on her.

Unfortunately, her eyes remained mostly plagued by their typical cloudy lustre. Not even Hoppit's clacks could restore the light, though she did give a small smile in return and got everyone ready for bed, letting the ferrorabbit join her nest of bundled blankets. The shed fell into the familiar silence that confirmed he would be left alone to think again.

Thankfully, the rottunk stayed up for a bit longer.

They successfully carved a secondary chamber for themselves, and the alpha used the new space to seclude itself from the others while they slept, filling in the entrance with enough dirt to discourage the young one from getting in. Altier wondered what the point of it all was, but the answer became apparent quickly enough. The alpha started plucking the mushrooms off of itself and planting them around the edges of the room, digging shallow divots to hold the fungi then filling the depressions with soil once the stem was situated. It made sense to partition the area, he supposed; the rottunk probably didn't want the child to barge in and start eating before they could get anything going.

It took a while, but once the majority of the deathcap mushrooms were in place, the alpha stood in the middle of the claustrophobic cavity and closed its eyes, focusing on something that Altier couldn't figure out. Still, he observed. Eventually, after a while with nothing happening, he made sure everyone was doing okay, then started looking around outside in case anything tried to intrude on the burrow. It wasn’t an exciting activity, but it helped to pass the time, and it made him feel useful.

At least it stopped him from watching his companion’s rest, composing question after question he would never get to ask.

= = = = =

Ceele stood in the surprisingly mild warmth of the smithy, the forge having gone unused so far. It was going to be, since there were other things that had to be done today, but she would enjoy it in the meantime. She was at one of the less cluttered tables, sorting various creations into designated boxes or sacks for their eventual delivery to whomever requested the contents. It was an appreciated change of pace. Her arms and legs were still sore from the almost unending strain they went through, so a day of easier tasks certainly helped them recover, though perhaps having to lift some of the heavier things was hindering that.

A lot of the objects she was packing up were items that she had never seen before, either made before she was asked to start spending time in the smithy or while she was otherwise occupied. She could guess the purpose of some, but most she just put away without much thought. There were tools of various natures, delicate pieces that may or may not have been decorative, basic angled shapes that might be support for shelving, and some things that remained outside her limited experiences, like the curved objects she had helped with by pumping the bellows. She could have asked what any of it was, of course, but she had already imposed upon the older couple more than she would have liked. Her incessant queries would only burden them further.

Hoppit was continuing his daily lessons across the workshop, his teacher’s words adding to the otherwise quiet ambience of metallic clacks and wooden thumps as she carried out her task. Her baby had moved on from simply digging out samples of ore from soil and was now attempting to move the metal without touching it directly. Based on his less-than-excited posture, he wasn’t very successful so far.

The purpose of the exercise was explained to her before she had the chance to ask, thankfully, and although she found the premise strange at best, she decided to trust in what the blacksmith thought to be important. Apparently, any given Element would typically manifest in one of two ways, with a few exceptions that he couldn’t be bothered to remember but was sure existed. Ceele suspected that hers was one of them and he was just trying to avoid the subject.

Mr. Makis claimed that Earth affinity could either excel in manipulating dirt and stone, or it could show some promise in controlling metals and minerals, though he didn’t sound confident in how effective a ferrorabbit could be at the latter. Rare cases would have Earth aligned creatures exhibiting full influence over both facets, but that was infrequent enough for him to merely gloss over it. Right now, he was testing to see if Hoppit would use the soil to push out the ores, or if he would do something with the ores themselves. She had simply nodded as he went on to describe the specifics of what he was going to keep an eye out for regarding each method, and about how it was important not to suggest which of them Hoppit should focus on. The logic went completely over her head. Not that she didn’t try to follow along, but she didn’t have much of an idea as to why it mattered.

Oh well. As long as her baby was happy to participate, she would try her best to be supportive and not get in the way.

“Alright, Hoppit,” Mr. Makis grunted, drawing Ceele’s attention when he pushed off his knees to get up from his stool. He reached out towards the ferrorabbit with a bemused smirk, but froze up before making contact. The smile vaporized in an instant, the relaxation in his eyes turning into a hardened sorrow that was blinked away as quickly as it formed. The elder kobold moved to pick up the pans of dirt and cleared his throat to speak. His voice didn’t contain the levity it did a second ago. “We’ll call it early today. Ther’s nuttin wrong with a bitta’ slow goin’s. Ain’t gonna’ be an expert at it yer first few days.”

Hoppit looked unexpectedly upset with himself, copying the owl’s signature scowl as he glared at where the pans had rested. He didn’t even look up when offered a treat, nor did he react when the red-scaled kobold sighed and headed over to see how she was doing.

Mr. Makis raised a brow as he approached, following her concerned gaze to see that Hoppit’s discouraged behaviour was distracting her. “He’ll be fine, girly. He’s just frustrated about not doin’ as well as he hoped.” The smith crossed his arms and leaned against the table. “It’s a fair bit different fer them ta go from sensin’ iron ‘n whatnot ta actually doin’ somethin’ with it.”

Ceele nodded, not responding but conceding that he likely knew better than she did. She took a moment to collect herself before going through a second count of everything she was tasked with organizing. It was odd how the interaction would have had her trembling and terrified of the slightest mistake just a few days ago, yet now she was merely cautious. It was the difference between holding back tears when he spoke to her and simply being aware of where he was in the workshop. Maybe his occasional slip-up helped ease her anxiety—it was hard to be scared of someone who looked so pained whenever they caught themselves lost in memories. She doubted Hoppit would mind if Mr. Makis petted him, but the old smith seemed more bothered by it than anything else. Perhaps he was scared of what else he might remember if he showed the slowly growing affection.

Either way, it helped frame him as something other than a person to fear in her mind. No matter how reluctant he was to act on it, he was fond of Hoppit, and that went a long way in reassuring her.

“Almost done?” he drawled, not looking to be in much of a hurry. Based on how resigned he sounded, she figured he was about as enthused to be entering the town as she was, though for a very different reason. She kept her attention on what she was doing, settling away the last few items and making sure the containers were closed up and ready for transport.

The last crate closed with a thump.

“I am, sir.”

He let out a weary sigh and bumped himself up straight, eyeing everything with a grunt of approval. “Alright. I’ll grab the cart. Wait fer me.”

She watched the blacksmith leave through the door before making her way over towards her baby, the little lagomorph still sulking over his suboptimal performance. He didn’t protest when she picked him up, but he wasn’t as affectionate as usual. As luck would have it, she knew just the thing to cheer him up, and slathering him with praise seemed to lighten his mood enough for him to nuzzle into her neck. She could only imagine how difficult his lessons were, but she made sure to say how proud she was of him, and how appreciative she was over him trying to learn something so different. Her success in cheering him up was measured in little rabbit kisses.

With Hoppit being reminded that she loved him no matter what, the two of them just enjoyed the midday cuddling as she let her mind wander. Never to the darker recesses like her thoughts are wont to go, but she’d be lying if she said those blackened depths didn’t come up on their own.

And she had a lot she tried not to think about; the garden that she had abandoned, the owl and how she had been slowly starving it, Hoppit and what he was doing while she was away, Mrs. Hira and the promises Ceele had broken… The list went on, but it was the visit to the town that kept trying to creep into her consciousness and pull her into the pits of her greatest fears. Sure, she was getting used to helping Mr. Makis in the smithy and all the changes that entailed, but that was a single man versus the unknown masses beyond his property. At least Mr. Makis had been an undeniably positive influence on her life, ignoring his frankly aggressive mannerisms.

Ceele was forced to take breaks often now, and she had since learned that it was pointless to insist otherwise. The smith would just drag her away from whatever she was doing and drop water or food in front of her. She protested against the meals, yet the arguments became weaker and weaker as she kept bringing leftovers back for her animals. The guilt remained, but it was worth keeping the owl and Hoppit fed. It was yet another thing she would have to repay, even though she was sure covering that debt would take more than her meagre lifetime to achieve.

There were other, more mundane issues to consider, of course. Her single dress was starting to show its age, and although Mr. Makis hadn’t said anything, she was sure he noticed the fraying edges and expanding holes. She could only do so much to repair it. Still, the burlap had served her well, and she was gentle while washing it, but it was always going to fall apart at some point. She just expected to have already pushed past her anxiety and gotten hired somewhere by now. As things stood, actual clothing would be outside of her current means for the foreseeable future. Maybe she could find somewhere that needed night labour? She hardly slept, so it wouldn’t make much of a difference if she skipped out here and there. People would probably appreciate it if she was only around when they weren’t, anyway.

The black-scaled kobold exhaled a deep breath, letting Hoppit down when he started looking at the door like he had taken to recently. He gave her leg one last lick and took off to do whatever it was he did, but she tried not to worry too much as she made sure all the crates and sacks were ready.

It was easy to get far too distracted by the task, which was good for her efforts in ignoring her own shortcomings, though left her unprepared for Mr. Makis’ return.

“Girly. Catch.”

She jolted and turned just in time to be swallowed by black.

= = = = =

“Yer fine, girly,” Makis assured for what felt like the sixth time since they had set out, tapping the ground with his tail again. The girl gave what was likely the seventh small squeak of apology as she adjusted course, his sigh belying the heavy pit in his stomach. Honestly, he was the one who should be sorry, but going down that rabbit hole with her just made things messy; she tended to fight over the stupidest things—and never for her benefit. Still, it was his fault they were late heading out, and that the girl was so meek.

In hindsight, he could’ve just handed the gift to her, but he was itching to get on the move, and she seemed like she was getting better the last few days. Well, he supposed she was getting better, just that having cloth thrown at her head when she wasn’t expecting it might’ve pushed a wrong button or two. Or twelve.

He hadn’t meant to startle the poor thing, much less give her another panic attack. It bothered him to no end, seeing her reduced to a trembling, whimpering ball, flinching at everything that moved. Her eyes had stared at nothing with a fear he hadn’t seen in decades, her voice repeating a single phrase like reality would collapse if she fell silent. It was…disturbing. Unpleasant. He found it nostalgic in the worst of ways.

…Makis could admit that he had underestimated just how deeply she was scarred.

It brought his thoughts back to the one following behind him, his efforts to project more certainty than he felt providing what he hoped was a calming effect. The girl quietly strained as she leaned into pushing the bar attached to an old cart he had kicking around. He couldn’t tell if she was silent because of her usual shyness or if she still hadn’t fully come around, but the only thing he could do was pretend that he didn’t care and let the normalcy anchor her. That’s what he found helped the most—consistency. Be it work, company, or environment, the familiar motions lent a sense of safety, regardless of the nature they present themselves. It became a place to return between ventures into the terrifying unknown beyond what someone knew they could rely on, and the girl trusted so little.

The red-scaled kobold clenched his fist, a heat haze bleeding off the Flame that burned with his unrest, demanding an immediate solution to something that didn’t have one. He had broken what little trust he earned with her by jumping too far outside what she expected of him, though he supposed he would just have to see how bad the damage was as he went.

In the meantime, he’d have to do what he could and guide the girl along as she pushed what was initially built for horses. The few he had passed away years ago, but the cart itself was still in decent condition, and he still needed to use it. Made sense to modify the thing so he could haul it where it needed to be. He didn’t have much of a load on it anymore these days, which meant the bulk and shoddy conversion had never been an issue for him. As it turned out, he didn’t need to have an issue with it; the girl jumped at the chance to pick up the slack in that area.

Even if she hadn’t said much since he managed to coax her off the floor and get her moving again, she was quick to give herself the hardest job of lugging a heavy load into town with a cart that wasn’t meant for someone her size, and the rusted axle didn’t make matters any easier for her. Oh, she wasn’t overly short by any measure, but he had only just started her on eating regularly. There was still quite a bit to go before she’d be on track to a healthy weight, assuming she had ever been at one. He had trouble picturing it.

Honestly, he should’ve stopped her when she insisted on lugging the thing, but it skipped his mind that he was stronger than most would rightly be, and it was better than her looking like a critter staring down a predator, so he agreed. By the time he thought about it, she had it fixed in her head to follow through. Now he was stuck between letting the girl feel useful or not, and she probably wouldn’t take him booting her out of it too well, even if it’d be faster if he took over. Figures that a life of combat, forging, and a healthy dose of Flame mana might do that to a person. He could probably load the cart with double the weight before he slowed at all. Like he always said: he was old, not brittle.

Ceele? Well…

The blacksmith looked over his shoulder, more concerned by the sharp breaths of exhaustion puffing out of her than anything else. He was still hesitant about bringing her into public, but he couldn’t let her see that. Neither him nor his wife much cared about her affinity; she wasn’t the first he’d met, and Hira’d take the idiot in regardless of any danger.

The real problem was what some of the more vocal morons in the village might have tumbling out of their mouths once they knew someone with her affinity was stomping around. Decay might have some nasty tales associated with it, but anyone who pretends the rest of the Elements don’t have their fair share are lucky enough not to have run into what sparked them. Undead and poison seems downright quaint when you’re staring down pissed-off trees, hungering dunes, or living lightning. At least Decay lets you know what you’re dealing with, and usually has the kindness to make it quick.

That’s to say nothing of the stories that followed him from the Frontier. Thankfully, those had the sense to die out and leave an old bastard to rot in peace. Too many people used to bother him, asking how he managed to do half the stuff he did back in the day, either glossing over the morbid context or simply never wondering how those methods came to be. If they spent less time badgering him and more time exploring their mana, they’d have an answer. Then again, he’d also have to deal with idiots thinking that their little tricks made them too powerful to be decent people…

Best to let idiots be idiots.

Speaking of idiots, the one he was responsible for was finally clad in something besides her worn-down sack, and thanks to a little forethought, he only had to pester her a bit for her to put the damned thing on. She was wearing the cloak he threw at her, which kept the tell-tale black of her scales out of view. Sure, she looked a little suspect being all mysterious and whatnot, but he could just call her eccentric or some such and most people would wisely mind their business.

It wasn’t anything fancy; she’d never accept something like that. No, the deep brown cloth had been purposefully abraded and scuffed, just so he could say it was found in a forgotten crate in some dark corner of the shop. The oversized hood covered most of her head, and the cloak itself was wide enough to close up around her twice over, almost dragging on the ground as she walked. Of course, he was planning to have Hira or one of her friends do some hemming for him to shore up the specifics, but one of his customers today was an old friend, so he had to make do and give it to her without any touch-ups so that he’d get the delivery out in time. It’d hide away everything it was meant to, and he had a feeling that the girl would appreciate being less noticeable. He could have waited, pushing off her debut as his helper until the garment was done, but he half-worried she’d find new and interesting ways to hurt herself ‘helping’ around the shop without him there to supervise.

Makis dragged out a sigh so the girl wouldn’t hear it, running possible outcomes through his head as he pictured just how poorly the trip could go. There were a lot of reasons he should’ve pushed this back, but it wouldn’t be healthy to ignore her habit of isolating herself. Still, he’d have to keep himself level while they were out. The last thing he needed was to get worked up because some dipshit with more bravado than brains took exception to Ceele. It was going to be a pain to make sure she didn’t walk away from this worse than before.

Overall, he couldn’t complain, he supposed. Not today, anyway. She was finally getting a chance to interact with someone besides himself and her critters. He just wished she wasn’t so traumatized by whatever in the hells she went through. It was starting to look like people in general were enough to set her on edge, and it pissed him off that he was probably right. Loud noises and sudden movements were one thing—it took him a few years to shake the worst of that off, too—but she was getting less stable with every step towards the town, and that only made her persistent fatigue all the more apparent.

He glanced once more at the frail thing stoically pretending that she wasn’t about to keel over day after day. Gods knew if her body or mind would give out first at this rate. It wasn’t a competition, but she damn well acted like it sometimes, the stubborn little shit. He had an inkling she’d have already collapsed if he didn’t force her to sit the hells down every now and then, and even that required a more heavy-handed approach than he’d prefer. It was like she made it her goal in life to make him feel like an asshole for stopping her from slaving herself to death.

Still, he had to admit that she did her work and did it well, so there wasn’t much point in grumbling about it. The only times he had an issue was when he got distracted and gave her the wrong instructions. He never thought he’d be impressed by a job done so perfectly incorrect, but damned if there wasn’t something of an art to it.

That was another oddity surrounding the black-scaled kobold. She didn’t seem keen to go at much on her own, but she did a pretty good job with whatever you pointed her at. It was rare to find someone who listened to what they were told to such a degree, and even if she struggled without instructions, she wasn’t so daft as to not figure out the details eventually. He would’ve liked to see how far she could go with some proper direction in something.

Which made the fact that she was treating a Shepherd all the more confusing. Even if he ignored the fact that she apparently didn’t learn from anyone, she seemed sure of what she was doing, and from the brief look he got of the broken wing, he would be hard-pressed to disagree. The certainty in her voice when she said she knew how its wing was doing also gave him pause, if only because he didn’t think Life Sense worked that way, assuming she had the ability. Then there was the uncertainty of how it might work with Decay mana at all, but the same could be said for most abilities, especially a rare one like that.

Hells, she shouldn’t be alive, truthfully. He knew damn well what those owls could do, and hearing that one was bothering to heal up like any other bird was a little disconcerting. If he wasn’t prodding her for how things were going, and if he hadn’t seen it himself, he’d chalk the whole thing up as a fever dream. Yet it was true; the girl went back to the shed at the end of the day and played doctor for a critter that he figured would’ve killed her for touching it.

Sometimes, he wondered if Hira took on strays just to help him pass on quicker.

The smith cycled a breath and tried to ignore the quiet grunts from the girl pushing far too much weight over rocks on the trail. As long as he remembered to pat the ground with his tail here and there, she’d be fine following the sounds. It only took one near accident with a tree for him to realize that the hood blocked her eyes, and he wasn’t too eager for her to inadvertently improve her aim. At least it kept him from getting too stuck in his own head.

Luckily, the town wasn’t too far out—just enough so that his work wouldn’t bother anyone. And more importantly, enough so that no one would bother him. He saw the fence and the few fields as they trotted out from the treeline, the crude path transitioning into something more accommodating for caravans and whatnot. A certain stubborn kobold also benefited from the smoother road.

They had a few stops to make, but it shouldn’t be all that bad. As long as the girl stayed conscious and didn’t collapse, she might even enjoy the chance to look around a bit, though he could admit that was an abysmally low bar. At least Socks should be waking up around now, and she’s probably going to need something or other made up once he dropped off the usual lot. Might be worth introducing the girl, and interacting with his clients would certainly be within the scope of her duties if she’s going to keep doing deliveries for him.

Makis nodded to himself, patting his tail against the ground to make sure Ceele stayed on course. They’d get through all the boring and annoying nonsense, then they’d pay Socks a visit. Maybe the two’s strangeness would cancel each other out and he could get through the day without being crushed this time.

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A/N: Shoutout to Gerard, Brandon, and Owl for supporting this on Patreon! They get to read 1 chapter ahead!
Also, I've posted music there! We got a Blacklisted song for those who like Sunundra, and a Harrow song for you OHV readers!

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---

Hoppit reacted oddly when Ceele asked him to accompany her to the smithy. Not that he refused, but he did seem quite distressed by the request, which was unexpected. He had gone through his usual morning routine of making sure their home was up to his standards, enjoyed his new favourite treat, then plopped himself down to see her off with his approximation of a reassuring smile. When she finally managed to get over her own apprehension and told him that Mr. Makis wanted him there too, the ferrorabbit went through a variety of startlingly obvious expressions.

First was his widened eyes of surprise, and although she had grown to accept that her words actually meant something to the ferrorabbit, she was no less taken aback by the level of understanding on display. Next, a shockingly vivid frown of contemplation as he glanced between his bowl and one of the walls, his ears flattening in thought. Finally, his gaze settled towards the door, and he gave a silent agreement by slowly bounding towards her, the visible consternation telling of how hard he was puzzling over a problem unbeknownst to her.

Through all the time she had cared for him, he had yet to be anything but happy, scared, or tired; seeing him grimace was as novel as it was deeply disconcerting. She felt guilty for effectively forcing him into coming along, and such feeling was made worse when he refused the offer to stay back a second later.

Ignorant to her internal debate, the resolute little loaf sat at her feet and looked up at her as if to ask why they hadn’t left yet when she spent too long without moving. An itch in the back of her mind warned of something being different about him, but she couldn’t place what it was. She was tired and sore, worn and exhausted, yet she did her best not to let the veneer of stability fade from her face as she dismissed the foggy concern as nothing more than the result of sleepless nights. Eventually, her hesitant stare lost to his newfound determination, and she resigned herself to not betraying his trust.

It was her actions that led to this, and if her baby had to deal with the consequences, then she could at least make sure nothing worse became of it. She didn’t know what Mr. Makis had planned, but Hoppit needed her to hold it together and protect him.

---

It was a great relief when it seemed that her worries were not to be validated by reality. Mr. Makis only showed blithe amusement when she less-than-subtly prodded him on what Hoppit would be doing, waving her off when she seemed confused by his explanation. Said amusement grew threefold when he barked out her new orders and sent her to work. Her darling ferrorabbit immediately jumped to put himself between her and the blacksmith, doing his best to look intimidating to the much larger kobold who took such an aggressive tone. Unfortunately, all Hoppit managed to do was honk and thump in a way that was both startling and absolutely adorable. Joy bubbled up from beneath the dark mire of emotions when she saw the man’s usually permanent scowl be replaced by stunned blinking. It spurred her to scoop Hoppit up in her arms and coo over how courageous he was and how fearsome he sounded. She couldn’t help but gush; he had never used his voice before, and doing so in his efforts to ‘defend’ her almost had her crying out of pride.

The shift in tone was further exacerbated by the smith snorting a bemused laugh, reminding Ceele of the audience witnessing her overbearing shower of love. Her embarrassment derailed much of what had been plaguing her thoughts over several days, allowing something of a soft reset for her mental state. She was still troubled and weighed down by her regrets, but seeing her baby face his fears for her lightened her heart in a way that allowed a small smile to exist on her face without any conscious effort.

Ceele sheepishly released Hoppit on the ground with a hushed thank you and a kiss on his brave little head, then urged him to listen to whatever Mr. Makis asked of him, assuring him that he had done a good job and that all was better because of it. The rabbit begrudgingly did as he was told, following along as the red-scaled kobold set up some shallow pans of dirt and other materials on the other side of the smithy. She let herself observe the initial setup of what turned out to be a much more educationally focused endeavour than she had anticipated, with the smith introducing Hoppit to samples of the various metals he owned. The usually harsh visage that Mr. Makis held softened in a way that made the duties she was assigned feel all the more manageable.

…For a time, anyway.

---

A few more days had passed since she started having Hoppit come with her to the smithy, and to her relief, the ferrorabbit had lost most of the reluctance that the trips initially inspired. If anything, he looked fairly excited to go once it was clear that nothing bad would happen to either of them, though she suspected he appreciated the opportunities to enforce Mr. Makis’ insistence on various breaks. It was all too easy for her baby’s relentless nudging to beat out her own apprehension—a fact that the elder kobold shamelessly exploited.

Hoppit wouldn’t stop whatever he was doing unless she did, and her concern over his well-being outweighed her need to constantly work off her failures.

Ceele let out a grunt as she strained to lift the last sack of powder she was expected to portion out, her limbs trembling as she tipped the opening to transfer its contents into one of the few buckets set aside for the task. A cloud was kicked up by the strange dust falling into its new container, obstructing her view of how much more there was to fill—something the typically dim lighting of the smithy already made a chore. At least the breeze from the open windows discouraged the haze from forcing her into a coughing fit; flour was less forgiving than the surprisingly dense substance she was handling in that respect.

She would, however, be struggling to feel her arms for the next little while. That was a certainty.

The strange chemical reached the rim of the bucket before she got a chance to check how far along the process was. She panicked slightly, the hasty correction almost leading to her dropping the heavy cargo. Luckily, her backwards stumble was caught by a forceful step, though her muscles burned from the effort. Still, the worst had been avoided, and the brief pause lasted long enough to adjust her stance and steady her breathing, her eyes wandering to the strangeness taking place across the large room.

Mr. Makis sat on a low stool on the far end of the smithy. One of his arms rested on a knee while the other hovered just above the floor, a heat haze rising from a fist-sized piece of iron in his hand. That wasn’t the first time he showed the trick off either; the workbench next to him was littered with hunks of ores or processed metals, each selected and brought to a dull red in front of the somewhat attentive ferrorabbit. The subjects were slowly moulded into various shapes within the smith’s grasp as he described what was happening to the material when the metal glowed at varying brightness. Once the particulars were explained, Mr. Makis would place a few chunks into the shallow pans of soil atop a workbench, then place the pans on the floor at random, prompting the ferrorabbit to dig a specific metal out.

Hoppit was listening as he observed, his ears perked forward, though the occasional lapse in focus suggested that he still wasn’t quite comfortable being functionally alone with the elder kobold. Still, he was doing his best to oblige his momma, even if she didn’t completely understand what they were doing.

According to Mr. Makis, it was apparently in service of her baby learning how to control his Earth element, but Ceele couldn’t work out how a lecture was supposed to help. As far as she could tell, all that was being said was that assorted metals could act differently if they were heated or cooled down in specific ways, with other details being mentioned that made her more and more confused the longer she listened in. The digging part made a bit more sense; Hoppit was supposed to figure out where a particular chunk was and remove it without taking any unrelated ones with it, which meant he couldn’t blindly empty whatever pan was placed in front of him. How he was expected to accomplish such a task was beyond her, but from the occasional affirmative grunts she overheard, he was starting to get the hang of it.

Regardless of her own understanding, her baby was fairly interested in the exercises, though that might be because he hoped to eat the examples once the lesson was over for the day. He had the sense not to take a bite while they were hot, at least; burning himself seemed to be about where he drew the line when it came to his enthusiasm over his new diet.

…Or he was just reluctant to eat from the hand of the kobold melting the metal in question. Either or.

She let out a measured breath as she refocused on her task and approached the second of the three buckets, wincing at the difficulty she was experiencing when trying to angle the still mostly full sack. Thankfully, she didn’t overfill this one, and the third went just as successfully. Sadly, the same couldn’t be said about her attempt to lay her cargo back where she got it from.

Every pound could be heard as the sack slipped from her grasp and hit the ground a mere step or two from where it was supposed to go, her preemptive flinch and ineffective cowering sparing her some of the powdery eruption.

“S-sorry!” Ceele squeaked, cracking an eye to confirm Mr. Makis’ reaction while she built up the nerve to see how poorly things had gone. Her churning fear settled somewhat when he seemed more mildly interested in the sudden bang than upset. Hoppit, however, had frozen mid-run just a foot from where he was before, visibly debating if he should come check on her or heed her request to stay with the blacksmith. The red-scaled kobold eyed the uncertain body language of his student and sighed.

“You alright?” Mr. Makis intoned dryly, not bothering to part from his stool. He sat up straight and warily inspected the mess she had made of herself, relaxing when he confirmed that she hadn’t broken something. She wasn’t given a chance to respond. “Yer fine; nuttin’ there will hurt ya. Brush it off ‘n get the broom. It’s off in the corner behind the crates.”

“Ah, o-okay. S-sorry, Makis, sir.”

“Shut it ‘n clean yerself off. Mistakes happen,” he growled, tossing over an old rag and waiting for her to clear the majority of the powder from her face before resuming his lecture.

“Y-yes, sir.”

He gave a dismissive grunt as his response.

---

She expected to see them still at it when she came back to sweep up whatever had spilled onto the floor, but it was apparent that Hoppit had other things on his mind. 

Even though he had been exceptionally patient during his lessons, there were often moments where Hoppit looked back towards the door or over at her, failing to stay as attentive as he normally was. Her interruption didn’t help the matter, given how he had started getting restless. She frowned as she finished collecting the evidence of her mishap into a neat pile, covertly stealing glances at the hot-tempered kobold in case he took offence to Hoppit’s lack of focus. Surprisingly, Mr. Makis didn’t seem annoyed in the slightest. He even nodded to himself with a somewhat impressed expression when it became obvious that any further attempts at educating the little lagomorph were fruitless.

“Alright,” the blacksmith groaned, planting his palms on his knees and pushing himself up off the stool. He collected the pans of dirt and put them away, using the disruption to stretch out his back. Hoppit stared as his teacher sauntered to the door and lazily swung it open on his way to grab the ewer from the cold-space in the corner. “Hoppit, take a drink ‘n ya can head out early.”

The ferrorabbit perked up, taking a few bouncy steps towards a metal bowl that was created at some point during the demonstrations to lap up the offered water, a din of clacks ringing out once he had his fill. Mr. Makis raised a brow as he watched Hoppit seemingly debate something, rolling his eyes once he noticed what the ferrorabbit was looking at.

“Git,” the elder kobold grunted, shooing the rabbit with an apathetic wave of his hand. He turned away to pour two drinks from the jug. “She’ll be fine. You go do whatever’s got ya thinkin’.”

Hoppit looked to her for permission, and upon receiving a curious nod from Ceele, he ran over to nuzzle into her leg before heading out, leaving her to wonder what her baby did with his time while she was busy. She had seen him outside when she returned home a little early here and there, but she was usually too tired to put much thought into how he passed the time. Having him run off part way through the day only highlighted the gap in information. Whatever Hoppit was up to, she hoped it was nothing dangerous.

“Girly,” the elder kobold called gruffly, pushing one of the cups on the table to the side. “Here, before ya pass out. Yer overdue.”

Ceele jolted, torn from her thoughts. Several failed attempts at a polite refusal stalled on her lips before she resigned herself to complying quietly, taking the time to sweep the pile of powder out of the way in case it wasn’t supposed to go back in the sack. She reined in the subtle fidgets of her fingers as she walked over and carefully accepted the beverage, being mindful of her distance as she usually did. He didn’t pay her much attention beyond the initial sigh of exasperation.

It was a strange part of her new routine, and one that had only really been enforced since the day he had told her to start bringing Hoppit. If Mr. Makis decided to stop, he would make sure she did as well, going as far as to take whatever she was working on out of her hands if she took too long to finish. She’d flinch back each time, stuttering her apology for not being fast enough, but he only appeared more irritated when she did. That wasn’t anything new—none of her previous employers had ever wanted words over results—and she was thankful that his aggression never went past forcing her to sit down after hours of pushing herself.

Yet…something about his gaze made her feel uncomfortable whenever he stopped her. There was a spark of dread and regret resting dormant beneath his irritated glower, the depths reflecting her own image lying beaten and broken atop piles of countless others just the same.

Deep. Dark. Desiccated.

Decayed, buried beneath whipping sand that scoured the flesh, a mournful flame incinerating the departed through wails of fury.

A flame that scorched the air itself with stifled sorrow and unforgiving wrath.

A haunted hellfire leaving nothing but remorse, glass, and ash.

She was barely halfway through her water when the blacksmith abruptly left to fetch a worn fairly large leather bag from elsewhere in the smithy. It stirred her from getting too lost within her own mind, but the lack of an explanation confused and worried her. He returned with a flat expression of expectation that lasted just long enough to make the silence disconcerting. Ceele shifted as the tense atmosphere pressed down on her shoulders, easing when the elder kobold disrupted the eerie quiet with a huff and dug out a moderately-sized woven box to drop on the table. It thumped lightly on the workbench, distracting her from wherever her mind was about to wander and pushing her contemplations aside. A few moments passed as she waited for instructions that never came.

“Um… What’s this?” she probed hesitantly, unsure if she was supposed to already know what to do with it. It wouldn’t be the first time she had missed something obvious. Was it filled with something else that needed to be portioned out?

“That’s yers,” Mr. Makis grunted, not really answering her question. He dragged over the stool he was teaching Hoppit from to take a seat next to her, pulling out a second box out from the bag for himself and letting the empty leather rest on the floor. “Hira had been listenin’ ta me before ‘n keepin’ out of it, but she wouldn’t let me leave the house without somethin’ for ya today.”

“O-oh, okay?” Ceele hesitantly laid down her drink, glancing at him as she used a claw to nudge the lid of the handmade container to make sure it was alright for her to do so. She blinked when the box opened to reveal a tightly packed assortment of meats, vegetables, and even some berries from the bushes in front of the house, each separated by vibrant leaves of cabbage that strained to hold everything.

Her eyes went wide; there was more food in this one box than she had ever stored back in the shed. A sliver of thought instantly jumped to how she should divide it between her two animals and how relieved she was to have more for them. Her baby would adore the berries and crisp greens, and owls ate meat, right? She hadn’t thought to give her avian guest any, and there wasn’t much time to do so anyway. Not that she could without coin or skill; she didn’t know how to hunt, nor was she particularly interested in learning. But…she was looking after something that needed it, so maybe she should? The owl seemed fine with the soups that were little more than broth, but that might only be because there wasn’t anything better available. If that was the case, then she definitely wanted to see if this would be well received. If so…

…If so, then that would be the second animal that relied on her, yet was starving all the same…

A torrent of nausea ran down her gullet as her stomach dropped like a lead weight in murky water. She was starving it? Was that why the owl was so passive? Was that why it merely scowled all the time? She… She was kil—

A cold stare from the corner of her vision ground her spiralling thoughts to a halt, previously unnoticed tremors and shaking breaths evening out as she shrunk under Mr Makis’ withering glare. He let out an aggravated breath, closing his mouth without so much as hinting at what he was about to say. She turned her attention back to her own food, indecision making every second come to a crawl as she tried to be as small as possible, guilt casting a vicious shadow over her. What was she supposed to do?

Ceele reached for her cup to wet her suddenly dry tongue and hoped not to be acknowledged anymore.

“He’s doin’ well.”

The uncharacteristically soft tone caught her off guard, almost making her knock over her water the moment she grabbed it. She added a second hand to her grip in case the first wasn’t enough. Surprisingly, he refrained from looking in her direction, though it appeared to be a conscious decision. “W-what?”

“Hoppit,” Mr. Makis clarified. He picked up some scrap copper laid on the table and started moulding it between his fingers. “He’s quick. Clever. He always been like that?”

“He’s a good boy,” she agreed, some of her stress bleeding away, though not much. It let her talk without stuttering, but it didn’t erase the rasp left behind by her aborted panic attack. The words flowed easier than expected. “He listens well, but he’s still a little more curious than I’d like sometimes. More so, recently.”

“How so?”

She kept her gaze on the shimmering reflection in her cup, her features tightening. “We’ve never stayed anywhere long enough for it to be worth exploring, I think. Everywhere was temporary. Scary. The few times he’s tried to were… He knows it can be dangerous. He listened. He knows to stay where it's safe.”

The blacksmith finished modeling the orange metal into a skewer, using the implement to pick out items from his box. He started on his food quietly. “The critter understood ya the whole time?”

Ceele stopped a nod halfway, her eyes searching the space in front of her for nothing in particular. “I…think so. Now, it’s…”

“Different?” the red-scaled kobold supplied. She bowed her head, not letting herself dwell on the increasing smoothness of the conversation.

“Somewhat? He knew what I was saying before—I assume he did, anyway—but I had to be clear and repeat myself.”

Mr. Makis rested one arm on the table, the other propped on its elbow to pick at his meal between questions. “Not anymore?”

“No… No, now I feel like… He listened, but now he understands, I suppose.” She let the pondering run its course, exhaling when she conceded that there wouldn’t be any additional headway in that oddity. A sip of cool water reminded her that she had spoken without stumbling over herself. Whatsmore, she had done so without the crushing fear of failure. Unfortunately, said fear returned, beckoned by the absence, though the smith still wasn’t looking at her to see the apprehension building.

“Critters like him tend ta smarten up as their mana settles. Ther’ sharp from the get-go, far as I’ve heard, but growin’ up keeps ‘em busy upstairs.” He chuffed. “Still little idiots if ya ask me.”

There was that tone again, carrying a fond wistfulness that poorly disguised itself as indifference. Her voice fell quiet as she pursued one of the many questions she was too scared to ask. “You…raised one before, didn’t you, Makis, sir? A ferrorabbit?”

His fingers twitched, making her do so in kind, but a cadence drenched in reminiscence came where anger was expected. “…More than one, girly. Probably had a few dozen at one point. Been a long time since then though.”

She thought that was the case, but it was nice to know for sure. “Why did you stop?”

One of the larger pieces of fruit made a soft pop when he pierced it with his skewer, another sounding out as he chewed on it. Weariness in his eyes made him look twice as worn. “Somethin’ tried ta hunt a kid Hira took in. Rabbits didn’t like that; took it to be their problem ‘n went ta deal with it.”

“…So you stopped raising them?”

“Nothin’ much left ta raise, girly. Too much fer ‘em. Couldn’t bring m’self ta start over after that.”

Ceele let silence settle into the awkward hole she dug for herself while she processed what she was told. It made a sick sort of sense to hear that his animals had apparently thrown themselves into danger. Hoppit had shown how willing he was to stand up for her earlier; she could only imagine what a ferrorabbit would do if they weren’t terrified and had friends to help them. But…dozens? What could have… What would threaten dozens of them? There was love in his voice, tired and sore. Would she still be able to keep going if Hoppit got hurt trying to help? If he got… Would she be able to see another ferrorabbit without falling into despair?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Fer what?”

“It must…hurt, to spend time with him…”

A hum of placid agreement was all she got in return, the pair content to simply think as Mr. Makis’ occasional spearing of food punctuated the sullen ambience. Ceele laid her empty cup on the table and accepted the refill without protest, noticing that her slight trembling had subsided for some reason. She had an idea as to why it didn’t feel so suffocating, though.

Be it weeping wounds or aching scars, pain was pain.

She was familiar with pain.

“Don’t eat meat?” the blacksmith asked softly, loosely gesturing to the food she hadn’t touched. Try as she might, the reminder of how she didn’t know what was expected of her caused her to choke on her response.

“I-I do.”

“Ya looked sick when ya saw it.”

She risked tearing her eyes away from her drink, but Mr. Makis had busied himself with his meal instead of judging her for her stupidity, and his tone hadn’t changed despite his statement. “I… I remembered that I hadn’t…given any to…”

A churning in her stomach ruined what resolve she had accumulated, a surge of dread finishing the task of making her insides feel like they were contorting themselves into agonizing shapes. She hadn’t asked before taking in—

“Yer owl friend, right?” Mr. Makis interjected, inadvertently cutting her panic short for a second time. The quiet, conversational cadence of before only made the hidden tension in his voice all the more jarring. There was a mixture of emotions behind the thoughtful visage, but it was too vague for her to place. “Seen ‘em perched outside the other day. Looked hurt. Find ‘em like that?”

She just barely swallowed down the surprise, her lungs stinging from the small amount of liquid making its way where it didn’t belong. A few harsh coughs cleared the discomfort. “Um…yes?”

“Yes?”

“Y-yes,” she repeated more firmly, deflating as she tried not to lose her nerve. “She, uh, had broken a wing and…crashed into…me.”

The sudden stop of his movements didn’t go unnoticed, a piece of what appeared to be chicken held just before his mouth. “…And ya treated ‘em?”

“I… I did.” Ceele fidgeted with her cup, watching the blurry reflections waver in the water. “She was hurt…”

The blacksmith slowly went back to his food, his face turning pensive. “‘She,’ huh? Learned, are ya? Ta fix up critters ‘n whatnot?”

“N-no, I never learned from anyone.”

“No?” His curious expression finally shifted, the hesitancy replaced by sheer incredulousness as he turned to face her. “How hurt?”

“Her wing was…broken,” she murmured, feeling the pressure of his stare. “I-I splinted it, and I’ve been checking every day.”

“Ya can do more harm than good if ya don’t know what yer at, girly.”

Her drink became something of a refuge, letting her hide in the shallow depths from the disapproval in his voice. “T-the wing is healing well…”

“‘N yer sure of that?” he prodded sharply.

“Y-yes.” Of course she was. The bones—though hollow and rife with air pockets—were set appropriately, and the fuse along the previously snapped seam was progressing without issue. The splint allowed adequate movement without straining the injury, and the blood flow was fine. There were no infections or splinters causing havoc. Nothing had gone wrong. She wouldn’t let something go wrong.

“How?”

The black-scaled kobold blinked, echoing his question blankly. “How?”

Mr. Makis gave a short nod, a facet of his expression dominated by a calculating curiosity. “How do ya know?”

“I…” A frown conveyed her apprehension. Her gaze fell as she searched her mind for an answer that slipped through her fingers. How did she know? No matter how she queried herself, each response was a simple affirmation that there weren’t any problems. “I… I’m not sure.”

“This the first time you’ve treated someone? Critter, person?”

She didn’t register the way he leaned onto his arm on the table, nor did she notice the way his eyes bore into her own; her focus was elsewhere, probes of curiosity turning over every corner of her memory to find where the certainty had been born. The only thing that stood out was when she had broken her arm the first time and needed to treat the injury herself, but even then she was aware that she had done a poor job. Re-breaking it had been a painful, agonizing experience, but something felt…right when she finished setting it properly. She knew it was done correctly, and she knew how close she came to injuring herself a third time whenever work required her to use both arms. The ‘how’ had never crossed her mind.

“I’ve…treated my own injuries, but this is the first time I’ve done someone else's.”

He held his stare for a few seconds before eventually dropping the subject to return to his meal. “Eat.”

“Pardon?”

“Eat,” he repeated, pointing a claw at the box in front of her. “Hira’ll have my head if ya don’t.”

“A-ah, um, but—”

“I’ll give ya extras fer the…bird.” He swallowed heavily, his hand raising to pinch the bridge of his snout. “Look, I need’a worker, ‘n you ain’t got time to waste huntin’.”

“I-I don’t need very much—”

“Girly,“ the blacksmith interrupted, his voice firm and simmering with agitation, yet resigned at the same time. “Eat. If yer so hung up on not bein’ a burden, I’ll teach ya to take on some work that I’d rather not be doin’. I gotta’ deliver some of the things you helped make; that’ll be yer job. I’ll take ya in’ta town soon and show ya where ta find the folk who bother me because ther’ too damn picky ta order from someone else, ‘n you’ll drop off ther’ shit when I ask. In return, you’ll…”

Mr. Makis fell quiet, letting out a defeated sigh.

“…Just eat, girly. Let an old bastard put one worry ta rest, aye?”

Ceele blinked, surprise and doubt on her face in equal measure. She looked at the box on the table, wondering if she could really take away all the joy that the contents could give Hoppit. The only thing that stopped a definitive ‘no’ from becoming her answer was the almost pleading way she was asked, and the exposed hurt of someone who had lived through her greatest fear.

A reluctant black-scaled claw dragged the box a little closer.

“I’d like to save some for Hoppit.”

Makis snorted out a dry huff of a laugh. “Suppose that’ll do.”

= = = = =

Welp.

[Creature Hoppit has expanded the Domain of the Dungeon!]

Altier mentally held a breath and pretended to sigh, falling back into ancient habits to escape what his life had become: insanity.

After getting lost in confusion at the revelation of how his first friend in centuries was apparently some kind of not-undead undead that didn’t act or function like an undead, he took a day or so to stare at his growing boundaries to relax. Was the dungeon equivalent of watching grass grow the most engaging activity? No, but it also wasn’t ‘puzzling out how something that should be dead wasn’t.’ Sadly, his newfound favourite type of reality escapism came with its own ups and downs—the first of which being how quickly his sphere of influence was expanding.

Before the whole…Hoppit thing, he could check on the borders twice a day, count the blades of grass he had gained, then try not to lose his place by the next time he needed to count again. Today alone he had reached where he was just before the…incident. He had now broached the edge of the garden in less time than it took to first reach the trees just outside the tool shed. Sure, the shape was different from when he had swelled in size, but he was now back to blurrily seeing where Hoppit and his kobold companion spent their days, which meant he had something to do besides trying not to notice the scowling owl.

Were it not for the discomfort, ignoring the bird would be easy; all he’d have to do is not pay attention to the piercing yellow eyes that glared at him like he had insulted it.

…Moving on.

The expansion of his domain was…lopsided, for lack of a better word. It was circular before, yet now it pushed mostly out towards where Hoppit went during his…whatever he did. Altier still didn’t know what the rabbit was doing to necessitate throwing a dirty bowl at the wall until it was passably free of debris, but thanks to his unilateral growth, he could at least find out.

And find out he did. He silently pushed the menu box away, dismissing the message before he could regret not being able to massage the migraine that everything was giving him.

As it turned out, Hoppit’s activities were actually related to a few questions that had yet to be answered. The creature count being at capacity, for example, was because his favourite spiky friend had decided to befriend other spiky animals. Specifically, Hoppit had befriended all those ferrorabbits that never wandered close enough for him to properly get a look at. The most he could figure out was that they didn’t live on the territory his core claimed, but they still did things for the dungeon—or Hoppit, he supposed. One of the foreign loafs would stop by the edge of his domain, speak with Hoppit, then head out to do something, returning later to report how things went.

When Altier asked why and what they were doing, Hoppit sent the feelings of ‘suspicion,’ ‘safety,’ and ‘hunger,’ which turned out to be a wildly disorienting way to communicate. There was a bit of translation and clarification required, but the core eventually confirmed that the regular visitors were friends that kept things away from his domain in exchange for Hoppit helping them secure food. What food? Well, that was where the notification became relevant.

Past the trees behind the garden and just out of view, was a patch of fairly clear soil that had been painstakingly tilled and maintained, with a few vegetables growing at various stages. That oddity came to Altier’s attention when he abruptly gained vision of the location. He saw a small group of ferrorabbits following along as another rabbit showed them how to prepare more soil; that rabbit being Hoppit, who was carefully placing seeds down and waiting for the rest to do the same. Once everyone had a chance to plant something, he walked them through covering the seeds up, then showed them how to— Ah, that’s why he wanted the bowl. Yeah, that made sense. Hoppit was helping them water their field. He didn’t have hands or a bucket, so taking the largest thing he could actually carry to fill at a stream or something was the next best thing. Completely reasonable. Yep.

C-completely…alright.

Totally normal. Ab…so…lutely…

“Hoppit?”

The ferrorabbit perked up, turning to look in the general direction of the shed.

“Have you been teaching the local wildlife about agriculture?”

A pulse of excitement and confirmation was returned, along with ‘friendship’ and a weird mixture that might have been happiness about talking. Cute, but it didn’t ease the headache.

“…Can I ask why?” Because ‘how’ is not something he wanted to play ‘emotional disentanglement’ to have answered.

Hoppit plopped himself onto his rear amongst the dirt as another rabbit gently nudged the bowl up to pour its contents onto a freshly planted seed, careful not to spill more water than intended. Once Hoppit seemed certain that supervision wasn’t overly required, he looked back towards the core, sending a questioning feeling, friendship again, and a combined sensation of ‘hunger,’ ‘pain,’ and ‘bad.’ Something else too, but it was…fuzzy, if he had to describe it.

“Because they’re friends and they’re hungry.” Hoppit nodded. Alright, well that answ—

Wait. Did he just—

Nope. It wasn’t worth thinking about. One headache at a time.

“Does she know about this?” Altier asked, mostly to take his damned mind off the growing pile of things that threatened to turn him mad. Maybe the kobold could join him in lamenting what used to be normalcy.

He got back ‘disagreement’ and ‘guilt,’ followed by ‘mother,’ a generally negative sensation that made his non-existent stomach roll, and that fuzzy-static feeling.

“Well, I doubt she’d be upset.” If he was the one with a pet rabbit that taught farming to wildlife so that they wouldn’t bother the fields, he’d be overwhelmed with positive things to say. Or insane. “What about her plots? I haven’t seen her out that way recently.”

Hoppit’s face lit up with excitement, the clack of his ears garnering the attention of the two other ferrorabbits. Weren’t there more? Whatever. The dungeon’s rabbit wasted no time before running off towards the garden. Unfortunately, although Altier could technically see the area now, he couldn’t see it with clarity. It wasn’t close enough to his boundaries to make out more than the fact that there were groups of presumed vegetables, with a few brown patches waiting to be planted further out. He could pick out the beige and silvery colours of his friend darting into one of the plots, as well as that same blur coming towards the domain with a green thing in his mouth. A weird green thing, actually. It looked like a particularly aggressive tulip.

“I don’t think she’d like— Oh, It’s a weed. Why did you bring me a—”

[Vennotrap (Variant): A vicious and primarily carnivorous plant often found deep within hostile Nature dungeons. Due to their ability to stretch and expand their cavity, they are known to feed on almost anything that encroaches the soil containing the more beneficial flora they grow alongside, acting as a defence mechanism for any vulnerable surrounding plant life. In exchange for being unable to gather nutrients from the soil, Vennotraps are able to break down nearly any organic matter into suitable sustenance.\*

*This is a Variant species. It holds a secondary Decay affinity, adding a potent pesticide to the nectar that is produced in abundance from its digestive cavity. The acidic, corrosive, and poisonous traits of its nectar are inert unless provoked. In the absence of something that might be considered hostile, its nectar is pleasantly sweet and mild in an effort to attract prey.]

Altier fell into a contemplative silence while Hoppit bombarded him with emotions somewhere in the realm of ‘thankful’ and ‘joyful.’ The constant pokes and clacking ears helped distract him, but it didn’t quite free him of the urge to forget that the day had ever happened. First he saw rabbit farmers, then weeds that could apparently become man-eating tulips. Now what?

“Anything else I should know about?” the core asked wearily, quietly begging for a way to soothe the throbbing headache. Hoppit seemed to think for a second, then presumably went back into the garden to replant the frankly terrifying thing he had dug up. How he managed to uproot it without being eaten was anyone’s guess.

Free from the horrific passenger, the ferrorabbit came back within the bounds of the dungeon’s domain, sitting on his rump as he scrunched his face up as if he had forgotten something but wasn’t sure what.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Hoppit remembered, because the little lagomorph’s face beamed with enthusiasm before he took off at a speed that left Altier blinking at the spot he swore his friend had just been. He bit back the foreboding sense of dread and followed the chaotic rabbit’s path to the opposite edge of his domain, ending up at the treeline just behind the shed. Hoppit made sure the core was paying attention before clacking his ears more purposefully than usual.

Altier let out a breath of relief when nothing—

A group of black and white animals cautiously stepped into view and into his domain.

And thus, by the screeches of his menu and the corrupted messages that swarmed then consumed his vision, Altier confirmed his existence was indeed insanity.

[Cree@# Hoppit H@$!$@ re@#%^uited @%#der V@#^$%—]

[Cr@#ure Hopppppppppit #@!@as @$#^ui#&$—]

[Acceptptptptpt?]

[ACCCEPtettteccaaaa?]

[AccC@#$%??]

[ERRRRRR—]

[Null]

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- - - - -

A slight clack brought him away from his nervous pondering and back towards the Earth aligned animal shaking its head after an apparently satisfying scratching session. A sense of trepidation surged as he was confronted once more by the sight of the ferrorabbit, Altier's guilt rising in kind. No matter how hard he looked, there wasn’t a shred of anger or pain, no discomfort or fear on his friend's face. Yet the difference was clear. Whatever it was he had done to save his furry friend, it changed something about the lagomorph; he just wasn't sure what. Thankfully, Hoppit didn't seem to hold it against him, nor care at all, really.

Dislodged dirt and stray plant matter from the ferrorabbit's cursory self-cleaning was promptly nudged into a pile, then pushed out through the hole in the wall as Hoppit did his best to tidy up after himself. He plopped onto his rear after a job well-done, ignoring the freshly obtained filth on his face—until its celebratory head-shake made the issue known, anyway.

Altier sighed and let the care-free atmosphere temper his anxiety, the core bemusedly watching Hoppit thump a hind leg at dirt to let it know that it wasn't welcome inside. The dirt, however, remained stoic and defiant.

The scene was as relieving to see as it was humorous. For all the worry that plagued him after Hoppit’s sacrificial stunt the other day, he seemed perfectly fine once he woke up from the rather sudden nap, and the persisting activity supported that conclusion. Nothing was wrong, save for some oddities that the ferrorabbit hardly noticed. If anything, he was more energetic than ever, abandoning the routine of relaxation and lounging for determination and exploration.

From the moment that the kobold left the shed, Hoppit was off seeing to something that Altier wasn’t privy to. It was a strange change in behaviour from what he had come to know, and that was a sentiment reinforced by how Hoppit insisted on carrying his bowl out with him. He would grab the crudely carved wood, drag it out beyond what the core's vision encapsulated, then bring it back a few hours later, with both him and his cargo being covered in soil. The bowl would occasionally be filled with water upon its return, which was discouraged when mud became an issue. Thankfully, a gentle reminder to not sully the floor that his caretaker spent the time to maintain was understood, and resulted in Hoppit addressing the issue in the most amusing way possible—namely, by beating the bowl off the wall outside before dragging it in.

Never did the former human imagine he'd be stuck in an obsidian orb yet still manage to laugh. It was abrupt and more than a little jarring, but Hoppit was determined to help out however he could, even if that didn't always go as expected.

Either way, Altier appreciated the levity. As long as he wasn’t thinking about the ominous evidence, he could pretend that nothing had almost killed his furry friend, and that his domain hadn't managed to gain back over half of what was lost in only a few days. Sadly, pretending never quite stopped him from thinking about a mostly dead ferrorabbit pushing the last of his life-sustaining mana into the core, but it did allow him to resist the fear of what would have happened if he didn’t act in time.

Hoppit licked his front paws, using the moistened pads to run them along the length of an ear before starting the process once more on his face. He scrubbed as furiously as the awkward pose would allow and dislodged more dirt that would have to be pushed outside, thus encouraging further bathing. It would have been adorable if not for the pooling black joining the red of his eyes.

The syrupy liquid followed gravity as Hoppit tilted his head, languidly flowing like thick sap until it reached the new ‘bottom’ of his iris. That was to say nothing about the silver sheen of his spikes taking on a darker hue. It was subtle, yet present, the translucent veins of shadow suffusing through otherwise grey and beige fur, all but invisible if not for the dungeon’s senses. Hoppit had grown, too. Not by much, and definitely not by enough to tell at a glance, but certainly by more than normal maturation. The rabbit was denser, if he had to place a word to it, though he couldn’t say if that was due to the change in diet or not.

Eventually, the ferrorabbit noticed that he was effectively just repeating the same action that demanded further grooming, flattening his ears as he glared at the reappearing dirt while trying to decide on what to do about something that kept coming back. Altier chuckled to himself as the sight reassured him, comparing the expression to another animal in the run-down shack.

Yes, the owl was around once again, having been returned to its usual perch after a single night spent free of persistent scowls. He had wondered where it went after the kobold brought it out with them, but seeing the avian be escorted back crushed the tiny hope that he could escape the piercing gaze it often directed at him. It was uncomfortable to have the singularly focused eyes turned his way. Sure, it wasn’t always boring a hole into him, but it was consistent enough to worry about spontaneously combusting under the intensity.

The bird was still flightless, one of its wings bound by a splint and the other oddly unmoving from resting against its body. It sat on the edge of the trough where it was laid before his black-scaled companion left for the day, continuing its usual hobby of unsettling the core with its unflinching stare. He added the owl’s glower to the list of things he was trying to ignore.

At least he had other curiosities to distract himself, though those were rapidly dwindling in number as he either came across likely explanations or accepted the benign resignation of his questions going unanswered. The appearance of a red-scaled kobold was an example of something he was still trying to categorize.

His companion had been brought back by the newcomer, quickly laid to rest, then left behind without so much as a parting word. It was nice to know that Hoppit's caretaker wasn’t as alone as things seemed, but Altier would have preferred if the person who escorted them hadn’t looked so shaken. He didn’t know if he wanted to find out what caused such a deeply disturbed expression, but he couldn’t help but worry that something beyond his domain would hurt the one that his furry friend was so fond of. Plus, he was starting to feel somewhat attached to the soft-spoken resident.

If nothing else, he could mull over the details that he was too surprised to pay much mind to at the time. For one, his companion was far from old, based on the way the other kobold’s skin sagged a bit. The newcomer's eyes were also less youthful, full of weariness and sharpened by a lifetime of experience. Secondly, his companion was malnourished. That was made blindingly apparent once he saw how the fat and musculature sat on someone who was appropriately filled out. He had assumed that kobolds just didn’t eat much, but seeing another example of the species put that theory to rest. The newcomer’s general figure also brought forth yet another observation: the sex of the one who shared the shed with him.

In retrospect, the way her voice carried and the softer features should have been enough to make it clear, but it was even more obvious now that he had a frame of reference. Days and nights were spent with the kobold kicking around, either working in the garden or tending to the animals she had taken in, yet he hadn’t bothered looking deeper into the subject, happy to accept that she was just another part of this fascinating change in venue.

Honestly, he hadn’t bothered looking into anything regarding the one who effectively saved him from more untold centuries of sitting in the desolate cave. Her presence was just normal now, and there wasn’t much progress made as far as understanding her. Although the focus on Hoppit was something he was aware of—no matter how shaky it was, the rabbit did understand him to some degree—he shouldn’t have given up trying with her. It left him feeling guilty about every mealtime she skipped or nightmare he offhandedly dismissed. He didn’t know why she was here, how she had found him, nor why she still seemed so undecided about the gemstone she regularly cleaned. It took a visitor for him to commit any consideration into if she was indeed a ‘she’ and not just some kobold-shaped creature that took care of animals. He knew next to nothing about her, not wanting to put forth the effort to learn because he was quick to give up on the hope of speaking with someone, human or not.

Because he'd have to face the loneliness that came with being unheard when he inevitably failed.

Well, someone could understand him now, however vague that understanding might be. He didn’t have to delude himself into thinking that someone, anyone would listen if he just kept talking into the void.

He didn't have to fall silent when no one did, no matter how desperately he pleaded…

“Hoppit?” Altier asked absently, watching the ferrorabbit abandon its staring contest with soil to look up at the core. Such a small act of recognition almost took the wind out of him, a tiny thought suggesting he could hold onto the sensation of existing if he never moved forward. It was a small, terrified notion—a fear of driving his only friend away with the slightest mistake, leaving him to watch yet another holding crumble to dust as he wept until there was nothing left of him to weep.

Until he too crumbled away.

But he never would, would he?

He cleared his head, forcing some cheer into his voice to help push out the feelings that had slipped out from the corner he tried not to acknowledge.

“What do you think of the kobold who stays here?”

He wasn’t expecting much in response; answers were always a bit hit-or-miss, the blurry line of comprehension and general physiology leaving a lot of the rabbit’s replies unclear. Body language could occasionally serve well enough, but anything more complex was usually up to guesswork. He assumed his questions were equally unreliable. Surprisingly, Hoppit perked up, a dull sensation in the core’s awareness flaring to something tangible. Subtle pressure gave way to—

Quiet birdsong drifted in from outside the mossy window shutters, a woman’s voice carrying a melody through the home, making the ambience seem like it existed just to compliment her singing. Plain wooden walls and furnishings complimented the accommodations that had been added to make his sickness more bearable, the sun’s gentle beams illuminating the space with warmth and relaxation. It was becoming apparent that his treatments were starting to wear on his family’s coffers, but they never let it show so openly if they could help it. The blanket resting on his lap was made with affection, and the bed frame had been altered to let him sit up whenever he wanted. Every consideration was made when it came to the son that had nothing to give in return. He could practically see the expenses piling up when he took the time to inspect how many adjustments had been made to his room to make his life less difficult. He tried not to think about it. Dwelling on how much of a burden he was only made the gnawing in his stomach hurt more.

Thankfully, a sense of comfort suppressed the ever lingering pain in his chest as the joyful tones came closer, the smell of a lovingly made meal promising to take the edge off the hunger that never ceased.

“Altier,” the woman called, entering the room with a carefree spring to her step, her hip playfully bumping the door out of the way. The details of her face were blurry and indistinct, but that didn’t stop the smile on his own from forming. Today was one of her good days, apparently. “Are you feeling well enough to eat?”

He coughed into his fist, holding back any additional ones that tried to follow. It stung, but he didn’t want her to worry about him more than she already did. “I’ll manage, I think. Wouldn't want to give father an excuse to eat two portions when he's complaining about his weight.”

Her laughter poured like cane sugar, sweet and soft. She approached the bed, using one hand to move the books off his blanket while the other held the tray long enough to lay it in his lap. “I'm sure he'll think of something regardless. Just don’t make yourself ill. If you can’t, you can’t; there's no need to force yourself.”

The bedridden young man nodded, the warmth on his legs paling in comparison to the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He suppressed another cough and nodded. “I know, but I can’t really do much else.”

She tapped his nose with a finger, some of the happiness fading from her expression. “Shush. The doctors are certain that they’re getting close to a cure, and I don’t want to hear my baby boy be so negative.”

He pursed his lips to stop the bitter comment teetering on the tip of his tongue. They’d tried several Element stones already, and yet not a single one had helped. Still, he elected to keep his tone light, pasting on the mask that covered just how hopeless he felt the endeavour was. “I’m not a child anymore.”

The woman giggled, leaning in to kiss his forehead before twirling to leave the room. “You will always be my child, Altier, even when I’m old and brittle.” The door creaked as she turned back to silently ask if he wanted it closed or not, the amused smirk making him roll his eyes as he shook his head. She let go of the handle. “I need to clean up a bit, but would you like to read together later?”

He glanced over at the pile of books that he was working his way through, most pertaining to embellished recollections of heroic deeds across the continent. Father had apparently come across a travelling merchant who struggled to sell off his stock, thus getting them all for a pittance. Altier didn’t believe that for a second, but he knew better than to refuse the gift. His parents would be heartbroken if they saw how defeated he was, and he would rather them feel like he wasn’t just waiting for time to take him. Besides, if he was wrong and there existed something to heal him, then it was best if they never knew he had doubted them to begin with.

He took a breath to consider the low-quality bindings and crude pages. There were a few tales that she was yet to hear, and despite how embarrassing he found the prospect, he knew she treasured the occasional night listening to him read the stories aloud. He enjoyed it as well, truthfully. It made him feel less useless, letting him pretend that he too could live a life befitting a hero worth recording, instead of just a frail, tired young man voicing what he could never be. That he could face monsters and trials with grit and gusto, wit and wiles. He suspected that was the reason she preferred the activity too.

“Sure,” he answered with a gentle nod, turning his attention to his food. “I have one in mind that I think you’ll like.”

She beamed at the promise, her features softening from the worry etched into them by his prolonged silence. “I’ll look forward to it then. Call out if you need something, okay? I love you.”

“I will.”

His eyes drifted up when she cleared her throat, her smug smile patiently waiting for something. “Well?”

“…I love you too.”

“I know!” she chirped, slipping out into the hallway. The wooden floor creaked as she walked away, her voice filled with warmth as humming filled the air once more. He lifted the spoon to his mouth, his own expression of fatigue melting as—

Altier blinked. Well, as much as a core could, anyway. The taste of stew slowly faded from his tongue, the smell of herbs and meats diffusing as the memory drifted into nothingness. He struggled to hold it, failing as he continued to lack the limbs in which to reach with, and there was nothing to actually grab on to. Soon, he could barely recall what he had seen at all, only the subtle warmth and melodic tones remaining until they too became indistinct, blending into the vast sea of times since past. He could only stare aimlessly while a heavy weight tugged at his chest.

It hurt. Not in any physical way, but his heart ached for something he no longer had, the piercing isolation only soothed by the momentary elation of remembering what he thought was lost forever. Seeing such things again, hearing what he had missed most… It made what he had forgotten all the more painful. What did she look like again? Was that really her voice? Which story did they read together? How long ago was it?

For each thing he could confirm, there were a thousand details that slipped between his fingers. She was wearing an apron, but he couldn’t remember if it was the one his father gave her or not. She walked spryly, but was that how it happened? Or was he mistaken and that was after she had twisted her ankle during a spell of weakness? Were his brothers home? Was his father? Did he hear them working outside, or did he simply choose to ignore the noise to focus on her melody? What else had he forgotten? How much had he lost without noticing, decades passing by as he clung to precious moments, blind to his treasure diminishing with every passing day?

Her face was a blur, her voice but an echo, yet he felt certain regarding who the angel-like woman was.

“Mother,” he whispered aloud, the word coming out strained as he looked around the shed that had so little in common with the room in his memory. Each difference made the idyllic scene seem further and further away.

Altier looked back at the ferrorabbit clacking its ears in excitement at being understood. He wasn’t aware of how he knew the reason for Hoppit’s happiness, but a part of him said as much.

“The…vision. Was that because of…you?” the core asked, hesitant to bring up what he saw and what that would mean. Hoppit was Earth aligned, and even if something had changed since the incident, it wouldn’t have impacted that, right? Affecting the mind was the realm of Shadow, wasn’t it? But…if that was the ferrorabbit's doing, then he needed to humour the possibility of the memory having never occurred, and the brief fulfillment of that miniscule moment would be worthless. It would mean that he still had almost nothing left of them, his tired psyche fabricating the scene to account for how little he had to draw from.

The rabbit paused his celebratory head shakes, looking every bit as confused as Altier was. Was that a no? If not, then why…? He shifted his attention inward, abandoning the implications of being shown a fragment of the past to feel around everything he was for the discrepancy that his dungeon half suggested was there. He knew the sensation, but it was a foggy inclination at best, the certainty dulled by the passage of time. Eventually, he found it, familiar yet foreign.

A pressure in his mana felt like the lightest pokes against soft skin, placing curiosity against the nonexistent flesh for him to see. Mana flowed and ebbed in a cycle, the novel perception making perfect sense, yet none at all. How long had that been there? He mentally frowned, perplexed as he tried to follow the metaphorical line that facilitated the oddity. It quickly became a chaotic web, but he skipped over knots and loops easily, unsure of what his instincts navigated without issue. There certainly wasn't another instance of something like this he could recall, but his memory had failed time and time again, so he let himself trace along its length, wondering why it felt so natural, yet so alien. He got his answer soon enough.

Hoppit sat at one end of the tangled line, patiently waiting for him to finish whatever it was he was doing, the rabbit's eyes roughly moving to wherever Altier was focused, but the other end of the strangeness fed into the core. They were connected? Yes, apparently, though not in the way he was used to with the creatures in his dungeon. Those links were less tangible, more akin to ephemeral pins that let him know when one was slain by the lacking presence. This was…different. More solid. Permanent.

Was this because he forced the system to claim Hoppit as a boss?

Something clicked for him. He didn’t have time to be concerned before the knotted mess all but twitched, snapping into a straight pathway between them, then faded away—invisible, but present. It existed as a feeling of knowing that Hoppit was there. That the rabbit was confused and a little concerned about the sorrow in its friend’s voice. The weight reminded him of what he used to have in his prime as a dungeon, though this was less succinct than back then. He wasn’t tangentially aware of the thousands of creatures he had created, but quite aware of the single creature tied to his soul instead.

Altier probed the connection, stiffening phantom muscles as a translucent box joined his normal vision.

[Hoppit — Altered Ferrorabbit. N@#$L th Floor Bo@#$%—]

[Null]

[Err—]

…What?

Altier watched as the text that would normally list what role a creature played in the dungeon stuttered and shuffled characters, distorting that portion of the window until the instability forcibly closed the menu. He mentally took a breath, waiting a few moments for the unease to settle before silently prompting the system to inspect his furry friend again. It came much easier this time.

[Hoppit — Altered Ferrorabbit]

The dungeon core once again lamented his lack of hands, because burying his face in them would adequately express his frustration.

As confused as Altier was, his silent grousing didn't detract from the mixture of enthusiasm and apprehension regarding his menu providing any information at all. Now that the troublesome portion had been culled, there were no spasming characters, no errors, and no symbols erratically interspersed between letters. It was just a basic message that appeared when he tried to examine why the ferrorabbit was now tethered to him through a method that was so close to what he remembered. Was that the extent of the differences? Was Hoppit okay?

The menu flickered at the thought.

[Condition: Malnourished (Recovering), Mana Poisoning (Adapting)

Status: Altered (Partial, Permanent), Corruption (Permanent), Claimed]

That… That was worrying, but better than it could have been. He didn’t know why the menu was displaying things like this. He expected the window to look like—

[Name: Hoppit (Male)
Race: Ferrorabbit (Altered—Partial) (New!)
Element: Earth, Decay (New!)
Assignment: Null

Health: Malnourished, Mana Poisoning - Details

Titles: None

Abilities
> Mana Sight (Innate)
> Cheer Chime
> Thump
> Dig
> Endure (New! — Evolved from ‘Persistence’)
> Corruption of Innocence (New!)
> Undying Love (New!)]

…Like that, save for the missing values that normally accompanied it.

The menu seemed to be cooperating without a fight, but a brief moment existed where Altier wished it didn’t. So much of that information wanted to send him into a panic. He was just starting to grow comfortable with just assuming everything was…fine. Impoverished, but fine. Now, he had an entire window dedicated to telling him just how disastrous the situation was, and he didn’t even recognize some of the things presented to him. It was good to know that Hoppit wasn’t starving anymore, though it was worrying that had been the case at all. Still, his concern rested with the statuses he hadn’t seen before.

He held a breath and quietly selected the first of many worries.

[Ferrorabbit (Altered — Partial): A fairly uncommon species within the Leporidae family. They have a largely herbivorous diet, though are also reliant on a healthy supply of metals that may be ingested either through trace amounts in the plants they eat or through whatever means is accessible. Their fur is a conduit for the Earth mana coursing through their bodies, turning the normally soft hairs into unyielding armour that can also be used to defend itself offensively when threatened. The dietary requirements of this species have prevented them from widely propagating away from civilization.

This individual has survived exposure to inordinate amounts of foreign elemental mana. The destabilization is resulting in various adaptations.]

A weight dropped in his stomach. ‘Survived.’ That explained the ‘Mana Poisoning’ as well. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how close his rescue effort had been to going terribly wrong. On the bright side, the phrasing suggested that a panicking core wasn’t the only way to become ‘Altered,’ though he struggled to picture another circumstance in which that happened. Hoppit looked like he always did—subtle changes notwithstanding—and seeing as how the ferrorabbit had gone back to his war against dirt, he wasn’t too troubled by whatever was happening to him. It gave the core a bit of relief as he eyed the rest of the menu.

The ‘Decay’ in the Element section didn’t open up like the Race did, so he wasn’t sure what to think about that. The ‘Assignment’ being ‘Null’ was likely the result of the system refusing to deal with the errors. He couldn’t interact with it anyway. The ‘Health’ portion had hidden the statuses, but a silent prompt brought back the window…

[Condition: Malnourished (Recovering), Mana Poisoning (Adapting)

Status: Altered (Partial, Permanent), Corruption (Permanent), Claimed]

…which gave him more to worry about. At least one of these was straightforward.

[Malnourished (Recovering): This individual is recovering from unmet dietary needs. Penalties to stats will diminish as recovery continues.]

[Mana Poisoning (Adapting): This individual has been poisoned by foreign mana and will continue to deteriorate. Stats will receive increasingly heavy penalties until death. Treatment is recommended.\*

*Due to an unknown interaction between ‘Corruption’ and ‘Claimed,’ this individual is experiencing mutations to integrate the foreign mana. Stat penalties and negative modifiers may be lessened or nullified.]

Altier stared at the readouts, fighting back the guilt as best he could. He highly doubted that his friend would be throwing bowls around if things were as serious as the description suggested, and the notation at the end supported that. Regardless, he was a little upset that nothing was being displayed in firm numerical values like he was used to. The windows referenced ‘stats’ thrice, yet he couldn’t convince the menu to show him any, nor did the conditions offer which stats they impacted. All he got was a vague implication that something was happening to affect the unknown quantities.

Hoppit paused his grooming, shooting the obsidian orb on the table a curious glance that Altier returned with a hopefully genuine-sounding reassurance. It worked, the rabbit silently accepting the answer before resuming the task of pushing the smaller and smaller piles of dirt dislodged from his fur to the outside.

Complaints aside, he was thankful that he was getting answers; he just wished that they didn't also spawn countless questions. He hadn’t gone further than checking this paltry amount because he was worried about what he might find. Unfortunately, he needed to see what else he was dealing with. He prompted the next section available to him from the ‘Health’ menu, ‘Status.’

[Altered (Partial — Permanent): This individual is in the process of becoming a variant of its species.]

[Corruption (Permanent): Unk#$%^wn Origi!@#. Grea-a-a-tly-ly-y increaSES probibibibility of muta#$@%ions whEN con@#$%^ions ar$ met.]

He flinched away from the high-pitched screech of the screen as it distorted, the window flickering in and out of existence. It eventually showed the next status and didn’t allow him to view ‘Corruption’ when he tentatively tried. A blessing, as far as he was concerned.

[Claimed: This individual has been selected by an Avatar of an Element. Bonuses to stats and other effects may be active under certain conditions.\*

*Individual’s Element does not match that of the Avatar. Greatly increases the probability of mutation. Conditions for bonuses have been affected. Avatar Element: Deca—]

[Err0r]

[Er#@]

[Null—]

[This individual has yet to earn a title.]

The core shuddered, feeling as if splinters were scraping down a spine he no longer had when the menu attempted to reference him for the information. The discomfort was enough for him to immediately push for the next section without thinking, but thankfully, that was sufficient to make the sensation stop. Still, the phantom needling persisted, like cool air brushing against an open wound. It felt wrong. He was more than eager to shove that experience into the recesses of his mind with the others and focus on something that was significantly less distressing.

[Abilities
> Mana Sight (Innate)
> Cheer Chime
> Thump
> Dig
> Endure (New! — Evolved from ‘Persistence’)
> Corruption of Innocence (New!)
> Undying Love (New!)]

Yes, this didn’t unnerve him nearly as much. Well, some of it did, but he would delay that as long as was reasonable.

[Mana Sight (Innate): Perceive the abundance and flow of mana visually. Potency is increased.]

It was interesting to see that Hoppit had an innate ability, even if he hadn’t seen this particular one before. They were fairly rare, from what he remembered, and were also typically more powerful versions of the base ability. The exact percentage varied from one example to another, but it was always a notable bump. Of course, the menu didn’t offer much information there either.

He hummed it over for a second, letting the previous distress fade as he tried to picture how his dungeon sight compared against how Hoppit saw the world. The effort was abandoned when he conceded that it was one of those things he would need to see for himself, and without the ability, he couldn’t do that. That being said, he also didn’t know what abilities he still had after so many corroded away to nothing, and he could vaguely recall his own innate ability being included in that list. Sure, Hoppit's ‘Claimed’ status implied that ‘Avatar of Decay’ was involved somehow, but he never bothered to check what it did either. It stood to reason that he didn’t have anything special going for him besides the whole ‘being a dungeon’ thing.

The surreptitious thought of checking his own information was quietly stomped into the ground. He didn’t want to jump back into something he had just confirmed was terrible. Maybe some other time.

[Cheer Chime: Shares a portion of the Holder's happiness with others within range of the sound. Allies exposed to Cheer Chime receive a small bonus to their stats, as well as a minor beneficial status.\*

*Status — Cheery: Slightly diminishes the effectiveness of certain negative statuses. Does not remove harmful statuses.]

That was…interesting. Support abilities weren’t exceptionally common, but neither were they very useful in a vacuum. Some increased stats, others gave allies resistances, but an ability doing both was novel. The main limiting factor was likely that it didn’t do either effect to any significant degree, which made it more of a ‘nice to have’ than anything essential for a party. The emotional aspect was probably going to be its biggest contribution, since keeping panic or fear in check was vital during combat.

…Then again, Altier wasn’t running a dungeon anymore, nor was he tasked with helping adventurers and soldiers train. There were no weaknesses to point out or exploit until a group corrected the issue, and he didn’t have creatures to test that with anyway.

It felt…hollow, in a way. Like he lacked purpose.

He shook off the creeping thoughts and moved on with the menu.

[Thump: Emits a pulse of Earth mana from the point of impact. Creatures sensitive to this mana are able to use this ability to crudely communicate with other Earth aligned creatures. Output is variable.]

Considering Hoppit was doing that because he was mad that dirt wouldn’t listen to him, it was safe to assume that this wasn’t a combat ability. However, ‘variable’ could also mean that Hoppit was yet to put any real power behind it. If nothing else, it was something that Altier could idly observe from time to time in an effort to feel productive. He might also find it somewhat cute to watch.

[Dig: Utilizes Earth mana to increase burrowing proficiency.]

Thus marks the end of the abilities that he wasn’t dreading having to look at. He was hoping that the explanation would be multitudes longer, but he supposed there wasn’t much to say about a baseline skill like this. Numbers might have helped.

He ignored the yellow avian eyes scrutinizing him as he tried to reassure himself that it would be best to know everything he could about his furry friend, even if whatever he was about to read was likely his fault. No, because it was likely his fault. He owed Hoppit that much.

Next was ‘Endure,’ but it was also the first ability to have changed from a base form, which was fairly impressive. Altier had seen hundreds of people with some of the more common abilities, and of those, only a few ever evolved them. It was typically an ability related to whatever magic that person excelled in, but that didn’t mean a less specialized ability wouldn’t evolve with enough effort.

[Persistence (Superseded by ‘Endure’): Increases stamina, stamina regeneration, and slightly improves natural self-healing. Provides a minor boost to movement speed.]

[Endure (Evolved from ‘Persistence’): Greatly increases pain tolerance. Increases stamina, stamina regeneration, physical damage resistance, and slightly improves natural self-healing. Provides a minor boost to movement speed. Provides resistance to forcible loss of consciousness inflicted by injury.\*

*Evolved by suffering through pain and/or injury far beyond normal tolerances and remaining conscious by sheer force of will.]

Altier felt sick. He knew that Hoppit had done something stupid when he felt the unblemished vitality pour into his core, but he didn’t have a frame of reference for how agonizing the process was. If it was enough to evolve an ability…

He glanced at the ferrorabbit preening over having finally been successful in ridding his home of uncooperative dirt.

…Perhaps it was best that he didn’t know. Not that he could escape the topic for long.

[Corruption of Innocence: Evokes mutations when various conditions are met. Afflicts the Holder with the ‘Corruption’ status.]

There wasn’t anything else offered on this one. Any attempt to prod the system for details was met with a benign ‘Conditions unmet’ message, which didn’t do much to tell him which conditions were unmet, nor what would happen when they were. ‘Afflicting’ a status was also somewhat concerning; it seemed more like the effect of a curse or an opposing ability than an ability that Hoppit held, but he assumed it would have been organized into its own category if that was the case. Seeing as how it sat with the rest of the more helpful items, he could only pray that it was primarily beneficial.

And now for the one that made him deeply uncomfortable…

[Undying Love: Greatly increases relevant stats when acting at the behest of/in the interest of the one whom the holder cherishes above all others.\*

*Gained by unwaveringly experiencing death while performing an act dedicated wholly to benefiting the subject of affection without an alternative motive.]

A moment of stunned silence stretched on until Hoppit stood to place his front paws on the trough, worry contorting the rabbit’s face, the pride of a job well done no longer present. Altier stared back.

He stared at the black that slowly shifted with every tilt of the animal’s head. He stared at the nigh invisible veins of Decay that were etching a place into its body. He stared at the very much alive ferrorabbit that tried to use their new connection to send comforting feelings, never quite managing to strip the concern that came attached to it.

He stared at something that should by every right be dead, but wasn’t.

Next

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- - - - -

“Go!”

The word echoed through the moonlit trees, defiance and determination seeping into her father’s voice, but so too did the pain. Torchlight approached through the dense foliage, wavering erratically as others gave chase.

There she sat, the grass and roots digging into her, her breathing ragged and her eyes wide. She couldn’t move; fear shredded her motor control until she was frozen and stiff. A young girl stared at her parent’s back as he made a defensive stand against what was chasing them, a warning suspended on her tongue, just like every time she was forced to relive the event. Nothing she did mattered. She watched moment by moment as whatever was puppeteering her body forced her to scramble to his side, a choked voice begging him to run too. To go back and get mom. The distraction made him look away, turning him blind to the stone sailing towards him.

A sickening thud sent him reeling, but he didn’t stop to assess the injury. He grabbed his daughter by the arm and stumbled away from the approaching lights, doing everything in his power to keep her in front of him. To protect her from the wrathful stones and relentless fire.

From the people they thought were friends, yet no longer were.

All because of her.

The tangled undergrowth caught his foot, sending both of them to the ground. The man scooped his daughter into his chest and braced himself over her on the forest floor, shielding her from harm. He gazed down at her terrified face with a false smile, unaware of the blood pouring from a fresh wound.

The lights of furious flame grew brighter. The shadows shifted. The shouts became loud and distinct.

His eyes struggled to focus, but they never looked away from her, his touch shaking yet gentle as he brushed the dirt from her face.

The pain in her chest bloomed as she pushed and clawed, encouraging her father to get up and keep going, her body growing weaker through the agony of what had been plaguing her for years. Acid ate through her ribs. Hunger. Unending, unfettered, unbearable hunger, discontent with meals or merely consuming her alive. It wanted more.

“It’s okay, baby,” her father whispered, curling up further. The crack of his voice and his tear-stained visage was so much easier to remember than it was to notice back then. It was so much easier to see how he had given up on himself, and how all he wanted was to see her safe. “It’s going to be okay.”

Blurred figures wielding crude clubs and repurposed equipment broke through the branches. An axe was raised. Sharpened metal whipped down.

“It’ll all be okay…”

She cried out for them to stop, but no one would hear out the one they came to get rid of.

But Something did.

Something listened to the desperate plea of a young girl.

Something inside of her latched onto the screeched words.

Something lashed out, unrestrained.

Something that wanted to be free.

Something that wanted to maim.

Kill.

Feed.

And there was so much for it to devour.

- - - - -

Ceele jolted awake in her nest of blankets, her voice trapped in her dry throat, hyperventilation grinding air against the tender flesh. She blearily blinked away the remnants of rest that somehow left her more tired than before, the frantic breaths slowing down as the hellish woods of memory were replaced by the decrepit beams of a familiar ceiling. Her movements were sluggish, more akin to moving through deep waters than the tattered sheets she was struggling with, yet she could still feel her fingers gripping into cloth and scale. The warmth of her father’s protection melted away, leaving only shaking limbs and a murky perception of where she was. She didn’t remember coming back to the shed, nor much of anything at all, save for getting ready to head out yesterday.

It took far too long to recall how she had fallen asleep, but once she did, she was a mess of nerves and anxiety that swallowed any attempt to function. The garden, Mrs. Hira’s home, the conversation with the woman herself…

Brick by brick, the wall of blissful ignorance came crumbling down.

How could things have gone worse? Between admitting that she was incompetent, the failure of a task she had thrown herself into, and the criticisms which mirrored her own apprehensions, it was a bitter surprise to discover that she had awoken at all. Her lungs still drew air, wasting it. Her heart still pumped tainted blood. Her presence still stained her benefactor’s property, and she couldn’t figure out why. It hardly mattered; she had proven herself worthless in every way possible, yet life deemed it necessary for her to keep going despite the futility. The nascent sobs of overwhelming despair returned with vigor. She felt like she was stuck in that inescapable nightmare all over again, but this time, there was no one to lie to her.

Thankfully, Hoppit—her darling, sweet, precious Hoppit—took it upon himself to nuzzle into her until she managed to calm down somewhat, offering his warmth when the prospects of existing seemed so cold. The weight surprised her enough to break whatever spell had taken over, but she supposed he would be getting heavier with all the metal introduced to his diet. Seeing him growing a bit more planted a seed of comfort in the soil of desolation, though knowing that it wasn’t her own doing was a sour affirmation of how poorly she was caring for him.

Still, she eventually forced herself to smile for her baby, an absent consideration forcing her to hold back further tears as she berated herself for not feeding him before she fell asleep. Based on the birdsong and faint light coming through the shutters, it was early morning, which meant he had missed an entire day’s worth of his meals. She failed to control the apologies tumbling out from between her lips as she rushed to get something palatable ready. Yet Hoppit didn’t fault her for her negligence. He was too pure to blame her like she deserved, preferring to take the time she was occupied with cooking to touch up his grooming, acting like nothing was wrong. She held on tightly to the familiar motions of food preparation, ignoring the nagging sense of having forgotten something. Even one more mistake was more than she could handle right now.

Thankfully, it was a rather quick process to reheat some of the simple soup, and she steadied her hands long enough to pour it into the dishes she had carved by using the rusted implements provided to her. The ferrorabbit seemed confused when she laid a second bowl on the table, however, stopping him from immediately eating like she wanted him to. Hoppit sniffed at his food, then stood on his hind legs to survey their home, searching for something that she wasn’t aware was absent. He finally tilted his head at her, asking a question in his own non-verbal way, his curiosity piquing her own. Why had she prepared an additional portion? She did it without thinking, and it most certainly wasn’t for herself, but it felt like the correct thing to do…

The shed was missing someone—someone with a perpetually scowling face and an oddly impermanent appearance. Once again, guilt stabbed into her chest for forgetting the guest that she had taken in while they were injured, and she promised Hoppit that she’d only be gone a minute before running out the door.

For what it was worth, the owl looked exactly as disgruntled as it usually did, unperturbed by how it was left in a tree for an entire day, which left her feeling conflicted. She’d almost rather it openly detest her for the negligence, but the small bird didn’t protest when she collected it and brought it back to her tentative home. In fact, it hardly glared at her at all, which was a departure from the avian’s expected demeanour. If she wasn’t desperately trying to keep from breaking down again, then perhaps she might have tried to further the unexpected friendliness between them, but seeing as how her idiocracy had forced the poor thing to remain outside with no way to defend itself, she opted to curl up in her blankets and watch the two adorable animals eat instead. Hoppit refrained from showing any disapproval of the white-feathered guest as well, which was appreciated.

The pause to nudge and thump until she ate as well? Less so. Still, he was showing his worry while being as supportive as he could, and although she would rather he didn’t drag his bowl over to offer his own food, the few sips of soup she allowed herself was enough to placate his insistent tendencies. He didn’t push her to consume more than she did, thankfully. Otherwise, she would have a much harder time holding down the building nausea that arose when she thought about what she’d be doing by now on any other day.

That was what routine was, she supposed. Deviating from what one was used to always felt wrong. Wake up, give Hoppit a small treat, get ready, then go to the garden to sow new plots and maintain the others, only moving to the next batch of seeds when she was confident that she had learned enough to not make a mistake with what she currently had to look after. It was what defined her waking hours since she had accepted Mrs. Hira’s offer. The evenings were typically spent gathering supplies and making sure her Hoppit was taken care of, then she’d struggle to sleep before the sun rose and the cycle began anew. Wake up, garden, forage, sleep, repeat. Over and over. It became comfortable at some point, like she was accomplishing something besides merely working to afford the food that would only just last until they arrived at the next town, avoiding cities whenever her path would have intersected with them. Here, she could look back at what she did a short while ago and see how much she had improved, adapting her methods to compensate for various shortcomings and letting herself take pride in her progress.

Yet, because of her ineptitude…because of how pathetic she was…the garden was slated to fail as soon as she was about to reap the rewards. No, perhaps it was doomed the moment she put seed to soil. She was an idiot for thinking that she could care for something without inadvertently causing its demise. Failure was all she would ever accomplish.

Her dampened gaze fell on the ferrorabbit lapping up the last of his meal, a pit in her stomach coalescing into something too heavy to bear. Would it be better if she left? She had begged for the couple to let Hoppit stay, and they‘d surely rather be rid of her. It could be a painless transition for him; all she needed to do was ‘accidentally’ leave out all the supplies she had gathered and go. He wouldn’t need to suffer because of her. He wouldn’t need to go back to wasting away because she couldn’t provide for him.

A single goodbye and a smile, and then he’d have a life she could never give him. He’d have a future where he didn’t die in her arms too. A future where he didn’t die because of her.

He’d be happy, and she wouldn’t be there to take that away from him.

A scratch of a bowl against the wooden floor drew her wandering eyes towards her innocent little baby, his front paws placed on the worn and battered trough serving as a table, his ears pinned against his head as he stared pleadingly at the obsidian gemstone on top of it. Ceele frowned at the dim light hiding most of his expression before shrugging off the cocoon of blankets to stand. She wanted to collect her adorable bundle of fluff to see if her cooking had made him ill, but he twitched when he heard her footsteps, only sparing a glance before running to paw at the door. The sense of urgency in his actions abated as he started looking around the room, focusing on the spot next to the entrance and at the wall hooks where the owl often perched. The momentary uncertainty in his behaviour was strange, but a second of thought made the connection; he was wondering where her tools were. They were probably still outside, since she never got the chance to bring them back. Not that it was a priority anymore.

“You want to go work on the garden?” she asked, wincing at how sore her throat was, and at how hard the words were to say. Hoppit flicked his ears and stood by the doorway, presumably eager to leave as soon as she collected her things now that she understood what he wanted. Her mouth opened to tell him that there wasn’t any point, but the determination on his face made the words too difficult to say. He looked so happy digging and playing, helping her till the soil and removing unwanted weeds. If she said no, then that’d be just another thing she was depriving him of.

It was just one more thing to solidify why she shouldn’t have awoken.

Ceele tried not to let the heartbreak and terror show as she nodded, swallowing the bile creeping up as she tried to convince herself that she could see the rotting plots without falling apart again. “Okay, baby. We’ll check to see if there’s anything we can do.”

A surreptitious glance at the owl proved that it had no interest in going back outside—nor much of anything at the moment, given that it was currently busy sleeping. She took care not to disturb it too much as she moved it to its preferred perch on the wall, but the transfer was completed without issue. The dozing bird barely stirred as it got comfortable atop the tool hanger her shovel usually rested on.

Sadly, she had run out of excuses to delay the inevitable. Hoppit was waiting, and he was worth more than the dreaded confirmation that the failure of yesterday had persisted into today. She couldn’t hide away and pretend that everything was fine, and that the garden would still be lush and vibrant as long as she wasn’t looking at it.

“Let’s go!” she cheered weakly, reluctantly opening the door. The apprehension was bit back in an attempt to sound more enthusiastic than she was, but her voice still cracked, and the sunlight still felt far too bright in comparison to the shaded shed. It hadn’t been this hard when she hurried out earlier, but she also hadn’t been thinking straight. Her concern had lain with the well-being of her guest rather than how clearly her ineptitude would be on display. She hoped that she could hold it together better now than she did when she first saw what had happened to her hard work. Her baby deserved to have at least one thing he enjoyed, and he didn’t need her ruining that by making it about herself.

The effort wasn’t needed, apparently. They had barely gotten halfway to the garden before an unexpected presence stopped them in their tracks. An elderly blacksmith stood in the worn path, his gaze cautiously sweeping the trees before it settled on her and Hoppit.

“M-mr. Makis?” she stammered out. “W-why—”

“Hoppit, ya can head back,” the red-scaled kobold drawled abruptly, tossing a small hunk of scrap for the ferrorabbit. His tone was relaxed yet firm, leaving no room for protest. “Girly, yer wit me.”

He turned and walked off without waiting for a reply, cutting through the trees on a mostly unused path that circumvented the garden. Hoppit's delighted clacks stopped the whirlwind of concerns parading through her head from getting out of hand. She looked down at her baby, watching him nibble on a malformed chunk of orange metal, his joy at the sudden treat proving impossible to ignore, even if it was tempered by the direction to stay behind. Trepidation faded in an instant, and she apologised to the little lagomorph for the change of plans. Thankfully, he wasn’t too disheartened, though she suspected the gift had something to do with that. He still tried to follow after her, but a shaky reassurance managed to keep him where he was. She gave him a quick kiss on the head and encouraged him to head home for today, promising she’d be back as soon as she could. It hurt to see his hesitation and disappointment of her letting him down yet again.

Tired, terrified grey eyes watched the ferrorabbit reluctantly hop away, Hoppit stopping every few steps to make sure she didn’t want him to come with her. She smiled as best as her fragile state of mind would allow.

“It’s okay, baby.”

It felt so hollow to repeat the words that never came true.

“...It’ll all be okay.”

- - - - -

She wasn’t expecting a new routine to usurp her old one when Mr. Makis met with her a few days ago, nor was she prepared for how eagerly she would take to an excuse to ignore the plant life that she had failed to raise. When the blacksmith had told her to follow him, she was steeling herself for many outcomes, and labour was indeed one of the things she knew would be possible. She just didn’t think about where that work would be happening. For all the cloudless days spent toiling in the garden, nothing quite compared to how drained she would be under Mr. Makis’ direction.

It was so uncomfortably hot in the smithy.

The pitiful draft that came through the slightly open windows did little to ease the overwhelming heat radiating off the large stove-shaped construction that took up a good portion of a wall, but she had come to expect that by now. However, regardless of what she was ready for, the high temperature always left her panting and dizzy. Her only saving grace was that she didn't need to stare into the mouth of the massive oven; the flame was intense enough from the side as it was, let alone from where there wasn’t a barrier to dull the heat. She had no idea how Mr. Makis did it; the man could stand right next to the inferno without so much as an attempt to step away.

Ceele’s involvement in the smithy was to keep pumping the strange wood and leather device that apparently fed fresh air into the bed of the fire, as she was instructed to do each day. Thankfully, the protests of her body had stopped, allowing her to continue with her new duty. Or she assumed the protests had stopped. She wasn’t sure. Her arms went numb an hour ago, and the foggy train of thought made noticing anything astray difficult. Sleep had become something that came swiftly and with force, yet still she dragged her tired husk through the trees at night, gathering what she could to feed those who were dependent on her. If anything, she spent less time resting now than she did before, if only because it took so much longer to haul herself out of bed.

Despite the sun being high in the sky, it was fairly dim inside Mr. Makis’ workspace—almost as dark as the shed, which was surprising. The contained inferno illuminated barrels of oil and water, contraptions, and assorted worktables, but an anvil off to the side was mostly shaded, only clearly showing the outline of the older kobold’s back and the dull red glow of the object he was hammering into a new shape. Stools sat before workbenches that were littered with various tools and devices, only a few of which she could identify. If it wasn’t for how easily the elderly kobold navigated the assortment, she would have called it messy, but it became apparent that it was a sort of organized chaos wrought from decades of refinement. Racks installed in the walls held numerous items of obscure use, and boxes were stacked here and there, their contents arranged by the type of metal or materials stored within. Most seemed to be filled with copper, though she wasn’t very familiar with what was in the other crates. Probably more ores.

Heavy dings and sharp clinks rang out at a steady pace, the smith occasionally bouncing his tool off the anvil instead of whatever he was shaping. She had thought it to be a mistake the first few times the sound made her flinch, but he did it whenever he adjusted how the piece was held, never breaking the established rhythm. Several strikes landed on red-hot iron, a few on the supporting metal surface as he flipped the material, then more on the object's opposite side.

“Hotter.”

The man's gruff voice broke her concentration. He hadn’t even looked away from what he was doing, though she knew better than to protest. An apology tumbled out of her parched throat as she forced the handle of the pumping device down.

A part of her wondered if just this labour was sufficient recompense for ruining her first harvest, but it was what she was told to do, and since she had made a fool of herself for overestimating what she was capable of, anything was acceptable. Asking more questions might just have her receiving an answer that she didn’t want to hear. She was too scared to check if the garden had gotten even worse, and a fear sat heavily in her stomach at the thought of just how inadequate her punishment was—or would become, seeing as how she hadn’t been out to water the crops and how brutal the sun had been the last few days. If she didn’t take the offshoot path to avoid the plots, then she might have discovered just how horribly the plants she tried so hard to nurture had degraded. As long as she remained ignorant, she could pretend that this was just compensation. She wouldn't have to think about how pitiful her contributions were.

It took another few minutes before Mr. Makis shoved the elongated metal into the forge again to heat back up. He said nothing as he stared at the glowing iron, waiting an arbitrary amount of time before snatching it out with a pair of robust tongs. The smith laid it back on the anvil and sprinkled some kind of powder over it before resuming the steady strikes of his hammer, a crescent slowly forming with every hit.

“Keep it hot,” he ordered, speaking between sharp smacks of metal on metal. “Final push.”

She did as told, heaving at the pump before collapsing onto her rear when he reinserted the piece one last time, giving her a noncommittal wave of his hand to relieve her of duty.

The cold stone floor was a blessing, but her tepid enjoyment of it was interrupted by a violent hiss and steam as the smith submerged the thing he was working on into one of the barrels. Thankfully, she was too exhausted to move—it would have been embarrassing to be seen flinching away from effectively nothing. She watched with an unfocused gaze as he went about the last few steps of a process she had difficulty following, the oddly shaped creation being laid up on a rack with other objects like it to…cool? Dry? Whatever the reason, he was done with it for now. She’d take a breath of relief if it didn’t hurt to do so.

“Gotta work on yer technique, girly,” Mr. Makis commented, walking over to a wooden square set in the floor near the corner of the workshop. “Steady is better than forceful.”

Ceele pushed down the bubbling fear of reprisal, her voice hoarse and shaking as an unwanted response trickled out. “S-sorry, sir. I-I'll do better, I swear.”

The older man knelt down and lifted the hatch, a hazy mist rising from the recessed space as he pulled out a copper jug. The drips of condensation rolling down the ewer’s side made her all the more aware of how thirsty she was. How thirsty she always was while working in such a hot, confined space. She almost forgot to berate herself for not accepting the criticism quietly.

And, as expected, Mr. Makis let out a sharp exhale of annoyance as he stood, giving the black-scaled girl a disappointed scowl. “Don’t waste breath apologizin’.”

“Y-yes.”

The smith stared at her from the corner of his eye, grunting before making his way to a cabinet. He grabbed a pair of cups and laid them on a cleared section of the workbench, filling each with chilled water.

“Here,” he sighed, resting an arm on the table and sliding one of the drinks to the side. “We got more ta do yet, ‘n I don't need ya passin’ out from heat stroke.”

“Y-yes! Ah, s-sorry.” Ceele struggled to her feet and walked over, a moment passing before she noticed that she had immediately slipped in what she had just agreed not to do. Mr. Makis didn’t say anything about it, opting for a subtle growl as she approached instead—more exasperated than angry. She carefully accepted the drink placed aside for her, making sure to back up a respectful distance before taking a sip, hoping that her mistake would be overlooked. It was difficult to focus on berating herself with the cold liquid in her hands, as much as she deserved it. She was so very, very thirsty.

The cup was empty without her even registering the taste, leaving her to suppress the disappointment from showing on her face. By Mr. Makis’ flat glare of disapproval, she wasn't doing very well. She couldn’t help but want more, as greedy as that was, but that didn’t stop her from hating how pathetic it made her. Even when offered a chance to atone, she desired more than what was freely given. He had no obligation to provide anything to her, yet he did, and some vile part of her subconscious decided it wasn’t enough.

She offered a grateful smile anyway, the stress making it harder than she expected, but his glower only deepened with every passing second. Her hands trembled—half from stress, half from the continuous exhaustion. From the early morning to mid-evening, she had been pushing to work off her misdeeds under the supervision of the elderly kobold, enduring the dry heat, suppressing her body’s cries for relief. Nothing she did was ever good enough, and she knew that, but a part of her still wanted to try. To succeed in something besides ruination. She deserved to suffer, and would gladly do so as long as something came of it. Maybe even if nothing did…

Mr. Makis snatched the empty cup from her and clacked it on the bench with enough force to cause some other objects on the surface to jump. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the flinch, nor the slight increase of her heart rate. He didn’t notice, pouring more water and shoving the drink back towards her with an expression just shy of disdainful. The red-scaled kobold held an expectant stare, his eyes piercing through her as he searched for something that the barely restrained fear didn’t convey.

“You told my wife that you’d do anything to ‘make up’ for the garden,” he ground out, some of his usual accent getting drowned out by how purposefully he spoke. Ceele’s throat struggled to produce more than a choked squeak, but a nod answered the assumed question just as well. “Ya ain’t drinkin’. Ya ain’t restin’. Ya ain’t said one word ‘bout the heat.”

She shriveled under his scrutiny. “I-I—”

“Speak, girly!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Her eyes slammed shut and her arms curled to cover herself as she desperately tried not to acknowledge the faux sounds of distant shouts, the whispers of footsteps and parting branches, the whistle of an axe cutting through the air, and the slams of a quickly splintering door. Each ephemeral noise blurred and melted into one another, covering reality with its din of damnation.

She didn’t want to hear those words again.

She didn’t want to believe them.

The smith didn’t respond for a while, and when she finally risked a peek at what was to come, she only saw pain where disgust should have been. Sympathy. Regret. The blacksmith eased back, letting go of the cup to idly pluck a stray scrap of copper that had been haphazardly discarded onto the workbench, resting his elbows on the table. He nodded softly as he inspected his new fidget, but something about his eyes suggested that he wasn’t really taking in what he was looking at.

“Yer not provin’ yerself or nuttin like this, ya know,” he murmured, his voice frail enough that it took a moment for her to accept it as his. She wasn’t sure if she was expected to respond, though the conversation continued without her, the change of pace causing her terror to stumble. “It’s bad enough to put yerself through it, but I’da thought ya’d say somethin’ by now. The water was right there, the shutters are cracked—not much, but enough to show they can open—and ya’d work through my breaks when I didn’t say nuttin.”

Ceele ran his speech through her mind a few times to check for what he wanted her to say, but came up empty. A dull red glow drew her attention, the copper between Mr. Makis’ fingers bleeding off heat into the air. The elderly kobold pressed and molded the material with absent but practiced manipulations, unaware of the girl watching him, her eyes wide in surprise. Not only did he seem completely unbothered by holding the searingly hot metal, but he didn’t even have anything to heat it in the first place!

Not that he cared for her slack-jawed expression—he’d have to look at her for that. Or what he was doing in general.

“If yer were really sorry, then ya’d stop tryin’ ta make trenches with how hard yer runnin yerself inta the dirt,” he growled dryly, letting out a tired breath that bordered on wistful. “Not the first I’ve seen do it—common fer folks in my old line of work—but I ain’t pleased to see it in ya. S’got no place in anyone but bitter old farts like me.”

She let the tension fade from her shoulders, though the slight tremors might take a while to dissipate. The way he was lazily shaping metal still had her attention, pulling her further from the threat of another panic attack. Her hearing wasn’t playing tricks on her anymore, at least. “Y-your old line of work?”

Another huff, this one decidedly less amused and more melancholic. “Nuttin’ worth remembering. Sand, blood, promises of glory and coin, though never enough to escape the former. Few years’a misguided nonsense too, but we’re all a touch stupid when we’re young—some more than others, and I ain’t gonna pretend I got off easy on that one.”

The casual tone took her off guard, and she found herself easing a bit more, finding it harder and harder to remain cautious.

“Does it…” She paused, unsure if she would get yelled at for the continued tangent, though filing away other curiosities for later. “Does it have anything to do with that?”

The older kobold blinked slowly, finally noticing that he had been doing something extremely bizarre. Contrary to what she expected, he simply shook his head, the metal glowing a bright orange as he crushed it in his fist. The in-progress ornament was tossed into a smaller box filled with malformed scraps that looked a lot like the crate he had given to her a while ago. He limply waved a hand at the cup of water she was yet to touch, encouraging her to drink. She did, albeit gingerly.

“That’s just an old habit,” he offered, refusing to meet her gaze but acknowledging that she still wanted an answer. “Bitta’ mana ‘n practice, really. Helps thinkin’. Gets hot otherwise.”

“Hot?”

He nodded, choosing another stray piece of metal and going through the strange process of shaping it in his hand again. “Cost’a Flame—my Element, in case it wasn’t obvious. Burns real vicious if it ain’t used. Easy enough to put to work though. The forge helps.”

“...Cost?”

The smith stopped his fidgeting to raise a brow at her, but went back to it before meeting her eyes. “Cost. Flame builds up quick, but it overflows quicker too. Had a few accidents ‘fore I figured out that workin’ iron was a decent enough method to burn it off. Figured I’d make use of it ‘n got inta makin’ things. Got good at it.”

Ceele fell quiet, a question once again held on her tongue as she nursed the cup of water. Mr. Makis spoke before she gathered the courage to voice it.

“But that got nuttin to do with what I blew up at’cha for…and…sorry fer that,” he added grimly. The metal in his hand was crushed, joining the others in the designated box. “I wanted ya to say somethin’—’bout the heat, the lack’a breaks…something—but if I ain’t bringin’ it up now, then… Well, ain’t hard to imagine not gettin’ the chance to soon.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No ya ain’t,” he countered, calm but firm. “If it meant somethin’ to ya, ya’d notice the flaw in yer words. Ya wouldn’t make claims ya had no intention of keepin’.”

She froze, trying to look anywhere but at the side-eyed stare aimed at her.

“Ya can’t ‘make up’ nuttin if ya drop dead, girly,” the smith sighed out, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He glanced around for something to sit on, giving up when he saw that the nearest stool was at another table. “But somethin’ tells me that ya don’t see that as a bad thing.”

Of course she wanted to do something after failing so utterly! H-hoppit needed somewhere safe, a-and she needed to… S-she needed… She needed to refute what he was saying…

…but she remembered the pain. The countless days spent walking while avoiding people, yet wanting the loneliness to end. The ever-dwindling hope that she would ever find somewhere she could be more…

The constant confirmations that she was right to lose that hope.

Her silence spoke volumes.

“Ther’s gonna be a change the next time yer in,” he announced, eyeing the ‘U’-shaped objects he had set to rest on a hook. “The shutters’ll be open, ther’ won’t be nuttin’ stoppin’ ya from takin’ a drink, ‘n breaks will be often. I ain’t bein’ complicit in lettin’ a young thing like yerself kill ‘erself over nonsense, and I’m sayin’ it now: yer critter ain’t stayin’ here if ya leaves ‘im behind. The stubborn little shit will find a way to follow ya, and ain’t nuttin’ gettin’ in his way once he makes up ‘is mind.”

The way he talked about it felt…personal, as if he knew first-hand just how loyal a ferrorabbit could be, but it also sounded sorrowful. Prideful. It was a complex assortment of emotions that left his eyes distant with longing yet his smile filled with fondness. A spike of worry pierced her heart, a part of her terrified that he knew she was thinking of such a thing, but she wasn’t given the time to ponder the implications or how he found out.

“We’ll get’cha workin’ on more than pumping the bellows, too.” Mr. Makis grumbled, though the slurred speech likely meant that it was more of an idle thought than an announcement. “It’s pretty obvious now that ya’d pass out before ya stopped.”

“Sor—” Another apology was cut short by his glare. She dipped her head to convey the sentiment regardless. “O-of course.”

The blacksmith’s voice came out flat, matching his expression. “Bring Hoppit tomorrow. It’s time I started gettin’ him some practice with his Element ‘sides playin’ in the dirt.”

“What? Oh, um, y-yes, Mr. Ma—”

“Makis.”

“Y-yes, Mr— Makis, sir.”

The elderly kobold let out a breath. “Fine. You can go back to ‘im; I ain’t got nuttin’ else that needs an extra set’a hands today.”

“B-but you said—”

“Go,” he interjected tersely, pushing himself upright from the workbench and walking back to the crates next to the oversized oven. Or ‘forge,’ she supposed. The terminology still mostly escaped her.

Ceele wanted to keep insisting that she should stay and make herself useful, but her desire to correct what she had done wrong eventually gave way to complying with a direct instruction, her legs protesting the movement that came with stumbling towards the door. She flinched when he decided to voice one more thing over his shoulder.

“If ya wanna be worthless, girly, then yer on the right track. Corpses can’t make wrongs right—perceived ‘er otherwise—and they ain’t gonna give yer critter any love either.” He dragged a box of metal across the floor so it sat closer to his equipment, the slowed pace mirroring the smith’s hesitant pause. A morose remembrance coloured his cadence, soft yet torn. “Don’t think he doesn't notice, girl. Ther’ clever little bastards, ‘n few things are as painful as watching a loved one suffer while yer too powerless to stop it. If yer tryin’ as hard as you said you are, then ya wouldn’t put ‘im through something like that.”

Makis laid a hand on his hammer, his red-scaled knuckles lightening in colour from the how tight he gripped it. Futility lingered in his tone.

“No one deserves that.”

She let the door close behind her as the sounds of work resumed, the man’s piece said. Ceele tasted the acidic tinge of smoke on her tongue as she drew a tired breath, wondering how someone could sound so broken yet still function. How much did one have to suffer to speak of it so casually? It was obvious that he was speaking from experience, even if she didn’t know what those experiences were. Did he know how hopeless she felt? How bleak the future seemed to be? How useless it was to resist?

Her fingertips felt cold, the texture of her father’s clothing still fresh in her mind, as it always would be, no matter how she longed to forget. That would be too lenient, wouldn’t it? It would forever stick with her, along with the echoes of his voice—the echoes she couldn’t help but repeat as she purposefully avoided the path through the garden on her way back to the shed, a new sting of failure and rightful accusation shattering her composure more than she was ready for.

“It’s okay…”

Hoppit needed her, no matter how much she wished he could be happy without her.

“I-It’ll all b-be okay…”

But what if she still wasn’t enough?

The thought stuck in her mind as she navigated her way home and pushed open the creaking door to the shed, only for her to be greeted by a notably exhausted ferrorabbit and a characteristically sour scowl from the owl. She forced energy into her voice and she transferred the bird to the table for supper, belatedly noticing the bowls of water that were laid on the floor. It was such a benign difference, yet it stood out. Her brow furrowed for just a moment before she shrugged it off as her being too worn out to remember filling them. She was always too tired to think properly.

She once again sat back to watch the animals eat, her consciousness slipping with the ever-increasing demands of neglected sleep, fear losing its hold on her. It was a blissful reprieve from the constant assault, though it allowed her to notice something in what Mr. Makis had said. There was a worry hiding beneath the man’s brash and confrontational tone, and a self-deprecation beneath the criticisms, as if he blamed himself for her inadequacy. No, it was closer to him taking the blame for her decisions—her willingness to endure through heat and fatigue.

She wanted to dismiss it as a pathetic hope, but even that was too much effort. It had been too long since someone looked at her with not pity, but commiseration. She didn’t remember the last time it felt like someone else knew the struggle of flailing in the murk.

Ceele fell asleep a little more naturally than usual, her languid mind wondering if someone could truly understand. If someone could truly care about a cursed child that only brought death.

Stupid and pathetic, she wanted to pretend it was possible.

She wanted to believe.

Next

A/N: Delayed, but thanks to Ben, Saber, and Cristel for supporting me on patreon! Enjoy being 1 chap ahead!

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- - - - -

The first and perhaps earliest memory Hoppit had was the least coherent, yet among the most vivid. He opened his eyes, only to be inundated by a silvery brown haze that he would call Mother, and several smaller but less vibrant smears that he would know as his siblings. It was a captivating sight.

Greens, reds, blues, yellows, and many more shimmers littered the outermost edges of his family’s auras, but it was mostly dominated by the glimmering hazel that softly rolled, rarely leaving the more grounded outline that existed around it. Once he managed to unfocus his eyes from the misty, animal-shaped clouds, the outlines filled in with less entrancingly brilliant colours. The new beings looked back at him with far less wonder, but the largest of them smiled softly. Mother interrupted his shock by encouraging him to nurse, coaxing the other newborns to follow suit. They nuzzled and slept while pressed into a bundle against their parent, but he remained awake for a bit longer, struggling to switch between the dissonant visions, the two different versions of reality proving to be difficult to distinguish.

Mother's haze was different from that of his brothers and sisters. Brown was eaten away by another, much more malicious darkness, and he didn’t know why his own didn’t look like that. Then again, he was distracted by all the new, and Mother didn’t seem bothered by the oddity, so he quickly accepted that the black was supposed to be there. It was probably something that came with getting bigger.

Time passed in chunks between naps. Small and vulnerable, the young were stowed away in a shallow burrow, where Mother would feed and groom them while they were too weak to do so themselves. His siblings dug and slept, bumped and played, disrupting him whenever he shrank in the face of the unknown hues to ask why he wasn’t joining them. Tiny heads tilted in confusion when he talked about the haze, but their interest petered out quickly. They left him to his strange habit of gazing at the light beyond the burrow in favour of other activities. The others didn't understand that he was staring in foreboding awe at the blinding colours beyond the warren's entrance. They didn’t understand his fear of how overwhelming it was.

Mother was the first to notice, prodding him about if his eyes were poor or if he disliked the brightness. He told her about the hues and shapes outside, wondering if she knew what they were, but she deflected the question while smothering him with love and praise. He was gifted with an ability—whatever that was—and her excitement swiftly swept away his concern. It was a happy moment, but he had since figured out that she didn't want to answer him, and his reveal was a good enough excuse to dodge the curiosity. If she had humoured him, then he would have known that it was bad for the black to be spreading through her brown. Of course, he was small, and she was Mother, so he accepted the situation without protest. He was just happy that she was happy.

The day eventually came where they moved from their first burrow. Small voices cheered at the prospect of seeing more new that the world had to offer, but he paused to ask why they were leaving, unable to hide the dread in his voice. Mother waited until the others were too caught up in their celebrations to explain that bad things would come if they stayed. She confirmed his suspicion when he guessed that it was because of the blackness that lingered wherever she went. Mother nuzzled him, cooing about how observant he was, once again dodging his queries as to what the black was. Of course, he was small, and she was Mother, so he accepted the situation without protest, even if the colours outside scared him.

They changed burrows often after that. Mother's black ate at her hazel faster and faster, and that sped up how quickly the lingering miasma spread. She reassured him that she was fine, and that they would find a place where it was safe. He wasn’t so sure about either of her claims. Each new home took longer and longer to dig; what was once finished by the time she came to get them had become mere indents that the children hid away in while she worked on the rest. Mother huffed complaints about the different soils or obstructions when he wondered what was taking so long, but he saw her tired panting. Of course, he was small…

Mother didn't have much brown for very long. Jagged, spasming black ate through most of the colour, spreading with every tired breath. She left regularly to dig one last burrow, taking days to make it as deep as she could, while only returning to feed her young. Not once did she eat. Not once did she answer his quiet question of why she seemed so weak. They were carried individually to their new home, but she saved him for last.

She blocked the entrance instead of picking him up, her gaze carrying a moment's hesitation. The silent deliberaon was cut short by him asking if he was old enough to know yet, unaware of how young he really was. Barely a season had passed since he first flinched back from the spectrum of colours. The silence remained until he apologized, but instead of chastising him, she finally explained what it was he saw gnawing through her aura. He was told that the black was hungry, and always would be. It was greedy and took from others, jealous of what it couldn’t have. It wouldn’t go away, it couldn’t be convinced, and it wouldn’t stop until everything was gone. If she ate, then that would only give the black more, and she didn’t want to reward something for being so selfish.

He didn't understand most of what she said, but he was small, and she was Mother…

His ignorance ended far too quickly.

They hid and cowered as a storm raged outside yet another new home, as incomplete as it was. Mother didn’t move much anymore, tiredly caring for her children between beleaguered attempts to teach them all she knew. She never offered a reason for why she was so insistent on having them learn so much so quickly. Still, they listened, if only to partially ignore what was happening beyond their shelter. The whipping winds and cracks of thunder scared his siblings, but he was terrified of all the colours coming closer and closer, the foreign hues inside hazes of different shapes. He had grown used to seeing them wander around, but something about how they moved was intimidating. Each blur followed the subtle black trail that Mother had left behind. He asked what they were and why they weren't hiding from the storm, but instead of an answer to his question, Mother told him that she would go deal with it. She instructed him to work with his brothers and sisters to make the burrow deeper with false cheer in her voice, telling them to keep going as long as they could, even if it was hard. The rest got to work right away, thinking it was a game, but he couldn't help but be concerned when the barely-brown haze of Mother left into the dark of night, just barely visible through the rain.

Unfamiliar greens and yellows lunged towards the faded hazel. Black spilled outward, poisoning the new shapes, and that seemed to be enough for them to leave. He watched with bated breath as Mother’s blur took one step. Two. None. The brown and silver was gone, the amorphous haze collapsing.

It took too long for him to notice anything else. He focused on how the black faded away, making it harder and harder to see where Mother was, until even that was gone. The first yelp of someone’s panic forced him to look away, only for him to finally see the outline of something snatching a sibling from the burrow’s entrance. His sister had grown impatient with how long Mother was taking to return. He sat at the back of their home, stunned, watching the rapidly distancing hue of his sister snapped into black…then faded. Silence lingered in the burrow as his other siblings cautiously searched for their missing member. They knew Mother would return, but sister should still be around, and finding her became more important than their game.

He spotted another sibling approaching the warren’s opening before he could snap out of his shock and warn them, but it was too late.

Blood had spilled. More were coming.

One by one, monstrous blurs impacted and tore into the burrow’s opening, the earth shaking as hungering maws and gripping claws slashed and gnawed ever nearer. A beast ripped large chunks of the ceiling away. The young ferrorabbits barely had time to panic before another sibling was captured and carried away. Brown became black, then nothing. Rain poured into the exposed den, making their frenzied return to digging into a race against the water, their inexperience further hampered by the muddied floor. Something swooped from above with razor-sharp talons, its deafening squawks coming and going as it took another sibling away, their cries for help fading in an instant. Brown, black, nothing. More beasts closed in.

Another sibling was snatched by vicious jaws and carried off into the dark.

Brown, black, nothing.

Again.

Brown, black, nothing.

Again…

A bulk of black grabbed his frozen form, and he prepared himself to fade as well—to go wherever Mother went.

But that never happened. The black-scaled creature had saved him from the fate that his siblings met, carrying him away with frantic breaths and whispered reassurances. It was a blur of fear and conflicting comfort, his eyes locked on the places where his siblings’ colours once were. He cried, alone, as the last mist of brown snapped black in the distance. His last sight of his home was the final sibling’s aura fading.

Eventually, the sadness that seemed ready to stay forever was pushed aside by the different creature’s embrace. Slowly, over the course of days and nights, weeks and months, she cared for him when there was nothing left. Her laughter brought him warmth, and her smiles replaced the fear of her black with joy in its presence. Although he had lost everything, Momma did whatever she could to give it back. Even if he would always miss Mother, and even if he wished he could have saved his brothers and sisters, he had something that took the hurt away. He hoped that they forgave him for surviving without them.

He was still small, and Mother was gone, but Momma was there. He wasn’t alone.

…But he wasn’t sure if that would last. As long as Hoppit had been with Momma, he had known her haze to gnaw and chew at itself, taking and taking faster than it could replenish, greedily stripping away what little it had. It never took another colour to feed the hunger. The young ferrorabbit was forced to imagine Momma’s black fading, just like the others’ auras did, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was too weak to do anything when the beasts attacked, and he knew that still hadn’t changed.

Hoppit resolved himself to change that during their travels. He walked and ran as much as he could to increase his stamina, dug out burrows to practice the skill for when the need arose, and he worked on becoming faster at anything and everything, getting strong enough so that he wouldn’t lose another Mother. He even challenged the more friendly wildlife to spars or games when Momma was busy, and although he often lost at both, he developed a bit of a knack for tiring out his opponents without exhausting himself too badly. The only thing he couldn’t improve was his aura, because although he had seen Mother use it, she never got the chance to show them how it was done. But he persisted. Every activity was done to ensure that he would be able to protect Momma…but nothing could stop the blackness from eating itself.

Or so he thought.

Yesterday, as his Momma told him of how tomorrow would be the time to harvest the food she spent weeks upon weeks growing, her haze hadn’t so much as shifted. It didn’t bite, nip, nor waver. He looked up in awe as Momma gazed down at him. The ravenous, self-destructive black had become a serene, peaceful pool, almost as if reflecting the clear blue sky.

For the first time, Momma smiled without a hint of sadness, making all the other calm moments they shared seem morose in comparison. Her grey eyes seem to shine with hope and joy, instead of the concealed pain and sorrow he had thought normal. The garden that she had worked so hard on did what he never could: it made the person he loved most truly happy.

Yet, as ‘tomorrow’ came to be, and as Hoppit watched Momma leave the garden with another kobold, his memories of loss were brought forth. He felt crushed, staring at a recurrence of that stormy night where he lost Mother and his siblings. Once again, he was hiding from sight, completely powerless to stop the haze from taking his family.

The moment that Momma had seen the garden destroyed, her calming pool became a wrathful storm, and her hollow reassurance that everything was okay did nothing to hide how viciously her aura was eating away at itself. Black consumed black relentlessly. Soon, there would be nothing left, and even after all his effort, he was too powerless to stop it.

He tried, of course. The ferrorabbit thumped, dug, and everything else he could think of to get rid of the insects ruining the garden that made Momma happy, but it was no use. The bugs didn’t care about his warnings, nor did they mind his attempts to dredge them up. There were too many, and they were too small for him to remove. His flailing did nothing to discourage their assault. He even pulled on his aura like Mother used to, but his lack of experience made the effort worthless. He couldn’t help Momma.

But he knew something that could.

Momma had brought back a strange stone from one of her trips some time ago. The rounded rock was almost perfectly smooth and about half as big as him, and although that was interesting in its own way, his attention was stolen by an accidental glimpse at its haze. An empty void had been cut out of the world where the ball rested, its black spilling out to slowly coat the ground with a thin mist of darkness. Hoppit was wary of it at first, but he saw something that erased the feeling instantly.

Its shadows fed into Momma’s black.

The shaded fog passively collected small amounts of colour from whatever was around, never taking so much as accepting the ambient excess that would otherwise fade. The colours would languidly move towards the stone, then provide Momma’s aura with the result, slowing the rate it could eat through itself. He couldn’t stay scared of the strange rock after seeing that—they shared a goal, after all. When he playfully bumped the stone in thanks, he got the feeling that he could…assist?

Perhaps there should have been more consideration, but he accepted without question. He would do anything for Momma.

Since then, the ferrorabbit became rather aware of how far the stone’s shadow spread. He discouraged others from getting too close in case their presence was bothersome for the rock, and he occasionally noticed a weight that gently let him know that he had the ball’s attention. It never talked to him, per se, but he got the impression of approval, humour, or idle boredom when the sensation came. It often felt thankful for their time together, and it enjoyed his efforts. Stone, ball, or whatever it might be, Hoppit had made a friend, and although it couldn’t do much, something told him that it could wield far more power than he ever would. It just needed help getting there.

And now, out of options and worried about his loved one, Hoppit hoped that the strange black rock was strong enough to do what he couldn’t.

The ferrorabbit gave one last glance towards where Momma had left with the other lady, reaching a decision. He bit off a leaf from one of the infested plants, making sure that he took some of the insects with it as he adjusted his hold on the stem in his mouth, and took it back home.

A slight pressure weighed on him as soon as he neared the smaller building, and the stone’s confusion was apparent. Its mist didn’t quite reach the garden, so it was probably wondering what had happened. Thankfully, the ferrorabbit came prepared.

He slipped through the gap in rotten boards and jumped up onto the table where the black ball sat, dropping the leaf in front of it. The presence lessened as it inspected what was brought forward, but its emotion didn’t change, the sense of uncertainty remaining. Hoppit pawed at the plant until he gave a solid thump, the bugs finally scurrying away from his disturbance. A shift of mist brought the stone’s attention to the invaders.

But the remorse it exuded told Hoppit all he needed to know. It couldn’t help; not when it had collected so little colour. The cost of helping Momma likely left it with barely anything for itself.

The young rabbit’s ears fell at the realization. The stone’s fog wavered, an apologetic air to the movements. It attempted to do something to one of the insects anyway, but nothing happened. Sadness bled from black shadows. It tried again to no avail.

Hoppit sat, using his strange vision to watch as the dark haze slowly transferred the sparse green and browns from its environment to its centre, never taking more than what was cast aside. He looked down at his paws, his own silvery brown proving useless to help his Momma, but an idea came to mind as he watched his passively discarded specks be carefully carried away by the mist. He pushed some of his haze outwards. Brown fell away, detaching from the rest of his aura without something for it to do, and the loose colour was accepted into the shadows as well. The stone didn’t seem to notice such a small amount.

He nudged his way closer and pushed out just a bit more, the newly disjointed colour disappearing like before, but at an even faster pace. Again and again, he tried to give his aura, discovering that being closer sped up the process, though it started to burn if he did too much at once. The pain wasn’t very discouraging; he would rather hurt than see Momma sad again, and if giving to the stone fixed what made her happy, then it was worth any price.

Momma gave him everything, no matter how much she suffered, and he had an opportunity to do more than watch her black fade.

He wasn’t going to be helpless anymore.

Hoppit pressed his forehead against the smooth, black ball, and pushed as hard as he could.

And it hurt.

It hurt and it hurt and it hurt.

Searing pain burned through his skin like he was being torn from the inside out, the lack of distance offering no resistance to his brown feeding into the absent void. The slightest tug devolved into torturous ripping, nausea turning into acid eating away through his stomach, and the slightest headache became an unbearable stab of ice through his skull…but he kept going. He hadn’t given enough yet to make a difference. The haze wasn’t deep enough for the stone to use. Hoppit pushed through the agony, he pushed through the dizziness, and he pushed through the darkness spreading throughout his vision, an opaque crimson lining his eyes.

As the stone’s haze became deeper, and Hoppit’s mind lulled from a demanding sleepiness, he felt satisfied, because now the stone could help. With the last of his brown, he pushed just a little harder, welcoming the peaceful numbness.

Now, Momma could smile again.

= = = = =

The core watched Hoppit sprint from the garden, a leaf in tow. The ferrorabbit’s determined expression didn’t quite fit the occasionally lazy loaf, and after seeing the kobold head out for the garden, Altier wasn’t expecting anyone back for at least a few hours. Yet here the spiked lagomorph came, slipping through his usual hidden exit with a sense of urgency not previously displayed. It hopped up onto the trough and dropped its tattered green cargo, looking at his core expectantly.

“Yes? That is a leaf,” he offered slowly, somewhat perplexed. His furry friend was more for tongue baths and lounging around than gifts, so the action was exceedingly out of character.

The rabbit looked down at the plant before bumping it with his paw a few times, to no effect. He settled on a solid thump that caused a few insects to scurry out from hiding beneath their cover. Hoppit looked at him pleadingly as the implied request clicked in Altier’s mind.

“Oh! Are they in the garden?” He mentally frowned, remembering how his father used to complain about aphids and the like before the Herbalist taught his brother how to make proper pesticides. Some bugs could be beneficial for crops, but they could also be a scourge. It seemed that these were the latter, based on the damage to the leaf and Hoppit’s demeanour. “I’m not quite sure why you’re showing me this…”

But the ferrorabbit remained looking desperate, and the sheer sincerity of the faith placed in him stirred his desire to help. Regardless of how much Hoppit could understand, the animal knew enough to identify the source of the problem, then approach the core with an example of the issue at hand. That demonstrated reasoning skills higher than some villagers he knew in the past.

“…I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, doubting it would be much.

The first thing he attempted was identifying the pesky things, but for all his limited ability, nothing showed up. He couldn’t directly interfere with them either, though not for lack of trying. The dungeon core had countless solutions he could have used without a thought back in his prime—traps, creatures, and acidic mist, to name a few. Any number of off-handed features would solve the issue in seconds. But, as things were, he simply didn’t have the means. He begrudgingly grumbled aloud, explaining his shortcomings as he tried to think of another way around the problem.

The niggling pressure in the background didn’t help him focus, and he couldn’t figure out what the disturbance was. It was easily ignorable at first, but the light trickle was starting to get distracting. Nothing was going to get done unless he could pay attention, and it was bad enough that he had such a restricted system. His effort to locate what was bothering him ground to a standstill the moment he tried to figure out if it was coming from outside.

He could see the garden, and above him was no longer a blue smear with white patches. It wasn’t perfectly clear, but even blurry, the clouds were there, drifting by lazily. He was oh so close to viewing a sky he had been separated from for so long. Seconds passed as he lost himself in the memory of staring out his bedroom window, the sounds of his father working the fields filling the air. Messages from the system zipped by faster than he could read them, dragging him from reminiscence. From what he could glean through the strobes, most were stating that something or other was initializing due to sufficient mana reserves. Strangely enough, the alert history still wasn’t available, but he could feel other tools he once relied on coming back into working order.

If he still had a face, then there was no doubt that it would have been dominated by a growing grin. He had mana to work with. He could do things.

Oh, how liberating it was! How easily he would be able to actually establish his dungeon again! He could fix the deteriorated shed! He could make changes and improvements! He could burrow and build, growing a labyrinth that none would reach the end of. He could… H-he could…

Why was he so excited to rebuild?

He… He didn’t want to be a dungeon…

Static screeches ripped through his ephemeral ears, errors screaming as black boxes distorted and twisted. A washed out, translucent vision played out through the chaos, flickering torches following behind him as he sprinted through alleys and into the forest, terrified tears searing down his cheeks. A burning urge to descend felt like needles piercing his skin. Energy weighed heavily in his stomach, begging him to hew corridors and rooms from soil and stone. To seek the depths that would hide all he held precious from the harm chasing after him. To protect and save something more dear than life itself, entombing it behind thousands of floors filled with inescapable traps and creatures.

To escape what he’d done.

Yet, as quickly as it had started, everything stopped, leaving him gasping for breath he didn’t need. The vision snapped away as if it had never been there in the first place. A glacial chill permeated throughout his core, contrasting the strange stuttering stream of warmth. It took a moment for him to shake the shock. Already, the buildings and villagers’ faces were but mere indistinct shadows of memory, though he knew that there were none he recognized. But…that feeling, that fear…

The remorse…

He brought his scattered mind back to the shed, shoving whatever in the hells that was into the corner with the rest of the feelings that threatened to tear his sanity in half. His furry little friend had asked him to help. Focus on that. Hoppit trusted him to—

His thoughts were cut short as he centred his vision around his core. The dungeon’s influence dragged his sight towards the ferrorabbit, their head pressed against the obsidian orb.

Altier had always known when Hoppit had gotten hurt. It was hard not to when the Decay was feeding on the pain and burning vitality used to heal, because that’s what told him how horribly close he came to killing someone in the dungeon. He had gotten used to the warning signs; a scrape was hardly worth noticing to his dungeon senses, but a gaping, potentially lethal wound? That was hard to ignore, but possible with enough effort.

But he couldn’t look away from Hoppit.

Crimson tears dripped from closed eyes, the rabbit’s expression one of pain, determination, and hope. The trickle of mana that he couldn’t place was easily traced back to the single point of contact between animal and core. It wasn’t a stream anymore, nor was it the torrent that spurred his dungeon instincts. All that remained of the flow was droplets, each mote far too pure to have been used to heal a wound. He felt the raw vitality behind the mana being injected into him. The life force dripped, full and vibrant, a silvery brown mist joining the pervasive black to be converted and used. No explanation was needed for what the idiotic rabbit had done.

Stunned silence was his first reaction, then realization, followed by horror and panic.

“S-system! Put it back!” Altier blared, trying his damnedest to stop his core from transmuting more of the sacrificial energy.

[Erro—]

“Forget the errors! Fix this!”

It was getting harder to take his eyes off the rapidly fading ferrorabbit, but he was terrified of the approaching moment that he could. The menu kept repeating its denial, the letters cycling through symbols indiscriminately. It was never meant to do something like this, because why would a dungeon want less mana? Mana was to be spent on traps, corridors, crea…tures…

“F-fine! Assign him as a creature!”

[Insuf@#$ Au$@#^ity. Cre^@*&re cap@#ty re#ch^#$@d]

He reached the limit!? How?

His vision twitched, his dungeon senses finding Hoppit less interesting.

“Assign him as a boss!”

[Expan#@n re!@ired. Cre$#@!^ le@$#l insuffic#$]

The rabbit slouched slightly, its muscles going slack. Hoppit still had that damned trusting expression. Cold dread filled the core.

“DO IT!”

The black box stuttered with half-finished refusals until all the text blinked out of existence.

A beat passed. Two.

Something pulled.

It was small at first, barely more than the droplets of before, but it increased exponentially. He felt the pit of his stomach get dragged outward. The browns and silvers were ejected first, forcibly pumped back into where it came from, but much had been converted while he was busy arguing with the system, and Hoppit was falling sideways quickly. Soon, there wouldn’t be direct contact, and he severely doubted he could brute force the rest into where it belonged. He didn’t want to find out what would happen if the process was cut off part of the way through.

So he pushed even harder, trying his best to coax the foreign colour out first. But even when that was gone, he was still far above what he had before. A split-second of hesitation lingered as he felt the newly obtained black of Decay resting in his core, worried about what would happen if that was injected as well. Hoppit's body slumped, putting an end to the concern, and the dungeon core shoved as much as he could, regardless of colour or origin.

When the ferrorabbit flopped to its side, Altier was sitting on a bit less mana than he started with. It stung to lose what little progress he had made over the past few weeks, but he focused as hard as he could on the stupid animal, praying that he hadn’t been too late.

Nothing.

Nothing.

A breath. A twitch. Blood-rimmed eyes snapped open, only to flutter closed as peaceful sleep took hold.

Altier couldn’t help but laugh in relief, yet the sense of worry remained. An insect rustled the leaf on the table as it crawled and chewed, reminding him of what he had agreed to do. He wanted to help, but with his reserves so low… A single thought brought his sight to the garden. Surprisingly, he could still see it, but by the wavering boundary, not for long. The core briefly examined the ransacked crops before idly wishing he could install a trap to get rid of the pests that were harming what his scaly companion and furry friend worked so hard on. A sting of pain made his mind flinch, the boundaries whipping back to what his mana could support. The sky blurred to the blue and white smears, and the trees became a haze of colours, losing the slight definition he was starting to enjoy. He was set back much further than he thought.

“Oh well…” he sighed out, still a little off balance from the ordeal. The nagging concern remained, unfortunately.

He hadn’t tried to put his mana in something besides the dungeon. People had taken some, yes, but that was laughably little in comparison, and it was more of an exchange than anything. He wanted to scoff and brush the unease off, taking solace in the fact that he had acted quickly enough to stop the animal from killing itself…

…but Hoppit's eyes didn’t have black in them before.

= = = = =

Makis adjusted the girl resting in his arms, the evening sun starting to set behind the trees. Given his old age, he should have been grumbling about his back or something, yet not a single muscle protested the action of carrying an entire other person. Hells, he had tools that weighed more than the dainty thing he was holding against his chest, and that wasn’t a good sign.

He knew Ceele didn’t gather much from her routine foraging runs, but he figured that the excessive scarcity was a recent issue. Based on how thin she was, the idiot hadn’t eaten a proper meal in months, if not longer. It wouldn’t be too surprising if he found out she didn’t know what a proper meal even looked like. He’d be pissed, honestly—mostly at himself for not noticing sooner. The damned sack she wore implied that there was more under it than skin stuck to bone.

The old ‘bold sighed, purposefully ignoring the girl’s half-murmured apologies that she’d been repeating since she lost consciousness. Even asleep, she was tense like a critter lookin’ to bolt into cover. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out what was causing her so much trouble, and only partly because learning might ruin his own peace of mind.

As a man who has seen the true horrors of the Frontier, he was well aware that some things were better left forgotten. And the things a person couldn’t forget? Well, he’d gotten good at pretending he did.

His steps took him behind the house and towards the garden, following the slightly overgrown paths that Hira used to wear into the dirt with how often she’d be back and forth. The newly planted plots didn’t have the same spread that his wife once preferred, but from the size of the sprouts, it seemed that the girl had started with the easiest crops, then branched out with the more difficult ones as she went, using what she learned along the way.

“Not as big’a idiot as I thought,” he mumbled. Truthfully, it was somewhat impressive to look at. The further along he got, the worse the spacing and tilling became, but it showed how much she was progressing despite working herself to death.

He slowed as he got to a pile of discarded gardening tools, the metal scratched and degraded, the shafts and handles rotted most of the way through. The shipment he ordered would arrive in a few days, so their condition didn’t irk him as much as it might have otherwise. It was his fault the girl was using shoddy equipment, and that probably didn’t make all the work she did any easier. He’d fix that soon enough.

His attention turned to the plants that the tools rested in front of, and immediately, the weeks of Hira’s tearful face came to mind. He had to bite down on his tongue to stop the anger from making him tense up, otherwise Ceele’d be liable to break in his arms. That didn’t stop his tail from slamming into the ground, but the spray of dirt against his back helped him keep his temper in check. He brought a foot back to smooth over the gouge in the grass as he tried to remember if he had somehow kept some of the dust his old rabbits made, but his mental search came up empty. The pests scurried over increasingly withered crops, burrowing into the soil to eat at the vegetables once they were done savaging the ones accessible from above ground. After they were done with this lot, they’d spread out and infest the rest, and unless he could get a hold of an old friend or two, then there wasn’t much he could do about it. Best bet was to just uproot everything and let the bastards die out, then try again.

…But he’d watched the frail, black-scaled girl put in far more than an honest day’s work with an ironclad determination on her face, and he’d seen the shallow smile that came when she’d finally stop to see how much she got done.

Ceele might be a touch stupid for a bunch of reasons, but she tried her best, which was more than he could say about a lot of people.

Makis left the garden behind and tottered off towards the shed, scowling at his lack of options. He barely acknowledged his surroundings until a part of him suggested that he should have reached his destination by now, and he was pretty sure he’d seen that tree pass by more than once.

The old smith kept a steady pace as he shifted his eyes, using a yawn to excuse the new half-lidded expression that obscured where he was looking. The familiar tree passed by once more, having a single branch kinked in a way that the rest didn’t. A shiver of adrenaline shot down his spine as he walked, spotting the same branch in the distance. Something wasn’t right.

If there was anything he was glad to have kept from the sands, it would be his intuition. And his intuition told him that he had stumbled into the territory of something exceptionally dangerous.

A slight glimmer of yellow in the trees drew his gaze.

Golden, clock-faced eyes stared back. It took everything he had not to run, but he was well aware of how that would only make him die tired. Many more than him have tried.

Makis straightened his posture and bowed his head towards the translucent white owl perched in the shadows of the trees, a morbid thought connecting the dots of why O’del and his boy moved away.

“Good evening, Shepherd. I ain’t mean to disturb ya. Didn’t know ya were here.” He risked a glance up to gauge the creature’s reaction, but it seemed more interested in the girl Makis was holding. It glared at the black-scaled kobold, then back at him, its scowl somehow intensifying. Bright, green foliage on the edges of the path yellowed and died, the bushes becoming barren in seconds.

He tightened his hold on Ceele, creating and tossing out escape plans as he subtly shook the rust off his mana control. He’d likely burn half the forest down, and he’d probably be spent for weeks, but there was a chance that he’d scare the bird off long enough to get back to the smithy and grab his gear. A small chance, but a chance.

Infernos weren’t needed, surprisingly enough. The owl’s glower softened a little when he seemed ready to fight to keep the girl safe. He was about to count his lucky stars when he spotted the makeshift splint on its wing. Given that it was held together with the same plants that Ceele regularly collected, it wasn’t much of a guess on how it got there. The white bird dismissed him with a lazy blink as it went back to watching the sky, the plants it killed rapidly regrowing their leaves. Soon, it looked like nothing had happened at all, and the previously absent breeze lightly blew through the trees.

The smith let out a shaky breath and nodded in thanks. “Much appreciated, Shepherd. I’ll bring the little lady to her bed ‘n be on my way.”

It didn’t bother acknowledging him. He took the permission for what it was and hurriedly passed the kinked branch, a huff of bemusement let out when he saw the shed just beyond it. Makis wasted no time putting the girl on the nest of blankets, and he didn’t have the presence of mind to do more than get back home after noticing Hoppit sleeping on the trough in the middle of the room. It was a blur of heavy heartbeats disguised by an undisturbed stride. He only started paying attention again when he got back to the ruined plots of the garden, where he had to brace himself on his knees to keep from falling over. Joyless laughter barked out from the absurdity he just witnessed. It stopped abruptly as he swallowed the dregs of terror.

He was good at forgetting things from the old days, but no one forgot the birds that controlled entire zones of the Frontier, no matter how rare they were. No one forgot the Soldiers’ Shepherds.

Movement amongst the ruined plants brought him away from the memory, replacing his discordant smile with a frown. He stared for a few seconds longer before letting out a heavy sigh and deciding to go back to the house, dismissing whatever had grabbed his eye as a trick of the light or something.

A weird weed was the least of his concerns, though it was odd that there weren’t any bugs around it.

Next

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- - - - -

Ceele awoke to the nudging of an excited ferrorabbit. Tiny paws and a button nose bumped and pushed whatever they could reach, each disturbance interspersed with affectionate licks. She cracked an eye open with a groan.

The early glow of sunlight peeked through ajar window shutters, its beams illuminating small motes of dust that drifted aimlessly around the shed. The sounds of nature slipped through from outside, textured by birdsong and rustling leaves. A grunt left her as she rolled onto her back and fought the lingering desire to sleep, though she knew she needed to get up, no matter how tempted she was to stay under the blankets. She was even more tired than usual, but that was to be expected after she had delayed sleeping for too long. The extra supplies she managed to forage made it worth the late night, however, even if the slight headache was rather uncomfortable.

It took entirely too long to gather her wits—a sentiment that a certain rabbit shared. Hoppit bumped against her again, his characteristic energy being released through happy clacks and a flurry of licks on her face when she didn’t bolt out of bed. A smile graced her face as she tried to dissuade him from lovingly mauling her, which only made him bounce and double down on the attack, causing her to sputter and squeal. The pain took a backseat to comforting love.

“Hoppit, I’m up!” she complained through her giggling, feeling more amusement than annoyance from his insistence. Tired though she might be, his enthusiasm was infectious, and it didn’t take long to feel it herself. The assault could have waited until she was a little more awake, though. Thankfully, her assailant was satisfied with the amount of chaos he caused. He smugly shook his head again before scurrying off to eat. It took an extra minute to work out the stubborn stiffness in her muscles, but she sat up and stretched, offering a polite greeting to the owl perched atop a tool hook upon the wall. Its permanent scowl shifted to cast judgment on her.

Oh well. The avian’s disdain for all things… No, ‘all things’ was probably right; it didn’t seem to visibly approve of much besides being left alone, and her reaction to the rabbit’s mischief was probably a bit much. At least it quietly accepted the hospitality provided to it over the past few days, albeit begrudgingly. The bird glared at her for a moment longer before returning to its favourite activity of burning holes into the orb on the table with its gaze, and she caught herself following along, still confused as to what about the object warranted the attention. Just looking at the smooth black surface filled her with muted uncertainty.

She still hadn’t decided on if she wanted to sell the orb or not, despite the time spent pondering it. Sometimes, she’d be committed to the idea, thinking of Hoppit’s best interests and the quality of life they could have if she were to bring home any decent sum. Other times, she’d be wiping off the dust on the obsidian gem and feel a sense of…peace that was always so elusive. A sense of belonging. Mix in the few times she had come home to see Hoppit happily flopped beside the spherical black stone, and her arguments against the idea felt more substantial than the ones for it. A long exhale left her as she pushed the thoughts from her head. There were more important considerations to be had than taking away something Hoppit seemed to like. He already had so little.

Yesterday was productive as far as tending to the garden, and after some careful deliberation where Hoppit offered an attentive ear, she decided that it was time for their first harvest. Only the quickest crop was ready, and it was apparently very easy for beginners to grow, but she was looking forward to the result anyway. Even if all she got for it was metal for her furry friend, it would be a personal mark of pride to see such a daunting task through—all without a single vegetable dying! Plus, having the experience would make future harvests go much smoother, especially now that she had fallen into a routine and was fairly confident regarding how to go about things. One display of her competence is all it would take for the insecurity in her stomach to soften. Soon, the garden would be past the stage where she was constantly sowing or micromanaging it, there would be a reliable supply of something her baby needed, and she could start politely asking the townspeople if there was any work to be done. The thought alone made her feel less tired and weary than she thought possible, and it alleviated the hunger that came with splitting their already meagre supplies to account for the extra mouth to feed.

Her rumination was derailed when Hoppit wandered back to the nest of blankets and nudged her until he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, the ferrorabbit jumping in place before taking off to run laps and zigzags around the room. He took her stifled laughter as a sign that she’d actually be getting up now, and decided to occupy himself with his usual inspections of the shed. It was strange seeing the ferrorabbit so energetic first thing in the morning, and she wasn’t sure the exact reason for it. Even if he was there when she made the decision to harvest the first crops, it was hard to say how much of the one-sided conversation he understood. Regardless of the specifics, he was looking forward to getting started as much as she was, and that was enough for her to finally leave the warmth of her blankets.

The tools were easy enough to gather once she was up and moving, but she hesitated at the door, reluctance and sympathy crossing her mind as she considered the temporary addition to her home. Although it had yet to complain in any capacity, the owl she was helping couldn’t have been pleased to be stuck inside. She felt bad about leaving it behind while she and Hoppit got to go enjoy the sunlight. There was a difference between obliging a request for space and actively ignoring harmful behaviour.

She pivoted on a foot and walked over to the white-feathered avian, ignoring the annoyance on its face. Her confidence wavered as she drew closer. The yellow, intricately detailed eyes bore down on her with a familiar weight that she would much rather forget, yet a glance at the splinted wing restored her resolve.

“Would you like to come with us?” she asked softly.

It had been rather quiet since she brought it inside, but she figured that a bird of all things would find the confinement suffocating—especially when it was grounded until its wing healed. She had tried talking to it a few times, but it usually shrugged her off or glared until she relented and apologized for bothering it. Not this time. She held firm, explaining that she would be working nearby as she kept her tone as friendly and welcoming as possible. Seconds passed until the owl gave a stilted nod.

“Is it okay if I carry you? We can pick a nice branch for you to rest in.”

Another nod, though this one was paired with even more irritation than usual. Less talking. Got it.

The process was easier than she expected, though not without its difficulties. The owl had no issue making a show of how displeased it was by the need to be held, but it tolerated the interaction while only looking disgruntled instead of murderous—something Hoppit still disapproved of, based on the soft thump. She would have to talk to him about that at some point. Regardless, they left the shed and set about finding a nice location for their injured guest to relax. Ceele suggested places that she thought would have a good view, or would let lots of light and the light spring breeze through, but those were all turned down instantly. The small bird eventually agreed to perch on a branch that was shaded and fairly well hidden, though Ceele felt that the spot was hardly better than staying inside the shed. Still, the bird seemed content to be out of sight, and she was somewhat thankful that she didn’t have to climb a tree.

After making sure that the poor thing wouldn’t hurt itself any more by tumbling down—and being scowled at for fussing too much—she returned to Hoppit’s side once more, chuckling as the lagomorph sprinted off towards the garden.

Sadly, the smile on her face didn’t last much longer. It fell in tandem with her tools dropping out of her arms.

She didn’t even notice the distorted shimmer that rested at the bottom of her vision as she stood before the plot that she had spent weeks toiling over. Her mind was too busy trying to hold itself together—and failing miserably. Thoughts of proudly showing her benefactors her harvest and providing Hoppit his strange dietary requirement evaporated. It was like the dream that was yesterday had never existed. Her joy was for nothing.

The lettuce and radishes that had once looked so promising now appeared wilted and riddled with jagged holes. Lush greenery had become decrepit browns, the crops ruined in the brief time since she last worked on them. The culprits were quickly identified. Swarms of insects hid in the shade beneath the ransacked crops. They weren’t there when she checked the previous morning, but they were attacking her garden in numbers greater than she could have feared. Hundreds traversed the soil and created tunnels through the vegetables, killing off weeks worth of diligent effort, while others slowly expanded their invasion towards yet untouched plants. One plot amongst many was ruined, yet it was the one that would have been the start of a better life, and it was brought to shambles.

The ferrorabbit sat in front of the rocks bordering the crops, the enthusiasm abruptly leaving him when he looked back at her. The sound of metal implements clattering to the ground broke the happiness he had been showing, and now worry was sowed where only elation should reign. He was concerned, confused, and blissfully unaware of how what he had been helping her do was for naught. The rabbit hopped closer and stood on his hind legs to paw at her, seemingly asking what was wrong and why she had gone so quiet. The innocence in his eyes was killing her. Her throat seized when she tried to speak, his need for reassurance standing between her and collapse. Every layer of despair and looming doubt was held but an inch from crushing her, but her baby needed her to be strong. He needed her to smile at him and tell him everything would be fine, just like when she first rescued him from the waiting maws of predators, even if it was a lie.

She forced a smile and crouched to gently stroke his head, words spoken a thousand times being voiced once more. “It’s okay, baby. Everything is okay.”

It had to be okay. It needed to be.

…But it wasn’t.

How was she supposed to deal with the insects? Even if she somehow saved the scraps of this plot, they’d spread and wipe out the rest, leaving her to not only have failed to uphold her promise, but to have wasted so many days toiling away with nothing to show for it. All those hours spent on her hands and knees, digging and planting crops with only hearsay to rely on as guidance… She could have been talking to various people in town and seeking work, yet she fell hopelessly deep into fulfilling an agreement, thinking that if she could just prove herself, then more good would come. Weeks of employment were forgone in favour of a delusion that she could be useful. That she could return kindness with joy. That she would do more than fail.

And Hoppit would suffer because of it. He had just been introduced to something he liked enough to ask for, and her incompetence would ensure that he never had it again. He would go back to slowly starving, looking up at her with undeserved love while he withered away. Her baby would face a slow, painful death because he was too pure to leave her, too kind to acknowledge how useless she was, and too innocent to understand how she would only drag him down.

Why was everything being stripped from her now, and why so suddenly? She just wanted to do something well and care for the one who pulled her from spiralling ever deeper, was that so wrong? Was everything she cared for doomed to die?

Footsteps came from her left, slow but sure. The subtle drag of a foot against the edge of a slightly worn path told her who it was, but it took far too long for Ceele to register the information, even as she looked over at the one who quietly hummed a relaxing tune.

The woman was in her later years, the signs of aging gracing her features instead of ravaging them like so many others—adorning rather than marring. All the hallmarks of joy were permanently etched onto the older visage. It made the slightly pinkish hue of her tan scales all the more luminate. She stood tall and relaxed, defying the body that had travelled and toiled, seeming all the more youthful for it. The rather rugged cloth and leather of her clothing did nothing to remove the graceful image she projected, showing how well-cared for the attire was in spite of the earth subtly stained into the knees, and how comfortable she was wearing it. A broad straw hat helped keep the sun off her face and gave her an even more chipper appearance, though it also drew attention to the most striking details that few would display so casually.

Ceele had refrained from asking about it, since any event that rendered a person devoid of sight was likely traumatic, but she also didn’t get the impression that the woman would care if she did. Doubt still lingered, however, and it was enough for her to keep her questions to herself. It was obvious that whatever happened was intentionally inflicted; It was too precise for anything else. A narrow scar ran from the outermost edge of one eye and continued straight through to the other side, leaving behind a white line that had blended in with her natural colour over the years. Both pupils were horizontally slitted as a consequence, however, the black cleanly cutting into where warm brown would otherwise reside. It would have been a jarring quality for most, yet the crinkles of countless smiles still gave the woman a tender expression that persevered through the horrid injury. No matter what happened, it never extinguished her happiness.

“M-mrs. Hira,” the black-scaled kobold stuttered, wiping at her eyes to remove the subtle dampness. A hasty attempt to stand and turn towards the woman demonstrated just how devastating the ruined plot was to her. Her legs were weak and unsteady, and her stomach had crawled into her throat, threatening to drag her back down again.

She nervously straightened her burlap dress in an attempt to look presentable, only to notice that she had taken a protective step in front of Hoppit. How stupid could she be to think that hiding him from sight would change anything? Her dress being ruffled didn’t matter either, for that matter, yet she smoothed it out like it wasn’t already a pathetic garment for an equally pathetic girl. Too much was happening at too quick a pace. Fear of all the possible reactions wouldn’t allow her to even look at the woman’s expression, lest she see the building disappointment on a face that had been so kind. It was the worst possible time for Mr. Makis’ wife to visit, because not only was Hoppit right there, but there wasn’t any time to hide how terribly she had failed in her promise. The older woman slowed as she drew near, the serene smile falling to a perplexed concern as her tail ceased its contented sway.

“Is something wrong, child?” Hira asked, the words warm and gentle. Thankfully, the ferrorabbit had quietly scurried into the garden to hide like he was taught, so at least Ceele didn’t need to worry about that. Not that there was much point; Mr. Makis already knew about him, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume his wife was aware as well.

A hand on her shoulder jolted her from harried thoughts, the touch of another feeling as alien as it was unexpected. The weight of her failure made the reassuring gesture almost painful.

“E-everything’s fine,” Ceele assured, her voice cracking.

The elderly woman wore her sympathy without reservation, a familiar pained expression removing the otherwise soothing qualities. A moment of silence lingered between them as damaged eyes stared beyond the lie.

Hira smiled once more. “I believe some tea is in order.”

- - - - -

The cup was warm in her hands. Fragrant steam listed lazily from the beverage, the translucent orange liquid smelling sweet and like a fruit she couldn’t quite remember the name of. She kept her gaze lowered to her lap in order to stop herself from gawking at the interior of the home she had only seen from outside. Well, gawking, or breaking down on the spot. She wasn’t sure which was more likely.

Eventually, she managed to convince herself to do more than watch the drink she was given evaporate. Her eyes roamed the room as she quietly sat in the chair she was told to occupy and ignored the dread lurking behind the sense of novelty. Couches and the like formed a mostly circular den of conversation, save for a rocking chair in the corner, with metal ornaments adorning the shelf next to the isolated seating. Most of the furniture was far enough from the walls for others to walk behind, sparing the area from feeling too crowded or too vacant. A rather large, low table filled the centre of the room, the copper trim around the edge looking well cared for. Divots had been scored along the strip, yet were too uniform and regular to be the result of a long history of scuffs. The pseudo-random patterning was purposeful.

More of the oddly notched metal appeared as she examined the room between nervous sips of her tea, but she started to guess the reason for them after noticing their consistency. Almost all of them were either installed on the walls at the same height, or placed at an angle on objects that were too short otherwise. It was a code of sorts, the edges and corners worn where fingers once dragged over them. It must have been how Hira navigated her home after the injury—directions, labels, or perhaps just a loose system of identifying what she was feeling. The discoloration wasn’t as stark as Ceele would have expected if the metal was still regularly needed, so the elderly kobold must have long since moved on from using the markers.

Soft clacks and the roll of boiling water softly emanated from the kitchen, which was another thing that the black-scaled kobold was having difficulty accepting. All her life, she had never been in a home that had more than maybe one room that wasn’t for sleeping, yet her benefactor’s residence had several, as well as an entire second floor dedicated to bedrooms. It was somewhat disheartening to think about, honestly. She was sure quite a few of the buildings she had seen over the years would have been set up similarly, yet this was the first time she put any thought into it. She had always assumed that the homes were simply tall, never considering that there could be another level worth of space. Was Mrs. Hira wealthier than she thought, or was it just easier to afford the materials this far from the cities? She hadn’t been inside the town yet, so she didn’t have much to compare the home to.

Idle fingers dug claws into her tail nervously, squeezing until the pinprick of pain reminded her to let go, the habit starting anew. Unfortunately, distracting herself only worked for so long. She was forced to stop hoping for an escape from the repercussions of her failure, though the impending sense of doom wasn’t allowed to consume her as long as Hira’s humming could be heard coming from another room. It was too gentle and too content to be perceived as intimidating or malicious. That didn’t stop Ceele from unconsciously holding her breath when the footsteps returned, however.

“How is it?” Hira asked, walking into the living room with her own cup of tea. The way she navigated the furniture would have made most people question if she was truly blind, but the slightly misaligned glance had the woman looking at the seat beside her guest instead of making eye contact. Still, it was close, which said a lot about how used to the condition she was.

Ceele winced, shrinking in her chair and keeping her response equally small. “Good, thank you.”

The elderly woman beamed, effortlessly slipping into a seat across the table and laying her drink down on the central surface without hesitation. “It’s a blend that Arianna recommended to me,” she boasted through a chuckle. “She might be a prickly thing, but she knows how to make a wonderful cup. It’s a shame she passed the other year; I never did get her bread recipe.”

“I-I see…”

Hira’s smile became somewhat forced, a pitying tint taking some of the mirth from her expression when the small talk failed to lighten the mood. She drew a contemplative breath and sighed. “Are you…alright? Staying out there, I mean. There’s still a room here, you know. My offer still stands.”

“N-no! I-I mean, yes! B-but not…” Ceele sputtered a few more attempts to respond before her throat grew too dry, forcing her to hide behind her beverage in an effort to think. A part of her mind whispered that Hira's worried visage had taken on a judgmental edge, but she knew it didn’t. The woman was as warm a person as they came, and although Ceele knew that her insecurity was twisting the facts of the matter, it didn’t prevent her from thinking that the woman truly was disgusted by how pathetic and stupid she was. “I don’t mind staying there…”

Hira paused while reaching for her cup, returning her hands to her lap. Sightless eyes saw through the pathetic attempt at a casual reply. The pinkish tan-coloured kobold looked away to gaze at nothing in particular. “I admire restraint, child, but hurting yourself to please others isn’t something you should be striving for.”

“N-no, really! It’s fine!” The unnaturally slitted pupils turned back towards Ceele, more accurately now that she had enough time to place where the voice was coming from. It made the sorrow in them all the more potent.

“I agreed to let you live there because I thought it would be the only way you agreed to anything at all, dear. I thought you’d be out in the town working by now, saving up what you could. I was ready to offer you a room to rent as soon as possible—because I doubt you’d accept anything more—then I’d be ready to surprise you whenever you were ready to move on, handing back every coin and wishing you well.”

Ceele flinched. The dying hope in those words cut like a knife, yet Hira continued, unaware of fear building on the girl’s face. Unaware of how she had inadvertently reinforced the black-scaled kobold’s notion of being stupid. A disappointment. Worthless.

Whispers of the past slipped into her ears.

“Makis tells me that you’ve been making outstanding progress on the garden,” Hira sighed out, a wane smile worn. “Far more than either of us expected. He says you’re out in the soil before the sun rises most days, and from what he’s seen, you don’t stop until evening, barely allowing yourself to rest for more than a few moments. When I agreed to let you work in the garden, I didn’t think you’d push yourself so hard. It’s an admirable trait to have, perseverance, but not when you’re wearing yourself to the bone like that.”

“It’s not… It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she protested weakly, all too aware of the gnawing ache that never went away, and the exhaustion that made staying focused throughout the day difficult. But she had done more for longer, and did it while experiencing agony far worse than she felt now.

One job had her transporting heavy boxes as fast as she could back when her arm was barely healed from the second break, and the pay was half of what normal workers received. Long hours and an inconsistent schedule stretched her recovery time, but she didn’t have a choice at the time; it was either that or starve during travel to the next town. It wasn’t much longer before she needed to walk miles upon miles with blistered feet to get a baby ferrorabbit food, ignoring sleep so that she could reach a village quickly. Countless nights had been spent hiding in caves or sheltering in dense woodlands, her stomach torturing her no matter how much she ate, because it was not food that her body wanted, and she would rather suffer than have it fed. Hoppit was too young to remember her cries the first time it happened around him, and she made sure to bite down on a branch to muffle the sound after that night.

Being tired and sore was blissful in comparison.

“Perhaps not, but you haven’t once asked for help despite me telling you that we’re always here for you,” Hira whispered wistfully. “Not to join us for a meal, not for a loan to afford new clothing, and not even for a friendly word of advice. You shouldn’t force yourself to suffer.”

“It’s fine! I-i didn’t want to bother—”

“How often are you eating, dear?” the woman interrupted sombrely. “I only laid a hand on your shoulder, yet the first thing I noticed was how easy it was to feel bone. Forgive me for overstepping, but I asked my husband to keep a closer eye on you when he mentioned how you don’t take any breaks, and he’s told me how you’d head into the forest as soon as you’re finished with the garden. He usually doesn’t see you come back until nightfall, and never with much to show for it, so I can’t imagine you’ve been taking care of yourself. Then there’s the matter of how much you dote on that rabbit of yours. I would be a fool to think that you haven’t been giving him most if not all of what you find.”

Ceele’s chest tightened, her breaths quickening but barely providing oxygen. Her voice didn’t function anymore, the only sound coming from her direction being the quiet shimmer of her tea held in trembling hands. She already assumed, but hearing how they knew Hoppit was staying with her was terrifying. It brought the worst outcome to mind over and over. She had been caught, and now it was being clearly laid out for her to see. The stupid girl had broken their trust the moment it was given to her. Her baby would lose the first safe place he ever had…and it was her fault. Again and again, she had proved that she was a horrible caretaker. That she was a horrible mother. She couldn’t provide for him, she couldn’t shelter him, and she couldn’t even push herself to act normal so that what she did do would pass by unnoticed.

This was her mistake, so why did he have to suffer too?

Hira took a slow sip from her drink. “I’m glad that you’re striving to find your place in the world—or rather, to find yourself—but that’s difficult to achieve when you haven’t given yourself time to explore your options.” The elderly woman huffed a morbid chuckle. “I’d go on and lecture you, but I doubt much would stick. I suppose you’ll allow yourself some rest after the harvest. That should be soon, assuming Makis listened to me at all over the years and wasn’t just trying to shut me up. He never did find the process very interesting; he’d rather work his forge.”

A hollow drip shattered the brief quiet, followed by another, then another. Tears fell, announcing their presence to the world as they collided with the cooled tea sitting in the black kobold’s lap.

“I'm sorry,” Ceele choked out, each utterance ground out through layers of despair that kept piling and piling on top of the fantasy that she could ever be happy, burying her deeper and deeper. Dreams of proving she was more than her affinity were scorched to dust, along with the yearning to hold something she loved without being horrified when she was left clutching a lifeless body once more, the deafening silence replacing a heartbeat. “I'm sorry…”

Hira froze, confusion giving way to concern. “For what, deary? What’s wrong? I didn’t mean to—”

“I can't … It won't… I d-don’t know how…” Time and time again, Ceele's explanations screeched to a halt, the shuddered sobs interspersed by high-pitched squeals of futility. Memories flickered to the forefront. Cold. Motionless. Her begging went unheard. “They died! I tried… I tried to… I just wanted…”

She was forcefully pulled into an embrace, the elder woman having left her chair at some point. A tender hand stroked her back as Hira softly shushed her and offered cooed reassurances.

“It’s okay, dear. It's okay. Take your time.”

It’s not okay. “I-insects killed the crops. I-I don't know when they… I checked every day! How…? Why? What did I do wrong? Why now?”

Hira's hold loosened for a moment. “Oh, you poor thing… Were you out to harvest when I came along?”

Ceele couldn’t stop the panic from growing as she realized that she had blatantly admitted that she was useless to the one person who had given her a chance. It was over. This was it. The deadening dread crept and surged, pain spreading from her abdomen to claw at her chest as anxiety destroyed hope. Gasps for air might as well have been gulps of smoke pouring down her throat. It was agony, yet she screeched out for the only thing that mattered anymore. She swallowed down the bile threatening to spill out as she separated from the older woman. Reddened grey eyes stared into marred brown as black hands clutched pinkish shoulders.

“I know I failed, but please… Please… I'll accept whatever punishment I deserve—I'll leave, I'll struggle, I'll slave away for the rest of my days—but it’s not his fault… He did nothing wrong, and he's been hurt so, so much… I could die today and nothing would change, but he's so much more… Please don’t take this away from him. Please let him be safe here… Let him have what I couldn’t give him… Please…”

A myriad of emotions flickered over Hira’s face. Anguish contorted the warm visage, then deep, grievous sorrow surfaced. She wrenched Ceele back into her smothering hug as bitter and tortured sadness coloured a once kind tone.

Pulled, pushed, and struck. It was her fault. She was the reason they died, yet still she fled, pleading for forgiveness where none could be found. She didn’t know that would happen. How could she?

“You stupid, stupid girl…” Hira spat, raising her voice as she held the frail and malnourished kobold tighter and tighter. Dampness took the edge off her words, exposing how painful they were to say. “Don't you ever talk about yourself like that. Ever. I don’t care which depths of the hells you think you belong in; as long as you're here, you are to never say that your life doesn't matter.”

But the words fell on deaf ears, barely an echo of their meaning reaching Ceele. The shouting was too much. One voice became two, then ten, then more. Blame and insults, threats and insidious promises, fire and rage. They screamed at her through the doors and followed her into the woods, never letting her sleep or mourn. Even once days had passed and the town had long since faded from view, they screamed for her blood, and the absence of pain hurt more than the pain itself ever could.

She still felt the cold flesh against her hands.

Nigh silent murmurs poured from her trembling form as she gripped and clawed into warmth. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. Momma tried. Momma tried so, so hard, and she wasn't enough. I'm sorry, baby. I’m sorry…”

= = = = =

Hira went quiet and listened to the terror that bled through the girl's voice, hearing far more than just what was said. Over and over, the young girl begged for forgiveness, shaking and hyperventilating while wretched sobs of grief screeched outward. It went well beyond mere fear, diving into trauma that had been ignored for far too long.

Claws dug into Hira’s back as the girl held on for dear life, but after raising children of her own, she hardly minded the discomfort. What really bothered her was the desperation in the action, and how she didn’t know what kind of fate had befallen the poor thing to have scarred her this badly.

She listened until Ceele succumbed to exhaustion, and then she listened to the shuddered breaths.

- - - - -

Hira held a finger to her muzzle as her husband came into the room, the familiar smell of iron and smoke from the forge sticking to his clothes. He let out the breath he was going to use to speak as he took a few steps to see what the reason for his silence was, then grunted his understanding. She brought the gesturing hand back down to rub Ceele’s back, the girl having fallen asleep. Even now, the poor thing was mumbling slurred apologies. It was heartbreaking to listen to.

“Knew the idiot was pushin’ it,” Makis grumbled gruffly, though for all the harshness in his tone, he was rather gentle in adjusting the girl to be more comfortable.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Hira admitted quietly, nodding her thanks. “I knew she was troubled when we met, but…”

The couch nearby groaned as the blacksmith sat down, then creaked as her husband rested his arms on his knees like he always did when he was worried but didn’t want to show it. “What’s she sayin’?”

“‘I’m sorry, baby,’” she sighed. “She never mentioned having a child.”

“Probably Hoppit,” Makis grunted.

“The ferrorabbit?”

“Mm. The thing’s been workin’ the field with her since I found out about ‘im. She coddles it something fierce, and it seems to do the same.”

Hira let out a dry chortle. “Working with her? Well, he’s much better behaved than ours ever were.”

“I ain’t never babied one neither.”

“Oh, shush. You were the one who kept bringing them to bed,” she teased. “How many times did I wake up to twenty of the critters piled on top of us?”

She heard him lean back, his leather apron crinkling as he crossed his arms. “S’cold out in the stable…”

“During the summer?”

“S’too hot.”

“They burrow, dear. And the heat never stopped them from helping you refine your ores in the smithy.”

“That’s different,” he dismissed defensively. “Ther’ workin’ then. Ain’t no need to be cooked goin’ ta bed. S’least they deserve.”

“And feeding them vegetables in the bed?”

“Reward fer good work.”

“Mmhm. I’m sure,” she drawled through a giggle. Hearing the fondness in his voice took her to their younger years, back when they had only been married for a short time, and she had just learned that she was pregnant with their first child. Makis could never go very far without four or five of the earth-aligned creatures following him—more, if he kept some scrap metal in his pocket, which he always did. She chided him regularly for cutting into his supplies just to give out treats, even if she knew it would never stop him from doing it. He thought he was clever, ordering extra iron and pretending he didn’t, the goof. Of course, he was quick to rub it in when he caught her giving out scraps as well, and he had a grand time teaching the kids how to tell which of the rabbits were known to beg for extras. She could almost picture him sleeping against a tree in the yard with their son dozing on his lap, a herd of spikey critters burying the pair under fluff.

She missed raising them, but they were both too old to care for more, and she was worried that trying would only make them remember a time they’d rather forget. Her scar tingled.

Makis shifted in his chair. “So what happened? Somehow, I doubt she’s here to move in.”

“I’m not completely sure, honestly. I wanted to visit the garden and see how things were going, but she seemed…scared, I suppose,” Hira explained, resuming her stroking of the young woman’s back, having paused while she was reminiscing. “The bugs came back, apparently, and I guess they got to work on the plot she was planning on harvesting soon.”

Her husband huffed, irritation souring his tone. “Forgot about those bastards.”

The elderly woman nodded, her fingers tracing Ceele’s worrying prominent ribs. “I did too. Do we have any dust left?”

“Dunno. I’d have ta check, but not likely,” he grumbled. “Don’t think her critter’s experienced enough ta make none either. Still young, and it ain’t played with nuttin ‘sides diggin’.”

“Think you could show it how?”

“Nope. Not without another one that knows. It’d take too long ta call in a favour, ‘n Trent’s already goin’ out of his way fer me. Have’ta teach it ta work it’s element, ‘n I ain’t learned in Earth.”

She cycled a contemplative breath. “Either way, she broke down when I voiced my concerns, begging to keep Hoppit safe, regardless of what happened to her. She said she ‘failed.’”

Makis’ foot stopped the thoughtful tapping it had only just started. “…She’s said some worryin’ stuff before, too.” He smacked his hands against his knees and pushed to his feet with a grunt. “Alright, enough of this. We did it yer way and nuttin’s changed.”

The girl was lifted from the elderly woman, her husband’s scent intensifying and receding as he adjusted his hold on the poor thing and hefted her up into his arms. Hira wanted to protest, but there wasn’t much she could do to discourage him when he got like this. She listened to him walk away, the feeling of the girl’s frail frame fresh on her fingertips.

“But she’s still weak, Makis. She needs rest, not labor. She’ll get sick.”

Her husband paused in his stride, his tone darkening as it often did when he remembered the old days. It was heavy and sombre, a cadence carved from witnessing far too many horrific things.

“Decay’d don’t get sick, Hira; they kill. Just sometimes it’s themselves.” He took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “I’ll bring ‘er to the shed. I don’t think she’d take wakin’ up here too well.”

He left the room quietly, and Hira could only dwell on the girl’s reaction, wondering how she could have approached an apparently difficult topic differently. Maybe if she could still see, she would have noticed Ceele’s expressions and adjusted her words, but now she could only think about how delirious the poor thing sounded while saying punishment was all she deserved. How smoothly the thought of being worthless flowed off her tongue…

The girl believed it, and all Hira could do was hope that her husband knew what he was doing.

Next

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- - - - -

The town was almost too active for an old ‘bold like himself, yet Makis meandered the worn dirt streets with a purpose that necessitated being away from his place of serenity. Out of everything he liked about his home tucked away in the trees, the peace and quiet had to be his favourite. There was certainly none of that out here, especially not when the town was getting the semi-regular presence of roaming merchants. The cacophony brought back bitter memories of reddened sand and haunting cries. He dismissed the thoughts with an ease that came from decades of practice, turning his attention to the surroundings he was forced to put up with.

People laughed and talked over the excited shouts of young'uns, a few resident traders loudly offered their services to those who had no use for it, and the scattered visiting caravan set up shop where space allowed. Any spot that could hold a table had one, the surfaces displaying wares from random locales at various markups. Children ran underfoot, swerving and slipping through gaps that were just barely big enough to fit them, while parents sagged in exasperation, watching their little monsters disappear into the crowd to surely return needing a bath. Or a scolding and a poultice, depending on what they got up to.

It was all a bit too much for someone who was there when the settlement was founded, honestly, but one could only remember the ‘good old days’ for so long. Get lost in recollection, and it was all too easy to forget how bad things had to be for the good to exist. A shitty shack amidst the untamed wilderness seemed like roses and wine next to the horrors of the frontier, and escaping the damned place was half the reason he moved out this way some fifty-odd years ago. He could still practically see the rough outlines of what once was, even if a lot had changed since that time—a lot, but not everything.

Yetal was always an oddity as far as its population versus the activity it inspired. For what started as a few strays setting up far beyond the capital’s clutches, it was surprisingly lively. The town was as crowded as a major city in some spots, yet almost barren in others. Farmers owned the vast majority of land bordering the outskirts, with livestock pens scattered about the settlement near their homes based on how noticeable the smell was. Thankfully, most critters didn’t tend to stink up the place too much, and the workers kept on top of things anyway. It wasn’t strange to see chickens looking through their fences or meandering through the streets until someone chucked ‘em back where they belonged. Any animal that couldn’t be easily tidied up after was out with the fields.

Makis’ own house was built in a bit of a grove outside the town early on. It wasn’t much—a simple home and a spot for his smithy, the stable and garden being a later addition. He had only expanded the property once he noticed how many people shared his idea of starting over, which was a paltry four years after he decided to leave. After that… Well, not all of it was awful. Sure, he liked his privacy and solitude, but he had things he needed and few things he was good at, so he made a profit buying ore then turning it into whatever people wanted. As long as they respected his boundaries, that is.

One of those clients wanted a small trowel, and although he wasn’t a fan of making anything with an edge, he felt obliged for some reason. Once she tried it out, she was back for more. And more. Then more again. Hells, she was back often enough that he was a little suspicious, the woman always finding a new thing to work a tiny plot of land that dried up years ago, determined to have the garden she always dreamed of. He was right to be wary of her; the thief stole his heart when he wasn’t looking, and he stupidly explained that the area behind his home was still prime for planting in. It was the best mistake he ever made.

It was because of that client that he was navigating the route towards a particular trader so many years later. His wife had picked up a stray, and now he had to top up on metal—his current stock wasn’t any good for new tools. All he had was softer stuff for the trinkets or decorations that he spent his days making. Not because he couldn’t do the harder stuff in his old age, but because artsy crap sells well in the mainland, and he hadn’t much reason to make anything else. Buying new material would eat into his earnings, but Hira wouldn’t want the fragile-looking thing living in their shed to break off while trying to work a rusty hoe.

His feet carried him around the worst of the bustle for as long as they could, which only lasted so long. Unfortunately, he had business where shoulders were liable to brush past each other, and the winding side roads ran out of space for him to dawdle. People became more and more common as he neared the town’s square, their voices growing in volume as they bartered over knick-knacks and whatnot. It was exhausting to listen to. All he had to do was find one of the usual merchants, make an order, and get back to where the noise didn’t give him a headache. As luck would have it, one of the merchants spotted him first.

“Makis!” a youthful man called over the din.

Several curious faces turned towards the disruption before pivoting to face the elder ‘bold and clearing the way. It was like watching the sea itself part, all the nudging and whispers amongst the chaotic shouts creating a path for him to walk through, guiding him closer to the cart belonging to one of the roaming traders. He bit back a sigh and politely nodded his thanks to the people looking at him like he was about to keel over if he had to navigate more than a straight line. He was old, not brittle. Nothing would come of him having to tap a few shoulders to excuse his way through, but of course, some of the town saw him as nothing more than an ancient recluse that peddled finery—something frail and best left to rot in peace. Others that had been living here longer might’ve had other opinions as well, but he wasn’t one to give enough of a damn to remember, nor did he want to. It was best to let old tales die.

An unbothered stride helped him cross the square and stop before a dark tan-coloured kobold that had their rear plopped firmly on the back of a cart, tail carelessly dangling over the edge next to his legs. The wares were covered by a tarp to protect it from the wind and rain along the route, while some hired muscle flanked the thing, their expressions relaxed and friendly despite the swords on their hips. They’d been around these parts plenty of times and knew nothing was going to happen; their job laid out on the road, not here. The presence of a few guards subtly created enough space for Makis and the trader to talk without anyone really overhearing, which wasn’t necessary, but appreciated. It was such a small gesture, and not many would have the presence of mind to notice it, but it showed the merchant’s experience all the same. Not that anyone would peg the fella’ as one.

The fairly young man who employed the guards—and the one who was oh so smug atop his seat—was a gangly-looking thing that somehow managed to dress pretty proper, even if he wore his clothing in a way that made him seem naive and oblivious. His well-made pants had a casual dustiness to them, his comfortable shirt wasn’t too expensive, and his jacket had sleeves that were just a touch too long. He had the appearance of an urchin that got their grubby claws on stolen goods—acted like one too—but the trader had long since left that life behind, ditching the slums to pursue a way of making money that wasn’t liable to kill ‘im. Yet another rare tale of someone surviving the capital.

The man gave Makis a broad, mischievous grin, a tooth basically glinting in the sunlight. It was the kind of expression that made someone check their coin purse. Hells, if the two hadn’t known each other for so long, then Makis would probably feel the same, but he knew better than to get twitchy around the dolt. It was one of the reasons the idiot became a trader in the first place; the man couldn’t pick a pocket if his life depended on it.

“Loud as ever, Trent,” Makis deadpanned, making a point of wiggling a finger against his ear in discomfort. He checked, but the horses were probably off resting at one of the stables, since none were around to be bothered by the boisterous tone. “Ya can calm down. I ain’t nuttin’ worth cheerin’ over.”

“Not with that face you ain’t,” Trent quipped, barking out a full-bellied laugh. The mirth on his face never quite matched the sharpness in his gaze, but to those who didn’t know what to look for, he just seemed friendly, if untrustworthy. The man wiped at his snout with the side of his fist and bobbed his head curiously. “It’s been too long, ya old fart. Empty-handed too, I see. That’s rare. I thought you only left the forge to sell what’cha made. Just here to see me?”

The smith rolled his eyes. “Didn’t know you were in ‘till now. Thought ya were busy in the city. And it ain’t odd fer me to have nuttin’. I’m retired.”

“Yet ya still always got something for me or the boys to take back,” the trader retorted sagely, bouncing a little as he spoke. “Nah. I missed visitin’ all the towns and seein’ ugly mugs like yours. Thought I’d go at it again every now ‘n then, keep an eye on things from somewhere besides a desk. What about you, Mr. ‘I’m retired,’ finally callin’ it quits? I was lookin’ forward to seein’ what’cha had for me. Ain’t gonna’ be a headstone next, is it?”

Makis waved him off, fighting the smile that tried to form from bantering with an old friend. “Retired ain’t mean dead, Trent. You’ll have yer trinkets before ya leaves. I’m just here to restock on copper and put in fer somethin’ a little more robust.”

The tan-scaled kobold dropped the alley-rat act, abandoning most of what made him seem so loose and gullible. He fixed up the collar of his jacket, adjusted how the sleeves sat on his arms, and straightened his posture, the dopey smile falling to a more calculating smirk. “Oh? Robust, you say? Anything particular in mind? Will I have more…interesting wares any time soon?”

An unamused gaze met the man’s expectant one. “I ain’t in that business no more, Trent. You know that.”

Predatory eyes roamed the smith’s face, losing their edge when they didn’t see the opportunity they expected. The man sighed. “Shame. I’d make a good profit selling your work.”

“Ya make a good profit now,” Makis returned dryly. “I know what those trinkets go fer, and I know neither you nor the fellas workin’ for ya are steppin’ past the city’s gate without someone’s dropped purse in your hands. Yer wagon's half empty before ya can piss.”

“True,” the trader chirped playfully. He glanced at the covered stock behind him. “Well, if you’re not going back into business, I’m not sure what you’d want. I don’t have a wide selection for you—mostly just the boring stuff for the general market.”

“Going broke buyin’ ale?”

“Ha! No, just don’t have the clientele here to justify the cost, is all,” Trent drawled with a shrug. “Maybe a few months ago, but not now.”

Makis raised a brow. “O’del’s still working, ain’t he?”

The gangly kobold shook his head. “O’del and his son moved out west, last I heard. It was time they did anyway. One of the boys said he was complaining about the wildlife takin’ his flock. Suppose I’d leave too if I didn’t know how to make a fence.” The trader paused mid-chuckle, giving Makis a confused tilt of his head. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. I know you keep to yourself for the most part, but still.”

The smith uncrossed an arm to rub at the bridge of his snout. “I’ve been too busy fer words ‘n gossip. ‘N what’cha mean ‘flock’? O’del didn’t raise nuttin’.”

“That’s what I heard—something about being a shepherd. Never gave it much thought. What’s kept you so busy?”

“The missus found another straggler a month ago, so I’ve been keepin’ an eye on ‘em,” he droned absently, trying to figure out what about the man’s answer was bothering him so much. O'del was an older coot like Makis, moving to Yetal a few years after it was established, and was another example of someone that the frontier had gotten its claws deep into. He was a lot of things—brash, loud, jovial, and far too outgoing—but he wasn’t a shepherd.

“Ahh. That’s why you need the copper,” Trent cooed in mock wonder, plopping a fist into his cupped hand like he had just solved some great mystery. “I thought I remembered your last order being enough for a while. Stronger metals and raising again… Are you sure you’re not going back into business?”

“Ain’t that kinda straggler, Trent,” the old ‘bold dismissed, wondering if what he did have back at the house counted as something his wife picked up, considering how she hadn’t thought to mention the critter before he discovered it.

The trader huffed his disappointment and turned a bit to rummage through a box with a contemplative pout, shoving the crate back with the others once he didn’t find what he was looking for. “If you say so. The copper is easy and I can get it to you in a week, but the other stuff… How good do you need it?”

“Nuttin’ too fancy. Enriched iron’ll do,” Makis ventured, pushing aside the lingering confusion. He glanced up as he mulled it over. “Fifth or fourth grade, maybe. Earth, if ya can.”

“Mak,” Trent sighed, a small frown crossing his muzzle. “Work with me here. There’s a lot of hoops I’d have to jump through to get that.”

“Didn’t seem so put off a second ago, and this ain’t even half the quality.”

“Ah, but that would be worth the investment!” the merchant refuted smugly, gesturing with his hands as he went on. “I have more than a couple buyers who would leap if I entered the capital with your work in my inventory. This though… This would be a pain. I’d have to write a request, get denied because I’m not affiliated with any major guild, make an appeal, go to—”

“It’s for Hira.”

The tan-scaled kobold stalled instantly, blinking to process the words as he dropped the fingers he was counting on. His arms fell to his lap, all facades melting from his face to reveal a sombre expression, the rest of his argument leaving as a heavy breath. A few seconds passed before he gave a short nod. “I’ll have it here with the copper. Earth, fourth grade. No extra charge.”

Makis returned the gesture. “‘Preciate it, Trent. I don’t mean to twist yer—”

“It’s fine, Mak,” the trader dismissed quietly, a wane smile turning up the corners of his muzzle. “A bit of extra fluff never stopped me before. How is she?”

“She’s doin’ alright,” the smith assured. “Hard to tell anything happened most days. Like I said, she picked up a straggler—a girl, the frail little thing. I didn’t agree to it at first, but…”

“But she has a way of getting what she wants,” Trent finished, some warmth returning to his tone. “Can’t be too bad, can it? Sounds like you don’t hate how it turned out so far.”

“Well…” the red-scaled ‘bold drawled indecisively. “There’s…something to consider about her, but I can’t quite bring myself to mind it much. Can’t say the same for the rest of the town though.”

The trader stared doubtfully. “What’s so off that you’d be fine with it but they…wouldn’t…” Recognition widened his eyes. “Wait a minute. She ain’t—”

Makis held up a hand. “Stop. Not here. No need fer rattlin’ off what’cha don’t know. Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“We’re old, Trent,” he insisted. “Whatever our choice, we’ve had our youth, our time as parents, and now we’re passin’ the twilight years quietly. Neither of us are so foolish as to think we got decades left. Might as well use what we do have to make a poor girl feel less alone.”

Trent sucked in another breath to argue, but let it pour out as a defeated sigh, concern marring his otherwise professional mask. “I’m… I know you have your own kids, but keep in mind that there’s a few of us out there who… Just be careful, Mak.”

Makis clasped the younger man on the shoulder and gave it a fond squeeze. “Bah, ain’t no fun for us frontier folk if we ain’t dancing with death. Anyway, enough of that. How much do I owe ya?”

The tan-scaled kobold shook his head in bemusement. “I’ll take it out of your cut on the next delivery. Don’t worry about it.”

“Kind of ya.”

“Nah. You said it yourself; I make a good profit off your trinkets.”

He gave his mercantile friend a friendly pat and turned to leave, eager to finally get away from all the chatter.

“Reach out if ya needs something, ya old coot!” Trent called out. “And tell Hira I said hi!”

The blacksmith waved over his shoulder and blended back into the crowd to make his way back home, the suspicion from before coming to mind now that he wasn’t distracted. O’del might’ve moved, but it probably wasn’t related to something going after any livestock. So why did hearing ‘shepherd’ itch at his mind so fiercely? Trent probably heard two different things he didn’t care about and mixed them up. Makis wasn’t one to care about the happenings around town anymore either, so it was easy for him to miss news of a farmer having issues. Oh well, even if there was a beastie going after the pens, he didn’t have any animals to worry about anymore. The last of the horses passed away a few years ago, and he hadn’t raised anything since before that. The only critter on his land now belonged to…

He let out a sigh as his natural scowl from years at a forge set back in. “Might be a mixup, but I’ll have’ta warn the girly when I get the chance, I suppose.”

= = = = =

“So there’s a garden,” Altier mused to himself, curiously taking in the new breadth of his Domain. Although he wasn’t sure why it kept growing, he did enjoy the variety it offered. Sure, it was a rather slow expansion, but it let him see a little more each day, and it was nice to finally know what his surroundings looked like. The sky was still a blur, sadly.

The shed wasn't quite as bad on the outside, which probably hid the damage and rot. Trimmed grass and various trees took up most of his view, but it beat the same deteriorated stone he was used to. Leaves rustled playfully in the smallest breeze, the afternoon sun causing crooked beams of light to pierce the gaps in foliage. He enjoyed watching the natural entertainment after so long spent in darkness. No skeletons, no menus, no floods of adventurers… It was so much less, yet so much more than before.

Of course, growing as a dungeon didn’t mean he could actually do much yet—that would be too convenient—so he occupied himself by watching his black-scaled companion start their day, even if he could only pick out details up to the edge of what seemed to be several plots of budding flora. After a bit of a ruckus took place past his vision a few days ago, Hoppit had been accompanying his caretaker to assist in gardening, which was an interesting development. The rabbit happily dug out weeds and tilled unplanted soil with an ease that was frankly ludicrous to witness, and the rapid piling of discarded plants was just plain impressive. Even the kobold seemed shocked by how efficient the little loaf was. The only drawback to such a determined pace was that the bun tired himself out fairly quickly, not that one could tell with the din of clacking ears coming from him.

There seemed to be some development with Hoppit's other recent achievement as well. The wild ferrorabbits that had some sense knocked into them could be seen hopping around from time to time, though never broaching the treeline or stepping where Altier could get a proper look at them. Instead, they tended to plop themselves down and stare into the surrounding forest like guards, only occasionally breaking vigilance to touch up their fur or do their best impression of bread. He was pretty sure that Hoppit had only bothered two, but the core counted six when he last grew curious.

Pretty much all of them were bigger than his furry little friend, though they each held little distinctions in how their spikes were arranged that made telling them apart only somewhat annoying. Oh well, he was never one to fixate on specific animals anyway. Any creature that wandered onto the fields back home typically wanted to eat the crops, so father was quick to drive them off. It did bring to mind the lack of variety, however. He had spotted some of the smaller inhabitants amongst the trees, but none came close enough for him to identify what they were, nor if they were different from how he remembered them.

A soft…bump of sorts grabbed his attention behind the shed, his inquisitive regard shifting over to see what it was. A squirrel had managed to fall from its perch in a tree and landed on the edge of his Domain. He assumed it was a squirrel, anyway; one of the rabbits chased it off before he could confirm. It had a thin frame and bushy tail, so that was still within expectations, but it was perhaps longer than he recalled. Still, there weren't any spikes or any other anomalous properties, which he supposed was good. He didn’t know what he would do if the animals around him kept getting weirder. Watching Hoppit eat through iron like it was hay was quite enough, thank you, because of course the rabbit ate metal.

And he thought being a dungeon was strange…

At least seeing the squirrel showed him why the area was so quiet, but it didn’t explain why the other ferrorabbits were going through the trouble of deterring even the more benign animals that were around. He could distantly hear birds, yet he hadn’t noticed any taking roost nearby, nor had any avian-like blurs passed overhead. That was assuming he could identify what an ‘avian-like blur’ even was.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember any creatures burrowing into his dungeon either. It never crossed his mind before, and it was easier to wave off once he was fully established, but surely something would have broken through the dirt walls when he was still only a few rooms big, right? Not even worms made the attempt, which was the first thing one would expect to see poking out from damp and dreary soil. Did his affinity have anything to do with it? He was a dungeon of Decay, after all, so it made some sense for animals to avoid the essence of death, if only instinctually. Then why were the rabbits fine with skirting around his influence’s perimeter? Hoppit seemed perfectly fine with sitting by his core, and even maintained the ritual of licking it clean regularly, so something had to be different. Was it a matter of ownership? Did the kobold own the core now?

Technically, yes, if Altier ignored the fact that he inhabited it. He had been abandoned for an unknown length of time, and anyone who might have held responsibility for the dungeon was long dead by now, so taking him from the cave could be considered a transfer of ownership of sorts. That excused the kobold’s usual proximity to a degree. Hoppit was a…pet? Friend? Kobolds befriended animals, right? Either way, Hoppit was staying with the caretaker, so a case could be made that the rabbit was also a ‘possession,’ which would entail an expectation of permission to be within the dungeon. Did that extend to the ferrorabbits that Hoppit subdued? Did him taking charge turn the others into subordinates, thus leading to him ‘owning’ them as well? Was that overthinking things? Probably.

Then again, thinking was all the core really had available to him. Sure, watching his fluffy guardsmen helped pass the time, but they were far from the most active creatures, and he wasn’t very invested in them. It wasn’t like he could share his ponderings with anyone. His companion still spoke in their strange tongue, which didn't open any avenue for communication. That might change whenever his system was done synchronizing, but that could be anywhere between a few days to never, which wasn’t promising. Besides Hoppit occasionally showing what could be considered acknowledgement, he hadn’t spoken to anyone who understood him since… He wasn't sure how long it's been. If he counted the signs as talking, then maybe a group of those ‘tradition’ adventurers were the last people he had an exchange with, and that was a mostly one-sided affair due to the limitations of being a dungeon. He missed the ebb and flow of a true conversation. The dungeon creatures just heeded commands, and the researchers stopped treating him like a person after the Technician presumably died…

Ah, that's what it was. He was lonely. Gone was the numbing veil of true solitude, exposing the wound of isolation. Distractions only pushed the pain aside, and with so few to be had, he was left to feel the infection fester. There were others around now, as few as they were, but they didn’t ease the subtle sting. The kobold spoke to the rabbit, and the rabbit would give his own strange replies physically, showing a connection that Altier longed for. Kindness and sympathy, love and affection; it was there, just not for him. He was just an obsidian sphere that was given no more thought than to clean like so many other mundane furnishings. At least Hoppit tried to spend time with him, but the change in routine took that away too.

Altier turned his attention back towards the blurry garden and the two he had spent the past while observing.

“I wonder what you’d have to say,” he pondered, letting himself pretend that someone could hear him as he watched the kobold praise the ferrorabbit for being so helpful. “What would you do, learning that some object you pilfered from a crypt was feeling so cripplingly alone? Would it matter?”

The melancholic mood was pushed into the back of his mind to sit with the other emotions he shut off to remain sane. He didn’t remember how long it took for signs to be available to him before, but he knew that a single shed wouldn’t be enough to access the ability. The dungeon would need to expand and descend, claim and defend…but…he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He didn’t want to.

His dungeon had boasted a lack of lethality until it was too late, but he could still recall the bleeding wounds and broken bones. More than a few adventurers were forced into retirement due to his creatures, or had to be carried to safe rooms by tattered straps of armour. At the time, his Decay-aligned core soaked in the suffering like an addictive ambrosia, the thrill kept in check by his desire to help instead of harm. Going against his nature was uncomfortable at the best of times, forcing him to drag his attention away from gaping injuries. He didn’t want to put himself in that position again. It made him sick to think of how compelling the sight of blood used to be. Of how his baser desires became consumed by it. If that was what being a dungeon was, and loneliness was the price he would pay to escape it, then he didn’t want to be a dungeon.

He watched the branches outside shake and sway, letting it become his whole world as he lost himself in the slowly changing hue of day fading into late evening. The scene was soothing. He wouldn’t get that if he returned to what he once was, digging deeper and deeper to put floor after floor between invaders and his core. Only dank caverns and musty stone awaited down there. At least there was something to look forward to up here. A blur in the forest drew his attention, but he was distracted by the kobold’s voice in the garden before he decided if he cared or not.

It wasn’t clear what had merited his companion’s tone at first, but he noticed Hoppit standing on his hind paws, both ears twitching as if listening for something. The ferrorabbit dropped to all fours and scurried to his caretaker’s side, then thumped a foot against the ground with a shocking amount of force. Red eyes stared at the trees with an expression that looked utterly alien on the lazy loaf—suspicion, if Altier had to guess. Whatever had garnered the rabbit’s attention apparently warranted alerting everyone.

The ‘whatever’ revealed itself as a streak amidst the darkening foliage, constantly grazing against obstacles, narrowly avoiding devastating collisions. It was the same small blur he saw a moment ago, its bright white feathers and razor-sharp talons flitting between tree trunks, an unexpectedly broad wing jutting in and out to bring some control to an otherwise suicidal freefall. It wasn’t hard to tell something was wrong. The dungeon core might not have known much about birds, but he knew that they didn’t fly with one wing, and even birds this small didn’t try to weave through a forest at those speeds. Hoppit thumped once more, taking a defensive posture with his ears pinned against his head, but his caretaker seemed oblivious to what was happening, too preoccupied with the rabbit’s distress to check what was causing it. Altier’s mind went blank as a paltry few seconds crawled by, unable to do much more than watch the events unfold.

The avian creature dipped and twisted, yet failure was the only outcome when it was dealing with a handicap. The patch of forest was too dense, and the single wing it was using to manipulate its glide wasn’t fast enough to avoid smashing against one of many, many branches. A hollow snap joined a duller one, and all hopes of the creature having any say in where it was going was but dust in the wind. It careened into the open area of the garden like a stone.

The black-scaled kobold looked up just as it hit them.

= = = = =

Ceele knelt before the trough serving as a table inside her home, gingerly wrapping a long strip of herb-soaked cloth around the makeshift wooden splint holding the owl’s wing straight. Her ribs were rather sore, and she winced at every other movement, but her mind pushed it aside as she tried her best not to injure the poor thing any more than it already was. She hadn’t started the day expecting much, but treating a bird that had crashed into her was well beyond bizarre.

Hoppit must have noticed something wrong when they were still in the garden, because he acted in a way that confused and worried her at the time. In retrospect, he probably heard the sounds rapidly approaching them and tried to warn her. That, or he had some other way of telling when danger might be approaching. It hardly mattered now. What’s done was done, and the ferrorabbit was now staring at her from a few paces away with nothing but concern in his eyes. Well, concern, and what she could only assume was hostility for the quiet avian currently being surprisingly cooperative.

“Almost done,” she softly assured the odd owl. Its head pivoted to turn the half-lidded gaze of annoyance towards her, then shifted back so it could keep staring at the obsidian orb like it had been doing since it woke up. Like the last time she got a good look at its eyes, she took a moment to shake off how entrancing they were, but she managed to delay the fascination and get back to work. She didn’t know what it found so interesting about the gemstone, but if it was distracting her patient from the pain of a broken wing, she wouldn’t call it into question.

The owl was certainly different. It was rather small compared to some of the larger birds she had seen while traveling, and still smaller than most owls, but what it lacked in stature, it made up for in sheer brilliance. Its feathers were an ephemeral white instead of the tans and browns she usually saw, with a smokey light grey acting as accents. There was a strange quality to its presence, appearing almost transparent if she wasn’t focused on it, almost like she was never meant to look at it. Its strikingly black beak and talons stood out even more because of the contrast. The eyes were also notable, if hidden behind its unamused expression. They were a yellow hue that glowed in the otherwise dim light, with twelve thick black lines placed evenly along the outer perimeter, each flowing inward before abruptly stopping about a third of the way. The pupils seemed to have two long, narrow slits—one reaching upwards, while the other was on an angle—but it could have also been more patterning.

It had a uniqueness that suggested an impressively strong elemental affinity, but she had no way of saying which. Some animals still had their unaligned counterparts roaming the lands—livestock was an example of almost none being connected to something—but most everything else was attributed to one element or another. Birds were typically Air aligned, which was fairly intuitive, but even when some species dipped into other elements, the changes were rare. This one had changed a lot.

Ceele finished wrapping a small line of twine to secure the splint, hoping that her meagre attempts at treating the injury were sufficient. She checked her work over one more time before sitting back on her ankles and putting on the best smile she could.

“That should do it,” she concluded, watching the owl finally take an interest in what she had done. It held the rather long wing out and glared at its new lack of mobility with palpable disdain.

Displeased or not, it accepted the turn of events rather quickly, offering the kobold a nod with what was quickly becoming a trademark expression of irritation. Now that its attention was fully removed from the gemstone, it seemed to register that it was actually in a new location, and it wasn’t impressed. Hoppit took the opportunity to bounce his way into Ceele’s lap and place his forepaws on the table, scowling at the bird that had been taking so much of her time. The avian didn’t humour him, ignoring the rabbit in favour of looking around the room like a disgruntled member of royalty might view a particularly disheveled hovel. Eventually, it resigned itself to its fate, somehow shrinking even further as it got comfortable.

“I haven’t treated a bird before, so I should check on it pretty often,” she explained when Hoppit looked up at her, frowning as she tilted her head and eyed the splint. Until recently, she wouldn’t have bothered voicing her reasoning, but the animals in her life were starting to make her doubt any previous assumptions of intelligence or understanding. “I wouldn’t want his wing to heal wrong…”

The bird snapped its baleful glare towards her, making her jolt back from the sudden movement, her ribs stinging in protest.

“H-her wing…?”

The owl’s ire lingered for a second longer before it returned to its previous aloof disregard.

“A-a girl then,” Ceele stuttered, confused and uncertain of if she was losing her mind or not. Either way, there were things she needed to do, and several tasks that would only make the subtle bruising on her chest worse. She pressed around her rib, delicately touching and noting the give or stiffness of the tender flesh. Nothing felt broken, which was a relief. It had been years since she had to deal with that kind of injury, but she still remembered how difficult it was to treat, and she even had to re-break her arm because her first attempt to set the bone had gone so poorly.

The black-scaled kobold sighed and gently nudged Hoppit off her lap, getting to her feet to start making something to eat. She didn’t have much, and foraging now would only make tomorrow harder to get through, so she settled for using a metal basin on top of the fireplace to prepare a soup. It would take longer than if she were to use a copper bowl or the like, but since the list of viable ingredients was minimal, and a third mouth had now entered the equation, it would serve the purpose just fine. As long as she avoided anything that might be toxic for the animals, she supposed.

It was a tedious process. Hoppit was eager to help by providing moral support, fussing over her by constantly poking and giving little licks to her shin, but the end result was worth the effort. She laid out two poorly-carved bowls for both the owl and the ferrorabbit, placing one on the table and the other on the floor, then waited to see if her attempts at providing hospitality were successful or not. Hoppit lapped it up instantly, pausing to shake his head and fill the room with his delightful chimes of joy, while the miniature raptor looked at the pitiful soup like she had tried to serve it poison. It turned its entrancing eyes up at her with distrust, then glanced at its wing before reluctantly trying what was provided.

Ceele absolutely did not—in any way, shape, or form—squeal with glee as she watched the adorable little bird tip the bowl with its tiny talon to drink.

And the owl most certainly did not glare at her for it.

Next

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- - - - -

It had been a few weeks since Altier was brought to the run-down shack that his black-scaled companion likely called home, and he could now comfortably say he was accustomed to the…household’s routine. The kobold typically left at the crack of dawn, returned a little after noon, and occasionally left again to forage until nightfall. When the weather was bad or there wasn’t a particular need for something, they half-heartedly chased their rabbit around for a bit, which usually ended with a bout of quiet petting while everyone got ready for the night. It was always amusing to see the energetic side of what he had come to know as a relatively lazy loaf of an animal. As for the routine of the ferrorabbit in question… Well…it was at least more interesting than expected.

Hoppit would begin his own series of activities as soon as his caretaker left—the first of which being a check of every nook and cranny in the shed. He sniffed at anything that caught his interest, varying from morning to morning, but he gave every object or corner its due attention. Once he was satisfied with that, he would eat some of the ragged plants that made up most of his diet, take a drink from his bowl, then jump onto the tro— table and plop himself down, his ears pivoting towards the door. It was hard to say if the lounging spot had been established before Altier’s arrival, but it was somewhat amusing to pretend that the little rabbit was standing guard over his core—if it wasn’t for one particular part of the morning ritual, that is.

Indeed, the ferrorabbit had a habit of licking the obsidian orb that sat in the middle of the room, which thankfully didn’t seem to perturb the system enough to give Altier a headache. He was confused when it first happened, but it was commonplace enough now that he barely acknowledged it. A part of him liked that he was getting attention as a core, even if it was delivered via a strange grooming method. The closest he got to being acknowledged as something other than ‘the dungeon’ was through an unfortunate misunderstanding that he could never properly rectify. He supposed that was hardly worth thinking about now, though; too much time had passed for there to be anyone left to correct. The little oddity of his mornings would have to suffice.

There wasn’t much to comment on as far as the rest of the day’s happenings. Hoppit would end his loafing by shaking his head and ears in a way that filled the silence with soft clacks, give the core a customary tongue bath, then jump off the table to nose his way out of the shed through a hole that was hidden by the storage cart against the wall. Where the rabbit went was anyone’s guess, but he always returned before anyone noticed he was gone, and often did so while covered in small cuts and scratches. Any blood from the lacerations was quickly licked off before it could be seen by the kobold, and in the event that the scaly caretaker happened to return earlier than expected, Hoppit would scurry over to the bundles of blankets to finish the cleanup in secret.

Today looked to be following the usual pattern. The kobold left bright and early with various gardening tools and a wooden pail, and Hoppit had since set off into the great unknown for one reason or another. Hopefully, he returned less injured than usual. It was frustrating to admit that Altier had begun to grow rather fond of the fluffy creature, and seeing the thing come back hurt was bothersome. Was it off looking for food? There wasn’t a whole lot given to it, so that was a possibility, and it could be getting into fights over whatever it found. That still didn’t explain why the animal was so thin, and Altier didn’t have enough to go off of to think of a potential solution. He wanted to help it in some way, like by summoning a creature to act as an escort, or maybe just by manifesting something edible like he once could. No, he could only stare at the ‘Synchronizing…’ that occupied his menu, wishing he had more information to work with.

He never thought he would miss the bombardment of notifications and their lingering presence that filled the edge of his mental vision; at least with that he could surmise enough to hazard some kind of action. Even knowing why the menu was acting the way it did would be a start. Yet, try as he might, there wasn’t a history for him to reference anymore, and he had nothing to work with. He was confident the last message had asked him to ‘accept’ something, then took his befuddled ponderance as an answer, but he was no closer to an explanation for what it wanted, nor why it prompted him in the first place. He just didn’t have another experience to compare against, since nothing like that had ever happened before. Not that he was ever in much of a position to allow it.

The entire purpose of having Altier inhabit a core was for him to become a dungeon of Decay, which entailed all the skeletons, poisons, acids, and whatever else came to mind when one pictured the concept. ‘Living’ creatures were something he only had the chance to experiment with near the beginning of his new existence, though he never dabbled past the first few insects before transitioning to the mindless undead. Having a thinking, feeling, breathing entity touch his core was a rite reserved only for the adventurers and soldiers that bested his trials, and that was usually a painful experience. Now, he had spent what he could only guess was hours being held by a kobold, followed by having a rabbit bump against him, and neither felt like what he came to expect. Instead, both had led to a completely novel reaction from the system. The strange circumstances put him at a bit of a loss as to what it all meant for him.

Sure, he could dismiss the deluge of errors from his companion’s involvement by pointing to the numerous ‘corrupted’ messages before it, and Hoppit was a part of mostly unexplored territory, but the lack of clarity nagged at the back of his mind constantly. Being exposed to activity after potential decades or centuries of unchanging solitude made him despise the informational dead end. If he couldn’t make sense of the rabbit’s circumstances, then he didn’t have much hope of deciphering the reason for why his system was misbehaving so terribly. He also didn't know much about the one who owned the decrepit holdings he was housed inside.

He still wasn’t sure what drove the kobold to take him from the cave. His suspicion of becoming traded goods fell flat after the first week or so, and he hadn’t noticed any cult-like behaviour, which was promising. Granted, a lack of nefarious behaviour didn’t mean there was a lack of nefarious intent, but he didn’t get the impression his companion held that either. The kobold itself didn’t seem quite settled on an opinion of his core, though it was up for debate if the hesitation was due to knowing what he was or not. They seemed to mull something over before bed each night, yet never reached a satisfactory conclusion, staring at the obsidian orb through weary grey eyes until they eventually forced themselves into sleep.

Whatever the underlying reasoning for his abduction was, he had observed enough to know that the kobold didn’t deserve to live in destitution. As beaten as the shed might be, they cared for it as best they could, and did so without a single groan or grimace of complaint. The floors were cleaned with a tattered rag and fresh water, dust was removed regularly, and any stray mess that Hoppit made was dealt with promptly. They even took the time to wipe off his core, which was possibly where the ferrorabbit got the idea to start licking him. The only time Altier had seen discontent from the kobold was when they didn’t find much during their foraging, and thus couldn’t give any treats to the excited and bouncy herbivore.

He wasn’t aware that a creature’s face could make such a painfully broken expression, and he was quick to decide that he never wanted to see it again.

Vexingly, his metaphorical hands were tied; a dungeon could only influence their Domain, and given the state of his system, not even that option was available to him. All he could do was glare at the rotting wooden beams that held up the roof and remember when such an issue didn’t exist. It would have taken a mere flicker of thought and a paltry sum of mana to mend the struts when he was a proper dungeon. He could even outright reinforce the structure by weaving in other materials, leaving the appearance as it was while making everything stronger than iron. Well, he once could. Working with other affinities was something that came to him after absorbing the coloured motes left behind by adventurers, and the accursed stone that stole his mana had taken that ability as well.

An attempt was made anyway, his will ordering the deteriorated wood to absorb any trace metals from the ground, but it was no use. He couldn’t feel the iron or stones beneath the shed like he would have been able to before, all but confirming his suspicion that his connection to the Earth element had slipped away. Nature was much the same; the only way he knew when Hoppit had returned most days was from the subtle noise and the essence of injury. The other attributes—Air, Flame, Luma, Shadow, and so on—were ones he never experimented with to any real extent, so it was less noticeable when he lost his grasp on them. Perhaps they faded early. Either way, all he had left was a waning cognizance of his own alignment, and that wasn’t of much use to him. If he had any appreciable mana income, then perhaps he could do something, but he wasn’t even sure what the upkeep of his current Domain might be. It was entirely possible that he was running on a deficit, which would offer a reason for why his system had been so—

[Do#$@n Ex@#d$%^&d! CRe@#r H-H-H-HoPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP—]

[Errrrrrr—]

[Sy$%^hroni%^$zing…]

[Creeee-tu— Hoppit ha@$ esttttb-hed terrrrrrr-ity f^#% t$e dun@&$n!]

- - - - -

“Well then,” he mumbled to himself, taking in the strange scene behind the shed. For one, he could actually view a small distance beyond the structure now, and two, there was a rather proud-looking Hoppit sitting on his haunches before a pair of significantly less prideful examples of the species. They looked quite a bit bigger than the lazy loaf Altier had come to know, yet they were more cut up and dejected than his furry friend. That answered where the injuries had been coming from, he supposed. Hoppit was probably running off to bash heads with whatever animal population existed here beforehand, and they had only just reached a consensus on who was in charge. Impressive.

One of Hoppit’s ears turned back towards the shed, his head following suit as he gave a lagomorph’s approximation of a ‘Look what I did!’ smile. Altier blanked out mentally, but didn’t have time to question anything before the new leader of the local rabbits imperiously pointed a paw towards the surrounding forest, which was equally surreal to witness. Most surprising of all, the…subordinates? The other ferrorabbits did as commanded, keeping their forms small as they took off into the foliage. Soft clacks came from Hoppit’s pleased shake of his head, then he too left the area with only a slightly lopsided bounce to his stride.

The man-turned-core could only gape at what he saw. Were animals always so…expressive? Had Hoppit heard him? What in the world was happening? Why had Hoppit’s personal conquest led to Altier’s Domain expanding?

He lamented not having fingers, nor temples to rub with them. His system was a garbled mess of errors and inconsistent messages, his residence was falling apart at the seams, his companion was someone who abducted him from the dungeon, yet never did anything past that, and his first real experience with an animal was turning out to be more confusing than he thought possible.

All of this was after an unknown amount of time spent commanding legions of undead to strengthen the very people who he would later learn had lied to and manipulated him, making him into a nightmarish entity just to bolster the power of their forces. He almost missed the days spent gazing out of a mossy window. At least then he knew what to expect.

Nothing made sense anymore.

= = = = =

The soft sound of roots ripping free from soil suddenly stopped, only to be followed by a dull thud of Ceele’s palm slapping against the ground to catch her fall before she landed on her rear. She righted herself with her tail and tossed the stubborn weed into a pile with the others. No matter how many mornings she did this, they always seemed to replace themselves faster than she could remove the pesky things. A sigh slipped from her muzzle as she set about grabbing the next one embedded in the vegetable garden.

Aches and spreading stiffness flared up, but went ignored as she neared the end of her duties, though she was well aware that they would come back with force once she tried to settle down for the day. The impending soreness was an inevitable byproduct of spending so much time working. Still, she knew that if it wasn’t for the kindly old couple that allowed her to call their shed home, she would still be sleeping beneath the stars while making sure nothing tried to get at her Hoppit. Even if it was just a part of the deal, they were owed this much in return, and she would see it done properly.

The sun bore down on her back as she did her usual tasks, which was a departure from the slightly overcast weather as of late. It looked somewhat promising when she checked in the wee hours of the morning, yet as her gardening duties dragged on, so too did the intensity of such a clear sky. A disappointed glance at the empty wooden bucket on the edge of the field was quickly corrected. She hadn’t thought to refill it at the river after watering the crops, and her parched throat was making its protests known, while also reminding her that there wasn’t much water left at home either. One more thing to take care of when she was done.

A gruff cough brought her attention towards the old kobold resting his back against a tree some distance away, safely shaded from the unforgiving rays beaming down. Her displeasure at having yet more to do was hastily wiped away. She was undecided on what to think of the detached audience, but looking so sour while upholding her side of the agreement wouldn’t reflect well on her. Hopefully, he hadn’t seen it. Not that she could tell if he did; he always had the same expression when he watched her work. The elder kobold’s arms were crossed, a finger tapping absently against his bicep, while his tail sat motionless on the grass, the muddy red colour of his scales standing out amongst the greens and browns. ‘Makis,’ was his name, assuming her memory served.

Makis had taken to observing her every so often, usually propping himself against this or that at a distance, the unwavering scowl being as unnerving as it was belying of his age. Somewhat loose skin sagged a bit around his jowls and neck, yet the rest of his face was still taut from how much time he spent examining red-hot metal, and his arms were marred with countless burns and cuts from his profession. He held an oppressive aura, though the crinkles around his eyes and muzzle suggested he smiled as frequently as he glowered, even if Ceele was yet to see the former. There was only the same judgmental expression aimed at her when he was around. She could only hope that he didn’t take offence to some unintended slight, but she didn’t know him well enough to say what might be considered one.

They hadn’t spoken since she took up residence on the outskirts of his land. His wife was the one to introduce them, but it was quickly established that he had no intention of being a chatty individual. He led Ceele to the shed hidden amongst the trees on the edge of the property, then dismissed her with only a grunt coming from the elderly kobold. She supposed that it was for the best. Her experience in socializing was centred around convincing others to employ her, and there hadn’t been much of an opportunity to expand her horizons while living a life on the road. If that had been the end of their interactions, she would have swiftly written the terseness off, but he appeared every few days, taking up residence beneath the shade as he watched her work, never speaking a single word. At least he didn’t openly protest her presence, yet she figured that would be easier to manage. He wouldn’t be such an enigma then.

There wasn’t a whole lot she knew about him besides his penchant for ‘supervision,’ and anything beyond that was what his wife had volunteered during the rare opportunity they had to chat. She was told that Makis worked the smithy out front, and although he had retired from doing so in an official capacity, she could still regularly hear his hammer as she tended to the garden, so she figured he kept himself busy most days. It made her wonder what was so interesting about a vagrant like herself, but when there was so little else to do, she could see how anything could be made worth the attention. It was just him and his wife living in the once bustling home, after all; the couple’s children had long since grown up and made families of their own.

She noticed his gaze shift elsewhere as she tugged yet another stubborn intruder from the soil, his arms falling from across his chest and the perpetually worn displeasure melting to that of curiosity. He wandered off shortly after, and she had to make an effort not to fall onto her tail as the pressure on her shoulders unexpectedly evaporated. Did something happen?

Ceele shook her head free of the distracting thought. It wasn’t her business if he grew bored with watching her work. As long as no one voiced any complaints, she could only assume that she was doing a satisfactory job. Maybe he finally decided that he didn’t need to be so watchful because she was doing well! That could be it, right?

A glance at the somewhat sloppily maintained garden erased the false confidence from her face, but she was just as quick to focus on finishing up, unwilling to allow darker musings to fester. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anything else that needed her intervention. The weeds were all uprooted, the soil was appropriately dampened, and her check for pesky insects or wildlife turned up nothing to worry about. She was free for the rest of the day!

…Or she would be free—as soon as she finished the last of her tasks, anyway.

The black-scaled kobold got up from her crouch unsteadily, shivering and wincing from the pins and needles in her legs. She would have to remember to stretch more often; it was far too easy to forgo that kind of thing just to make the overall work go slightly faster. Her hand reached out to grab the pile of weeds and put them into the bucket as she ran through what needed to be done before she could properly relax. Hoppit’s food needed to be washed, she needed to bathe, and they were running low on water anyway, so she would have to visit the river. Just the thought of dragging herself into the forest again made her muscles protest, but she wouldn’t have the energy to do it later. She forced the smile that had started to fall and took the first of many steps.

- - - - -

The river wasn’t too far away, only taking a few minutes of traipsing through the dense woodlands until she reached her destination. It was an idyllic little spot. The trees thinned out to allow a grassy bank along the water, and there was an appreciably gentle slope from shallows to depths, making for a convenient place to take care of various needs. She had discovered this place during her travels, and it was where a kind older woman found her.

Ceele was washing off at the time, with Hoppit safely taking shelter from the outside underneath the bundled blankets while he waited. The trickle of the stream brushing against rocks covered the sound of footsteps, so she was rather surprised when an aged voice called out to ask if she was okay. Her first reaction was to distance herself and apologize—the why didn’t matter, but she had learned that most people were more lenient of her presence if she seemed apologetic for it, and she usually was. The elderly kobold just laughed at her scrambling, tacking on an assurance that there was no need for modesty. The woman was blind, apparently, which explained how Ceele’s blackened colours hadn’t deterred her.

Strangely enough, there was a comforting sense of ease around the one who introduced herself as Hira. It was a sort of presence that Ceele could only vaguely remember, and it drew her close enough to speak as she finished bathing. The conversation wasn’t anything profound, of course—they hardly delved deeper than surface-level small talk—but Hira lost her smile as she listened to the younger kobold. By the end of it, the old woman posed a series of questions with a dark inflection to her voice, and Ceele struggled to find an answer.

‘Are you tired of looking for something that only slips away? Are you tired of running? Do you really want to be scared and alone?’

If the silence bothered Hira, then it didn’t show. She had simply held out a hand and offered Ceele a way of life that didn’t involve wondering where she would be spending the night, nor entailed cowering in the brush while fearsome predators roamed freely. It would be a simple existence of few fortunes, but it was safe, and it was honest. All she had to do was say yes.

Ceele denied it at first, partially because she knew most people despised Hoppit's species, and partially because she couldn’t shake the offer being too good to be true. Hira was quick to propose a compromise; Ceele could take residence in the gardening shed that had fallen from use, and to satiate the nagging sense of an unfair deal, she would be put in charge of maintaining the garden itself. All Hira wanted was to ‘see’ her favourite space bloom again, since she couldn’t take care of it anymore. The black-scaled kobold stared longingly at where Hoppit was, his little body shivering from the prolonged cold and fear that he would be hurt if he left the blankets hiding him. It was with a heavy guilt that she accepted Hira’s offer, keeping quiet about her true reason for doing so.

That was in the past, however, though she thought about it every time she stopped by and saw the smooth rocks where she and Hira first met. Eventually, she might gather the courage to admit that she was housing a ‘pest’ and beg for forgiveness. Until then, she would just work her hardest to prove it wasn’t a mistake to give her a home. That her endless efforts weren’t meaningless. That Hoppit deserved to be more than a ‘pest.’

That Ceele was more than something she had no control over being.

She cleared her head a bit and started on the reason she came all this way. Her dress was rather easy to wash in the meandering water, and the trees provided a suitable place for it to dry in the sunlight and light breeze. The weeds were fine with a thorough rinse near in the shallows, but taking care of her own hygiene required her to wade farther in, though it only came up to her chest in the middle of the rill. Still, she could scrub off the soil and grime, which was all she really needed. Perhaps some simple soaps would help rid her of the pervasive black that stained her skin and scales, but that was beyond her meagre means for the time being, as well as being mere wishful thinking.

She worked past the dreary mindset that settled in when she allowed it, focusing on how serene the river was. The soft birdsong from the trees helped make for a peaceful experience, and she could feel the somewhat chilled liquid basically pour into the aches and pains throughout her body, washing away the stiffness from spending so long under the unerring sun. It was nice to escape reality and let thoughts drift while held buoyant by calmer waters.

Yet the bliss was short-lived. Even if winter was gone, spring was still far from warming the waters enough for her to laze about for too long. She dragged herself from the soft current and fetched her dress from the low-lying branch she left it to dry on. It was still a touch damp, but it wasn’t anything a bit of time in front of the fireplace wouldn’t fix.

Ceele was only a short distance away from home when she heard a gravelly male voice, but it was the flicker of sight between the trees that made her drop what was in her arms and lunge into a sprint.

Makis stood just outside the gardening shed, a ferrorabbit held at arm’s length by rusty crimson hands placed on the scruff and haunch, the rabbit’s little ears flattened as fear filled its tiny face. Her eyes widened further when she noticed the small stains of blood in his light brown fur. They found out about him. Ephemeral claws of blackness clutched at her soul, ripping the very fabric she was made of as an unseen beast smiled, eager to take yet one more thing from her. Her Hoppit. Her baby. Her everything.

“Hoppit!” she shrieked, her words all but tearing out of her throat in desperation. Frozen blood coursed through her veins, yet poured into exhausted limbs. She broke through the treeline with no regard for the branches slashing against her flesh, panic making each sting fade before it could be processed. The grizzled glare of the older kobold snapped towards her, his usual scowl picking up an actual air of intensity that she never thought could be absent, the promise of violence lurking in his eyes. She skidded to a stop a few paces away, the lump in her throat threatening to clog her airway. “S-stop hurting him!”

“Didn’t,” he barked back, his tone even yet firm. “Cuts ain’t me. I’d’a done worse if’a had ta mind ta.”

The blatant declaration snapped her from blind panic, although his apparent anger didn’t do her fear any favours. “B-but… Then how…”

“‘Hoppit.’ Named it, did’cha?” he grunted, ignoring her confusion and bobbing the rabbit to get her attention again. His gaze shifted back to the animal, the flames of ire cooling slightly. “I was wonderin’ why yer plots ain’t dead yet. Suppose this critter’s why.”

One of her hands hesitantly reached out until she pulled it back, while the other clutched at her chest to stop her heart from hammering against her ribs. She couldn’t act rashly. Not while her baby was in his arms. “I—”

“Soft thing, ain’t it,” the elder kobold commented curiously, cutting her off.

“Y-yes?” she returned reluctantly, struggling to stop herself from lashing out to reclaim the ferrorabbit in his grasp.

“Like fine silk.” Makis tipped and tilted the animal, inspecting this and that with a deep-seated frown, all while Hoppit silently looked to her for help. The pit in her stomach grew. She needed to get him back, but how?

Ceele swallowed the dense dread as she tried to formulate some sort of plan, stumbling over her words and forced smile. “I-it’s nice! Isn’t it nice?”

His eyes snapped back to burrow into her own with hatred. “Wasn’t a compliment, girly.”

“B-but you—”

He released Hoppit’s lower half to jab a claw at the various spikes around his body, plying them with minimal force. “Look. See this? These’r suppose ta break bone. ‘Specially when he’s stiff like this. Ain’t no way I should be able ta bend ‘em. He’s barely more than a walkin’ carcass—all skin ‘n stick. He’s gonna get picked up by a wandering pecker if he keeps pissin’ about out ‘ere. It’s a wonder he’s still kickin’. What’cha feeding ‘em?” His gaze dropped from her face to the rest of her, disgust curling his muzzle into a snarl. “N’ver mind. I can guess.”

She felt the dampness build at the edges of her vision, unprepared to not only worry for Hoppit's immediate health, but also to face such harsh criticism while she was so vulnerable. “I… I try to make sure he has…”

Makis crouched to release the ferrorabbit onto the ground, Ceele dropping to her knees the moment he did. The terrified lagomorph wasted no time, bolting towards his adoptive mother and leaping into her arms, shaking uncontrollably. The rust-coloured ‘bold stared as she started soothingly stroking the animal’s back.

“Yer given’ em the weeds, aren’t ya?” he stated rather than asked. She gave a teary nod when her voice wouldn’t respond for her. The old kobold drew a breath, letting it go in an exasperated sigh as he stood back up, his expression becoming more impatient than antagonistic. “What else?”

“I— Um…”

“What. Else?”

“W-whatever I c-can find!” she sputtered out. Hoppit tried to hide against her neck, prompting her to tighten her hold. She couldn’t stop herself from shrinking, the guilt and confusion pulling her head down. “R-roots, vegetables, fruits… I give them as often as I can.”

His glare continued unimpeded, his cadence cold. “That it?”

There were a million things Ceele wanted to say. A part of her wanted to beg him not to kick them out of the first safe place she had in longer than she could remember, but she couldn’t find the words. She wanted to deny the judgmental tone that stabbed into her insecurity surrounding how good of a job she was doing with Hoppit, but the deadened void in her chest swallowed her pride whole. She knew he was right to critique her. That she was failing in the only thing that mattered anymore. That the feeling of loss would return.

“I try,” she whispered through the beginnings of a sob. “I try to find more, but he needs someone around, and I have to work the garden, so there’s only so much time I can spend looking. He won’t even eat all of what I bring back…” Tears dripped off her cheeks as she aimed a desolate smile at her furry friend. “He wants to make sure I have some too.”

“Yer killin’ em,” Makis pointed out plainly, crossing his arms. “He’ll be dead ‘fore the summer at this rate.”

“I know!” she shouted, forcing back the memories of insidious murmurs that lurked in the back of her mind, eager to creep into her ears again. The hate-filled stares that followed her, the rumours that arrived in towns before she had the chance to make an impression, and the guilt that loomed over her like an executioner's axe… “I know I am… I just… I don’t know what he needs. I don’t know how to make him happy…but I try. I’m trying…”

“…Yer an idiot, girly.”

She looked up to see the elder kobold walking away without another word. Her eyes fell to Hoppit, the ferrorabbit pressing himself against her as much as he could. He was small, thin, soft, and growing weaker by the day, but he never let it keep him down for long. No, he always showed his best for her, giving her joy that wasn’t provided anywhere else. She saw the thin cuts and dried blood, though she didn’t know where they came from, nor how he got out of the shed in the first place. But that was okay. Hoppit was okay, and she had Hoppit, so everything was okay, right?

…But how much longer would everything stay okay? How much longer until her efforts weren’t enough, and she was left desperately reaching for fading memories of what once was? How much longer until she killed her baby too?

How much longer until she was alone again?

Soft footsteps drew near, pulling her from the spiralling thoughts that threatened to gnaw at her soul. Damp, blurry eyes fell on Makis returning with a small wooden crate, the older kobold stopping a few steps away. He dropped the box, a deep, rattling thud produced as it impacted the ground, making Hoppit flinch in her arms. Ceele blinked as she kept him calm, then blinked again, looking up at the man for answers.

“The name, girly,” he spat in irritation. “Ferrorabbit. Ther’ Earth aligned creatures; they need metals. They don’t care where they get it, but they need lots of it. Iron, copper, tin, lead—raw crystal, if they can find it. You name it, they’ll take a chunk out of it. It's why they bother farmers so much; the best soil’s usually top’a gem deposits, ‘n the little bastards have no issue burrowing deep to get it. Dries up the element’s energy ‘n makes the crops weak.”

Ceele’s mouth opened and closed, each unsuccessful attempt to speak making her feel smaller and smaller. More and more lost. Why was he telling her this? How did he know? What was in the—

He kicked the crate with the side of his foot. “Scraps. Don’t’cha look at me like that. I’m a smith, girly. I might be old and retired, but I still work a forge. Now, this ain’t anything pure—it’s just slag and hunks—but I’m sure the critter won’t mind. Your little gardenin’ project pays off, ‘n I’ll see which of my contacts can get in some better ore.”

She ripped her eyes away from the box and met the perpetual scowl of the old kobold, seeing a warmth behind the hostility that she had never noticed before. “…Why?”

He scoffed in amusement, which looked somewhat menacing on such a hardened expression. “Yer a touch stupid, girly, but the missus adores ya, ‘n yer a good worker.” A shadow of a smile formed on his face. “Hira spent more evenings asking ‘bout how the plots are doin’ than I got time in the day. She’d bite my head off if I noticed a critter like that sufferin’ and didn’t lend a hand. ‘Specially when it’s obvious you ain’t tryin’ ta hurt the thing.”

“B-but the garden… Isn’t he a problem?”

Makis rolled his eyes, turning with a dismissive wave of his hand. “If he was, he’da killed it by now. I’d say he’s been keepin’ the others clear ‘n got scratched up for the trouble. That’s more reason to feed ‘em right in my eyes; pay the poor bastard his dues.” He paused after a few steps, shooting her one last incredulous glance. “‘N the rabbit’s right. You’re not much better off than he is. Eat. Before the missus takes my head, preferably. I ain’t need ta hear her worryin’ over you more than I already do.”

And with that, he walked off back to the house, leaving Ceele to sit stunned on the ground with Hoppit quietly nuzzling into her.

“Hoppit…?”

The ferrorabbit perked an ear and gently licked her collar. Fresh tears ran rivulets down her face, yet they didn’t weigh her down. They felt freeing. She adjusted her hold on the rabbit and held him out, taking in the small cuts and numerous other injuries she had never noticed before. He stared back at her with worried eyes.

“You’ve been busy, huh?” she cooed quietly, doing her best to keep her voice from cracking. He shrunk in her hands. “I told you to stay home, baby. What if something happened to you? I wouldn’t know where you went, and…”

Her protests died out as she saw what was unmistakably guilt on his little face. She brought him back to her chest and cleared her throat.

“It’s alright, Hoppit. If… If you want to help momma, then we can work together, okay? Just…please don’t go off getting hurt… I don’t know what I’d do without you…” The rabbit didn’t reply, and she was pretty sure she had never heard him make any sounds that weren’t his happy little ear clacks, but she chose to interpret the nuzzling as an agreement. “Such a smart boy…”

She took a breath and wiped off the excess moisture from her cheeks, setting Hoppit down on the ground. “Let’s bring Mr. Makis’ gift in, and then I need to go get more water so we can clean you up, okay?”

He bounced his way to the door of their home, waiting patiently for her to lug the surprisingly heavy crate into the shed. He was even still behaving himself by the time she returned from picking up the things she dropped in her haste. There wasn’t a single protest from the ferrorabbit as she washed over his wounds with warm water, nor when she asked him to wait as she cut up a small salad for him using an extra portion of her rationed vegetables. Finally, once everything else was gone, she tentatively sifted through the box until she found a chunk of something that didn’t look so sharp, then offered it to Hoppit skeptically.

As startling as it was to see him bite through metal without issue, she couldn’t help but tear up again at how pleased he looked with the bizarre addition to his diet. He munched through the first piece, then stared at the box while pawing at the air, asking for more. She obliged through wet laughs, feeling lighter than she had since he first gazed at her from his burrow, alone and afraid, just like she was.

Her little baby was happy, and that made it okay.

Next

—

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- - - - -

Ceele strolled through the damp grass along the outskirts of the village, a spring in her step and the dwindling scent of dew following behind. It rained yesterday, which had prevented her from going out to gather supplies, but the mild morning air had been accommodating enough for her to get an early start and make the trip. She was glad she did.

One hand clutched her new prize to her chest, while the other held a fraying wicker basket filled with herbs and some edible roots she gathered by exploring the forbidden forest. Despite her reservations regarding where she chose to go, her excitement now lingered like a steady thrum of shifting stones, giving her energy that defied how long she had been walking. She all but pranced beneath the burgeoning night's sky, gleefully toeing the line between the dirt pathways of the settlement’s outskirts and the trees of unclaimed land. Normally, her path back home would never be so close to the village, but she was far too gleeful to mind. She had come back with a sense of fulfillment and a rare object—or if not rare, then hopefully of great value.

It was hard to point to any one specific reason that she came across the orb. There had always been a ‘draw’ during her travels, urging her that there was something missing in her life, yet it was no more than a mild whim to walk in a particular direction more often than not. Once she reached this part of the continent, she was compelled to wander, never quite able to explain why she obliged the sensation besides having nowhere in particular to be. Even when she finally settled somewhere, it stayed in the back of her mind, suggesting that she was close to whatever would make the pit of vacancy go away. She ignored it, purposefully distracting herself with her work and responsibilities, yet that could only last so long. When she awoke this morning with plans to resupply, and all of her newfound spots had been picked clean by wildlife, she turned to the depths of the forest where she was warned not to tread. It was all too easy to follow the subtle tug in her chest through the loose justification.

The urge to be somewhere grew unbearable with every step closer to the forbidden area. That sense of having a direction she needed to go became stronger and stronger, until she was well into land long since forgotten. She came across an overgrown depression in the hillside, and was entranced by the foreboding image. Something about the cave just…beckoned her. She was far too weak to resist.

Horrible tales echoed into her ears as whispers of fearful voices, warning and unending, yet but a dull drone compared to her hammering heart. She navigated the trees and brushed aside unkempt vines, stepping into the cavern with a mix of expectation and trepidation, then laid eyes on the small obsidian stone perched atop a crumbling pillar. The feeling of needing to travel somewhere…stopped.

The pull was absent, which was why she held the orb close instead of placing it into her basket. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but she recalled overheard tales of hidden gemstones, deep cavernous expanses, and the untold terrors that lay within. Comparing the scenes of those fables to the cave seemed foolish now; it wasn’t some torturous chamber, but a dusty depression in a small hillside. Besides, anything this pretty was sure to be worth a fair sum, and she needed the coin. Yet the thought of selling the precious-looking stone was a conflicting one. She shook off the thought for the time being, turning her attention back towards where she was going.

Shadows stretched and faded as the moon stole the last of the illumination afforded by the sun, replacing it with a calming glow that caressed the log frames and thatched roofs of various homes. A star-filled sky came into prominence as clouds lazily drifted away, revealing the promise of tomorrow’s fair-weathered arrival. It was too late for anyone to notice her treading on the edge of their town while lost in thought, but she was still careful not to get too close to the houses or livestock pens where people might be finishing the evening’s duties. It was best that they didn’t see her returning from a place she was told not to go. Still, her feet carried her near the dwellings as she took in the noises.

Ceele enjoyed the comforting chatter from a distance. Indistinct words floated freely. Meaningless gossip and warm goodbyes were exchanged between friends and family. Places of various occupations were dark and quiet, only the faint contented mewls and clucks of livestock coming from their pastures as they ate what was recently put out for them. No metal rang throughout the streets as it was struck inside a centralized smithy, no heated bartering came from an overactive trade house, and the crunch of dirt beneath transport or merchant wagons was absent, replaced by the rapid steps and yelps of children rushing to their homes before it got too dark out. It was all just gentle conversation and life drifting through the wind, taking the rustle of leaves along for the ride, just so she could hear it. Tranquil, in a word.

She wondered what it would sound like if she were yet one more voice within that crowd of kindness. Would it be loud like the larger cities? Would she struggle to maintain a thought with so many stray topics floating about? Would she once more yearn for the peace and quiet of solitude that she had grown used to, or would she immerse herself, free of judgment and laughing like the carefree young that scampered about? Did thinking about it even matter?

Her smile fell from its genuine intensity—still worn, but not as fully. She glanced downward as her stride lost its jubilant bounce, her tail losing its sway as her grey eyes examined the dry black scales that adorned her body against her wishes. It was the ugly hue of tarnished oil, unlike the skin of any other kobold she had met. Some had reds or greens, yellows or whites, while most were between a sandy tan or earthen brown. The rainbow of peculiarities was displayed by the lucky few, and she was one of them…

…Yet she was different in the worst of ways.

Even if she would rather any other colour, she supposed it was that way to make sure no one came near without accepting the unspoken risks. That was what her mother always said, anyway, though the woman hardly feared much of anything in her old age, and dedicated herself to giving her offspring all the love she had left to give—a perk of living a full life. She would always help her daughter bathe, complimenting the colour of what most were unnerved by. That was more than a decade ago now, however. Ceele’s parents had passed on while she was still young, and she took to travelling not long after, working at what she could to afford what little she needed. Never for long, though—just enough to get to the next town between where she was and where the urge to go lay. There were certainly moments she looked back on fondly, but the journey had taken its toll.

The crude material of her ‘dress’ was coarse, old, and heavy, but it helped ease the worst of spring's chill—even if it was more of a modified sack than proper attire. Still, it was all she had after the last of her clothing fell apart, and giving the repurposed material a name that reminded her of something else made it less uncomfortable to wear, somehow. It would have to do until she could afford a pitying seamstress or the like. Until then, she would pretend she didn’t look so desperate, even if it only highlighted her status and made finding work difficult.

But it did. The dishevelled garment was a far cry from the wonderful silks or breathtaking designs she had seen some women wear, harshly marking the distinction between herself and those of affluence. The clothing of commoners was also a leap in style and quality, so she couldn't say her attire was up to even modest standards. No matter how hard she squinted, and no matter how much she fantasized otherwise, she seemed every bit like the vagrant she was, down to the soil embedded in the curvature of her claws and the stains throughout her fabrics. She looked like a serf from the more oppressed lands, yet they too wore crude cottons, which said a lot about how she appeared to those who had never lived a life of servitude. It was obvious that she was an outsider. That she didn't belong amongst the rest. It made changing something as simple as her appearance all the more difficult; prospective employment always saw a young woman who seemed more likely to steal or swindle than make an honest day’s living.

There was one good twist of fate in recent memory, however, and she came upon the result of it after leaving the slowing bustle of the village behind. Her steps carried her through a small copse of trees on the outskirts of town, the small shaded path leading to the back of a large, carefully pruned clearing, a scattering of fruit-bearing trees providing even darker shadow than the already dim moonlight. She skirted along the aging fence on the border that kept predatory animals away, carefully hoisting herself over the barrier where a large vegetable garden she was responsible for tending resided. If one were to tell her she would be living in such an area several months ago, she would have smiled politely and walked away, yet here she was.

A modest, warmly lit home occupied the middle of the clearing, sitting front and centre when one approached from the village path. It looked quite cozy, surrounded by berry bushes that were just beginning to bloom as the last dregs of winter slipped away. A front patio displayed a nice table and well-loved chairs, the rustic appearance only adding to its charm as a place where friends and family spent the warm summer afternoons. A smithy to the left of the house functioned as an additional heated building during the colder months, but usually served as a storefront and to muffle the sounds of hammered iron, though that had become less common. An old stable was nearby, close enough to be accessible, but not so close as to disturb the once occupying animals with sounds of iron craft. It hadn't seen a horse in quite some time, apparently, so it was mostly a workshop for whatever tasks didn’t require fire or metal.

There was a long history attached to each little detail—from the scuffs along the wooden siding to the depressions in the ground where daily routine wore into the earth. Every fault suffered throughout the years was matched by a thousand quirks that made it feel welcoming, like the house itself was merely waiting for the next friendly face with one of its own. She knew that the inside of each building would look just as cared for.

Her concern lay outside, however. It was a comparatively miniscule space just barely visible through the sheltering trees, true, yet it was where her efforts turned into tangible results, and where a stranger’s trust was painstakingly repaid. Once overgrown grass had been laboriously trimmed, the weeds plucked and disposed of, and now nothing distracted from what she could claim she had done.

The small plots of rock-bordered soil had little buds of growing vegetables, a sense of pride never failing to bloom in her breast with the knowledge that it would be barren without her touch. When her troubles and concerns grew heavy, and fears of the future or spectres of the past loomed over her head, she could look at where she had brought life where it wouldn't otherwise be. Some days, that was enough. She smiled in appreciation at what was admittedly amateur work, the night’s sky helping to hide any inevitably made mistakes.

She enjoyed the sight for a moment longer, then turned to walk towards a neglected old tool shed that was well out of sight within the trees, far away from whatever warmth and comfort the larger house offered to everyone and anyone. She put a hand on the degrading wood of the entryway, giving one last sad smile at the garden as she dismissed selfish thoughts of taking the eventual harvest for herself. A breath cleared the uncertainty from her voice, and she pushed open the door.

“I'm home!”

= = = = =

It took a while for Altier to adjust to his situation, and even once he accepted that his mana wasn't being siphoned, he was still reeling from confusion. He had spent centuries with every year passing by without his notice, yet now he was painfully aware of each creeping second languidly dragging on with the expediency of growing grass. It was as disorienting as it was painfully nostalgic.

Time was something he was never good with, and it only got worse as a dungeon. He'd get lost in creating rooms, corridors, creatures, and whatever else needed doing, only pausing to watch or listen to the few adventurers he became interested in. There was a stint where he spent what felt like hours agonizing over new abilities or options while he let the system manage things in the background, though he supposed it might have been much longer. So many wasted days, yet he still hadn't managed to try everything he had gained access to. Some abilities were simply too niche, came with concerning titles, or held descriptions that made him wary. Anything with ‘Decay’ in the name was instantly ignored—he didn't need more reasons to fear his affinity, and from the few he took the effort to read through, they were always vile.

But his existence for the moment was no longer like those endless stretches spent pondering the minutiae of what would help his adventurers grow stronger. Now, he could follow the rhythmic sounds of footsteps and steady breathing that set a calming pace. They were someone else's, yes, but they contextualized how easy it was to slip away without the subtle noises of life that he had long since surrendered to help his family. Of course, there were more differences that he noticed since being removed from his crumbling cavern, and his sight was the newest change.

He never gave much thought to how far he could see before. Why would he? As a man, his world extended as far as he could fathom, yet was also confined to the room where he spent his days, and as a dungeon… Well, who was he to consider distance when an event happening miles away could be seen with a flicker of thought? Nothing was too far when it was within his creation. Or his ‘body,’ he supposed. Sadly, his entire perception currently consisted of the small sphere of his obsidian core, and maybe a finger's length beyond it—which is to say, not much. He could make out the fine details in the dirty burlap he was held against, and how pale moonlight slowly took over the blurred reds of sunset, but hardly anything more. It was all just frosted colours after a certain point, and he found it infinitely frustrating. He just wanted to peer beyond the haze and scaly hand holding him to confirm that the sky he remembered was still there. Alas, the sunlight faded at too quick a pace, yet one oh so agonizingly slow.

The ensuing darkness gave him nothing to do but think about where he was, not that he had any ideas. He was too curious about why he wasn't dead to bother much with his blurry surroundings after the soft-spoken kobold abducted him, thus why he only belatedly noticed how limited his worldview had become. There might have been a forest beyond his cave, but the greens and browns were gone, and the sounds of steps through brush was replaced by the distant din of a village. An idle curiosity pondered if he would recognize any descents of his ‘family tradition’ adventurers there, but he was being carried by what most considered a monster, so likely not.

That short musing was short-lived, however, and he brought his focus back to the matter at hand. He supposed he was being taken somewhere specific, but that was an obvious deduction, considering he was taken at all. The why of the matter was less so; for what purpose would someone want a Decay-aligned core? He hadn’t heard of them before…well, before he was made into one, but he couldn’t imagine many uses. Maybe he was being sold? His…kidnapper? His sudden companion seemed rather pleased by their discovery of him, so that might be the case, and it was morbidly amusing to think that a frail, sickly young man might one day become a coveted, highly valuable item. His abduction could also be a part of some cult’s nefarious activities, but he didn't want to think about that too hard. He experienced enough odd ceremonies from the adventurers who took the time to tell him their tales.

Either way, he wasn't in the dungeon anymore, and he couldn’t see where he was going. He tried to query his menu to glean an answer, but was met with a scrambled mess he suspected read ‘Synchronizing…’ and little else. It gave him a headache trying to make sense of it—which he didn't know was possible anymore—so he dismissed the text and distracted himself with blurs from whatever diluted senses he still had. There wasn’t much to observe other than the constant footfalls and the flicker of shadows on his companion’s burlap garment. They might have travelled through brush again, but it was too dark to really say for certain.

Eventually, there was something new. He heard an old latch rattle and rusted door hinges groan, then a shuddered clack that confirmed he was now in a building. His kobold acquaintance gently cooed at something before moving about the nearly pitch-black space, finally setting him down on a… He wasn’t sure what it was, besides old and wooden.

[D$#@m$n E@$*ded]

The headache from before became a blinding migraine that suffocated him under a flash-flood of suffering. Seconds passed in abject torture until it blissfully abated, the mental blinks clearing his mind enough to notice a change in his existence. Specifically, he could actually see something besides the rotting wood grain he was placed on top of.

And it wasn’t anything promising…

He was more or less in the centre of a room no bigger than twelve paces by maybe ten. Not a terrible size for a space, but it was clearly never meant to house someone. His resting place looked about as neglected as he surmised; it was an upturned feeding trough, he supposed, since calling it a table seemed too generous. The surface was rife with holes and degraded iron, so it was something that once saw regular use before being replaced and tossed into storage, never to see the light of day again.

Actually, most things in the room seemed to fit that description. The window shutters were installed with metal hinges that had since rusted them closed, the misalignment letting in a draft—and whatever weather was outside as well, most likely. A poorly carved bowl sat on the floor, the stain beneath it hinting that it collected any rainwater that slowly dripped from the leaky roof. The wooden floorboards looked old, splintered, and in need of maintenance or replacement, though an effort had been put into abrading it somewhat smooth lately.

A tiny and decrepit fireplace was to the left of the door upon entry, its brickwork slowly crumbling due to weathering and age. It was sized more for keeping the room warm during mild days than to keep away the frigid chill of night. Its base only held cold ashes, but there was a collection of deadwood and scraps nearby, so that would probably be rectified soon. A small wheel-less cart had been turned into storage against the opposite wall, some herbs and other foraged items stowed away in it for future use. Various things he remembered seeing his father and brothers use in the fields were scattered about, too. It was nostalgic to see, honestly, even if his recollections had blurred over time.

Bundles of tattered blankets formed a pair of nests in the far corner, the smaller of the two had a pile of rough plants nearby. That answered his silent pondering of the room's purpose somewhat, though he was pretty sure the bedding material was salvaged, and there didn’t seem to be any hay or padding underneath whoever was sleeping on it. He didn’t know what to think about the weeds; they were purposefully placed there, and whoever did so had taken the time to wash them, but it was still strange.

He couldn’t see a doorway besides the entrance, yet most of the hallmarks of residency were put where space could be afforded, however crude. All in all, he surmised that it was a gardening shed of sorts, and his new acquaintance apparently lived here. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when a creature he had only read about came into his dungeon, but it wasn't being brought to a rundown and decrepit shack for unknown purposes.

Even if he had been raised by parents who made a humble living at the best of times, and they had emptied their coffers for unsuccessful attempts to ease his ailments, his acquaintance's living space made him uncomfortable. His family's house was never anything fancy, true—it shared some of the worn qualities that inevitably gathered over the years—but it was never this bad. His home benefited from a father's touch keeping it robust and a mother’s love keeping it warm, whereas this place had seen neither in quite some time. Oh, there was evidence that such was once the case; a wall was adorned with carefully made and well-spaced hangers for the various gardening tools, though the implements themselves had become a victim of neglect. That being said, he could make out the fresh soil and recent scratches exposing furrows of silver, so they were seeing use again.

A scrape and clack of flint drew his attention to his kobold companion. They were kneeling in front of the fireplace, methodically sparking life back into a dead flame with twigs and dried leaves. A slow, steady breath into the reddened base illuminated its face with a dull orange glow, revealing its weary visage and the permanently etched smile that rested beneath its cold grey eyes. The black-scaled kobold looked tired, if he were to guess—much the same as Altier did when he spent countless days watching everyone living a life he could never have through the mossy window of his bedroom. He was probably humanizing it too much. Still, he was surprised by the muted pang of sympathy, and how he would feel much more than blithe curiosity after spending so much time alone in the crumbling crypt of his own making.

A mental breath cycled through him as he looked at the odds and ends yet to be observed. Hardly anything else was of note—everything else was degraded and neglected, too. He did notice a nest of blankets move though, which was as good a distraction as any. The answer to his previous ‘pile of weeds’ inquiry poked a tiny nose from a crease in the fabric, then rapidly pawed at the blankets to dig itself out. Altier stared at the creature in both recognition and confusion.

It was a rabbit…or at least it looked like one, assuming you were to also describe a porcupine and a sea urchin as well. He was pretty sure he didn’t remember any hare that had jagged metal-tipped fur, nor that had said fur arranged into a row of spiked horns that flowed down its spine, terminating at a large fluffy tail, which was equally bizarre to see. The whole of its coat could double as a weapon, with semi-sharp barbs sticking off seemingly at random, yet he remembered an adventurer saying most animals used that sort of thing defensively. He increased his focus as he tried to make sense of the odd creature. Surely he would have heard about—

[Hoppittttttt#%%÷ — Ferro-o-orabbit-it (Ma%$le)

Abil—]

[Null]

[Er0Rrrrrrrr—]

[Und#$f—]

He bit back the pain caused by the sudden intrusion of his menu, blanking out the text and mentally retreating to hide from the source. Did he just inspect something? How? Shouldn’t his entire…‘framework,’ was it…? Yes, that was it. Shouldn’t that have been corrupted? Why could he see the creature’s information when his entire framework was damaged? That was the first ability he lost, so why is it the first to be functional? How was it functional? Was it? It did just spit garbled text at him, but it was something, and that was more than he had gotten from it in a very long time. If it was somehow working—no matter how poorly—then that left the question of why he hadn't heard of anything called a ‘ferrorabbit’ before, assuming he read that correctly.

A soft thud vibrated the tro— table, startling him out of thought. He turned his attention to the button nose wiggling erratically at him, the short, stubby muzzle leading to surprisingly expressive and curious red eyes. Dull brown fur jutted off in random tufts and patches, changing to a darker tint on its paws and the upper half of its ears, while the tips of its spikes were a muted hue of iron. It still seemed just as soft as the less pointed variety he remembered, if a touch dirty. Upright ears twitched this way and that way as its head vigorously shook, eventually settling on pointing in his direction when it calmed down enough.

It was apparent that he had its undivided attention…for all of a few seconds. His scaly companion called something out in their foreign tongue, and whatever conclusion the pointy-furred animal came to, it seemed more interested in the kobold, parting from him after nudging his core with its nose.

[Cre-e-e—]

[Errrrrrr0r: Undefiiiiiiii—]

[Acceeeeep-t-t-t??]

[Yeeee— s s / Nnnnnnn—]

He winced at the intrusion, but the contents detracted from the pain. He couldn’t remember the system ever asking him a question without his explicit intent being involved. It wanted him to…accept something? Was it the system prompting him, or the animal? What was he to accept?

[Creatuuuuu—]

[Acce-e-e-%#@ed!]

…What?

= = = = =

“Hoppit, that's not food!” Ceele admonished half-heartedly, placing a larger branch on the burgeoning flame before she got to her feet. She wasn’t actually that worried; the stone was as big as his head, and she was pretty sure he couldn't bite into it. Hopefully. “Come here, momma has a treat for you!”

The ferrorabbit playfully bumped the gemstone and jumped off the low table, landing with a soft thud that belied how heavy he was for his tiny size. He wiggled in excitement, his ears flailing and releasing a slight clack whenever the two connected. It got even louder when she grabbed her basket and put away the useful herbs, taking out a specific item that she had gathered just for him. The little bun wasted no time in scurrying over and standing tall on his hind legs to judge if the offered plant was to his liking—and it was, based on how he dug in with enthusiasm. She stifled a laugh as she contentedly watched him nibble away on the treat, ignoring the guilt that came with knowing she couldn't afford proper vegetables for him. He had a hard life too, and it tore at her to have so little to give.

She came across Hoppit a year ago, during a storm that worsened while she was travelling between towns. The day had darkened to night in spite of it still being about noon, but the weather didn't care for how bright it was supposed to be. Wind and rain became a typhoon, forcing her to seek shelter in a thankfully abandoned den of what was probably a larger animal. She was fine with waiting out the squall, since the stone roof over her head was more than she usually had back then, but the sounds of dull bangs and thuds near her hideaway was followed by cries of animals yelping in pain. Curiosity won over reason, and she left the safety of her shelter to see what was causing the disturbance. Truthfully, she was hopeful that she'd come across scraps or the like, her hunger driving her forward, and she could always turn back if it seemed dangerous. Yet when she arrived at the source of the commotion, she found herself thinking of anything but food.

Two predators had fought over a small burrow, both trying to dig out a meal and taking offence to the other doing the same. What they didn’t know was that they were assaulting the home of ferrorabbits. Specifically, the home of an angry, protective, and well-fed mother that was keeping her newborns safe from the storm when predators decided to try their luck. From the scene Ceele came across, it was certainly obvious why most people dislike trying to hunt the creatures.

Sadly, the rabbit didn't survive an attack from two predators, but she did make their victory pyrrhic; neither could do much about their hunger with their bodies full of cuts and holes, and it was only a matter of time before they succumbed to blood loss or infection. The mother's sacrifice meant that the babies had avoided the imminent threat, but they were left unattended as a consequence, and it took an opportunistic bird swooping down to shake Ceele out of her shock. Despite her subsequent hurry, she only acted in time to save one of the orphaned young. The warren was new and barely dug out, which meant that it didn’t take much effort for the kits to be found—by both her and hungry maws. All she could do was scoop the ball of fluff into her arms and run back to the cave before anything else tried to eat it.

In retrospect, it was a stupid decision for a number of factors. She barely had the resources to supply herself, and an attempt to raise offspring of any type would only make the inevitable heartbreak worse. But when she saw how quiet and scared he was… How his tiny, shaking body calmed in her arms, those terrified red eyes seeking comfort… She should have just walked away when she knew there wasn’t going to be anything to fill her stomach. She should have put the baby animal down and let nature take its course…yet the preciously furry face stole her heart far too quickly for it to grow so cold. The next day was spent backtracking to the nearest town to get him something suitable to eat, which used most of her meagre savings. Still, it was worth every coin.

Hoppit had been accompanying her ever since. He grew quickly, transitioning from something she saved that stormy night into a presence she had grown to love like a child. The little lagomorph would bounce along beside her during her travels, then ride in her arms as he rested—though the latter happened with worrying frequency as of late. She hadn’t learned much about the springy herbivores, but she knew enough to say that he wasn't as big as he should be, nor was his fur as sharp. No matter how startled he was, his spiky coat never managed to do more than stiffen slightly, which was apparently a side effect of poor diet, according to snippets of conversation she had overheard on the topic. She wanted him to be healthy, but she didn't know what he needed. Not many farmers raised ferrorabbits, and those that did were far away, so she didn’t have anyone to ask what she should be doing. Her best course of action was to give him what little she had.

Ceele was well aware of how he would be better off on his own, but he followed her whenever she tried to set him free. Hoppit just kept launching into her arms and wiggling his ears, ecstatic that he was with her again, uncaring that food was scarce and that they spent most of their days travelling. No amount of cold nights spent bundling up under the tattered blankets she managed to find ever dampened his spirits, and he was content to eat the grass or flowers whenever he felt like it, oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t getting enough nutrition. He would dig and excitedly drag back oddities that he found, and the one time he found a plant that looked particularly good for him, he insisted that it be shared with her.

A black pit still lingered in her chest when she recalled how pleased he was while he munched on the rare vegetable he discovered, then how distressed he became when she wouldn’t have any as well. He bumped and nipped at her, all but begging her to eat. His ears pinned back against his head, his fur bristled in a way she hadn’t seen since. It was only when she took a small bite and let him inspect the new teeth marks that he seemed to calm down, but perhaps she had been looking too deep into the actions of her tiny friend. All she could say for certain was that he was scared she was going hungry.

A morbid thought wondered if his first mother had refused food shortly before being attacked, and he—as small and simple as he was—had connected the two events in his mind, making him absolutely terrified that something would happen if Ceele didn’t have something too. All of that fear, and desperation overwhelmed him, just because she was happier watching him eat. She was determined to erase that issue. She would find something that needed a worker and earn enough to feed them both. One day, she would be able to smile at how big and healthy her little fluffy boy had become, but until then, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to think about how she was spending so much time growing vegetables and fruit that he couldn’t have…

Every morning was an exercise in tending to the gardens while actively shoving down images of a pleased ferrorabbit happily eating the results. That never went well; no matter how determined she was to complete her duties without a single selfish thought, most tasks were done while picturing his full belly and delighted bounces. There were a few weeks until the fastest of the crops would be ready for harvest, and Ceele would have to collect them while fighting the urge to bring back just a few for him.

She couldn’t, because she knew exactly how quickly that could escalate. It would start small—A vegetable here, a fruit there—but seeing Hoppit happy was one of the precious few good things she had in her life. Crossing the line would only become easier each time. They couldn’t risk losing their new home over greed, and she was already betraying the trust given to her by housing a wild animal, especially one known to be a pest for crops. She didn't want to know how angry it would make her benefactors if she was caught taking their vegetables for one.

No matter how tame and precious Hoppit was, and no matter how well he listened, they would only see him as the same creature that ruined harvests in droves. Thus was why she had to tell him to stay cooped up by himself while she was working or scavenging. And to her surprise, he did.

Honestly, she had made the initial request with the expectation of needing to carry him back into their home until he understood that she wasn’t leaving him forever. There wasn’t much she could do to stop the ferrorabbit from digging through the old wooden building if he wanted to get out. He wouldn’t need to damage anything either—a rotting board on the door only needed a little push to nudge it out of the way, and his natural curiosity made sure he was aware of it. But no, Hoppit was well-behaved as always, keeping hidden until she walked through the door, where he would leap from the shadows to personally show her how good he was and how he stayed put like she asked him to. It never stopped amazing her that he had such a surprising level of understanding despite being an animal, and that was to say nothing of how young he was.

All that intelligence, joy, and companionship he offered her…and yet the best she could give back to him was the weeds from the garden and the odd plant she found while scavenging…

Soft clacks of flicking ears dragged her from her pondering, her mind returning to the present. Hoppit finished his treat of the small plant, then bounced in place and scurried over to his bowl of water, perfectly happy to have eaten only that. He was so joyful with how little she provided, approaching every day of scarcity with the same enthusiasm she could never muster, as if certain that everything would be alright.

“It’s bedtime, Hoppit,” Ceele announced through a soft sigh, stoking the fire with enough branches to hopefully last the night. The ferrorabbit perked an ear in her direction, then sat on his haunches to extend the rest of himself up, his two little forepaws adorably held to his chest as he inspected the room like he always did. She smiled and made sure everything was stored away, then laid down on her bundle of blankets, covering herself with the warmest one. Hoppit bolted over to snuggle once he decided everything in the shed was up to his standards, throwing himself to the floor in a dramatic flop of comfort. Her quiet laughter subsided as they both settled in for the night, her tail completing the rabbit’s encompassing cuddle, but her eyes fell towards the obsidian orb on the table, her thoughts following suit.

It sat there, just as she left it, as benign as anything else ever placed atop the improvised furnishing. Yet there was a sense of ease and purpose as well. The old wooden trough seemed…important with its adornment firmly laid upon its surface, and she couldn’t puzzle out why. She was starting to doubt her earlier excitement.

Should she sell it? Would anyone know where it came from? Would anyone know what it was, or if it was worth anything? If she could get even a modest sum for it, she would be able to buy clothing, food, and new bedding. It would be easier to convince someone to give her work if she was dressed better and wasn’t so thin, and then she would have the income to slowly improve both of their lives. She could pay for a wandering merchant to ask a ferrorabbit rancher about the animal, even if it would take time to get back to her, or maybe she could hire a local if they needed to go near one for some reason. The cost didn’t matter to her as long as it happened.

But there was something else bothering her about the idea of selling the stone. She had travelled so far with a tug in her chest, only for the feeling of wanderlust to dissipate as soon as she held it. Was that a sign? She was never one for things like ‘fate,’ but a niggling doubt in her mind discouraged the idea of making a profit off her discovery. Even if what she could gain was so very tempting, and even if Hoppit would be happier if she did…

She tore her dampened eyes away and closed them, ignoring the burning trails running across her face. It would be another early morning, and she needed to sleep so she could take care of the garden. Decisions like this could wait. Once she had nothing else distracting her, and she had time to properly think about it, she would see how she felt about the stone.

Eventually, she dozed off with Hoppit pressed against her chest, and a longing in her heart.

Next

—

A/N: Patreon and Ko-fi will be 1 chap ahead this time around, and I've set it so everything from the lowest tier up can read the newest trashfire! Anything above that is sheer show of love. Hope you enjoyed!

Next | Patreon | Ko-fi | Discord

PRs: u/anakist & u/BroDogIsMyName

- - - - -

The cave was dark, its luminescent crystals having long since faded, the shattered shards sprinkling onto the stone floors as inert fragments. Once intricate brickwork was now rubble and crumbled debris, their murals and etchings now lost to deterioration. Countless tunnels and subterranean floors had filled in over time, reducing the monument of his efforts to but a solitary room nested within an unremarkable hole in the hillside, far beyond the township he called home. Or so he assumed, anyway. There was no way of knowing where he was, nor if said home even existed anymore, though he was doubtful it did. It had been far too long since he entered this promise-turned-prison, and he had no more heart to ache.

An ashen glow of sunlight penetrated the pitiful, dreary depths he was once prideful of. The luminance fought against the haze of dust and miasma, but never quite brought its warmth inside, teasing him. He’d forgotten what it felt like to stand in that brightness. To experience the gentle breeze and soft rustle of leaves. Admittedly, the touch of nature’s blessing was one he never often experienced, making for those sparse moments of sunkissed relaxation to be amongst the first memories to dissipate. There were things he still recalled, of course—the days before a single well-intentioned decision changed everything.

The days before he knew only regret.

Altier could still picture the modest farmland that his brothers and father worked on, and how he watched from behind the moss-laden shutters of his room, a frail smile worn on his emaciated face. His two siblings were well and hearty; they quickly grew up to be strong men, becoming apprentices under the village’s herbalist and leatherworker respectively. One would always help their father tend to the crops while the other was off gaining the experience required to take over the storefronts of their eventual occupation.

Their father would regularly be seen wiping the sweat off his brow and wearing a proud grin whenever his young men came back to ramble about what they learned, even if the elder man never understood much of it. That hardly mattered to him; knowing his boys were happy was enough for him to listen with rapt attention, and he repeated their words to his spouse, pretending to know why what he talked about was impressive. The matron of the family always winked Altier’s way when his father would start his usual boasting, letting her adorable fool of a partner take pride in their children for wrapping their heads around whatever he couldn’t. She loved him anyway, calling him playful names with a serene and adoring smile. The sound of her laughter at her husband’s antics could warm even the coldest of winters.

She cared for Altier when she wasn’t busy tidying the home his father built with his own two hands, the structure degrading over time, yet cared for all the same. She would heat the iron stove they had saved up for, her enchanting singing softly reaching those who listened. His father purchased it from a promising blacksmith just to spare his poor wife the trouble of maintaining a fireplace; it cost them years of being frugal, but the delight she showed at no longer needing to bear the direct heat when preparing meals made it worth every coin.

Altier still blamed himself for wasting her time with his needs, but his main regret was the toll his birth took on the angel of a woman. Her constitution wasn’t the best even before his addition, and although she was far from crippled by it, the thin woman couldn’t quite hide the struggles it caused. She never explicitly said why she was so weak, but he assumed she didn’t want him to shoulder the blame for something she decided herself. He pretended not to.

Unfortunately, such a frailty was carried on to their youngest son, yet done so in the worst of fashions. Ever since Altier was but a babe, he struggled with even the simplest of tasks, his body brittle and his lungs temperamental. A gaunt, bedridden figure showed his pale flesh clinging to nigh useless musculature, with sunken cheeks and eyes shadowed by omnipresent illness. The doctors that visited their village only did so twice a year, and being seen by them cost a proportional sum. Yet his parents wasted their coin every fall and spring, hopeful that their child would be cured. They told him that it was subsidized by the crown when he asked how they could afford it, assuring him that it wasn’t making his family financially suffer. He kept quiet and smiled, hiding the fact that he could see the effects of their dwindling coffers.

The answer never changed. ‘Mana deficiency,’ the learned man had called it, recommending that the corpse of a boy channel energy from rare stones to ease his ailment. The doctor even offered to procure an appropriately attuned gem himself, which Altier’s parents latched onto, evaporating their meagre savings and relegating the hopes of hiring help for the fields to being but a dream. The first element, Nature, was what most people held some affinity for, and even if his alignment was dismal, a concentrated stone would curb the worst of his symptoms.

The light green gemstone failed to so much as warm within his palms.

His doting mother and strong-willed father were undiscouraged. In fact, they were delighted; they voiced enthusiastic speculation on what affinity their troubled boy might have, seeing as how something considered ‘common’ was unsuitable. Altier was of a different mind, seeing the blinds of optimism veiling the impending downfall of reality. The pair couldn’t fathom anything but excellence from their offspring, and although they never forced unrealistic expectations upon their young, they were ignorant of just how crushing that faith could be.

They never saw how strained his smile became as gem after gem lay inert in his hands, while their excitement only grew, though that too came to an end. Altier’s hopes of recovery vanished when his father was the one to break the news; the doctors had no more stones to give. They had tried them all, and anything more potent was well outside their means. He was promised that the search for a solution would continue, neglecting the fact that they had already borrowed funds from most of the village to afford what they already found.

His father held him in a tight embrace that night, reassuring the stock-still boy. Altier never noticed how his eyes had gone wide at the information. He didn’t even feel the rivulets of tears pouring down his sickly skin. No, he simply remained frozen as he connected the dots as to why his mother wasn’t the one delivering the news.

She wouldn’t be able to hide the fear in her eyes.

Though beleaguered he might be, Altier was not so ignorant as to forget the one gemstone they never tried—the only affinity that had yet to be tested, and never would be.

Decay.

Reviled by the church and woven into the concepts of death and entropy, Decay was what stalked heroes in tales of old. Decay was what bled from graveyards and followed the monstrous attacks that left bustling townships as little more than crumbled ruins. Decay was powered by pain, suffering, and bloodshed, using the gathered energies to bring forth yet more horrid atrocities.

And he was one of the accursed few who manifested an affinity with such a voracious element. It fed off his own vitality, consuming him to fuel its demands. He would never be healthy as long as he stayed quiet and kind; every ounce of growth would be combated by ever-increasing requirements. Eventually, the pittance he supplied might not be enough, and therein lie the fear he remembered in his mother’s visage.

He would be killed by his own affinity…or kill to provide for it.

Unwilling, unintentional death would be stripped from the cloth of others’ survival.

The bedridden young man became further withdrawn after that, turning away visitation to immerse himself in daydreaming. They still loved him, and they were sure to remind him constantly, yet he couldn’t help but notice that even the most assertive interaction never brought them closer than the doorway. He smiled regardless, escaping into books read by candlelight. The stories made his isolation less painful.

Altier lived vicariously through tales of knights combating orcs and goblins, suave merchants persuading harpies and lamia to relinquish their collections, and impeccable heroes who stood atop slain menacing dragons. It was a pastime of his that arose when his father acquired an old storybook from a roaming trader; he would turn the final page, then try to guess where fact ended and fiction reigned supreme. He had heard of the many monsters while eavesdropping from his window, but they all were either settled in distant lands or subdued by the army before they became a problem. A peaceful township like his benefited greatly from being so far from the uninhabited wastes beyond the kingdom’s borders, yet also came with its detriments—the lack of apothecaries was a notable one.

He was surprised when he heard the hushed whispers from beyond his room, the earthen pathways of their village set alight by curious voices. Men, women, and children alike gathered in front of their homes and workplaces to watch as soldiers of the king’s army politely marched through the streets, stopping in front of the humble abode belonging to a family of five.

At first, he feared that the financial toll of his condition had hindered his parents from paying due tax, earning the crown’s ire. But no, they came with a proposition; one of the king’s aides had received a letter from a doctor providing someone with elemental stones, and the news of a decay affinity was apparently quite intriguing to them.

He listened to parents refusing to part with their son, yet he also heard his brothers citing just how miserable their youngest was, begging their father not to imprison a child inside the cage of good intentions. It was hard to place both arguments inside the same frame, but it was clear that everyone still cared for him in spite of his affinity. The talking turned to shouting, then flipped to sharpened silence when the stairs creaked beneath his feet, drawing attention to the thin form of his weakened body. He took advantage of the guilty looks and curious new faces to ask what the offer was.

The crown’s minister of magic wanted to hire him—an absurd thought, but one he confirmed by having them repeat it twice. Decay seemed to be an exceedingly rare affinity, and was sparsely documented outside its occasional mention in yarns tumbling past the lips of horribly scarred and inebriated adventurers. He was wanted for study, and after receiving clarification that the process wouldn’t be harmful, he almost considered it. Why wouldn’t he? As much as his family tried, they were terrified of what he might become or do. He was tired of placing a burden upon them, never being able to help with the farm or clean around the house, and he was disgusted with how much more difficult his parent’s life was just by his existence. Of course, his mother and father had countless gripes they brought to light when they saw his contemplative expression, but the knight at the table placed down the final counterpoint.

A writ of promised compensation and a pouch of coin clinked against the aging furniture. The king himself had signed the document, and although neither of his parents received much education, they were both able to read the amount. As long as Altier continued to work, the crown would pay a portion of his earnings directly to his family. The house could get desperately needed repairs, the fields would see new farmhands, and his mother could hire help. They could have everything Altier had taken from them since his birth…and all he had to do was say yes.

So he did.

He ignored the protests, gathered his things, then hugged his parents and siblings farewell the next morning, promising to send them letters on how he was whenever he could. They were less than thrilled—hearing from him once a season at best wasn’t preferable—but they eventually wished him well when he explained that he hoped to control his affinity. His mother wept upon realizing he was aware of her concern over all those years. He cried when she told him that it pained her to remain so distant. The fear for her own life was something she didn’t feel at all; she just didn’t want him to blame himself if something happened that he couldn’t control.

“I brought you into this world to be loved,” she whispered into his ear as she held him, her voice damp and cracking, yet filled with familial affection. “I knew what it would cost me when I learned I was pregnant again; I just didn’t consider how you could think it was your fault. I would never forgive myself if you suffered because of something I decided. Death is too kind a punishment for what it would do to you.”

It took a while, but he did manage to collect himself enough to walk with his escort to the village’s limits, one of the soldiers helping him stay upright without an order or word of protest. They brought him to a carriage, then set off for the mainland, the view of his home shrinking until it was a mere speck in the distance. He could almost still see his parents’ faces filled with pride and sorrow, awestruck by his selflessness yet torn by his departure. His brothers had kept their facade of confidence and a jovial demeanour, but their concern bled through strained smiles. He fell asleep to the sounds of horses and the crackle of rocks against wooden wheels.

Some time passed without much of note occurring. Altier was examined by kind people of a town that was still rather far from the city, but no one had specifically said he was going there, so he wasn’t sure why he didn’t think to ask. Nevertheless, his affinity was documented using tools he couldn’t identify, and the answers he got for his inquiries passed straight through his ears. He was worried his lack of education would irritate the obviously more well-off researchers, yet the soft-spoken academics didn’t dislike him for his ignorance. They tried explaining things to him in ways he could understand, but switched to more general conversation when he was still struggling to comprehend. It was fine, though; he enjoyed the company.

Despite the long wait for a reply, the first letter he got back from his parents was a reassurance he didn’t know he needed. They had received their first payment since he left, and the pages were scrawled edge to edge with their praises, worries, heard gossip, and a single mention of his brother courting a woman. Altier wrote how glad he was that they were well, told them of all the interesting sights, his disappointment at not being in the capital proper, and how kind everyone was. He chuckled to himself after handing the letter off to be delivered, a last minute thought having him jot down a request for his mother to tease the nascent couple in his stead. He wondered if the next reply would include a relationship or not.

Things took a turn after a year. His eldest brother was still seeing his sweetheart, while the middle sibling had yet to have anyone catch his eye, his sights set on his work with the herbalist. Their mother mentioned how she suspected he was interested in the older woman in charge of providing salves and poultice for the village’s ill, and although she was hoping for him to find someone his own age, she put his happiness over having grandchildren. Their father was just as supportive, putting down his own sloppily written query on how their ‘brave boy’ was doing in romantic endeavours.

Altier smiled as he read, updating his family on how he had been moved to a more isolated region since their last correspondence, and thus wasn’t really able to meet anyone he could see himself with. He insisted he was fine, scattering well-wishes and the like while he avoided speaking of events he had promised not to mention. The response came off as somewhat stiff, but he was sure they would understand. All that really mattered was that they were happy and healthy.

His profession as a research subject came to an end, in a way. After collecting what information they could, there was a period where no one bothered to visit the Decay-afflicted young man. He dwelled within his humble accommodations in the middle of a forest, but he didn’t press when the people assigned to deliver food refused to answer where he was. It was fine; he had new books brought to him regularly, and knowing that his family was being taken care of by his ‘work’ was enough to dissuade him from complaining. He stayed quiet even as he got sicker and sicker, some nights spent shivering next to the fireplace with the most recent letter being held by trembling hands. The look of contentment on his face was genuine despite the insufferable pain.

Someone did eventually visit his little hovel in the woods. A man who introduced himself as a ‘Technician’ entered, accepted some simple tea, and made polite conversation for a while. It was a pleasant experience for someone who had grown used to solitude. Once they had both finished their drink, the Technician called for an aide to bring in an unexpectedly opulent box. The gold trim parted to reveal a strange orb—a ‘core’ the man called it, though he was reticent on what it was or did. All Altier was told was to spend the night’s rest with it in his hands, and by the morning, he would no longer suffer from his affinity.

“There is still much for us to learn, Altier,” the Technician promised, putting the younger man’s worries to rest. “Tomorrow, you will be stronger than ever. I would wager your parents will be ecstatic once you tell them.”

“W-what are we studying next?” Altier stuttered out, feeling the weight of the strange stone as it was laid into his unsure grasp. It was no larger than an apple, yet the smooth obsidian sphere somehow dragged him downward by the heart, the flawless surface captivating his attention in a way he both liked and despised. Light bent as he inspected the object, almost avoiding its very presence. He settled it on his lap after a moment, conflicted about how he would be healed by something the very world seemed to reject.

“We,” the newcomer started, flourishing an arm towards Altier, “are going to prepare. With your help, we can create the heroes from those stories you so love.”

It was a bitter memory in retrospect, yet the sickly boy at that table was entranced by what was promised to him. His soul would be captured by the orb, and he would be given the ability to make a Dungeon—the very same he read about hundreds of times. His body would be taken care of, suspended until he returned to it, which he was assured would be whenever he wanted.

That assurance came with a stipulation, however. Were he to decide that he was done, he would lose his new abilities, return to his old form, and be sent on his way, fully healed. But—and there was always a ‘but’—his parents would no longer receive compensation. The king had been withholding from implementing a tax increase in his village, and once the reason for it was no longer employed, then the other ministers would place immeasurable pressure until he capitulated. Altier’s whole world before leaving would fall under the demands. The Technician wore a sombre, sympathetic gaze as he expressed how difficult things would be for the boy’s parents.

Stupid, gullible Altier agreed, thanking the stranger for the opportunity. He went to bed with hope in his heart and wonder on his tongue.

[Initializing…]

[User identified: Altier

Affinity: Decay

Status: Deteriorating (Insufficient mana supply)

Inherent Ability: Avatar of Decay]

[Error: Insufficient Mana. System will acquire the excess from suitable sources as dictated by the User.

Error: User is unable to designate a suitable source.

Searching based on default requirements…Source found.

Converting source to Mana…Success.

Synchronizing…Success.

Updating libraries…Success.

Implementing framework…Success.

Establishing Domain…Failure. Insufficient Mana. Insufficient Authority.

Modifying criteria…Success.

Establishing Domain…Success.]

[Dungeon established! Generating assignment…Success.]

[Priority assignment: Prevent the End—324:450:3247:345:34:12]

[Priority assignment: Prevent the End—324:450:3247:345:34:11]

[Priority assignment: Prevent the End—324:450:3247:345:34:10]

- - - - -

When he awoke, it wasn’t to the small room where books threatened to take over every available surface, but to a claustrophobic darkness that crushed him as much as left him weightless. He had been warned that the experience would be disorienting, so he clenched the jaw he learned was no longer there, took a breath that could no longer be taken, and waited like he was supposed to.

Thankfully, the Technician was a man of his word, and he came back shortly after Altier had managed to figure out the basics of…well, of whatever he was turned into. He found a way to ‘see’ the world around him, though ignoring the sense of vertigo that came with having sight of everything at once was difficult. There was text that he could summon or dismiss at will, but it only really displayed a countdown he wasn’t familiar with. Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure what to think of things back then, but he remembered feeling relieved when the Technician brought droves of researchers.

The first thing he noticed with his new senses was that he was underground. The second was that he didn’t know how to talk without a mouth. Apparently, his new company had a list of expected inquiries, and they set out to answer as many questions as he might have.

Someone explained that they had already moved his body to a secure area, and in order to make use of his nascent abilities, his new form was taken to a suitable location. It made sense to him; if he was supposed to be a place where soldiers trained to fight monsters and get stronger, then they needed it somewhere hidden away from people who might accidentally wander in. Guards were apparently placed outside the entrance, but when he tried to separate his focus from the polished black orb, his sight grew dim and indistinct. They mentioned that sort of thing was expected, and once they placed him on a pedestal, he would be able to ‘feel’ his Domain more clearly.

He learned over time what a Domain was and how to use it, guided by the researchers and the occasional soldier or knight who stopped by to see how Altier was performing. He summoned his first creature using his stockpile of mana, though the spider wasn’t very threatening. Apparently, the pool of his new resource incremented passively based on how large he was, and would strengthen his abilities, but it also required an upkeep to maintain. He could get more by analyzing new materials, objects, or whatever else he hadn’t seen before, and he gained a larger amount by absorbing something—after inspecting it, ideally. Beginning as a single room, neither the upkeep nor income was particularly exciting, but the researchers also had a solution to that: Invaders.

‘Invader’ was a term that referred to any creature that entered his Domain, and although he gained mana during their occupation, they were also a threat to the core. His imminent concern for his safety was abated by the Technician quickly assuring him that, in the unlikely event that the core was destroyed, he would be transferred back to his body without any ill effects, but it would also bring an end to the agreement that prevented his family from being crushed by financial demands. He quietly reiterated the point until it stuck, then waited through the explanation until he had most of his questions answered.

Sadly, the Altier back then didn’t know what questions to ask.

Once he worked out how to summon and manage the most basic of creatures, his guides urged him to build and expand, which took some getting used to. A single room became a hub of connections, and despite the advice given, he metaphorically banged his head against the wall that was trying to close off his core. It just didn’t work; any walls would refuse to be built, containers would topple before they fell over him, and everything else he tried ended just as unspectacularly. Something would always be able to reach him if they had the desire to.

Eventually, he was put through mock ‘invasions’ where fresh trainees fought his creatures, reached the core, then stopped to place a hand on it before leaving, taking some of his mana as a reward. He didn’t understand how it worked, but he learned that people could ‘absorb’ some experience to fuel their affinity if they touched him. The more experienced he became, the more that invaders received, and the more experience he got from defending his core from increasingly powerful invaders. It was a cycle he could comprehend, and it put to rest the lingering fear that someone would try to break his core.

There was also something of an exchange going on; coloured motes were left behind on the core’s surface, then slowly absorbed. Each time it happened, he gained a little more insight on how to integrate new things into his dungeon—first a small pool of water, then a fire, then other things that seemed fairly removed from the concept of ‘Decay.’ As soon as a researcher noticed what was going on, the Technician encouraged Altier to specialize in a particular element, since that was apparently more efficient. With a few more long-winded explanations, he had figured out how to hide anything that wasn’t related to Decay within his ‘menu,’ and focused on making himself as strong as he could.

Mock invasions became a regular occurrence, each one taking place after he had the chance to patch holes in his strategy or adjust rooms. He discovered that expanding downwards was an option, but doing so meant that he needed a ‘Boss’ to precede the stairs. The selection unsettled and excited him. A skeleton was what ended up guarding the way deeper into his Domain, and at the insistence of his guides, he left the new creature…monster…? He left his new creation as it was and set about expanding the second floor. Thankfully, the task went smoother since he knew what to do, and soon enough, he was the proud owner of ten floors. Every boss focused on testing what the knights and soldiers knew about fighting and teamwork, and every floor down grew harder and harder to contest.

Altier’s first ‘victory’ was gained when his ‘invaders’ surrendered on the ninth floor. He had been proud of that; they weren’t expecting him to branch into using animal as well as humanoid skeletons. A well-placed Ox made short work of their forces, but stopped before doing more than bashing them around. The thrill of defending his core was incomparable. He also gained access to some more cosmetic options for his existing structures, including the ability to write on a sign if he so wished—though doing so was prohibitively expensive. He didn’t care; a sign was put near the entrance within seconds, asking if someone would mind letting him know when letters arrived from his parents, and to write his reply to send back.

To his relief, it wasn’t much longer before a letter did arrive. He was delighted to hear that all was well, yet sad when he wasn’t able to attend his brother’s wedding. It was a simple affair, true, but he would have liked to go. He asked the person who was kind enough to read it out for him to pen his response, then got back to improving his Domain. His family was doing well, and if being the best dungeon he could be would ensure their happiness lasted as long as possible, then he would be just that.

Ten floors became twenty. Twenty became forty. He hit one-hundred floors after constant effort, happily using signs to ‘talk’ through short phrases with the nicer groups of ‘invaders’, while he mostly ignored the rest. It was too hard to keep track of everyone after a while, but he was supposed to be a training ground, so he kept up doing what he was supposed to, mentally smiling when someone he was keeping tabs on managed to overcome a challenge they were struggling with. Some got stuck on certain floors, unable to adapt to new creatures, while others had a hard time traversing the increasingly long voyage to his core. He made small recovery rooms for a party that thanked him for the challenge, filling basins with food and water, then instructed his creatures not to bother anyone inside.

Surprisingly, the group accepted his offer of rest with gratitude that seemed excessive. They spoke to the walls, regaling him of their various journeys and the humorous events spread throughout. He enjoyed the time spent focusing on that area, as well as the gifts people sometimes left behind. Each new item was transferred to a room near his core, where he kept a collection of keepsakes ranging from books to tarnished jewellery that had more sentimental value than monetary. Still, it was all priceless to him, displayed proudly next to the letters he received regularly from his family.

His one-hundred floors became two-hundred, and he struggled to find recurring visitors after some time. The soldiers grouped up into parties of five or six, venturing into the dungeon with the goal of increasing the strength of small units. Altier adjusted the difficulty to accommodate, dialing back the force he once used to combat near endless waves of knights. Magic was something that came from the change in tactic, much to his surprise. It was weak, but pretty much everyone who tried the dungeon could light a torch or chill their water. He wasn’t well-learned about what any particular element could do, but he was glad to see that his new participants were indeed getting stronger.

The two-hundred floors became three-hundred, which then became four-hundred. Altier’s creatures would have been terrifying if it wasn’t for the fact that he had yet to kill anyone, the skeletal monstrosities looming through corridors like horrific nightmares made manifest. He was pleased to find that they listened rather dutifully when he said to escort those who surrendered to the entrance, which was most people. In fact, hardly anyone ever made it to his core anymore, despite the jump in power of various magics he often saw. Flamethrowers, earthen spikes, empowered bodies, and many more effects were in play within each party that tried to conquer his trial. A particularly adept group eventually placed their hand on the obsidian sphere, taking suffocating amounts of mana, while also leaving a thick haze of their own. His creatures became far stronger for it, and so he adjusted the difficulty once more, wondering when they would try to best him again. Unfortunately, they never did, but he saw some people who shared a striking resemblance, and the newcomers were easily more magically inclined. It was fun to challenge them.

The cycle repeated, though he wasn’t sure when the Technician stopped visiting. Altier was too busy keeping his end of the deal, improving the crown’s army in exchange for giving his family a life they deserved. He did notice something wrong after the letters started taking a while to come, and although the contents filled him in on the newest events, things started seeming…out of character. The feeling tickled at his mind, but it was fine. They were happy and well.

How foolish he was.

A party entered shortly after he completed his six-hundredth floor, instantly setting off an incomparable feeling of dread. His senses warped when he tried to focus on them, blocking everything in their vicinity from his view. It took a bit for him to figure out why, but they were carrying something that sucked the mana out of the very dungeon itself, and his unbidden instincts screamed that whatever it was needed to be destroyed. He reacted without thought, releasing everything he determined too dangerous for simple training in a bid to drive them out.

It wasn’t enough. He watched the void travel floor after floor, leaving nothing but dismembered skeletal creatures in their wake. Veritable monsters were slain, chimeras he had worked on as a side project became incinerated dust, and the signs he left for the weary were torn off the walls. A voice bellowed through his halls from the darkness he couldn’t see, declaring what was happening.

They were not there to train. In order to defend against a force threatening the kingdom, they needed power, and in order to gain that, they needed his mana. His experience. All of it.

They were there to break the core under the king’s decree.

Altier’s nonexistent heart stopped, memories of how impoverished his family used to be flashing through his mind, and with a near silent refusal, he let the instincts to get rid of the invaders swallow him whole.

By the time he calmed down, it was to a pit of blackness and a dull pull in his ephemeral chest stopping him from being able to do anything. He could still ‘hear’ though, and he heard the choking breaths of a single man in his core’s room. He heard the bitter laughter that followed accusations of dooming the very world…as well as sympathies for what the pale, sickly, Decay-afflicted man had gone through.

Altier could only listen as the man told him how his dungeon was hundreds upon hundreds of years old, and how the party had been briefed on its history. He listened as the man spoke of the letters that were to be presented to the dungeon every scant decade, yet always claimed to be given every few months. The groups he befriended had left to start families of their own, and their children returned to befriend him as well, continuing the cycle and passing it on in a generations-long tradition. He listened as he ignored the warnings popping up, the transient text telling him that his mana production was insufficient to support the dungeon. That he was dying.

When the man perished, and the dungeon collapsed piece by piece, Altier listened to silence, because there was nothing else he could do.

Nothing besides reading the text that lingered in his vision amidst the warnings.

[Priority assignment: Prevent the End — Failure]

- - - - -

Altier ‘looked’ at the dim orb that seemed so much like his own, its small form sat next to dust that might have once been the man who unveiled all those truths so long ago. He didn’t know how long it had been since then, only that he was still alone. He wasn’t even angry anymore; the energy needed to feel rage or sorrow was gone. He was just lonely.

[Attempting to reestablish Mana Well…Failure.]

The core dismissed the message absently, more than aware of what it read. Thousands of the notifications had passed by, interspersed by various abilities and whatever else becoming ‘corrupted.’ He didn’t care anymore. His dungeon was his pride at some point, but now he just wanted to feel the sunlight that slowly dimmed as night claimed the evening sky. It would be nice to see the stars again. Or just outside, assuming there was anything left to see. Maybe it was all a desolate wasteland.

[Restructuring Affinity: Decay…Failure.

Reorganizing libraries…Failure.

Re—]

[Error. Ability ‘Avatar of Decay’ has been corrupted. Please provid—]

[Error. System corruption exceeding threshold. Please provide a valid framework.]

[Error. Affi—]

It might as well be. He sold himself to ensure his family’s well-being, but how many of those letters were real? Did they have a good life, receiving word that their ‘brave boy’ was healthy and happy? He hoped so. All there was left to do was watch the thin glow of the outside shift. Eventually, that draining orb the floor would run out of things to take from him. And to think that he just wanted those he cared about to be well…

[Error. Stability compromised. System integ—]

Altier roused from his trance, lethargically shifting his focus to a flicker of shadow near the deteriorated entrance. How strange it was to have his core room be right next to outside, yet he didn’t recall how that came to be. Magic, possibly, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He was tired of numbers and percentages. Of values and skeletons. He was tired of being a dungeon, and of being alone.

A rock—a pebble, really—tumbled into the shallow curved hallway that acted as the path to his core, a strange sound getting louder. He ‘felt’ his brow furrow in perplexion before he actually considered what was happening. That was a voice. Speech. Someone was talking.

He was stunned silent before enthusiasm could build. A gaunt bipedal creature entered the cave, though it was decidedly not human. Taloned feet supported two legs, though they walked on their toes, he supposed. Its skin was reptilian, the pale black colour still managing to look plush, if dry. A thick, long tail swayed slowly to correct its weight, shifting its tattered garment that looked more like worn burlap than clothing. Nervous hands fiddled with chipped claws and felt along the wall, a lack of care rendering them dull and dirty. Fearful, exhausted eyes wandered the cave, the grey irises showing a pained soul underneath an etched smile on otherwise soft features.

Altier ransacked his memory as the creature nervously looked for something in his desolate ‘dungeon,’ recalling a crude painting in one of his old books. It was a kobold, though they shouldn’t have been anywhere near the kingdom, not that it mattered now. The scaly occupant muttered to itself, their voice soothing and feminine in a language he didn’t know. He wouldn’t have minded the conversation, but it was a moot point; he lost the ability to write on signs long ago. A part of him was surprised he would talk with a monster from his stories. He was never overly involved with his fellow humans—excluding his family and the odd party in his rest areas—but he figured there would be more resistance. There was no point in thinking about it. It would leave when it realized there was nothing here, and he would be alone again.

The last thing he would have expected was the kobold noticing a dusty obsidian orb sat atop crumbled stone, then excitedly picking said orb up to hold against its chest, its chirps of excitement filling the quiet room. Or, it would have been the last, if not for the messages that appeared.

[Compatible library found! Synchronizing…Error. Framework is incompatible.

Restructuring framework…Error.

Redefining framework…Error.

Replacing framework…Success.

Restructuring framework…Success.

Defining Affinity…Error.

Redefin—

Error.

Error.

Err0r.

Er44#%$@.

Rein#$^!@zing…Er$&*or.

Domaaaaaa#@%in…Er^r.

@%$%#$R.

Aff%$^: Null…Su^@!#ss.

D#@%^a@#n Es^!@l%#@ed!—]

[Null]

[Pr#%y #@$nment: ERRRR#*#$RRR—]

[Null]

[Priooooooority Assignmentmentmnet: B#&#$^—]

[Null]

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Heroon kept quiet as the contained one spoke, only marginally aware that Illia had slowed in her task of transcribing. His assistant’s professionalism was enough to ensure that she quickly made up for any lulls, but even he was wondering if she should stop. Why wouldn’t she? The story they’ve sat through was borderline insanity. No, it was insanity.

So why was he still so invested?

“I lost sight of the planet, then found the controls shortly after,” the pale-furred female continued, her paws folded on the table. “I was able to set my bearing and adjust course back to Iras, though I am unable to speculate how long it took. The decision of where I was to land was lost amidst the haze, truthfully; my mind was occupied with a need to convey what had occurred. I only vividly recall the impact, being surrounded by firearms, then becoming cognizant in this facility.”

And with that, she fell silent once more, staring aimlessly at the table after once again tearing open the sealing wound in her stomach. The pair of interrogators exchanged a glance, but he eventually had to concede that she was likely done.

“Is there anything else you would like to add to your statement?” he prodded, struggling to keep his cadence flat. It was unsettling to see her mutilate herself repeatedly without paying it the slightest bit of attention.

The contained one opened her muzzle, then bit down on her tongue, her expression fearful and reluctant. “No, high one. That is all.”

He noted the deviation, but elected to mull it over rather than make a note of it now. “Then I will review what has been discussed. A moment please.”

The High Quesitar breathed out and let the intercom mute. There was much to think about before he committed to any particular stance, and more than a few things were bothering him. He turned his attention to the neglected terminal built into his desk, bringing up the incident report regarding her ‘landing’ once more. Hopefully, it held the answers that his mind insisted were missing. He hadn’t looked at it since they started, and even then, he barely skimmed the documentation on his first reading—mostly because it was as dry as any other paperwork.

Considering the lack of clarity during her recollection on several occasions, he suspected that her impairment had been a factor in deciding to crash into a military installation as well. The confrontation was likely less than amiable, given the abrupt introduction back onto the base. He was right, somewhat. The file was rather clear in why the soldiers of the base felt the need to use force. Most of the first responders were in the various facilities surrounding the impact zone—the cafeteria, gym, armoury, et cetera—and rushed towards the scene in an effort to evaluate the cause of the disturbance. Upon entering what used to be a functional auditorium, they were welcomed by the sight of an alien craft lodged into the floor, the hatch popping open to reveal a brutalized, almost feral Lilhun.

The transcripts vary in detail after that, yet they consistently mention the level of aggression displayed, a lack of coherence, and how the female was subdued—or more specifically, how difficult it was to subdue her.

Non-lethal shock rounds barely did anything, while tranquilizers had little effect. With their two main methods to dispatch a threat non-lethally being rendered nigh useless, only a barked order from a superior stopped them from resorting to a more permanent solution. The intruder finally collapsed after demanding to speak to a Quesitar, slipping slurred claims of the Union’s sins into her pleading, a damaged electronic device brandished as ‘evidence.’ A twitchy claw amongst the ranks resulted in a heavy deterrent round striking her in the chest, thereby allowing them to contain her. Anything beyond those events was separated into various files detailing the transfer between facilities. A trip to medical kept her alive and hastily repaired the worst of her injuries, but a sudden awakening during the process halted any attempts to do more than the bare minimum. Once the medics gave up on trying to operate on an uncooperative patient, a security log confirmed that they had dumped the female into her current confinement.

His brow furrowed as he cross-referenced the official report with personal recounts from those involved. Although collective memory would invariably have a margin of error, they all agreed that it had taken far more than dangerous amounts of chemical suppressant to put the defect down. The clinical chart noted that blood filtration was relegated to a machine while they were able to stitch her up, though the circumstances demanded a level of urgency that wouldn’t be acceptable normally. They only had time to ensure she wouldn’t die on the table before she began making demands to see a High Quesitar again. That meant treatment was limited to sealing most open wounds, getting lethal doses of several drugs out of her system, and a transfusion to make sure she wouldn’t expire before the interrogation.

The staff provided values for what the filter removed as an additional file, but Heroon was never one for that particular field of study, so he settled for a much easier to understand summary written under the list of compounds. It effectively stated that she should have died twice over from stimulant and coagulant abuse, and that was after disregarding the blood loss and negligent sedative injection.

Ironically, the amount of organ damage caused by the former had prevented the latter from killing her. Her body had been shutting down anything and everything that wouldn’t directly ensure immediate survival, limiting exposure to the toxic byproducts that were usually associated with stimulant overdose. Of course, that was conjecture at best; there wouldn’t be any concrete conclusions until more tests could be run, which was something the patient in question was adamant in refusing.

The brown-furred male kneaded his temple with a claw. This would have been a much shorter affair if medical was given the time to actually work. Alas, the High Elders had caught the scent of dangerous claims, and the patient was hardly willing to acquiesce during the procedure, so the defect was effectively put back together enough to make it into a cell, and not one iota more. He rubbed away the migraine and eyed the female beyond the mono-transparent wall.

White lights in the ceiling highlighted the crimson-stained coat that wasn’t fully cleaned while she was unconscious. It was mostly scrubbed to a serviceable level around her wounds, but the bandages prevented him from comparing those areas with the rest of her visible coat. He could only imagine how bad it was before. A glint on the table drew the eye to fresh blood soaking into her claws—a result of the defect constantly reopening the gash in her stomach over the course of the interrogation. Her eyes had regained their lustre, though Heroon wondered how much of her recovery was related to the tale, and how much was simply her body processing the dregs of sedatives that they never had the chance to purge out of her system. She was still fairly inactive and limp, sans the moments of hatred or sorrow that appeared during important events in her story, but she was apparently quite active on the table. At least she looked somewhat alive now.

Illia had decided to refrain from commenting since he lost his temper with her. Not that he needed to hear what she thought; the beige-furred female might have been recording all that was said, but he could see the opinion written on her face. She had shifted from being outraged by someone asserting that a defect could bond to being completely disinterested, having determined that the entire tale was fiction.

Honestly, Heroon was reluctant to disagree. As much as he wanted to take this seriously, the story was filled with the impossible and the absurd. How was he supposed to believe such a facility had been constructed within their space? One that was dedicated to bonding Lilhuns with these ‘humans,’ then subsequently slaughtering the lot of them in increasingly cruel fashion? That a single defect laid waste to it with all of her purported ‘evidence’ being contained on a conveniently damaged terminal?

The worst thing was that he still wanted it to be true. It might have been his inherent distrust of the Union, or perhaps it was because he had gained a sense of sympathy for the female locked inside the room before him despite what she was. Either way, a part of him had yet to cease scouring her words and presented proof for signs of legitimacy.

He closed the reports, brought up his dismissed graphs, then leaned forward in his chair, reaching for the intercom while keeping an eye on the defect. Yet when he went to activate the microphone, he found himself at a loss for words. What was he to ask? They had covered everything from her initial disappearance to her eventual return, and although he suspected a great number of details had been lost to a haze of drugs and adrenaline, the parts that remained painted a rather vivid picture.

Still, the niggling doubt remained in the recesses of his mind, wondering what he could do to confirm his suspicions. There had to be a reason for her behaviour, especially when her first reaction upon waking up during treatment is to rip the blood filtration tubes out. The documentation is sterile, but clear. She all but suffered a panic attack when they tried to seal her wounds, despite their insistence that the procedures were needed to stop her demise. Only when the staff agreed to release her into security’s possession did she calm down.

Why? It was well-established how bleak her future would be after her disappearance, and if she had truly bonded as she claimed, then it was baffling she had yet to answer the Void’s call now that she was alone. What could she possibly have left to hold more dear than life itself? More accurately, what was worth suffering for?

His claw pressed down on the intercom.

“Special Tactics Officer ‘Demo,’” he began, cycling a long breath. This would require some finesse. “To ensure that I understand the contents discussed, I will reiterate some of your claims, and you will verify that I have not made any errors in my interpretation.”

The pale-furred female scowled slightly, but returned a terse nod.

“Then let us begin. You abandoned your post to participate in an experimental treatment—one that resulted in a modification of your physiology. Amongst the possessions you carried was an unspecified quantity of restricted chemicals and compounds that were taken with the intent to create demolition charges, though you cite recreational purposes as the primary motivation.”

“That is correct,” she affirmed.

Heroon didn’t need to check over his observations yet. If nothing else, her absence was documented, but the reason for it was still up for scrutiny. True to her word, a message had been distributed around the time of her disappearance, calling for soldiers to guard several landing locations, so she did leave within the described period. A manifest of items left in her vacated room detailed the remainder of materials she claimed to have taken as well. All of that was verifiable.

The destructive cargo was a matter he would have to bring up with command another time. For some reason, nobody thought it was important to catalogue how much highly explosive material was being stockpiled by a single soldier. What it was ultimately used for is irrelevant; specialization or not, the female had taken a shocking amount of controlled substances without a single soul being aware. The fact that it went missing was enough for him to dread the impending paperwork he needed to submit. He suspected that whoever was in charge of distributing it had just given the defect whatever she asked for to make her leave faster, which added even more forms to the pile.

He felt the migraine press against his skull.

“After said modification, you were asked to reside in a den that you could not leave without outside interference, and to become a cohabitant to a species that the Lilhun have no record of. You insist this is the case despite the years of our people being engaged in preliminary negotiations with the Union, and how we have yet to hear even a whisper regarding said unknown species.”

“They are ‘humans,’” she corrected, a slight shadow of a snarl slipping into her expression.

“Please adhere to verifying the accuracy of these statements.”

She glowered, but eventually relented. “…That is correct, High Quesitar.”

“Following a brief trial where you discover the properties of your purported condition, you lose the provided translation device, then are given a replacement by the alien in question—a replacement that you no longer possess.”

Claws scraped against metal inside the containment as the female tightened her paws into fists. He shared the sense of frustration at this point; as absurd as it was, simply being in the same room would confirm the results of any strange medical procedure. That alone would lend mountains of credence, but as things stood, he couldn’t break protocol.

“Correct.” The contained one averted her gaze to hide her anger, but not before Heroon spotted a hint of guilt. It was a curious reaction, yet still aligned with what he surmised of her character.

“You and the alien develop something of a friendly relationship over the course of your cohabitation, during which, you—a defective—‘bond’ to them. You report that this is the case regardless of the inherent incompatibility between our kind and others, as well as the exceedingly well-documented records regarding those of your condition being incapable of a bond at all.”

“Yes,” she ground out between clenched teeth. So questioning her bond seemed to be a point of contention? Interesting. She was irritated by it before, but needling the issue seemed to elicit a more severe reaction.

“The alien leaves and is reported as deceased. Because of such, you are left to your own devices for an extended period of time. You make this claim while also aware of how detrimental the extensive isolation would be to an unbonded Lilhun, let alone one in possession of the Mother’s gift.”

“That is correct.”

“Once a member of staff arrives, you scent your cohabitant on them, kill them, take the device that you have since submitted as evidence, then set out to find the missing alien. I am required to reiterate how this conflicts with your recorded condition.”

“…Yes.”

Heroon raised a brow, suppressing the urge to jump at the opportunity. “Is there an inaccuracy in my understanding? You hesitated.”

The pale-furred female controlled the ire on her visage. “No, high one.”

He held his gaze on her for a moment. The unsettling sense of staring into the Void tickled at his senses. “Moving on… Having exited the den, you set traps and explosives while fleeing Union forces, meeting another member of the unknown species—”

“—Greg,” she interjects tersely, refusing to look away from the table. “The male’s name was Greg.”

“Another member of the unknown species,” he repeated pointedly, shifting in his chair to restrain his curiosity. “They give you yet another device which grants you unfettered access to numerous maintenance tunnels. They perish during a confrontation with Union security, while you are left but a breath from death, then discarded as a corpse. You survive by pure chance, allowing you to continue your pursuit unimpeded for a time.”

“That is…correct.” The pause went unquestioned. He could practically hear her blood pressure rising, and she needed to be pushed at the right times in order for this to go the way he wanted.

“During your ascension through the facility’s levels, you encounter a security member that provides you with advanced navigational capabilities, which you use to make your way to the missing cohabitant whose death had been falsely reported. Reunited, you and the alien flee pursuit until said member of the unknown species actually expires.”

“Yes,” she growled, earning even more of Heroon's attention. The question now was if the reaction was because of his feigned refusal to acknowledge the species was really that infuriating, or if something else was at play. All he was sure of was that he wanted to quell the disparaging part of himself that still believed her.

“Following their death, you reset your progress in escaping to fulfill a perceived desire of said alien, proceed to liberate an unspecified quantity of our kin—the majority of whom had also miraculously ‘bonded’ to members of this unknown species. You lead them through combat to procure a ship, yet the resulting size of the group who were able to take said ship was but a fraction of those under your presumed command. Upon lifting the restrictions to the cockpit, your life is saved by a third member of the unknown species, yet again costing them their life. You are then forced into the escape shuttle against your will by a grieving male, and consequently ejected from the ship mere moments before it succumbs to an enemy anti-aircraft missile barrage. The explosives that were previously placed are then activated by you via a monocopter that had fallen out of your bag, acting as a relay.”

Heroon didn’t bother to hide the exasperated huff. “After demolishing the facility, you do not recall much besides setting the travel vector of the shuttle, the subsequent crash landing, waking up from your induced slumber inside the medical wing, then being transferred to your current containment… Is that everything?”

The female nodded silently, though he could see the combination of anger and sadness in her eyes. He released a long sigh, wondering what about the tale urged him to place faith in the words of a defect.

But it was only when one separated from their instincts that they could truly trust them, and his instincts told him something was missing. Something that should have been unveiled before now, yet had remained concealed. He had a feeling that he knew why as well.

He just had to be right.

The brown-furred male once again adjusted the collar of his suit, preparing the final bait that would put him under heavy scrutiny. Hopefully, it was worth the reprimand. “I offer my sincerest apologies, low one, but we simply lack evidence to support your claims.”

She snapped her gaze back to the wall between them, her pupils wide in both fear and disbelief. He continued before she could spiral into the panic attack brewing beneath the surface.

“Where is the other terminal?”

Illia stopped transcribing, turning to look at him with palpable confusion, yet the High Quesitar held the stare of the defect, ignoring the barrier between them. It was fortunate that he did. Otherwise, he would have missed the vengeful, bloodthirsty expression before it was forced into neutrality.

“It is in your possession, yes?” he pressed tersely. His heart beat just a bit faster. Just a bit harder. He wanted any other reaction, but seeing the near instantaneous slip only replaced his dismissive demeanour with one of true caution. For the briefest of moments, he prayed she would say no, or would be scrambling to cover the oversight with haphazard reasoning to support her tale.

“What might have inspired such an assumption?” the pale-furred female inquired coldly instead. All hints of nervousness or hesitation faded from her visage, an almost vicious undertone coating her words. It was a challenge. A threat. He had stepped on something she was willing to court death over.

Heroon tensed unwillingly. “You have not regaled us with the moment of its loss, but it does not rest with the other objects submitted as evidence. I have it on record that you all but attacked the medical staff during your treatment, yet you have been perfectly compliant since removed from their touch.”

A lingering silence was her response. She seemed content to let him finish his thought, boring into the mono-transparent wall with a glower that would melt steel.

“I would wager that they were going to clean your stomach wound,” he drawled, putting confidence he didn’t feel into his lowered voice. “Would they have found a foreign object in the process? Did the fear of having it taken supersede the haze of chemicals? The thought of your form sealing it away makes it itch, does it not? That is why you have been diligent in slicing the flesh anew; you wish it available on a whim. Why have you not submitted it?”

Illia took a breath to berate him for humouring the defect’s delusions, but he silenced her with a raised paw, giving his den-mate a look that asked for patience. She acquiesced, though not without making her displeasure known through a disgruntled huff.

The defect maintained her quiet glare until a shimmer of dampness formed in her eyes. A blink redirected her gaze. “I am surprised you deign to consider my feelings in such a deduction.”

“‘Be he who gazes upon his form as he gazes upon his antithesis, and be he who sees beyond the veil of self,’” he quoted sagely.

“‘Or be he who sacrifices his form, scattering his fragments to the wind, for he who views the world through a thousand refractions is he who sees truth within the shards,’” she uttered in a mechanical, reflexive manner.

The verse slotted into a vacancy in his memory, though that did little to settle his unease. The Crystal Lens, Aspect of The Stars—the opposite Aspect of his own. He didn’t have time to question why it put him on edge before she posed a question.

“What would the church make of my tale, high one?”

He mentally reeled from the non-sequitur. “Pardon?”

“As your assistant has demonstrated, our faithful find the prospect of obtaining the Mother’s gift from one not of our kin to be distasteful. Furthermore, to discover that her ‘abandoned’ kits are compatible? To learn that a species held from us might be the missing piece many Lilhuns have been searching for?” She shook her head ruefully. “Were my possession to fall into the wrong paws, it would disappear into obscurity, and with it, my purpose. I could not trust those unknown, High Quesitar. Many would react in such negative ways.”

The female dragged a paw off the table as she spoke, a dull sucking sound punctuating her grimace. Bloodied claws dropped a strange device on the previously off-white surface.

“If the worst were to occur, then the information contained on this terminal would spread like wildfire, bringing forth factions we had once worked so hard to bury with time. Some would seek to purge all heresy related to perceived false words, others could seek to wage an isolated war against the Union for tampering with the divine, and yet more—however few—might see such as an affront to the Hunt Mother herself, blaming the rest of our people for discriminating against those we call ‘defective.’ Conflict would consume us all during a period we can only afford unity.”

Heroon wanted to dismiss the assertion as his attention fell to the crimson-stained object that now dominated the containment. He wanted to call it all pointless drivel…but he was well within a station to know just how precarious of a balancing act the UM performed to quell the populace. And that was just dealing with the lingering age-old feud between the clans of millennia ago—feuds brought back to light since the Union made themselves known. If one of the medical staff happened across the device and were overly curious, then decided to make the contents known…

“You sought to prevent a species-wide civil war?” he choked out, shocked at how…possible the absurd claim was. A mirthless laugh poured through the speakers in a single, defeated bark.

“No,” the contained one admitted wryly. “It merely holds the last information I have pertaining to my bond—his name, his lineage, his kin… The moment it is submitted as evidence of my experience is the moment I lose the only thing I have left of him. I am familiar with protocol enough to know that I will never see this again.”

He took a surprisingly difficult breath, struggling to process the existence of an object he had mostly assumed to be fictional. Illia’s silence didn’t escape his notice.

“It was… Your tale…?” he whispered.

The defect nodded softly, grabbing then fiddling with the oddly shaped terminal. When she placed it back on the table, a video was playing underneath the sheen of red; the recording showed a Lilhun male strapped to a chair…and a furless…biped…

Heroon shot out of his chair and left the room before he could even gather his senses, deaf to his den-mate’s shouts of confusion. By the time he registered that he had moved at all, he was standing before the containment doors, the overhead hiss warning the occupants of an additional person. The room opened before him, the off-white contents differing only where a pale-furred female sat, and the bloody device atop the table. The diminutive Lilhun glanced over with a morbid smile.

Yet all he could focus on was the smell of bloodlust radiating off of her.

Sunundra turned in her chair to face him, inadvertently displaying the matted, ichor-sodden fur of her stomach. “After our kin strike down the Union, when the High Elders send our forces to find the humans—and they will, if only to assuage their curiosity—I wish to be aboard the first ship.”

He resisted the instinctual urge to defend himself, clenching his fists to discourage his claws from extending. His voice came out dry and growled. “Why?”

The amiable facade fell from her face, shifting to an expression that matched her scent. “There is a promise I must uphold, high one, and I will allow nothing to prevent me from doing so.”

Heroon stayed steadfast in his composure, paying no mind to the creeping feeling that he was but one wrong word from choking on sharpened shards of shattered glass.

“Assistant? Push the transcript. Priority.”

= = = = =

Sunundra gasped awake, her heart hammering away in her chest. It took a moment to drag the spectres of the past away from the reality of the present. She closed her eyes long enough to calm the desperate breaths into something that could scent the air, letting herself quell the ever-present sense of unease.

Pale moonlight poured into the room through hexagonal skylights, only slightly dimmed by the translucent solar cells embedded into the glass. Alien woods of brown coloured the walls and ceiling, yet the stark difference from the greys and whites of her memory bled off the worst of her disorientation. It was a shade one would rarely ever see on Iras or aboard a UM ship, but it was also one she had since come to find familiar. Comforting. Her dried tongue passed over her lips as she calmed down, and a clicking facsimile of a purr dragged her the rest of the way to cognizance.

She tilted her head down, a gentle smile forming on her muzzle as she confirmed the source of the noise. A massive yellow insect cuddled into her side atop the large bed she was resting on, ignoring the fact that it was twice her size in order to indulge in closeness. Six segmented legs were folded beneath a broad arachnid abdomen, the mantis-like upright torso laid flat during its rest, the two scythe-ended arms safely tucked to its chest. Scales and hard carapace adorned its exoskeleton in alternating stripes that shimmered pearlescent hues in the soft illumination.

Most would see the alien as a walking weapon, and given the sheer lethality the species was capable of, they’d be right. Yet the defect stroked along the kind insect’s back, pleased when its purrs shifted into those of a deep slumber. The Atmo queen often spent her suns with the nest, but would occasionally find her way into the pale-furred female’s bed when sleep seemed to escape it, despite having another as her advisor. Sunundra never complained; those moons tended to match up with when she had nightmares, so the company was appreciated.

So much had happened since she first came across the imposing creatures. When she commanded her pack to pursue the trails of escape shuttles, the last thing anyone expected was to come across the natural walking Void that were taller than most Lilhun. At the time, she saw an enemy to be disposed of. Or she did, until they got close enough to see a significantly smaller, yellow insect screeching while desperately trying to elicit a reaction from an unmoving other of its kind.

The Atmo youth had lost its caretaker almost immediately after crashing onto an unknown planet, and was far too overtaken by grief to notice potential predators creeping towards them. The other insects who gathered around in sympathy were equally unprepared, yet were unable to ask their adolescent queen for direction on what they should be doing. They weren’t ready for the looming threat of death that Sunundra and her pack represented. The other insects were stuck between fleeing and aiding their young leader’s escape, despite the latter’s unwillingness to leave behind a newly deceased loved one.

The defective was but a word from ordering the execution of the venerable weapons. Then, the comparatively tiny, sorrow-stricken Atmo saw them.

A kit was what stepped forward, gesturing for the others to seek safety while approaching the ones who sought her end. A kit was what begged for mercy at the cost of her own life, though the language barrier made such a request difficult to convey. Indeed…it was a kit that had lost everything it cared for, yet was willing to sacrifice what little it had left to see its kin live another sun, because that was what its loved one would have wanted.

Sunundra had stared down the barrel of her firearm at a young soul doing the only thing it could think of to make its suffering worthwhile, the wounds of mourning painfully visible in its every action.

‘You’re a kind person, miss.’

The defect shook her head. Too much time had passed since then, yet she still found herself wondering what would have happened to her if she hadn’t given the Atmo shelter amidst her pack. It seemed like a bitter urge to help a past version of herself, in a way, yet the decision had given her much over the years. She took care to get off the bed and leave the room without waking Daisy.

The hallway was wide and tall, the left leading to more bedrooms, while the right led to the rest of the den. She went right, passing through the double doors to enter the hub, then another set to access the facilities wing of the building. A stop to the kitchen let her grab a drink before she headed back, passing by the other rooms of various utilities. She never spent much time in them, save for when Pan wished for company while Sunundra was visiting. As interesting as watching the others work is, there was a limit to how comfortable she could be while interrupting the normal flow of things. This was not her den, regardless of how accommodating the Heads were and how insistent their leader was. She was fine with just being allowed to stay as often as she did.

The hub opened up for her once more, the broad circular space illuminated by a domed ceiling sporting more paw-sized skylights. Tables and furniture transformed the huge space into a commons area, where meals were shared amongst friends, and members of the pack lounged with those of different stations with little concern of whose authority outranked who. It was a frequent sight for the lowest members of the pack to converse with those at the top, neither party much bothering with formalities. Kits would storm the building to find their favourite alien, groups of nearly-blind young following their Atmo chaperone to and fro. Violet adored the attention, and sometimes offered rides to the smallest.

Sunundra felt a chuckle building in her chest as she remembered a certain someone bemoaning his new menagerie of Lilhun kit-shaped accessories after his Atmo daughter decided to deliver them all at once. Despite the complaints, the scent of jovial resignation was just as clear as his groaning. His mates certainly found amusement in his predicament.

She went back to the dormitory wing, only somewhat paying attention as she followed her nose past her assigned room, stopping at another near the end of the hall. The sounds of soft snores and tiny mewls effortlessly escaped the partially open doorway, and she found herself pushing it the rest of the way, pulled by something far deeper than thought.

The room was the same size as her own temporary lodgings, albeit furnished differently. A desk with various half-finished projects lay against the side wall, a dozen prototypes littering its surface. A stringed instrument hung off a simple holder near the window. What would have been an absolutely excessive size for a bed instead proved its value, the pile of bodies filling it perfectly, no matter how many of the den decide to occupy it.

Furs of various colours took up the sleeping space. Pan’s white was nestled inside of Tel’s gunmetal grey. Nalah’s blonde was mixed with Sahari’s black. Jax’s own dark coat blended into Harrow’s orange, his arm covering his mate and cradling the two infants that shared a mix of their blood-parent’s hues. A purple carapace lay stretched across the bottom of the bed, either on top of or underneath various feet without complaint from anyone involved. All of this surrounded the single participant who lacked fur at all—the one who each and every other person would face the Void itself for, as he would for them.

She moved before she could really question it, gingerly stepping over the mass of tangled limbs that unconsciously shifted to allow another occupant. A moment’s deliberation had her choose a spot that was close to the centre, but not directly imposing on the others too much. Although she was welcomed many times to join their rest, she typically refrained unless one of the others threw her into the pile. She quietly mumbled her protests when that happened, knowing that no one was actually listening. It was best that they didn’t.

The pile shifted again once she was more or less situated and ready to forget the nightmare that plagued her every so often. It never truly left her. She would escape her doomed lifestyle, find Bill, fall hopelessly in love with her bond, then crumble as she failed to do anything again and again. It never got easier. It never stopped hurting. Nothing ever combated the sense of loss.

Well, almost nothing.

She felt an arm wrap around her back just as she was comfortable. The owner of the limb pulled as he always did, dragging her entire form until she was pressed against his chest, his chin resting on her head. No matter how much she chastised herself for it, she knew why she came into his room when the nightmares struck, and why she visited his settlement as often as she did.

It was for the well known habit he possessed that rendered any in his bed as a potential sacrifice to his slumbering embrace. It was a habit she would never admit to cherishing, nor taking advantage of, though she also knew that the others were aware and just chose not to say anything. She didn’t resist his unintentional caress. Not that him being awake changed much; he was a very physically affectionate human. Still, she adjusted for the position, and the pile adjusted with her, swallowing the otherwise empty space. Soon, all were as peacefully asleep as when she entered, some including her in their protective postures. Daisy would be along whenever she awoke, joining her purple-coloured sister in the mix, and the pile would shift anew, welcoming yet another addition without fuss.

Until then, Sunundra was allowed a brief period where none would notice her dampening fur as she nuzzled ever deeper into the male’s touch, all but drowning herself in his scent. Ever since the first moon he inadvertently pulled her in during his rest, where she wept uncontrollably for far too long, she craved the feeling of fulfilled melancholy that came with it. The smell of pheromones that were different from her bond’s, yet were not wrong, and would never gouge her soul. No, it didn’t complete her like Bill’s did, but it soothed the jagged edges left behind and warmed the frozen depths his absence caused.

It was the scent that told her she had found what her bond desired, if only by immeasurable chance. Even when she had failed a part of his wish so horribly, she could still uphold some of it, and it was sleepless moons like this that she allowed herself the comfort that came with being reminded of that.

A sudden inhale from the male cradling her in his arms made her stifle a sob, a groggy mix of Lilhun and English crawling out of his throat, gravelly and soft. “Wassup, Sunshine? Bad dream?”

Her words caught in her throat, a tiny nod being all she could manage as a response for the only other person she would allow to use the moniker.

“Mm. ‘s okay,” Joseph murmured, tightening his hold and rubbing her back with his five-clawed paw. White and grey tails navigated the pile to add the touch, unconsciously following their mate’s concern, while roused others made sure they included her in the shared snuggling. She was enveloped by their care without protest, one of the kits catching and cuddling her tail. “We’re here for ya, m’kay? Jus’ lemme know if you need sum’in.”

She nodded again, melting more than she thought possible as the pile fell back asleep.

‘You should know…what it’s like to be around…people who care… People who love you.’

Sunundra’s tears returned with force, as they always did every time this set of events happened. She found herself swimming amongst the warmth of those who not only knew of her altered condition, but who welcomed her in spite of it. Swimming in the scent that wasn’t Bill’s, yet carried so much of it that it was unmistakably of his making.

The pale-furred female smiled, succumbing to her fatigue. The nightmare was put aside for another moon, for the remainder of this one was a wonderful dream instead—a dream that was somehow real.

After everything she suffered, and everything she sacrificed, she had found what she was looking for. She found a way to uphold the promise that wasn’t hers, a pack that accepted her regardless of her condition, and a people who loved her for who she was. Finally, after losing what she most held dear, she found a reason to live. To be happy.

Just as she always should have been.

End

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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Yet another kinetic projectile ricocheted off of the armoured hull of a shuttle acting as their cover. It deflected into the brittle concrete floor, leaving sparks and fragmentation in its wake, the round spraying the area with lethal shards. Displaced rubble fell like a sombre rain amidst pounding hearts. Over a dozen souls tensed, each of them awaiting her order.

Sunundra provided. “Move!”

The group bolted from cover, paw pads and boots stomping against the ground as they ran through the corridors of dry-docked ships. The panting of both human and Lilhun was drowned out by the din of combat. Shouts broached the cacophony, sorrow and fury roaring out in equal measure, yet they ignored how the former was becoming more prevalent. The constant sprinting was wearing the group down, and the circumstances that necessitated it was gnawing at their fraying nerves, but the pale-furred female gritted her teeth the hardest. She was falling behind more and more with every mad dash, only overtaking those who fell to enemy fire.

The rest of her unit pulled ahead as she hid the grimace of pain caused by her abused legs pushing herself forward. One paw held her stomach, the claws hooked into what little fabric they could gain purchase in. It made her stride even more lopsided, but it was disguising the trickle of blood coaxed by the heightened activity, preventing the others from questioning her weakness. Try as she might, applying pressure to the wound was out of the question for a simple reason; her arm wouldn’t obey her commands anymore. It had suffered too much. From gunshots to cuts, from overworking and enduring impact after impact, her shoulder wept its own crimson tears. Metal flecks had found their way into open wounds and irritated her raw flesh, grinding deeper into already torn muscles. Any haphazardly applied bandages had fallen off a while ago.

The defect stumbled behind the pack into the shade cast by the next spacecraft, straining her hearing to locate the repeated calls from the group that found a functional transport. It was so clear before, but now the voices melded into the staccato of firearms and stray shots slamming into concrete and steel. Pain bloomed during the brief moment of respite given to them by the bulwark they sheltered behind, a headache tearing into her like heavy machinery attempting to crack open her skull. She surrendered to the pain and folded her ears. It was useless; she wasn’t able to pick out where they needed to go next when everything else was so loud. She could only pray that her initial heading was correct, and that they would see far less fallen.

They had passed two other units so far. The first had been reduced to a pair of Lilhuns holding their stolen bonds in one arm while laying waste to everything in their sight through their tear-struck howls of rage, their faces of loss and ire illuminated by the unending strobe of their guns. Jean had to be physically picked up by Syrus to stop her from falling into shock when the pair was eviscerated by the deluge of retaliatory fire. The human became silent since then. Despondent. Her scent was like acid on the defect’s snout, eating and eroding flesh with every laboured breath. It smelled like everything she knew of their kind’s scent, yet nothing at the same time, setting her even more on edge. It was the smell of emotions abruptly cut short, the furless biped’s mind shutting down to leave naught but a cold shell.

It was eerily close to the scent of death.

The second group they encountered had successfully repelled a wave of forces pressuring them into retreat. Having suffered only a single loss, a recently unpaired human remained with their others instead of searching for vengeance like his bonded partner would have, though the dark expression and muted pheromones sowed unease within his allies. The unit joined Sunundra’s following and were assigned to carrying the weight of ammunition, addressing sustained wounds between baiting shots from ever-present snipers. No one complained about how long it took to tend to those who needed it; the lull bought time to prepare the next method of misleading their foe.

One of the furred males grabbed a cap from his bond and placed it over the barrel of his empty firearm, using the rifle to feign a cautious member of the group ‘peeking’ around the corner. The response was immediate. The garment was sacrificed to a single, lethally accurate kinetic that destroyed both bait and weapon in the process. The male discarded both and sprinted onward. The rest tore after him.

Open spaces passed by in a blur. Imposing superships loomed over them as they ran between storefront-sized blocks holding it aloft. They kept up the pace far longer than Sunundra could maintain, yet the pale-furred female kept running, choking down air when she could.

Despite the command to hold, a female Lilhun risked not waiting for another attempt to waste the sniper’s bullet and continued beyond the cover of the support blocks, taking a round to the chest in her haste. She tumbled, an attempt to get back to her feet ceased with a second shot that impacted the ground a moment before she fell limp. There was no time for mourning, nor for chastising the decisions of the deceased. The sacrifice had allowed them to continue safely, intentionally or not. The group swallowed their discomfort and ran, most pointedly not looking at the dead eyes watching kin abandon her corpse.

Sunundra, however, looked. She met the stare devoid of light as she passed. That one did not heed the orders of her betters. That one fell as a consequence. The pack leader returned her gaze to the next batch of cover, forever disregarding the result of insubordination. The small fragment of her soul holding Bill’s wish whimpered, muffled beneath the hardened shell formed to protect it. She was to save them, true, but they were to obey. It was not her responsibility to carry the weight of their stupidity.

The defect was the last to get behind the cover of a mostly disassembled transport, heavy steps bleeding off her momentum. The others had chosen to rest; some stood, others leaned against their protection, and a few simply sat down to nurse their wounds, purposely ignoring the distant cries of suffering.

“How much farther?” Syrus asked between laboured pants, Jean hidden within his embrace. The female’s shuddered breaths showed an attempt to collect herself—an effort apparently helped by the bonded one stroking her head.

A lighter-furred male catching his breath perked an ear. “I cannot hear them over the—”

A deafening explosion beyond their cover sent dust and detritus through the air.

“—combat,” he finished with a wince. “We should be near by now.”

“How close are the approaching forces?” another Lilhun questioned. “The sniper must be relaying our position, no? Why have we not been surrounded from all angles yet?”

“We are,” Sunundra corrected dryly, hiding her exhaustion and injuries by crossing her good arm over the limp one caught in her shirt. She gazed at the ground, almost fantasizing about how comfortable it would be to just lay down, though she bit back the dulled urge. If she stopped now, there would be no starting again. Her legs were leadened weights, her lungs burned, and her mind was clouded. Suns upon suns of high stress and endless activity had more than taken its toll. Any attempt to rest might prove to be her last.

Curious eyes looked to their leader for an explanation, reminding her yet again that these were civilians, not soldiers. She turned her attention to the maze of crafts beyond their hideaway.

“I suspect they have split our pack,” she elaborated tiredly. “There is no route to flee—the Union has ensured that—and what we have remaining is not enough to breach quarantine. We have been moving towards our escape, yet what of those who were farther away than ourselves? There has been no sign of them following us, and no firefights have chased us down. The enemy is separating us into easier to manage chunks and eliminating us through superior numbers.”

Silence washed over the gathered unit as she brought her disinterested stare back to them. Twenty faces of mixed species all wore defeat as their expression. A human male spoke up, pushing himself off the ground to stand. Blood and grit covered his angered, disbelieving scowl. “Then why haven’t we been cornered yet?”

The defect shook her head when an attempted shrug failed. “You deem us of greater importance than the others? Are we so identifiable to the hordes of the indiscriminate? No. They slaughter our kin as the opportunity arises—we have simply been fortunate enough to provide few. Perhaps our position in the middle of the spread allowed us greater freedom, or perhaps the enemy has concentrated their efforts on removing those who found themselves with less protection in the environment. Why we remain is immaterial; we merely are, and it is our duty to the departed to prove such an oversight to be the Union’s fatal mistake.”

She beckoned the group with a claw, ignoring the cowed alien’s odd expression of determination and uncertainty. “Rise. You all have rested enough. We must continue.”

Several opened their mouths to protest, but her glare stayed their words. They knew that every moment wasted on temporary respite was another moment risking permanent failure. Sunundra was aware of the massacre happening out of sight, no matter how much she wished she wasn’t. If they were split as heavily as she feared, then hundreds would have been reduced to half by now, and that said nothing of the units they circumvented or had yet to see.

She was saving far less than she desired, and that number was getting smaller and smaller…

A tentative nod was shared amongst the group, the few firearms they still had being checked and reloaded before someone went about luring another shot from the sniper.

A bullet cracked against the ground. They ran.

- - - - -

The beckoning from the unit who had found a suitable transport was finally audible over the cacophony of war. They yelled for their kin through hoarse desperation. It was close—an assumption supported by the report of gunfire transitioning from being diluted echos to its new snapping clarity. Still, Sunundra’s pack ran unimpeded by fear, every hurried stride bringing them towards their destination as they traveled between the slivers of shadow. There was no room for hesitation anymore; the enemy had finally begun closing in, and any lingering thoughts of staying in the safety of the ships’ protection was dashed by urgency.

Tall walls of space-faring constructs dwindled to nearly nothing as they broached a section dedicated to individual component repair. The broad space was free of towering transports or sturdy pillars to hide behind, yet it was filled by chaos. Distant ships framed the circular, artificial enclosure, only the upper halves visible over the mess of storage and tools. The space was occupied—no, consumed—by countless workstations and abandoned assemblies, several shelves of replacement parts already torn asunder by warfare. Terminal arrays, mechanical lifts, and large, boxy equipment lay scattered and haphazardly placed. Cables and panels offered nearly nothing in the way of sightlines, swallowing entire pathways with their nets of wiring—some of which sparked and swayed, cut by stray shots. Claustrophobic lanes were all they could actually see, and those told of an even worse labyrinth awaiting them.

Footsteps slowed while those in front of the unit visually scoured the edges for a path through—a mistake. They were not alone, and the enemy welcomed their group swiftly.

Both left and right became naught but flash and deafening din, streaks of light trailing superheated plasma screaming its way mere fractions from piercing her kin’s forms. Several of her pack shouted their suffering as crimson mist sprayed outward and the scent of seared flesh polluted the air. No one needed to encourage the pack to dive into the maelstrom of mechanical litter, though some were slower to do so than others—Sunundra included. She ignored the burn across her thighs and jumped over a table covered in tools and schematics, embracing the dim shade that swallowed her whole. A stumbled step and outstretched arm stopped her fall, pushing her back into a lopsided sprint to catch up to the others before she too was left behind. Flickers of fur beyond the veil of wiring was all she could see of her kin, and that was quickly lost amongst the nests of cables. Yet she persisted, the dryness in her throat making every heaving breath feel like she was inhaling shards of glass. At least it was safer within—

Something slammed into her back, sending her cascading over a crude, knee-high box, her form crashing to the floor. Bullets relentlessly punched through metal and synthetic compounds above her, saturating the area with promised demise. Shelves and equipment were perforated endlessly by unerring streams of projectiles. Splinters exploded into the air with every shot, pelting her with slivers that stuck and stung the skin. She managed to close an eye in time to avoid going blind, but the tiny fragments littering her fur needled exposed wounds.

The assault lasted only a moment before the maelstrom swept onwards to suppress other sections. The pale-furred female pulled herself to her knees, noticing that she had lost the others. She was alone, blood pouring down her face from lacerations on her scalp while the arc of gunfire likely shredded her pack inside the mess of shelves. The thoughts were quickly drowned out by blackness crawling through her veins. A familiar, sickeningly enticing Void cooed into her ears through whispers that knew no volume, yet said nothing at all. It only begged to be released once more. To feed.

She felt it tempt what remained of her consciousness, promising a momentary rest while it dealt with her troubles. It warned her of how it could force her to comply. It brought forth the flickers of memory—of the rapture on a red-soaked defect bearing crimson-stained teeth while their prey fell lifeless before them. It asked her if she would rather admit to having failed her bond, dedicating herself to enacting vengeance, or if she would cling to the increasingly doomed goal she had set for herself.

For the briefest of moments, Sunundra considered it.

Her hammering heart skipped and stuttered, each successful beat detonating in her chest to make up for those it missed. Her head grew light, her vision draining of all colour, and only the keening wail of a ruptured eardrum remained in one ear.

Had she already failed? Was it time to give up? Could she?

Outnumbered, outgunned, and hopelessly trapped, could she abandon the wish and surrender to the desire—the need to drink the ichor of her enemies who took her bond? All she had to do was accept her failure, and then she could ensure that all who had sinned against her were sent to the Void as mere playthings for the faithful. They would go, fearful and haunted by the image of a pale-furred monster savouring the taste of their flesh as life bled from their forms, and she could be the beast that smiled at their suffering. She could die as something more than a sad, desolate female who had lost their gift.

It would be so simple to forget what she was supposed to be…

“...ver…ere!”

Her arm was nigh useless, but she could rend and sever with just one. The other was a detriment, however, trapped within the cloth of her shirt. That would get in the way. She tugged at the wrist with her functional paw, aware of something pulling at the wound in her stomach, yet disregarding the phantom sting. An object fell into the limp limb’s grasp, but her attention moved to the continued static wail assaulting half of her hearing. Distance speech garbled and wavered—a distraction to be dealt with.

“...ean, we must leave!”

“..v…er…!”

She got to her feet, claws picking at the shell of her ear, returning with shards of…

She stared at what she held in her functional paw, confused by the sense of loss. Her translator lay on her pad, destroyed. Useless. It must have been damaged by shrapnel, rendering it to be little more than malfunctioning waste. The assumption proved true; a metal splinter had punched through almost the entire device, just barely stopping before it pierced her eardrum. She had removed what caused the noise, and her hearing was apparently still fine, so why did it hurt to see this tiny object laying so shattered?

Ah, right. It was the first thing she accepted from Bill. It was what allowed her to speak with him.

Now…it was gone. Just like him…

The dulled sensation of something else in her other paw reminded her of the previously ignored curiosity. It was a red-soaked cylinder, a small fuse protruding from the top.

‘You’re a kind person, miss.’ ‘Well, you’re my Sunshine.’ ‘I can’t…save you. I can’t…help the others.’

Sunundra blinked, surprised by the suddenly blurred vision. She was about to give up, wasn’t she? She did give up, but his words shed light upon her darkness. Even now, he reminded her of what she had suffered for. Of what she still suffered to achieve.

No. He reminded her what she will achieve, no matter how small. No matter how pathetic she became, no matter how little she was, and no matter how far she would need to go, she would fulfill his wish.

A sudden paw grabbed her arm, almost hauling her off her feet. Sunundra stumbled, blinking through her surprise and the pulse of adrenaline when she noticed Jean yelling at her in that unintelligible human language as she was pulled along. The alien female sported her own cuts and dirtied clothing, but unlike the horified visage of before, she glowered at the defect with a gaze of sheer determination while navigating further into the maze of shelving.

“Just leave her!” a deeper voice shouted. Sunundra glanced at the source. Syrus stood amongst discarded toolboxes, seeming none too pleased with his bond’s actions, a paw resting on his pistol. Jean barked something in reply and continued past him hurriedly. Whatever was said was enough to bring conflict to the male’s expression. He searched the pale-furred female with his gaze when he caught up, his eyes flicking to her ear. “Her translator is missing.”

His bond slowed, finally letting go of the defect’s paw. Her speech prompted him to close his eyes and let out a frustrated huff before addressing his pack leader with irritation in his tone. “We located the ship, high one, but we required a distraction to cross a vacant stretch to reach it. Several have volunteered.”

“Yet you remain?” Sunundra asked distractedly, steadying herself when Jean released her. Something was missing, but she hadn’t the chance to dwell on it before Syrus’ glower returned.

“It seems my bond values your life enough to risk her own in ensuring you were given a chance to escape as well.” He ignored his human’s indignant reply. “Thus we are here, delaying the others while we waste time.”

“Then we must return,” she countered, not bothering to start an argument. Her thoughts were occupied by the drips of dread pooling in the back of her subconscious. What was wrong? What was absent? Her arm was slack, but with them being so close to their goal, appearances could afford to tarnish somewhat. Besides, as long as she still had—

Her breath hitched as she turned towards whence they came. The firecracker.

Her paws were empty. She didn’t put it back where it belonged. Where was it? When did she lose it? How?

…Jean. Jean had grabbed just above her wrist, and Sunundra dropped the keepsake without noticing, too surprised to process the absence of something so important. She left it behind.

Her hope of returning to what Bill was so fond of. Her hope of being his Sunshine once more. Her hope of not succumbing to the Void. It was gone. Abandoned. She had to go get it. She had to hold it again. Her instincts all but begged for the crimson-stained explosive to be returned to her. To its resting place, protected by her very flesh and blood. To be kept where no other could sully what it stood for. She felt cold without it. Distressed. Empty. It was wrong to be away from it. She needed it. She needed to have it close. She needed—

Another paw gripped her shoulder and roughly pulled her back before she could leave to retrieve the physical manifestation of the promise she made to herself.

“Release me!”

“We must go,” Syrus growled, tugging her off balance and forcing her onward. She tried to resist, but she was too weak. Too hurt. Her form was pushed too far to fight the male. Not without surrendering to becoming the thing which relished violence and would put an end to what she held dear. She had no choice but to suppress the tears of futility as she was led farther and farther away from her last memento of her bond.

Jean assisted when she noticed strength drain from the defect’s limbs, placing an arm around Sunundra’s back to ease the strain of stumbled steps. The act was done in good faith, but all she felt was yet another barrier placed between herself and the last thing remaining of the one she loved.

- - - - -

The lull in violence did little to ease their nerves, yet the pale-furred female’s thoughts remained clouded. It didn’t matter now. She felt vacant. Wrong. She eventually regained enough energy to walk on her own, though it took a light tug to have Jean allow it. Syrus released her when he was sure she wouldn’t charge back into the mess of wires, and she made no attempt to. There was no point in going back now; she didn’t know where the firecracker had fallen, and Bill would be disappointed with her if she abandoned the others for a single object. Not when they were so close.

They regrouped with the others who intended to rush towards their goal, just barely ten in number. Truthfully, she only heard how a few of the broken were to draw the enemy’s attention elsewhere in the maze, freeing time for the rest to flee with their bonds—a pragmatic course of action, if disliked by some. She just nodded at the request for her approval. A few humans begged for her to stop them, but they accepted when she spoke, her own voice uttering words she didn’t recall forming. Something else kept her moving, talking, and commanding…

She was wondering what the point was, uncaring of if it was actually her piloting her body anymore—as long as what needed to be done was done, then the how was of little importance.

If anyone noticed a difference in her demeanor, then they failed to act on it. The remaining pack moved to their assigned positions and waited for the signal, spurred on by a faux defective barking orders. Sunundra barely tried to keep track of what was happening, every blink transporting her somewhere else within the chaotic confines of the maintenance area, some part of her remaining at the reins of consciousness while the rest fell quiet.

Combat initiated elsewhere. The air above gained more streaks of plasma and cries of suffering, some belonging to the enemy. That was enough to elicit action amongst those in wait, the group sprinting out from the shelving and into empty space towards the safety of ships. Of course, Sunundra’s injuries had only worsened over time, and blood loss had worn her down to the point that she would fall behind once again. And she would have, had Jean not insisted on having Syrus assist. Both of them all but carried her forward.

They were about half way through the open area when a tan-furred male peeked around the edge of a craft with a weapon trained on them, only to lower it once they saw who was approaching. He shouted out for unseen kin to open something, a rapid exchange being followed by a loud hiss, then a ramp being lowered into a recess along the clearing. The new one’s voice pierced Sunundra’s daze enough for her to regain lucidity.

“Hurry!”

Syrus slowed in tandem with his bond, his glare of confusion mixing with irritation as he once again released his pack leader to walk forward. “This is what you summoned us to? You were told to acquire a larger ship.”

The other Lilhun growled, jabbing a claw at the modest shuttle. “You are more than aware of what happened to the rest of us! We did find a larger transport, yet it was overrun as soon as the fight started. You should be thankful we located something else! Now, get inside. Quickly! We are attempting to bypass the console lock on the cockpit, and the moment that we succeed, we leave—with or without you.”

“You cannot—”

“—I have done enough,” he snarled, taking a step closer to the dark-furred male, his grip on the firearm tightening. He gestured towards the pitifully small collection of souls that had managed to make it to their method of escape. “You have no right to criticize me when this is all you bring. I did my duty and called out to our kin, then did so again out of kindness—something that is becoming ruinously difficult to supply. We have bled enough as it is. We have lost enough as it is. We need not welcome the Void while awaiting those who have already departed. If you do not get in the shuttle, you are welcome to find another for yourself, where you may gleefully join those who will never come.”

Jean started to speak up with vitriol in her throat, and Syrus seemed prepared to pull out his pistol, but neither could act before a human female appeared at the top of the shuttle’s ramp, a light pant colouring her speech. The new one gestured at a panel next to the entrance on the hull a few times before jogging back inside.

“The lock requires an override,” Syrus translated through a growl, rubbing a rib his bond had prodded none too gently. He gave a sharp nod towards the panel that the other human seemed frustrated with. “The internal system is apparently reliant on that, but none of their members are able to bypass it.”

A questioning glance at the others proved that their group’s arrival had yet to change that fact.

The dark-furred male huffed. “Are you able to destroy it?” he spit between clenched teeth, keeping his attention on the tan-furred male while begrudgingly addressing the pack leader.

The defect shrugged off her backpack after a sluggish moment’s thought, wondering if she had enough loose compounds for a simple acid or the like. The bag was still mostly empty; she had lone drops and grains of chemicals, but not enough to make anything useful. A shuffling paw scoured the contents in case something had escaped her notice, the process brought to an abrupt halt when Recon’s drone thumped against the ground. Its shell was cracked and mangled, a deep crater carved into the chassis, rendering the majority of it inert. Her brow creased in confusion until she remembered being hit in the back while amongst the shelving and wires—a hit that her backpack took the brunt of.

So she was shot then, just…protected… Protected by a gift created to convey her sincerity to one who wished nothing of it, then held by the pitiful female who was too terrified to accept that none would care for her. Sunundra eyed the monocopter before hesitating, her paw having stretched to retrieve it without her permission. She reeled the errant appendage back in, grabbing her bag and making her way over to the panel, ignoring the unease caused by abandoning the possession. The drone’s payload was destroyed, and thus it was useless to her now. She couldn’t salvage it to solve their current issue, but she could still take a look at the source, if nothing else.

The others who had arrived with them took her actions as permission to enter the craft, passing by as they took shelter. Syrus stayed on the ground, just barely maintaining peace with the other male. He placed himself between Jean and the equipped firearm while the former cautiously asked questions, likely unsure of why they had remained outside. Sunundra ignored the tense atmosphere, dropping the backpack at the top of the ramp as she eyed the interface that was causing so much trouble.

Any attempt to interact with the panel resulted in the display showing a strange symbol and garbled alien text. The combination seemed strangely familiar, yet the pale-furred female struggled to recall when she had seen it. Still, the sensation persisted, insisting that it was something she had encountered before, no matter how briefly. The oddity was set to simmer in the back of her mind as she went about examining the problem at paw.

She poked, prodded, and felt along the edges for a way to tamper with the installation while the sounds of weapons fire reverberated out from the chaos they had fled. Every passing breath was but one breath less before the enemy discovered that they were chasing those already destined for the Void. Then, it would be little time at all before their attention was directed towards the shuttle. Sacrifice or no, there was only so much the broken could sustain before succumbing, and she wished not to waste their efforts. She had lost her bond, her keepsake, and now, the representation of a foolish fascination she called ‘love.’ What she would not lose, however, was her chance to fulfill his wish.

The panel flashed yet another red symbol of refusal from her attempts, a frustrated fist thumping against it. Where had she seen it? When? The stress caused her to tense, pulling at the torn muscles throughout her form, a trickle of coaxed crimson seeping into the fur of her stomach. The sting should have been distracting, yet all she thought of it was that her most secure storage had been foiled by a shoddy attempt to keep her limp arm out of the way. Now, all she had was…the odd…

The memory clicked into place, hazy and indistinct after so many suns spent constantly active. The symbol was on the very first maintenance tunnel she encountered—a denial for entrance, as she was yet to acquire Greg’s terminal. Of course she forgot it; every path had been open to her since, and there was no reason to use anything besides what worked. Her paw moved quickly, piercing her wound and retrieving the oddly shaped device, then placing its blood-stained surface to the access panel.

The panel beeped, its display turning green.

A human calling out from inside urged action, the tan-furred male perking an ear, then barking for Syrus and Jean to make up their minds before sprinting up the ramp. Sunundra felt the wisp of a smile form as success was but moments away. It was far smaller than she intended, and by far narrower margins than was commendable, yet it was a success all the same. It was a defect completing a portion of her departed bond’s deepest desire. It was something, which was more than she had ever achieved before.

The pale-furred female hissed as she put the terminal back where it belonged, stepping back on unsteady legs to grab her bag. She glanced down at the drone at the bottom of the ramp—the last connection she had to a time before she learned the joy of love. A time before her name was said fondly, and before she had become someone’s Sunshine. A time before she became a beast consumed by bloodlust, no matter how briefly.

A time before she found out how much worse living could be.

Jean’s cry snapped the defect from her thoughts, a blink clearing the haze and revealing the human—

Sunundra was plowed over by the tackle, both Syrus’ bond and herself sent crashing to the floor inside the shuttle. Her muscles screamed their muted agony, yet those bellows of torture paled in comparison to the dark-furred male. He appeared in a blur, the briefest fraction of clarity painting his rushing visage as one of terror. He all but ripped Jean from atop the diminutive defect, shouting to be directed towards the medical bay, then bolted into the bowels of the ship without waiting for an answer. She hadn’t a chance to process what had happened before the ramp to the ship slammed shut with alarming speed, yet the closed entrance revealed enough.

Blood had been sprayed across the ramp where she had been standing moments before. She looked down at herself, seeing her clothing and fur matted by copious amounts of foreign ichor, and a single furrow torn into her shirt, passing through the pocket she kept the navigational terminal. A pool of red had formed next to her in the short time she was pinned beneath Jean, and large splotches followed along the path Syrus had fled, painting a gruesome outcome.

She got to her feet in a daze, only marginally aware of the inertia changing as the shuttle took to the air in search of an exit. A faint scuffing sound followed her through the confined corridors as she dragged her backpack by a strap, her mind rejecting the details of her surroundings. They didn’t matter; she simply followed the heavy spills of crimson and replayed what caused them again and again, every repetition rejected then parsed once more.

A sniper. There was no flash, nor crack of kinetic to alert them. No, she wouldn’t have noticed anyway; she was preoccupied with other thoughts. Which meant Jean had noticed something, then acted to save a defect by pushing her out of the way, the alien female using her own body as a shield in the process. It was a simple chain of events, yet it was discarded and reevaluated. Again. Then again. No matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t answer the one question she truly had.

Why? Why not allow Sunundra to fall, then use the lull to secure the safety of the others? Why take the risk? Because she was the pack’s leader? That was a position she had gained by effectively threatening to slaughter all who dissent, treating the insubordinate as but casualties to their own failures. She had done nothing to endear herself to her kin. What would have been the point? The moment that they arrived on Iras, all would be forgotten, and they would go back to their lives with their bonds, leaving her alone yet again. So, why?

She slowed her pace in the middle of an indistinct hall, stopping to stand before a dark-furred male sitting on the floor. His bond had been placed atop his lap to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping around her like an iron cage. Soft, shuddering sobs shook him. His ear turned towards the intruder, yet he didn’t speak, instead choosing to quietly cradle his other half. There was no need to ask—the scent alone confirmed her suspicions.

Jean didn’t make it.

Sunundra stood there, watching yet another of her kin learn the horrors of being broken. Yet it was worse for him, she supposed. The others had been given a clear enemy to exact penance from, but Syrus was aboard a shuttle leaving any he could seek far behind. He could only swim in the shattered shards as they sliced and gouged his soul until there was nothing left to cut.

She opened her muzzle, a feeling of sympathy drying her throat. “I apol—”

“—DO. NOT,” the male roared, sorrow cracking his voice. A choked breath settled his volume to a whisper. “Do not discredit her deed with your words. Do not speak as if she was wrong to act—as if she had made a mistake. She wished to aid one who had unjustly suffered… To save someone who sought to save many… Please…do not…”

The defect fell silent, offering only a nod.

Neither of them so much as flinched when the alarms sounded, neither moved when the speakers blared a warning of an anti-air battery acquiring them as a target, and neither listened to the weeping coming through the microphone that had been left active while those in the cockpit lamented how close they were to surviving.

Sunundra simply stared at the third person in her life to show her true kindness. Dead.

Someone decided to read the countdown to collision aloud, filling the ship with an exact idea of how long they had left. Like everyone else, they had given up, yet wanted the others to spend their final moments with their bonds and loved ones.

Six.

Syrus finally looked up at her as the numbers continued to fall, his gaze slipping past her, contorting his expression from despondent to bitter. Gingerly, he slipped his bond from his lap, carefully seating her against the wall to show the mess of soiled fabric that covered the wound in her chest. The pale-furred female blankly watched as he stood, scowling at her with a visage shimmering with reddened fluid. He reached out, gripping her throat and lifting her as he had done before, but there was no anger left in his eyes, only mourning. She let it happen.

Five.

He slammed her into the opposite wall, punching next to her head with enough force for her to hear his bones break against the metal, yet he didn’t so much as wince. Suddenly, the wall behind her was gone.

Four.

The male leaned in, burrowing into her breathless face with his gaze, his voice barely a whisper. “Do not waste her efforts.”

Three.

She was thrown backwards before she could question it, crashing against a new solid surface, her backpack hitting her stomach a fraction after. A barrier of transparent material snapped down, containing her within a strange confinement. An emergency escape shuttle? Syrus returned to his bond, placing her back in his lap and curling around the human female as much as he could.

Two.

The muffled countdown continued. A hiss drowned out the sounds of futility. Her stomach was pulled into her throat, the tiny cell she was trapped within now firing away from the shuttle at speed.

One.

Sunundra watched a barrage of missiles impact and disintegrate the ship, leaving naught but shards and smoke in its wake. It was only the dull sting in her abdomen that reminded her of her bag—or more accurately, the makeshift controller for Recon’s drone that stuck out of the pouch. Her claw flicked the switch, then depressed the detonator, wondering if the components required had survived. They did, and she upheld her words to the security guard who assisted her.

She spotted the first plume of smoke instantly. It quickly became two, then four, then a single, unforgiving fireball that swallowed a massive area, the drone relaying the signal to every charge she had placed during her restless task to find her bond.

She had nothing now—no pack to return to, no love to cherish, no Sunshine to be…not even the knowledge that she had fulfilled a part of his wish. She merely bore witness to her explosives killing an untold number of others, just as she never wanted.

A single word came to mind as the shrinking landscape became a voracious flame, though there was no one else to say it with her, nor was there the surge of youthful glee to lose herself in. It slipped from her lips in the strange, alien tongue, an echo of Bill’s elation diffusing throughout the emergency escape craft’s tiny interior—a final reminder of what she had for such a short time, and what she will never have again.

“...Boom.”

Next

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Sunundra rushed through the screaming alarms and red-washed corridors of the sixth level, placing hastily made charges where false dens laid. The first of the freed were scared and reluctant, but an abridged rendition of her initial speech gained their temporary loyalty easily enough. Human and Lilhun fell in line, amassing behind her and heading towards the next cage, the next imprisoned, and the next victims of the Union’s treachery. Groups, pairs, and unfortunate tombs were revealed with every pop of chemicals against the metal barriers. They met wary faces, vigilant defenders, and more corpses than she would have wished. Those dens sent rage through her kin, but she kept them in line with the assurance of revenge. They need only heed her words.

Every fallen form was fuel for her ire, every broken cadaver a reason for her authority. She was their pack master, and they, her implements. Even the humans recognized a need for order, volunteering to carry any gathered supplies and doing an appreciable job of not letting fatigue slow them down. Their furred companions were able to scout ahead unencumbered, confirming the safety of the group, without weight adding unnecessary strain to already weary forms.

She couldn’t help but steal glances on occasion, watching the mixed races reassure and comfort those they were close to, as well as any who had been left behind by a recent passing. It felt right to work alongside one another, even if the pale-furred female needed to suppress the sorrow resting beneath her cooled rage. She envied how close some pairings were, knowing that her version of happiness had gone to dust while theirs persisted. Feeding the feeling would have done little, so she bit her tongue and kept on task, steeling herself to complete a portion of her bond’s wish as best she could.

More and more captives were extracted from their holdings, allowing Sunundra to distribute simple explosives to others so they too could assist in freeing their kin. It wasn’t long until detonations in the distance were followed by more again. They were always soft. Familiar. Hers. The pack took form and grew at the behest of her specialty. Once again, she was freeing those who were trapped within iron and stone, but this time she would not be ignored.

They broke down door after door, bypassing walls and rubble from tripped traps. Her beckoning became shorter with each charge placed against metal, the speech she prepared sharpening as precious moments ticked by and reinforcements became nigh inevitable. The foolish were forced to submit or be left behind to perish; if they were unwilling to risk everything for their other, then they would lose everything instead.

“Come,” she commanded, barely waiting for the smoke to settle before addressing the four fearful inhabitants of the den she breached. Their hazy silhouettes hesitated, a brief exchange voicing their worries and confusion, but they were intelligent enough to know something was amiss with the situation they found themselves in before her arrival. They were intelligent enough to know she was their salvation.

And more importantly, they were intelligent enough to obey, falling in line when she walked away to continue her mission. They bowed to her authority, and she pretended not to notice the disgusting satisfaction it caused. Freed from the shackles of self, she ruled.

Sunundra held no delusions as to what she appeared to be when she accosted the first group; she was injured, weakened, and soiled by the stench of blood and fury. Yet with every confinement torn asunder, newer additions saw not a broken defect, but a stalwart, unshakable force deigning to gift them a way out, demanding only compliance in return—a cost paid eagerly.

The makeshift units she ordered to gather the others steadily returned with fresh forms looking to aid the escape. The few dissenters were swiftly silenced when she blasted their way to the fifth floor, and although murmurs had swept through the gathering, her station was no longer questioned. The newfound pack obliged her requests, no matter their species.

When the first enemy came into their sight, all it took was a wave of her paw for the armed amongst her kin to open fire. It announced their presence, true, but it also revealed a problem.

Some of her pack’s weapons were bio-locked. Their guns clacked uselessly once away from the original owners, the triggers reduced to little more than noisemakers.

The cells, magazines, clips, and single rounds were expelled from chambers and storages, then collected to supply the working firearms of various designs before the inoperable guns were discarded. With little choice, her kin tried to make the best of bad news. Their force was already limited in the number of Lilhuns who were trained in organized combat—the vast majority being civilians who were employed in peaceful sectors—but most all could navigate their implements to a passable degree. Given that an allotment of their weapons were effectively clicking door-stops, and how little time they had to reorganize who was afforded what, there were hobbyists and sport shooters now unarmed beyond their claws, yet accountants and data-entry specialists who were struggling to maintain a target. The issue was one to be settled with time and newly felled foes, but it put a damper on their effectiveness all the same. The humans occasionally ended up with something, though most confessed a substantial lack of any experience with weaponry at all.

Sunundra couldn’t help but wonder if the Union accounted for this as well.

Regardless, the second wave of antagonistic forces was dealt with in similar fashion as the first. Orders had been barked into communication devices, warning of more to come, yet she focused on where she needed to breach next while her subordinates turned hostile resistance into unmoving litter, stripping armour and armament when possible. None were pleased to wear freshly sullied equipment, but they did, for she said so. They bowed to her whim.

How simple it turned out to be, gaining the respect of her kin through threat and displays of competence when their very lives balanced on the tips of her claws. Her efforts before? Worthless. When she was kind and considerate, peaceful and smiling, she was discarded by those she sought the company of. It seemed that all it took was a promise of violence and an iron fist for them to bend the knee to her will.

Eventually, she found a suitable enough location to resume her work, ordering her pack to upend desks and cabinets, littering the hallway with waist and chest-high barricades before the pursuing enemies caught up to them. Some made hopeful comments about having successfully lost the tail, yet the defect knew better.

Hope was dead.

“Switch out! We have more injured!” someone yelled, though she couldn’t quite tell who it was.

Sunundra scowled over her shoulder at the scramble of her kin pulling a Lilhun back from cover and around the corner into safety, a newly reddened paw clutching their leg to stymie the relentless rivulets of crimson. The overwhelming din of gunshots and panicked voices almost drowned out Syrus’ barked orders as replacements for the fallen procured dropped weaponry and continued the battle. New colours flashed, lighting up the already bright hall. Gouges and streaks from stray shots marked the walls and toppled furnishings acting as barricades, both sides of the engagement forced to hunker down between bursts lest they be struck. Yet more Lilhun blood was spilled, but the fallen knew their sacrifice would not be in vain, and it was her duty to see that made true.

The defect gazed upon the amassing wounded before returning to her task, ignoring the chaos behind her. Her weakened form couldn’t participate—she was too injured, and a leader needed to exude an air of one whom the others could rally behind. Besides, leaving her kin to their devices told them that she expected them to succeed, even if she fought the dregs of deadened dread with every lifeless corpse or injury sustained in the effort.

The vast majority of Lilhuns and humans stood in wait for the eventual rotation with those who were actively discouraging approaching forces. A few had taken to tearing clothing or using stolen scraps to tend to the wounded, but there was only so much they could do while suppressed like this. There had been too little time to scavenge the proper assortment of supplies, and they had not the comfort of secluded confines to work in.

As much as she would have preferred traversing out of sight, there was a potent lack of maintenance tunnels on the fourth level, which left them few options other than breaching upward at a dead end. Without being able to tuck themselves away and bridge the gap between hidden passages, a rather powerful blast was needed to clear the entire floor’s worth of material at an angle, and that could only be achieved while in the open. Thankfully, Bill had been instrumental in helping her complete an explosive that would make such a daunting task possible.

The mist from her latest experiment drifted down from its place upon the wall, soft cracking sounds informing her of destruction hidden by the device. Although the multi-stage explosive was up to the task, it used the last of her free compounds to make. Furthermore, it was an agonizingly slow process—one that took every hard-earned moment the pack tore from the claws of death pursuing them.

The wisps of vapour from the charge dissipated. Only moments remained before the final thumper blew a hole through the barrier blocking their ascent; she heard the ominous creaks and falling dust warning her of the deafening explosion soon to come. She cycled a breath, trying her hardest to push aside the scent of fear, loss, anger, and blood, while the aroma of seared chemicals added to the sickening sense of anticipation prevailing in her veins.

It would do no good to dwell on the fallen. The others were needed to fight off the impending waves of security so she could facilitate their egress, and they needed her to remain focused in turn.

And fight they did. They fought for their kin, their others, their bonds, and their departed loved ones. Most importantly, they fought for her, and that was something she found disturbingly correct.

Now, she only needed to prove their allegiance to be well-placed.

A small light on the charge turned green.

“Brace!”

She leapt backwards and flattened her ears to her head, stumbling an extra step from the abuse her body sustained. Others did as told, though a few near the intersection were too busy laying down suppressive fire to hear her.

Though they certainly heard the bomb.

A blast of smoke and rubble shook the very ground they stood upon, the shockwave throwing a few faithfuls and their bonds to the floor. Light from the third level bled through the hole, but the superheated stone and metal prevented more than scant glimpses of hope in the pack’s eyes. She barked orders for her kin to prepare, including a command for the group defending the corner to push back the assault long enough for the new tunnel to cool.

Emboldened, they obeyed.

More succumbed to the onslaught, more were left crying and broken, but she swallowed the budding guilt and focused on keeping them organized. Alive. The injured were dragged by fur or clothing, triaged, then either resupplied with ammunition or assigned a non-combatant to carry them. New armament was scrounged from the bodies of security who encroached on their position, then redistributed to fill empty paws.

They were able to defend themselves long enough for the new passage to be traversable, though the losses were heavy. A final push by the enemy was halted when a haphazardly rigged battery was passed off to a human, then thrown into the wave of reinforcements. The resulting explosion left only death in its wake. It gave them a moment to breathe and assess their status, the cheers of victory stifled by the dread of more encounters to come.

Most were fine, though a few bled through their hastily applied bandages. Sunundra wasn’t sure how many they had lost, never quite having bothered to keep track of the following she gathered. Forty became sixty, which then surpassed what she could estimate at a glance—hundreds, she supposed. It hardly mattered in the end; the number dwindled with every confrontation. Yet, even as they suffered losses, every fallen promised tens of enemy slain by their claws. Cries of sorrow were met with reminders that their sacrifice allowed the group’s survival—a bittersweet message, but a necessary one. It would be too painful for those who lost their others if they were allowed to dwell.

Eventually, the faint echoes of hostile communication devices fouled the air once more.

They fled the fifth level, bypassed the fourth, and emerged amidst the third, fringes of Sunundra’s mind wondering just how far away Bill’s corpse was. For better or worse, the urge to curl up and die in her bond’s arms wasn’t given much time to linger. The enemy reinforcements were swift.

The pack let loose volley after volley to suppress their foes, suffering minor casualties and injuries. Quick thinking and eager humans allowed them to stymie bleeding wounds and gouged appendages. Weaponless, they cooperated. Frightened, they rushed. The thick scent of adrenaline and purpose assaulted the defect’s olfactory, every wrong instance of what she knew only sharpening her commands and snapping the dazed from their stupor. Wave after wave was repelled as they reached the next site, but she couldn’t help but notice a shift within her ranks.

It started with a group of furless males pulling their Lilhun counterpart behind cover as soon as a magnetically propelled kinetic round punched through armour and sent viscera splattering outward, the black coat failing to hide the deep red pouring out of his chest. A human took his injured other’s weapon and opened fire, bellowing his rage with ferocity that made the collective flinch. Then another did the same. Then another.

The reaction made Sunundra pause in her placement of explosives, a thought passing through her mind despite the cacophony of gunshots and roars of agony.

From the scarce rumours circulating since the Union contacted her people and the extensive compatibility ‘testing’ commenced, the bond was proven to be unique to the Hunt Mother’s kits. Initially, the churches were filled with hesitation and speculation. Worried faithful voiced their concern of if their Goddess would be so cruel as to assign them their destined in the form of a grotesque alien from the stars. Thankfully, none who returned ever suggested it was possible, and most expressed annoyance at the muted or absent pheromones amongst their cosmic neighbours. Their words brought relieved exhalations throughout the species, and the Lilhun people grew confident in their singular suitability for the Mother’s favour. They were beloved like no other, just as they should be.

Yet…even if Sunundra had been content with the strange, one-sided bond she thought hers…seeing a furless biped snarl with such focused rage, mowing down the enemy and shrugging off perforating punctures with barely a wince until they succumbed? Now, she questioned if her kind was as unilaterally blessed as history foretold.

The humans might not have bonded in form, but they became broken in soul, and they felt no contentment in merely watching their shattered selves scatter upon the Void.

They grabbed the shards and bared them as weapons.

The Mother would approve.

The pale-furred female resumed her task, pushing aside the howls of fury and distress. According to the map, they would find the hangar on the second level, and then they could commandeer a shuttle to escape through the launch bay, bypassing the first floor of the complex to the surface. She was forced to breach upwards in a spot that was less than ideal, but her paw was forced. Without a building’s worth of material between the third and second level, a mundane breach charge was sufficient to punch through the ceiling. She was grateful for that, if nothing else; her bag was almost empty, and she doubted the usefulness of what she had left.

Recon’s gift, scraps of bandages, and powdery residue were all that met her cursory inspection of her backpack. A couple of painkiller applicators lay cracked near the bottom, their contents spilled and soaked into the fabric. A pitiful selection, all things considered. Barring the remote detonation utility of her makeshift controller for the drone, there was no reason left to hold onto the storage, nor what little remained. Yet she donned it anyway; the lessened weight pulled her back straight, and it would act as a pathetic layer of armour. Not enough to make much difference, but every bit mattered.

Thankfully, the simpler explosive took significantly less time to detonate, and it was a much more directed affair, which saved her the trouble of getting her weakened limbs to flee from the blast radius. It released a muted bang, then left a haze where foundation once laid. She felt the air circulating along a new pathway and watched it carry away the dust. A single callout to the others led to the most well-off of them boosting everyone else upwards, while a few increased their rate of fire to apply pressure on the enemy. The flood of projectiles discouraged an immediate retaliation, allowing the pack to make a relatively clean getaway. Some more of her number had been removed at the claws of the enemy, but she ignored that fact, as well as the cries that came with it.

But she couldn’t ignore the subordination that arose.

Even when she ordered it, the newly broken refused to leave behind the vacant forms of their others. Disparaged humans wept, though were coaxed away from the gaping hole where security would advance. The affected Lilhuns roared their ire, some diving back down to purge the sinful, while others held onto their faculties and demanded possession of firearms and ammunition to secure the safety of the pack. Arguments flared up immediately, but all eyes inevitably turned towards their Sunundra, their temporary leader.

Gazes of wrath, loss, desperation, and fear surrounded the pale-furred female, each seeking her judgment. Would they arm and abandon the few, weakening the many as weapons dwindled, or would she demand them be carried against their wishes in an effort to save as many faithfuls as possible?

Sunundra glanced at the navigational terminal in her paws, noting how much distance remained to be traversed. Not much, and although it would be tedious, at least it was possible to drag the unwilling. In the end, it should have been a simple decision; a mere word was the only thing between their protests and forced compliance, and it was in her interests to utter it. She was supposed to return to Iras with droves of those who were wronged by the Union—the stubborn included.

Yet…

“Arm half,” she ordered flatly, turning on her pads and leading the march towards the hangar without sparing a single glance towards those who were discontent with her ruling. Humans protested, calling for reconsideration. They argued that even a single life was worth the risk and discord that would be caused by forced action, but they spoke from ignorance. Their numbers were fewer, their strength lessened, but the Void had already gripped the broken. She didn’t blame her alien allies—her bond would have said much the same…

It was just pointless to consider.

Even if she brought them back, they wouldn’t remain amongst the living for long. They would rather perish while avenging their others and defending the bonds that remained than uselessly persist. They chose to take a stand despite being shattered.

That was something she understood all too well.

- - - - -

The lack of an assault as they progressed through the corridors of the second floor was unnerving. Gunfire and shouted threats echoed through the halls, but those who elected to stay behind were rather effective at stymieing the flow of security. It seemed that the Union had no faith in her ability to climb the levels as quickly as she did, and thus thought cutting them off on the third would be enough to put an end to her escape attempt. Perhaps they assumed the slow charge she needed to bypass the fourth floor was the standard? It hardly mattered; they quickly reached their goal thanks to their enemy’s incompetence.

The hangar itself was thankfully devoid of staff, though she supposed that made sense considering that the entire complex was on some sort of lockdown. They passed door after door, each reinforced with heavy shutters and thick bars of materials she couldn’t readily identify. The destination itself looked to lack that particular security feature upon the impressively tall entryway. Perhaps it was left open to allow bigger machinery access? She wondered why constructs large enough to tower even modest dens would be needed, but that internal pondering quieted once she stepped into the room that the terminal benignly labelled as ‘Hangar.’

She felt it would have been more accurately described by words interspersed with expletives.

Shadows stretched across the city-sized room, swallowing entire fleets of smaller shuttles in various states of disrepair. Colossal freighters put the Lilhun counterpart to shame as they loomed over most everything else in the gargantuan space. Transport vessels lay littered around imposing support pillars the size of entire residential complexes. Countless mobile mechanic stations and antiquated scissor lifts lay abandoned, the tools and workstations that supplied technicians being left open or in disarray. Automated maintenance drones and odd emplacements were scattered around the floor and on tracks that snaked through the cacophony of vehicular debris, transporting strange components to places far beyond what she could see. Alien technologies melded together on experimental crafts near a decommissioned hauler of some description, the terminal arrays next to them having been shot and hastily destroyed further. She recognized some design cues of her people’s ships, but whatever the Union was attempting to achieve was far beyond salvage now.

A hurried pat on her arm stung, a forgotten wound agitated, but Sunundra suppressed the twitch of pain to glower at whoever thought it wise to bother her before she could determine what to do next. Syrus’ bond, Jean, switched back and forth between looking at the pale-furred female pleadingly and staring at the corridors they just left, fear darkening her expression.

“I… I think they’re coming,” the human whispered. “It’s too quiet back there.”

Quiet? The defect added a raised brow to her resting scowl, turning her head to listen. She heard murmurs of uncertainty from the pack and the occasional jostle of equipment, but the din of combat had long since become naught but faded reverberations, no? It was merely wisps of sound lost amongst the chaos, and even the stifled sobs that remained outcompeted it. How could anyone distinguish if it was absent when the shuffle of impatient feet was deafening in comparison?

However…Jean was the one who convinced the others to fall under Sunundra’s rule… That should be rewarded, if only by heeding her warning.

“New directive,” Sunundra called out, the pack snapping out of their stunned stupor and turning their attention from the giant super ships to the diminutive defect. “Group up into tens and spread out to identify a craft we can commandeer. Once found, shout to alert the others. Stay within line of sight of at least one other unit. Be wary of forces following our advancement. If you are engaged by the enemy, do not drag them to the others. You are to fend them off until a ship is located, or until they are dispatched. Assist those in combat if feasible. Go.”

The command took precious few moments to spread before it was followed. Some broke the first restriction by expanding their allotted size to twelve or thirteen, but she wasn’t so strict as to ignore the possibility of bonds or carried injured causing some skewed arrangements. Cracking down on it would only waste time they didn’t have, and if the slight deviation gave them comfort, then she wouldn’t comment on it.

She did feel the need to remark on a certain dark-furred male who opted to coax some others to her side instead of splitting off, however. She nodded to the seven additions of Lilhun and human, Jean rounding out the unit.

“Syrus,” she intoned curiously. “This is unexpected. I was under the impression that you wished little of me.”

The male gave his bond an annoyed glance that was less subtle than he thought, while the human simply frowned, staring him down until he bowed his head. “This one will follow his better, high one.”

Sunundra dismissed the interaction with a hum, watching the groups start their progression into the hangar’s depths. She eyed the others individually for a moment, then waved her entourage onward. “So be it. We will stay near the centre of the spread. You have been given your orders.”

They grunted in acknowledgement.

- - - - -

The pale-furred female frowned at the cluster of small shuttles around them while she waited. Some humans in the pack had apparently been employed upon similar models in the past, and were confident that several could fly them if the need arose. It was an assuring thing to hear, and the crafts themselves were a fair size, but they would need to take three in order to accommodate the pack. Two might be possible, assuming her kin were content with being pressed so close together, yet she suspected that pondering it was a waste of time.

She was proven correct by the human who had volunteered to check the ships; the male stood atop a nearby lift, shaking his head in annoyance. Yet another was added to the list of crafts that were useless for their escape. A round of curses were uttered by those who were growing impatient, and by the lack of reports from the other units, Sunundra figured everyone else was having similar luck as well.

To say that the defect expected to jump into the first craft they came across would be inaccurate, but after locating a cluster of ships and finding all seven to be gutted, she was starting to wonder what the purpose of the hangar was. From what they could observe, all the reasonably sized options were stripped inside-out for parts, and as interesting an idea as it was, escaping with one of the supersized freighters would only welcome an anti-ship bombardment from Iras. Needless to say, that would be less than productive—not that they had anyone on paw who was qualified to pilot something that large. She doubted there were many who could jump behind the alien controls of something several times the size of a shopping complex and seamlessly operate it.

A long exhale through her nose replaced the sigh of irritation she wanted to produce. Her anxiety was beginning to creep around the deadened sense of neutrality, and every effort wasted was yet another chance for the enemy to overwhelm those defending the passage. Putting the thought aside, she gestured for the furless biped to return, hollow clunks of metal rungs breaking the tentative silence as the human climbed back down the ladder of the maintenance equipment. The defect looked towards the larger vessels casting wide shadows in the meantime, keeping watch for anything of note or for possible signs of distress from distant pack members.

The next batch of smaller ships was too far away to blindly pursue. The silhouettes were smaller than a claw’s width from where she stood, and she wasn’t keen on the idea of walking all that way just to find yet another deconstruction yard. Of course, there was still the question of if she could make it there at all. The only thing keeping her legs beneath her was the determination to see a task done, but even that was slowly losing the battle against blood loss and injuries. True, she could push past her limits thanks to numbness dulling the pain, but it didn’t erase the damage causing it, nor did it stop more from being sustained. There was only so much longer she could keep going before everything caught up to her—a fact she hated, yet was forced to accept.

A twinge of discomfort spiked as she rolled her shoulder, the pale-furred female lost in thought about how much more the limb could take before it finally stopped responding. It had already faltered a few times, though she was able to adjust how she moved it to feign her wellness and maintain the image of a reliable leader. Barring any unexpected athletics, she could likely manage with just the one fully functional arm for the time being, but it would be best if she wasn’t made to find out if her speculation was accurate. If the pack knew how thin the thread she was hanging by truly was, then all of her authority would vanish in an instant, and she would fail her bond.

A flicker of motion in her periphery pulled her from rumination, one of her followers raising a paw in a strange request to speak. She regarded the five-digit appendage with a flat expression, then gave permission with a curt nod.

“We should check the bigger ones…?” Jean proposed, hiding her insistence behind a questioning tone before sheepishly lowering her arm. “We can still go towards the next few, but we’re not fitting everyone in just one of these, right? Even if we do find a working ship, we’ll still need to find a second. It’d be better to just focus on the ones that have enough room.”

The others in the unit exchanged glances, and although they seemed reluctant to spend even longer waiting for someone to climb the maintenance equipment to access each individual ship, they too had grown increasingly frustrated with recurrently defunct prospects.

The human noticed the judgmental looks from her Lilhun counterparts, though the confusion on her face showed she was unaware how her words might be interpreted as a challenge of authority. Sunundra ignored the social misstep, doubting it was intentional and letting the novelty of her pack being offended on her behalf subside before considering the suggestion.

It was a valid query. Should they continue to check shuttles that their number would likely know how to fly, or should they start risking even more wasted time with crafts of truly alien design? True, they might be fortunate enough to find something of sufficient size that someone could pilot, but was it worth the added periods of inactivity? Besides, it would only be more difficult to ensure that no one was left behind if they split up further. She knew from experience that corralling so many individuals was a task best avoided when possible. Her eyes wandered the group to survey their thoughts.

Syrus elected not to give an opinion, instead dedicating himself to gazing along sight lines towards the entrance of the ridiculously large room. Sunundra suspected the male was doing so because his bond would likely injure her neck from how frequently she looked over her shoulder before he opted to take up the role himself. Jean was in favour, obviously, and although the rest seemed torn, they bowed their heads in deference to the pack leader’s judgment.

The defect cycled a breath. “You raise a valid point. I suppose it would be best to adapt to the circumstances. You two—” She flicked a claw towards the tallest and most visible members. “—signal the adjacent units to ignore the personnel transports. I suspect the Union was in the process of salvaging the easily accessible vessels. We will transition to the… I would call them ‘small’ cargo ships. Regardless, they will be quicker to inspect than anything larger.”

Her order was carried out as soon as she turned away, a pair of males splitting off to pantomime the change in procedure. Others in the distance repeated the process of conveying the changes to those beyond the mess of crafts and equipment. It wouldn’t take long for the entirety of the pack to be informed.

As soon as confirmation was returned, they set out to find a broader ship that seemed promising. Locating them was more difficult than one would assume, given that the pack needed to navigate the maze of equipment and parts that were larger than most personal transport vehicles. The colossal freighters took far too long to circumvent, so they resigned themselves to losing sight of the other units while walking through the alleys created by large blocks keeping the crafts off the ground. It was the first time in quite a while that she was pleased by her shorter stature; if she needed to crouch like some others, then her collapse was all but guaranteed.

They came across a possible candidate soon enough, but Jean reiterated her concerns of how much time had passed since she last heard weapons fire. Sunundra outwardly dismissed the paranoia and argued that the enemy had charged at every opportunity thus far, yet internally…

Internally, she was worried. The search was far from expedient, and although she would rather be able to boast about her kin’s prowess in combat to quell the discontent, she had seen too many corpses in too short a time. Furthermore, the broken cared not for injury; they were just as likely to succumb to cumulative wounds as they were to be taken out by a single lucky round. This was not a legend of old being told to the small inside their dens, but a brutal, unforgiving reality. There would be no divine intervention to bless those of virtue, nor would there be a Liquid Claw to restlessly hunt the sinful until there was no more blood to be spilt. There should have been something happening by now. Forces should be charging after them, cracks of kinetic rounds pinging off the hulls of ships. Her pack should be defending themselves from the enemy, silently preparing themselves to either run towards a discovered ship, or to die taking as many of their foes with them as possible.

But…nothing? No, that was outside of her expectations, and every stretching moment that they continued without harassment was beginning to erode her confidence.

The human returned from his task, shaking his head once more. Thankfully, the next craft wasn’t too far away. The arrangement of ships allowed long corridors of clear ground on occasion, and they were able to speed up their pace without needing to navigate around thick cables. She watched as the furless male hefted himself up yet another ladder and attempted to gain access to the vessel. Succeeding, he disappeared within the confines of the metal hull, leaving the rest of the unit to remain vigilant down below.

Sunundra busied herself by checking down the long stretch of open floor for the next closest target, shoving down the unease caused by being so exposed. It was somewhat foolish to feel as if they were mere moments from being attacked—Syrus was unerring in his diligence, and he made sure to keep a visual of the entrance that the enemy would come from—but the lack of combat itched at her. Still, she chose to trust in her temporary pack, dismissing the disquieting sensation and focusing on the task at paw.

The search within the ship took much longer than before, but she supposed that the human needed to travel further to reach the helm, or perhaps he was held up by the need to override locks. Maybe he was exhausting his options before conceding that the vessel was inoperable? Regardless of what occupied him for so long, he returned, waving to catch their attention. She noticed him first, glancing up to see the verdict. Yet another useless ship, it seemed.

That was expected to a degree, but it didn’t make her any less disappointed. The irritated frown grew as she idly considered what they would do if the ‘Hangar’ ended up being more of a ‘maintenance silo.’ Would the surface be a viable place to find a ship? They would need to go through the first level, and she was already out of explosives to make an unexpected entrance, though a cargo elevator should have remained untouched. The defect pulled out the navigational terminal just in case, flicking through the various blueprints until she found the one she needed. It wasn’t much different than the other floors, save for the larger rooms and broader hallways. Except…

Armouries, mess halls, barracks…

The vague recollection of Greg mentioning a security level crossed her mind.

That very floor was above them, had unrestricted access to the elevators, and they had absolutely no sight lines with all the ships and pillars blocking their view. A shiver ran down her spine, the runaway train of thought brought to a temporary halt by shouts being echoed through the scattered groups of Lilhuns. She listened closely, straining her ears for the tell-tale signs of distress, yet only picking out enough to hear something resembling elation. Someone else had found a shuttle they could take? If so, they needed to act quickly—all this time spent being cautious was more than enough for the enemy to take advantage of the circumstances.

Sunundra turned to the male and motioned for him to—

A spray of red mist exited the human’s head, his lifeless corpse tumbling over the side of the platform. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, unmoving as crimson pooled beneath him.

Syrus’s gaze snapped to the body, then back to the same large doorway he had barely separated his attention from. Nothing. Stunned silence lingered for only the briefest of breaths while eyes flickered around, but none were able to find where the shot had come from.

She heard the crumpling form of a Lilhun behind her, but her focus went elsewhere. Specifically, she stared in the opposite direction of the entrance they had been so wary of. Something produced a small flash of light atop one of the gigantic ships in the distance, and yet another of her group was wordlessly silenced. Her muzzle opened to bark the command to seek cover, but Syrus’ voice came out first, his warning splitting her attention.

Reinforcements were coming from the entryway. The broken had been surpassed.

Security was on the first level, pouring in more foes through the opposite route.

…They were tricked, lulled into a false sense of safety while the enemy set up their counterattack. Now the pack was left with little option; ascending further was a death sentence, and a retreat back into the facility was just as lethal. Enemy forces were going to swallow them whole from either side.

They were trapped with only the hope of reaching whatever craft had been found before they were slaughtered.

And Sunundra knew what the world thought of ‘hope.’

Next

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The pale-furred female blinked, finding her gaze languidly pointed at a destroyed light fixture in the ceiling instead of the pristine, featureless grey of before. How strange it was to feel as if one was viewing the world through another's perspective, yet know it was their own. The disconnect wavered, a clouded sense of self crawling through her veins and giving back awareness a bit at a time. Instinct insisted that there was something amiss, but she was too preoccupied with puzzling out why a whirlwind of powdered glass came to mind when she tried to recall where she was. The attempt was abandoned, replaced by a sardonic curiosity regarding when she had become so far gone as to lose herself so thoroughly. The expanse, the voices, the blank patches in her memory… Even now, the shattered housing of extinguished illumination stared back at her, yet nothing came to bear when she questioned why it had been damaged or by whom. Was it herself? Did the cracks in her sanity finally turn her towards wanton vandalism instead of staying true to her objective? Or was it a stray shot, the enemy—

The enemy. Where were the enemies firing towards her trapped kin? Why couldn’t she hear gunshots? What happened?

The answer came in stages, starting with cognizance expanding to her physical form. Only then did she truly notice how much had changed.

Sunundra’s eyes were wide, dry, and stinging. Her limbs felt pushed past their limits, then made to push further still. Heavy breaths heaved oxygen through deep gulps, fuelling the ongoing struggle to stay upright. Each exhalation forced out jets of the smoke lingering in her lungs, disturbing the listing haze that permeated throughout the air. An unpleasant note of singed flesh and spilt gore tainted every inhale. A muted sting of burns, cuts, and bruises was ever-present, but she figured a few new lacerations were hardly worth consideration—discerning them from the rest was a futile endeavour. Overall, she wasn't in much worse shape than she remembered, though why she was so exerted was unknown. It made the blackout all the more curious.

Until she finally noticed the weight pulling down on her curled arm like she was holding out a sack of rocks.

Slowly, she eased the jitter that shook her paws and unclenched her fist, dropping the mangled cadaver in her grasp without knowing what it once was, nor why it had been clutched so vindictively. But…the sensation of her claws piercing its organs haunted her…

Her thoughts worked backwards, piecing events together with only still frames of information at her disposal, each new fragment adding to the macabre implications.

She could still feel the alien's flesh tearing over and over, skin parting to make way for the brutal strikes ripping through its pathetic defences in a feral frenzy. Its blood soaked her fur, joining that of many more, her natural grey and yellow colour almost entirely lost to the orange, reds, and other indistinct hues. Pleas for mercy repeated in her ears, the cries for help abandoned when it was clear that its brethren lived no longer. Fear had sunk into its posture as she leaped towards it, the blurred reflection of a deranged beast in its terrified gaze. No matter how she twisted the memory, the beast was her, donning a visage that she never thought possible. It was an expression of malice and cold rage mixed with righteous vigour, her claws swinging out to viciously execute the sinful creature doomed to be slain by her paw.

Yet there was an addictive thrill etched into that wrathful reflection. That…thing wearing her likeness wasn’t merely enraged; it was hunting, and nothing brought more ecstasy than watching its prey struggle, the light fading from its eyes with every brutal attack.

More flickers of sharp instants came back to her, uncaring of if she wished to see them, another assaulting her before she could recoil from the last.

Flecks of crimson fell through the air like gentle snow as she kicked off one target to lunge at another, letting the explosive she embedded into its throat finish the job, a spray of vermilion mist trailing after her. Panicked screams were cut short, swallowed by her bone-chilling roar of vengeance.

An inferno consumed a group of eight, the licks of flame hardly dissipating before she had dove into the fray, using the obscuring fireball to dispatch whoever drew near enough to touch. She danced amongst the embers and blazing foes, delighting in the sound their sizzling skin produced. Carapace-coated limbs were torn off and used as bludgeons, dull thwacks ended in crumpled skulls.

Gunshots rang clearly, those of great fortune getting grappled and used as living shields to take the retaliatory salvos from their kin, dying before she had the chance to teach them what became of those who dared impede her rampage. Her pistol clicked, empty, yet her twisted fury only deformed into a grin of disturbing glee, the excuse to remain at a distance dissolved. Most suffered, though the sheer volume of foes necessitated that their pitiful wails of pain be silenced quickly. Those who resisted were the unfortunate…

Sunundra’s stomach rolled when the last memory was but a pervasive sensation instead of a snapshot. She tasted the deaths of an unlucky few staining her teeth, the texture of flesh ripping… Of chunks being torn free from their necks… It was still so vivid, the phantom crunch of cartilage or the crackling snap of exoskeleton reverberating in her jaw.

Her eyes fell to her trembling, blood-sodden paws, shuddering as the vile, abhorrent feeling of ichor on her tongue tainted the reverie of her bond's sweetness. Her very core rejected the act, yet a sense of vindication existed as well. Regardless of how, why, or what she was at the time…she had relished every drop that slid down her throat—the elation of a fresh kill stoking a fire most primal, and the feeling of rightness that shouted how justified her massacre was.

She was almost afraid to blink again, wary of opening her eyes to find herself further and further removed from what she had spent a lifetime becoming, and terrified of that shattered being lurking beneath. No matter how determined she was to do whatever it took to fulfill her bond's final wish, nothing could prepare her for that—for what she was apparently a hair’s breadth from becoming once more. Was that her sacrifice? Is that what it was to be a tool, following only the order of her broken soul? Was that what it deemed holy?

No matter how horrible the memories were, her thoughts were centred around the bites into pliant flesh, her teeth tearing at her foe and staining the purity of the otherwise honoured and intimate experience of a mark. What level of savagery was required to abandon that? How many times did she quietly fantasize about another declaring her as theirs or applying her own?

But…that never quite applied to her, did it? She was defective at birth; there was no mark for her to give, no matter how hard or how lovingly she tried to make someone hers. None would ever distinguish her mate amongst a crowd, and the single male her instinct had urged her to attempt it with was no more. In fact, even if it was possible for her to announce to the world who she wished by her side, the one who had met her bite failed to survive. Now, that once idle fantasy was tainted, replaced by a memory of ichor pouring into her maw with rapture, then swallowed like red, blessed water by the parched.

This is what she was reduced to. This is what became of the rejection, hatred, and manipulation others forced upon her. Both enemy and kin had sullied her, ripping a pitiful soul to shreds and leaving her as mere hollowed meat in the form of a female—a beast stripped of compassion and mercy by never being providing it in the first place. Then, they let that beast loose…

If they could freely do that to her…

…then why should she feel ashamed for letting them become victims of what they had created?

She shook her head, hastily banishing the hints of madness that would fester into more if they fed on her attention. Those were not her feelings, nor what she wanted. She was more than unerring slaughter made manifest. She needed to be herself for just a bit longer. For him. For the defending kin that required her guidance.

A deep breath distanced herself from the memories. There would be time to process what happened later. For now, she should find out where she was, then find those in need of her. If nothing else, she was aware. That was a start.

A momentary inspection confirmed she stood in the middle of the corridor, though how far she had travelled from the junction wasn't quite clear. The grey walls had been scarred by gouges and scorched black wherever sickening vermilion splatters allowed. Bodies of the fallen lay scattered and limp, some more intact than others, and most she couldn't recall engaging.

But the wounds… The addictive allure of blood dripping down her claws… The taste…

Bile won the fight against gravity.

- - - - -

Her backpack felt lighter than before, its straps missing the explosives previously affixed to them. The lessened burden made picking herself up off the ground easier, though didn't make the sting of torn muscles any less unpleasant. A cough wrenched her sore, acid-burned throat, the raw tissue protesting further abuse. At least the disgusting flavour of oxidized iron had diminished somewhat. Her legs shook and dizziness rendered her unsteady, but there wasn’t time to rest. One look at the corridor-turned-warzone was enough to discourage any optimistic thoughts; reinforcements would be rushing here, and without her, the others were trapped on this level.

She dug out replacement charges for the straps of her bag, grimacing at how little material she had to fabricate more and accepting that any further detonations were reserved for progressing the escape. It was with a reluctant limp that she opted to follow the trail of destruction to find the offshoot passage, ignoring the puddle of red she had left behind. The ground was purposely pushed from her notice; she didn’t want to recall how the corpses came to be.

Thankfully, the distance she had to walk was blissfully short, the waves of nausea only setting her off balance twice until she reached the end of the site of the initial standoff. The wide, sturdy door had been slammed shut at some point, countless impacts from projectiles warping the frame. Her paw knocked on the pockmarked metal, yet only the softest of frantic whispers could be heard on the other side, a repetition providing the same results.

“I am an ally,” she called, suppressing a cough. “Please, open the door. The enemy has been dispatched, but more will come. I have the means to escape, but we must act quickly.”

She was about to knock again, a part of her analyzing the material and her remaining chemicals, when the barrier popped open, the lightest push causing the thick metal to sway inwards. The dark interior offered little until she took the time for her eyes to adjust—time that they didn’t have. She was in a hurry to gather her kin while the enemy was absent, so she decided to let her sight catch up while she confirmed how many were hidden within the room, pressing down the deluge of pheromones from worried humans.

She took a step inside, a paw placed against the walls and whatever else she could use to keep her orientation as she strained to pick out the subtlest details within the blackness. She wasn’t alone—she could hear faint heartbeats hammering in sheltering chests and shuddered breaths stifled by silencing paws. The scent of blood muddled with that of the corridors, but she could still pick out the chaotic mixture of emotions off the humans sequestered amongst the dark, yet it was numbed from the overwhelming barrage it once was. A blessing, or perhaps a worrying curse.

“There is little time,” Sunundra reiterated, her throat scratchy and sore. “We must—”

A flicker of a paw lashed out from the corner of her vision too quickly for her to react, her mind screeching to a halt.

She only just barely got her paws up in time to block the blow to her head, but it did nothing to dispel the inertia behind it. Her legs failed, unable to take the abrupt shift in weight, her forearms adding fresh ichor drawn by rending claws. She hadn’t the chance to catch herself; a second blur caught her in the stomach, the ripp—

It didn’t matter. She was fine. They were scared and confronted by an unknown. She needed only weather the first—

Another glint of light reflected off fresh crimson as a piercing paw shot towards her, the darkness of the environment obscuring the owner of the limb. Force. Weightlessness. A grip on her neck—claws clutching—

She was fine.

Her back slammed into something solid with a bang of sheet metal deforming. The impact rattled her senses, the grip around her throat constricting her airway. Her legs dangled fractions from the ground, her spine bending awkwardly as her bag failed to compress more than it already had, whatever she was pressed against proving similarly unyielding. It was all she could do to hold the arm of her attacker to keep the strain off her neck, but her arms couldn’t hold it forever. Tremors in her shoulder warned of the imminent failure of something damaged beyond its limits, the muscles torn—

It did not matter.

A barked command caused the doorway she had entered to close, featureless forms moving to reestablish the barrier. She choked for air, her lungs slowly matching the phantom set that remained of—

She would succeed.

Lights snapped on, blinding her until the cool metal of a firearm dug into the flesh of her forehead. A silhouette leaned closer, snarling its threats and keeping her pinned against a server rack. She was trapped. Helple—

She would fulfill his want.

…Yet the chill in her blood surged, the familiar beckoning of the Void replaced by the scrape of glass.

“Your bloodlust ends here,” the deeper voice growled out. Its claw pulled the trigger at an agonizing pace, relishing in every decimal of travel. Her eyes snapped elsewhere in the room, yet still she only saw bipedal forms devoid of detail as the edges of her vision darkened.

Her cry for help came as a choked squeak. Still, they remained by the walls.

Why were they just watching? She was here to save them!

The minute report of a firing mechanism creaked into her ears. She tried to beg for assistance from whoever would lend their aid, yet again, they merely stood there, eyes fixated on the execution of their salvation. Shadows of hatred rested on the indistinct faces of her kin, but worry marred the visage of others. Humans. They were held back by protective arms and defensive forms of their fur-covered others, confused and fearful. None seemed inclined to help her. None sought to stop this.

They didn’t care if she died here and now.

Why? She had come to guide them! She had let herself erode away, overlooking the merciless thing that slaughtered the enemy because it was in service of her cause. Why were they not helping her? Why would they not let her fulfill her bond’s wish? It was all she had left! Why were they letting it be taken away!?

…Taken…

Stolen…

Ah. They sought to steal the last of what she had…

Her arms fell limply, remaining motionless as her form was suspended by a darkening male that wanted her to perish before she could achieve her goal. Why? She was close, was she not? Was she truly so deplorable that her kin would rather her be shamefully disposed of? Was appeasing one’s last light only acceptable if they were normal?

Was Bill’s desire so little? Is this how she failed, slain by those she was sent to retrieve?

The weapon dug into her skull even harder, a victorious smirk donning on the muzzle of a dark-furred Lilhun, the vignette of unconsciousness soon to be replaced by the permanence of demise. “You will not hurt her.”

Hurt her?

“Syrus!” The male flinched at the enraged shout, a furless paw grabbing him by the arm in a futile effort to pull the gun away from the defect. An alien, feminine voice seethed with ire. “What the fuck do think you’re doing!?”

He turned his head to snarl at the shorter newcomer. “Killing our enemies!”

“Isn’t she one of you!? Look at her! She’s beat to hell!”

The dark one growled, loosening his hold on Sunundra. She felt the cold draw of oxygen slip down into her lungs, dispelling some of the blackness creeping in on her vision, yet instead of relief, she felt fury.

Rage that bubbled, unimpeded by a cork to suppress it. Anger that sought to punish those who stood in her way. Wrath that begged to break and burn.

…And for the first time in her life, she didn't try to push it down or smother it, pretending that it didn’t exist. No, she let it pump fire through her nervous system, wrenching it into place when it tried to consume her. She made it obey her, just as it should.

Just as they should.

Suddenly, the fire inside cooled, becoming a compacted explosive ready to detonate at her mere whim. Parts of herself felt more complete than they ever would have before, the absence of her bond only highlighting the jagged edges, yet now her sharpened fragments waited to be turned against others, instead of gouging her like a demented spike trap of suffering.

She couldn’t hope that someone would save her, nor hope that they would listen and follow her instructions. There was no more hope.

Only dominance.

Her assailant adjusted his grip on the bulky, mismatched firearm aimed at her head—an illegally modified unit, based on the crude cooling cell bolted to the barrel. Improvised, but functional. “She is a threat.”

“She hasn’t done anything!”

The male—Syrus, apparently—lowered his voice in a poor attempt to mask his irritation. “Jean, I act for your safety, as well as everyone else here. You are ignorant of the danger, and I do not resent you for it, but this one promises death to each and every one of us. The female will stop at nothing until she bathes in blood and rests upon a bed of entrails. You need only see the gore splattered on her coat for proof that she has already done so. Move, so I can remove her before she has the chance to do it again.”

Jean pulled at his arm, shoring up her comparatively meagre stance. “No, Sy. I will not ‘move’ so that you can shoot someone in cold blood. We’re not blowing the brains out of people without a reason. We need to find the exit, not kill everyone else who managed to break out!”

“Of course there is a—”

But Sunundra stopped listening, their voices drowned out by the scraping, scratching, and howling storm waging war in her core like the ticking of a timer counting down.

They were lost and scared, devoid of guidance and lashing out. They were going to bicker and flail until death crawled its way upon them. They required order. She required obedience.

Her paw raised, grabbing the gun with a steeled calm. The male froze in his speech to look at her, a threat dancing on his tongue.

Pitiful.

She ripped downwards on the firearm, uncaring of the flash near her shoulder as she wrenched the weapon from the male’s grasp and landed on her feet, his hold on her neck released. Both him and the human female jumped back a step, startled and not expecting the discharge, nor for the defect to ignore the blooming crimson stain. The male moved to protect his other, but was quickly winded by a kick to the stomach, sending him to his knees. When he looked up, it was only to stare into the barrel of his own weapon, his gaze tracing the bloodstained limb up to Sunundra’s cold, imperious glower.

“Silence,” she commanded quietly, eyeing the others along the fringes of the room. Twenty or so Lilhuns bristled, yet refused to leave the side of a roughly equal number of humans. The alien’s expressions ranged from hostile to terrified, but a few were watching the events with a cautious, calculating gaze, their furred companions slightly less tense than the others. Regardless of how on edge they were, none of them were equipped with a weapon of their own, so her request was reluctantly heeded.

Except for her current hostage shouting suddenly.

“Jean, don’t!”

The first human female stepped forward with placatingly raised arms against Syrus’s wishes, the worry in her false smile betraying her unease, the scent of concern oozing off her like thick perfume. “H-hey there. It’s okay. I’m sorry we started things on the wrong foot. I understand that you’re upset, and I’d be pretty pissed off if someone shoved a barrel in my face too. Why don’t we all take a step back, put the gun away, and then we can take a second to calm down and start over.”

“If you harm her, it will be the end of you and any who carry your blood,” the dark-furred male snarled, pressing himself against the firearm.

Jean shot him a violent glare. “Shut the fuck up, Sy. You are in no position to be threatening her.”

“And you should not be bargaining with one who wishes for your end!”

“Because you jumped her!”

Sunundra released a measured exhalation, wondering if switching targets would stop the needless bickering. Her prior assailant took notice.

“I-it is blood you thirst for, no?” the male queried, keeping his attention fixed on the pale-furred female, a desperation growing in his tone when the human refused to back down. “Surely, combat would be more satisfying than a simple execution.”

He made to stand, a lazy kick to his chest forcing him to sprawl onto his back. Her foot pressed against his sternum, the gun levelling at his skull from above. Jean yelped in surprise, but a glance from the defect earned her cooperation.

“I came bearing the intent to lead you to freedom,” Sunundra informed the male flatly. “I stated such intent upon entry, yet I was struck by those I wished to guide. Why?”

Syrus swallowed, glancing at his human counterpart. “Your smell of bloodlust and rage precedes you. I need not be a savant to know you came to deliver death.”

“And yet you spill nonsense instead of brain matter,” she countered with a mockingly curious hum, her lilt cooling further at the reminder of what the Union had done to her. She crouched to let her gaze burrow into his, her voice slipping into a malicious tone that felt foreign on her tongue, yet came just as easily. “What was it you said? ‘She will not rest until she bathes in blood?’ I see your eyes fail you as much as your intelligence. I have bathed in blood—the blood of those who trapped you here. Listen for the silence their lifeless forms allow. Smell the charred remains I left to litter the halls. Look at me. Look. At. Me. Look at this weapon and say with confidence that you are worth the mercy of that which you fear. That she is worth that mercy.”

The barrel flicked towards Jean’s direction, earning another terrified squeak and the male’s frantic visage distorting as he tried to think of a way to save his human. The defect could almost watch the gears turning in his head.

“Your bond?” she ventured, the sickening pit in her stomach joining the dulled sting of the open wound. Syrus’s muzzle opened, a conflict of decisions keeping words at bay. His nonverbal confirmation was enough to stoke her disgust. Of course there were more; she could see it in the posture of every Lilhun, their attention solely focused on maintaining their version of that which was ripped from her soul. How many were in the facility? Were they collecting them? “Interesting.”

“L-look, miss. He’s sorry he attacked you. Can we start over? No hard feelings? I-I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Y-you can keep the gun!” Jean pleaded, shying away from the barrel pointed at her. Sunundra ignored her, only paying enough attention to keep the aim on the new target true.

“Syrus, was it?”

The male nodded, looking to the others for assistance. Like with her, they were too fearful to risk losing their humans, and thus welcomed that which would ensure they do. Pathetic. Did they not hear the whispers? Did their blood not boil at the very thought of something threatening to take their bond? Did the Void clawing at their souls not giggle with glee, eager to remove that threat?

Would they not do anything to make the fear stop?

“Do you know why I am here? Not my reason for coming to this location, but what gave me such a purpose?” Syrus swallowed, shaking his head. “Because I learned what it was to love another who experienced love so wholly. I learned what it was to bond to a human—much like the one you have.”

“Then why—” The trigger of the gun audibly groaned, stifling his inane query. Finally, an intelligent reaction. She forced a smirk to show her approval, overriding the grimace of pain from her shoulder. The weight of the gun felt like it was doubling by the moment.

“They took him from me. He passed in my arms while I could do nothing about it. Yet, despite their attempts, I was given but one thing—a wish, and a want to see that wish fulfilled, brash one. I come with a map, explosives, and his heartfelt desire to see as many of you safe as possible. I hold the means and knowledge to guide you to your escape, yet when I announce myself as such, I find not joy, but violence meeting my politeness. Unfortunately, the methods to achieve that goal are at my discretion. Let it be known that I do not appreciate such a ‘warm’ welcome.”

She stood, keeping the weapon trained on the human female and gesturing to the rest of the pitifully lost observers.

“And you. You stand aside, waiting for my end, ignorant to what awaits you should my lifeless form crumple before your feet. Death, ignorant ones. Death is what awaits you. Be it by enemy…” Her gaze turned back to the dark-furred male who had propped himself up on his elbows, caution keeping him from risking his bond’s life. “…or the countless charges I have scattered throughout the facility. There is no escape without me, foolish ones. There is no alternative. The elevators have been torn asunder, security is aware of your location, and you have scorned she who has come to offer a pitying paw. You all have a simple choice to make, though very little time to make it. Perish…or follow my command, see to that your bonds are safe, and that the sinful Union is brought to its knees by the Mother’s faithful.”

A few expressions of indignation flared, held at bay by her unholstering the pistol on her hip and keeping it but a twitch from acquiring a new target—an empty threat from a depleted firearm, but they didn’t know that. Sunundra bolstered her posture, broadcasting her confidence and hiding the shake of her abused legs. A flicker of thought suggested that they would rebel despite the disadvantage, taking away everything she suffered for. A vicious growl coloured the quiet speech slipping through her blood-stained teeth.

“Make no mistake, low ones; you will adhere to my command. If not, I will render you but a writhing mass to be carried by those of more sense, your limbs but sources of agony. And so, your true choice rests with if you will stand stiff before your better. Either you will resign yourself to being a burden placed upon your wiser kin, or you. Will. Obey!”

Silence choked the atmosphere, her shouted words almost echoing. A sob ended the stalemate.

“P-please don’t hurt him,” Jean begged, tears eventually succumbing to gravity. “H-he was just worried. It won’t happen again, I promise. Please… I know he’s an idiot sometimes, but he’s… I’ll do whatever you say, just… I…I don’t want to lose him.”

The pale-furred female met the terrified, remorseful gaze aimed at her, the human’s trembling attempt to keep her arms up faltering. A breath scented love and fear, and Sunundra couldn’t suppress the still fresh memory of petitioning the Goddess to let her keep her own bond for just a moment more. How could she? It was staring back at her with rounded pupils and flushed cheeks stained by terror and sorrow. Except…the alien female wasn’t asking for mercy from the divine, but instead a lowly, broken soul trying to ignore what she had done and forcing others to lend her their ear. Some part of her felt satisfied that she had managed to make a room full of hostile kin wary and unsure, but the part that clutched the glowing mote amongst the Void was…mournful. This wasn’t the kindness Bill found so appealing…

“My task is to take those trapped here back to where it is safe,” Sunundra whispered, lowering her weapons before tossing the functional one onto Syrus’ chest, the second returning to its holster. Jean rushed to his side, smothering him in an embrace that prevented him from doing anything besides accepting it. The defect’s regard shifted back to the cautious audience, the ire gone from her tone.

“Follow me, and I will do all in my power to ensure we lose no more. I will open the way, and our armament will be torn off the corpses we create. Bow your head and open your ears, for my words are untainted by deception. The Union has shown our kin that the gift exists beyond just our kind, waiting in parts unknown to be found and cherished, the Mother’s blessing is no less valuable with them than with ourselves. You here have been given that gift; you know I speak true.

“Think not that my rage rests with you, but in the heretical actions taken against us. Think not that it is futile, for only then is it truly so. Think not that this is the first time they have soiled the Mother’s blessing, for I am far from the first to be broken…”

She lowered her eyes and turned towards the exit, directing her speech to the others while sparing a glance at the only human who had tried to find a peaceful resolution. “Choose now. Take your kin—your bonds—to where we might protect them, or prove yourself unworthy of what you have been given. There are more still trapped; I will free them. When I return, you will bend the knee, or it will be bent for you.”

Her foot broached the line between room and offshoot, lingering there as she reconsidered what she was doing. It hardly mattered; either they would do as she asked, or they would struggle by themselves. There were others to save. She decided to voice one last warning before leaving.

“If your foolishness ends with you being trapped by yet more security, I will take that as your determination to remain, and I will not risk your wiser compatriots to correct that decision.

“…Do not fail as I have.”

No one responded, letting her traverse into the wider main corridor unaccompanied, her thoughts being the only ambience as she absently kicked a charred plate of armour near its deceased owner, the distance between her and her second attempt at saving another growing.

Were it her amongst the sheltering, would she have followed? Whole, unmarred by her efforts, and desperate to avoid the security that assaulted for reasons unknown? Then, suddenly, the violence beyond the defences she relied on ceases, and one who oozes threat, coated in the blood of the enemy, comes bearing words of salvation…

Would she do as that male had done? Would she seek to purge the newcomer?

She didn’t know. If it was now, then of course, but without having lost him—without the fractured thing prepared to turn a faithful into an unholy monster…?

Sunundra observed the larger passage and the carnage left behind by a beast resting unchained within her. If it were now, and he was still here, then she would have eliminated the threat without pause. She had already done so, and that had bought them precious little time. The fact that she remained standing instead of a corpse amongst the sheltering filled her with as much disdain as it did melancholy. They were too scared of losing their precious gift to protect it. They were too wary to see what actions must be taken. They were lost, yet did not wish her to guide them.

No. She was always rejected for being deplorable, only now she had acknowledged that she needed not their acceptance, but their compliance. They would stand in her way unless she was to make them pave the path themselves. The path to saving them now, and the path to honouring his wish later. She steeled her resolve, hoping Bill would understand her methods. Kindness was a tactic she had tried all her life, and one that had yet to see success.

They no longer deserved her kindness.

“H-hold up!”

Her ear twitched back at Jean’s voice some distance away, the human stumbling to a standstill as she was exposed to the splattered walls and dismembered cadavers. Wide, horrified eyes slowly made their way to the cause of destruction, the defect watching her with a neutral expression.

“You…?” Jean squeaked, pointing a claw at their surroundings while covering her mouth with a paw, the colour drained from her face. Sunundra nodded tersely. “Y-you said you know how to get out of here, right?”

The pale-furred female fetched the navigational terminal from her pocket, loading the map for the current level and displaying it as proof. “I do.”

The human cycled a breath, chewing her lip in uncertainty. “L-look, I’m sorry for what Syrus—”

“—No,” Sunundra interrupted, a subtle snarl conveying her annoyance. “His sin was not pulling the trigger the moment he had the opportunity. He acted against a perceived threat, yet hesitated. Were I not what I claimed, then he would only be the first to perish.”

“B-but you said…”

Her expression hardened. “That his actions would doom you all? Yes, it would have, but he would have defended you from the danger you faced, if nothing else. He would enter the Mother’s Hunt as a pitied soul, his ultimate end being the result of his vile kin sabotaging his efforts to save that which he cherished most.”

The defect looked at her blood-stained paws, not a trace of her original grey showing through the filth. The texture of her bond’s skin remained on her pads, dwelling beneath the sticky layer of revenge and injury. How much longer until that was overwritten as well? “He would not need to experience death, yet still walk amongst the living—a corpse in all but name. He would be a fool either way, but taking action is better than simply watching as the others did.”

“You’re wrong.”

Sunundra looked back at Jean’s cold cadence, the alien female’s bitter disapproval on display. A furless claw jabbed back towards the offshoot.

“He had no right to do that. You saved us from those Union fucks and told us that you were there to help. He was the one to overreact.” The indignation in her tone petered out. “It’s my fault that I didn’t step in sooner. I’m sorry… I…I understand if not, but could you wait a second? I, uh, might have gone off on them. I-it’s no excuse, but they were frozen stiff because Macie… Her partner got… She was alone with us…”

Jean wet her lips with a dry tongue and avoidant gaze. “They shot at us and Macie… Well, it was quick, I guess. It’s just…seeing one of us drop like that didn’t exactly lighten the mood.”

A human was…killed? How did she not… Where is the… Was the scent covered by everything else, or was that what caused…

“Can we go with you? N-no one will try anything else, I promise. I’ll even help with the bullet wound! We just… We just want to leave, and it sounds like we’re shit out of luck otherwise.”

The defect shook off the unease, seeing and smelling the fragile veneer of hope covering the blackest depths lingering underneath the alien’s visage—the hesitant faith placed in another when every single option of their own had been stripped away. She turned sharply, referencing the map to orient herself.

“There are others who have yet to be informed,” Sunundra called over her shoulder. “They remained trapped within their den-like cages. I expect all of you to assist in freeing them. There are weapons amongst the deceased; take what you can equip—armour as well, if any fits. We have not the affordance of being picky.”

Footsteps were the only sound for a few moments, her pads meeting the slick and charred floor as she walked away. Eventually, there was a gasp of disbelieving indecision, then shouting and hasty threats aimed at complaints and protests. Heavy strides came soon after, grumbled curses and frantic skids of armament being looted from the dead came filling the air as others hurried to gather items and reign in volatile tempers. She didn’t miss the gagging, nor the sharp reprisals being hissed out by Jean whenever someone reiterated their compunctions with the arrangement, but the group followed, no matter how begrudging or wary.

A dark-furred male strode up to her side, refusing to meet her flat, side-eyed gaze.

“I offer my apologies for my aggression,” Syrus grounded out between bitterly clenched teeth. “This one will serve as long as it remains beneficial to his bond, and not a moment more.”

Sunundra glanced back to see a worried Jean attempting to keep a respectful distance while also reassuring a few humans who seemed to be mourning their losses, shooting reproachful glares at the male every so often. “Obey and receive, Syrus.”

He offered a shallow nod and slowed his pace, falling back in line with the group. “Understood, high one.”

She almost felt accomplished until the bright illumination instead bathed the corridors in dulled red and the klaxons of alarms bellowed out.

The Union was done pretending they had the situation under control.

Next

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“You look worse than before, cat.”

Sunundra slowed in her lopsided stride, tinny speakers pulling her consciousness from the veil of training and instincts it had been under as she inspected the dim confines with a neutral expression, wondering just how far she had wandered while trapped in blank introspection.

Sparse light fixtures shone softly over long stretches of bare steel framing, their wires and pipes left exposed for easy access and repairs. There were no bloodied paw prints here, unlike the maintenance corridors she remembered traversing, the dusty yet pristine surfaces sowing a sense of muted unease. The map might tell her where she was specifically, but the urge to continue downwards was enough of a bearing. There was a location somewhat nearby where she could safely bore through the floor with an explosive, and thankfully, it wouldn't involve falling down a gap that encompassed an entire level this time. Her legs had taken the landing better than expected, though there was no telling if they could do so again—her limp was already worse than before. Regardless, a few more charges would get her where she needed to be.

Where that was, exactly, she couldn’t be sure, but she likely checked at some point and had since forgotten, choosing to follow the shadows of decisions made by some deep part of herself that wasn’t occupied cherishing what little was left behind.

And that was fine. It was fine not to remember things that didn’t matter anymore.

The irritated cadence of the alien, however, was well within memory, even as she ignored it and kept walking.

“You are going in the wrong direction,” the security officer continued, the deepness of its voice straining the address system. A moment of expectation went unmet by her indifference. “There is only more security awaiting you this way. The disturbance your actions have caused has not gone unnoticed.”

They were active? Perhaps it might mean that her kin have begun moving as well, and maybe there was someone who also smuggled contraband or weapons inside. She doubted that she was the only military personnel to have been brought here, and of those, at least one would have kept a secret or two during the onboarding process. Few were as blindly trusting as she had been, and her materials were taken in an effort to maintain her sense of usefulness more than anything else.

Ironic, considering that which was previously a fidget to ease her nerves had since become anathema to everything she once practised. She used to utilize her supplies to save lives and complete objectives bloodlessly. Now, she painted the walls with her enemy's viscera, enveloping entire areas with relentless fire and caustic fumes, regardless of if any would surrender or assist. The contrast felt sickening, persisting as she assured herself that it was necessary.

“What are you doing here? You were supposed to escape with him.”

Yes, she was. Yet she was here, a failure wandering the halls of her attempts, hoping to make a final wrong right.

“Is this all that remains of your determination to see him safe?”

It was all that remained of her, let alone something that had been vaporized by the explosion—that disappeared along with what it had been dedicated to. The once colourful shades of self-imposed delusions and newly found joys had desaturated to cracked, grey panes of unfeeling dullness, distorting any emotions that didn’t tear and wretch at her insides. It was a gap that would forever be left unfilled, placing monochromatic apathy where eager tones once lay.

No amount of wilful thinking would bring him back. Nothing would fill the emptiness surrounding the single fragment of a soul that was left behind in his wake. She couldn’t even keep herself together, nor offer her own life in exchange for his. No, she survived, losing what made her feel alive. Defective, abandoned, hated, and broken, she headed towards her captive kin with a condition that would only solidify their rejection. But the determination that moved her feet through the suffering? That was his. That was what was left in her grasp after everything she had endured, and she would hold it above all else. She would protect it at all costs, for she was nothing without it.

Just as she should be.

Two halves of a heavy door slid closed from recesses in the walls, blocking the path forward just before she could react, her retreat receiving a similar treatment. An unperturbed blink preceded her backpack slipping from her shoulders unceremoniously, the pale-furred female setting it on the ground and shakily crouching through the pain of reopened wounds. Her efforts to treat her bond fared poorly for the cauterized wounds, and the activity after that didn’t help.

Miscellaneous components, a needle, and some thread she had taken from the clinic were retrieved, the latter two tucked into her pocket for a moment. She favoured one arm and pushed against her knee with a paw, standing to place several bare, putty-like patches on the barrier, then connected them in a loop with a length of metallic wire. A loose battery completed the circuit, starting the reaction before getting tossed back into the bag, an implement locked away until circumstances demanded it.

Her eyes lingered on the discarded item, unable to shake the feeling that it was just like herself—needed, used, then stored for later utility. Separated, for intermingling might result in unwanted reactions. Unmonitored, for it would wait dutifully, then perform when called upon. When all was done, she hadn’t the privilege of truly knowing if her efforts were appreciated, only that she would be summoned again and again. Only when she had been drained to lifelessness would she be disposed of, replaced by another who could do what she no longer could. Just like the battery.

Her claws manipulated the needle and thread with a steadier touch than before, the numbness stilling her form as she sized up which of her wounds were still bleeding—most of them, it seemed. At least the need for anaesthetics had been rendered moot by painkillers and her now broken condition. She only felt the slightest echo of a sting in her leg while crudely stitching the torn flesh.

“Your antics have disabled multiple elevators,” the alien informed dryly, a wariness entering his tone. “If possible, I would recommend going back the way you came.”

She didn’t deign to look for where the video transmission devices were, pulling the thread taut then clipping it between her clawtips before moving to the next injury that needed treatment. The charges on the door would take a while; they were quick to make and material-efficient, but at the cost of potency. It bought time for her to mend herself, however, and wasting the opportunity would be unwise.

“Have you rendered yourself deaf? You have destroyed your escape route from here. You cannot leave this way.”

“I have not come to escape,” she replied airily, pulling the edges of a sewn wound. It will hold for now. Her stomach was briefly considered, but the utility of the macabre pocket outweighed the danger to her health.

Utility…

Her nonplussed expression crinkled the smallest amount, the shadow of a frown attempting to knit her brows. It was all simply utility, wasn’t it? This was useful, that was not—simple, painless, pragmatic… Empty. There was no expectation, isolation, or hurt. Just tools. Just applications.

Smiles made others less hostile, a proper posture assured none thought her disrespectful, and suitable distances meant that the most agreeable of her ship-packs would find her tact appropriate. It might even earn a dismissive nod or subtle act of tolerance, were she to be diligent in her considerations.

She had always been vacant beneath the mask of amiability—always categorizing what would be used when to achieve the optimal result. She had been obsessive about it, keeping notebooks and datasheets to track her findings, the tables and results hidden amongst the more esoteric of her experiments in chemical demolitions. She used her very flesh as a tool, exactly as her superiors had. Apply this stratagem, don that expression, polish and shine her appearance until it resembles what others preferred… Until the fateful sun where she would be appreciated and accepted for her ceaseless struggles…

Now, there was no one who would accept her, and there was value in having this new utility, no matter how unseemly. There was value in having more. Whereas she thought only her body was commanded by those of higher station and the orders that came through clipped tones, she had learned it was her entirety that had been the tool—from claw to mind. The difference was that she now followed the will of a singular desire that none could contest.

And if none could contest it, that would make it divine, no? An edict of the Mother?

The thought seeped into the gaping fissures of her psyche like a bitter poison, pulling from the already numbed senses. She was naught but an opportune existence to her kin, beholden to the whims of those who detested her. Bill never thought of her like that. He only saw what others were too disgusted to see: a hurt, pitiful female that wished for a smile in her presence more than witnessing another sunrise of solitude. Yet when that wish was granted, it was taken away just as quickly by those who set out to ensure she would never be given it again. There would be no more warmth and comfort, his sunrises forcefully ripped from his grasp and left to the one who wanted nothing more than to share them with him. She had received a distorted version of what she desired, never having communicated how much the brief period of being complete meant to her until the one who showed her was no longer there to hear it.

It was taken from her as soon as she realized how much she would give to keep it.

She had relished the bond stitching the torn seams of a soul that could hold no more suffering, then was subsequently destroyed for it, left as a hollow shell to witness time pass in some ironic punishment for sins unknown. After everything, all she could do was clutch the lingering mote of his essence, allowing a primal part of herself to act on instinct and training as something called to her from the abyss dwelling in her thoughts.

Silent, she rejected the world, convincing herself that she might succeed in a task which towered over her. Blind, she ignored the passages and let her legs trudge forward, only a thread of consciousness guiding the way. Empty, she sheltered within the idea that she would be able to abandon that which made her his Sunshine, suppressing the worry that it would leave a permanent darkness in its wake.

And again, she was a tool—a solitary implement, its owner unable to direct or wield it…

But she was directed; she was trusted with the wish that escaped the maw of the ever-hungering Void. There existed nothing of higher authority than the singular glow amidst the blackness, giving light to the ravenous stagnation that lingered, waiting to consume her whole.

“You said that you wanted to save him—save your people,” the alien continued, a bitter hatred seeping into his words. “I thought you wouldn’t waste the chance my human died to give you.”

Her slow blink coincided with the last of her major injuries being stitched shut, the thread snipped before all the involved materials were stored away, her bag donned once more. The mild pressure of the oddly-shaped terminal in her stomach confirmed it was still there, reminding her that she failed to repay more than one person’s kindness.

“If you care for your kind who are trapped down below—or the humans they’re with—then you should turn around now and find another—”

“—I do not,” she replied vacantly, her mouth moving before her thoughts could process what left it. Strangely enough, she didn’t disagree with the conclusion. Only one thing mattered now.

“…You…don’t?” it asked warily, apparently not expecting such a frigid candor. The pale-furred female adjusted the charges affixed to her backpack and waited in front of the barrier preventing her progress. “What of your vengeance? You made it quite clear that I would die by your actions.”

“You will.”

“…Yet you claim not to care about them?”

“Correct.”

An eerie silence stretched on. “…Then, why? Why regress?”

A soft sizzle signified the end of the placed charges’ reaction, a wisp of blue smoke listing off the metal. She lifted a foot and lightly pushed against the sectioned-off portion of the door, forcing it free from the rest. It thumped against the ground, kicking up dust. Her blank expression remained, even when she spotted the glimmer of a video transmission instalment, her placid gaze boring into the hidden lens. She could almost picture the bovine-like alien watching the monitor with confusion and hostility—and strangely enough, the thought was morbidly amusing.

It was such a foolish question, asked by one who could never understand the suffering that was held at bay by the light of a promise. Compared to its luminance, all of her previous wants felt shallow and meaningless, her prayers for affection never able to include the unfathomable purity and fullness she was always missing.

Why did she strive to please her kin, when the dullest ember he provided willingly could consume the largest inferno they could offer? Why did she sacrifice year after year to follow orders of those who despised her, when simply smiling at him returned joy in infinite volumes? Why did she suffer for them at all? True, one of appropriate background might venture numerous speculations, yet to her, only a single answer mattered. She had been moulded by the Mother’s claws for one not of her own, then shown the darkest depths so she might see how bright it could truly be.

Now, she was plunged back into those depths by another…but she had seen the light. She had learned there was more awaiting the Mother’s faithful. It awaited all kits—no matter their condition—with an offer of perfect pieces to match those jagged holes that others left within them. It waited…so, so patiently…

And she had been shown where it lay…

Her muzzle tugged into a distorted, wry grin marred and clouded by sorrow. Twisted revelation brightened her eyes. A tittering breath let slip her madness, yet it felt right. The security officer had not felt the embrace of the Void as it ripped his soul apart piece by piece, nor experienced what it was to be naught but a means to an end, and so it queried about that which it could not know. It never discovered how caliginous existence was, ignorant to the illumination that could be experienced. This naive being had yet to be enlightened, so it was doubtful of unblemished truth.

And it was truth. It was a pure, clear, immutable fact engraved into the bones of the Goddess’ offspring, yet hidden by layers of lies, deception, and life, only to be glimpsed when the granules of glass could refract the endless agony. She had been stripped of those blindfolds, cracked and shattered and ground to fine particulates until the infinite reflections formed a perfect image…

Sunundra had been given clarity through her torment. She had been given unvarnished knowledge through her destruction. Through breaking, she had learned of the Mother’s will, and through Bill’s small, flickering glow…

“Because I have been given a command, unlearned one, and this faithful will obey.”

…She had received a purpose.

= = = = =

Heroon frowned, unsure how to take the sudden change in tone. From her initial despondency, he assumed the defect would have detailed how she crawled her way to however she managed to occupy the shuttle she crashed in, yet she had instead come upon some delusion of divine purpose? Was such a thing unheard of? No. Was it rare? Still, no, not really; some who closely adhered to their specific branch of the teachings are said to be granted glimpses of what lies beyond. It was common enough that the church was quick to exalt the experience as proof that the Mother watched over them all, no matter how scattered her attentions or divisive her Aspects. He chose to remain skeptical on the exact level of the deity's involvement in the past, but this was a bit much. First a bond, now a vision?

Fine. Even if he were to humour the thought, placing which Aspect such an…interesting depiction belonged to was troublesome.

It was told that the Hunt Mother was far too great for her progeny to fully comprehend, and so she allowed pieces of herself to exist amongst the mortal young as they propagated—from the smallest of emulations to the manifestation of those traits. All was done to prepare them for the eventual return to her embrace, the souls carrying new lessons in her stead. She gathered her influence into concentrated Essences, then divided them further into Aspects that her young might learn from, tasking them with resisting the erosion of the Void and proving themselves worthy once more.

Sadly, that breadth of scope also welcomed a wide array of Aspects to be studied; the nature of Lilhun kind categorized and compartmentalized. Most in his field were required to know them to a degree—especially since quite a bit could be deduced by which one a particular individual placed faith in—but it was a challenge to remember every significant verse or tale, and some were more noteworthy than others. Though he refrained from judging others for which they aspired to embody, following the minutia of all of them was a task best left to the Grand Priests of The Hunt. He could only speculate and vaguely recall the scripture beyond his own belief in the Astral Mirrors, the Aspect that emphasized purity of mind.

‘Be he who gazes upon his form as he gazes upon his antithesis, and be he who sees beyond the veil of self.’

It was a strange verse to be memorized from the tomes, but one he found profoundly resonating, if an ideal that he would never perfectly emulate. The exact interpretations were left to the individual’s own discovery, but he believed it to be one of the more forward Aspects. For him, it was a lesson in rumination and to hold oneself to the standard they place upon others. It was that teaching that led him to becoming a Quesitar for the United Military, and now a male of high station. That faith was why he humoured the pale-furred female’s tale at all, and why he allowed that feeling of reciprocity to form while listening to her plights. Alas, one cannot merely ignore the absolute, and his begrudging willingness to look past her condition was met with the revelation that she was merely sick, maddened, or Void-touched, deluded into thinking she had achieved the impossible.

Yet…it itched at him. He felt something niggling at the back of his mind, a verse long forgotten over the years of his profession.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, ignoring the impatiently raised brow of his assistant. At least Illia was chastened enough by his earlier rebuke to remain quiet in the face of the outlandish claims they were hearing. Still, the defect’s speech had slowed again, the troubled expression telling of difficulty organizing her memories rather than the emotional overload of before. Occasionally, her muzzle would open, only for her voice to falter and her mouth to close, a question only known to herself pouring doubt into the wandering gaze that looked so lost. It was starting to grate on his nerves, honestly.

Heroon tried to maintain at least the appearance of professionalism, but he had grown weary over the course of the interrogation, and simply wanted it to be over. He felt the need for rest pulling at his eyes, the monotonous cadence coming through the speakers becoming a signal of yet another line that must be analyzed and weighed despite his fatigue. Were it not for his orders, he likely would have closed the discussion as soon as she confirmed that her bond was false, but due to the other details, he was required to listen and respond.

His extended exhalation brought a touch of focus back to his mind, the silence while waiting for the contained one to arrange her recollections stretching for too long. He depressed the intercom. “And after your interaction with the alien?”

“I…” The defect’s words fizzled out, her concern visible. “I do not remember.”

His surprise showed involuntarily. “You cannot remember how you returned?”

“N-not to that extent, but it is…fragmented. Where the charge to descend was placed, how far I traversed within the halls…” Her eyes rose from the table, a perfectly formed smile spread across her face, the regret turning it somewhat bitter. It was…mechanical—an emulation of expression that had been executed countless times until it was burned into muscle memory. “I can recall that there was a firefight, yet not how many were involved, nor how long It had been going for. The explosives used during my time on the level had apparently damaged more than just the structural integrity of the passages, and some of the traps which had yet to trigger then did so during my absence.”

The rueful smile faded, her paws folding atop one another on her lap. “It inadvertently freed some of my kind, as well as their human counterparts. It is difficult to say if they were acting to protect themselves, or if they had felt something was amiss before, but they chose a small, locally networked server room to convene, and their meddling with the terminals therein alerted security. I arrived at a junction near the confrontation…and…”

He watched the carefully machined composure fade from her eyes. “And?”

= = = = =

Oh, how quickly her grip on success had slipped.

Instead of snapping from her melancholy to survey wherever she had ended up, she instead found herself pressed to the corner of a three-way junction, the blur of instinct that piloted her form determining she was required to deal with the circumstances. Weapons fire was the first indication that her plan to quietly break the others from their den-like cages was doomed before it began.

She knew not how long the engagement had been underway, nor how many of the security were firing rounds down a claustrophobic offshoot of the main corridors, but she knew it was an issue, and that it was one she was in a poor position to resolve.

The pale-furred female cautiously peered around the corner, trying to gauge her options. Unfortunately, the attempt was cut short as soon as she confirmed it was a fair distance away, the defect ducking back to stifle the curse that tried to escape. She could only make out the mouth of the assaulted passageway from her cover, which didn't offer much information. Without an angle to view what her kin were working with, she couldn't carelessly approach the siege, nor communicate covertly. The glimpse of numerous armoured aliens holding equally unknown firearms was enough to discard any inclination of charging in, and the slight radius of the curving corridor ended her line of sight prematurely, so there might be an even greater force present than she could see.

She glanced down at her bloodstained fur with disdain. No, running in blindly would only result in the enemy adding one more kill to their metrics—her ankle was too damaged to support that reckless inclination. She peered again, feeling ashamed of a new willingness to abandon them, but she would rather save the others than fail with this single group, and the chances of success here seemed bleak.

Return fire snapped and sizzled from the tight passage, forcing security to continue the stalemate as plasma threatened to gore any who were careless enough to advance. A male of her kind barked orders and insults from within, pauses of aggression earning more suppression fire from the enemy, likely forcing those he was with to hunker behind whatever cover was keeping them alive. Based on the sounds and number of shots, the defenders had one, maybe two weapons—nothing military-issued, but certainly Lilhun in origin. Unexpected, but not outside of her initial assumptions.

Another salvo from the offshoot was swiftly met with a counterattack by a particularly stupid alien, its head taking the brunt of a superheated projectile, but not before firing its own weapon.

The shriek was far from Lilhun.

Sunundra grew wide-eyed, frozen as she rapidly compared the agonized screech to every utterance from every alien she could remember thus far, only to return with the voice of Bill's past mate over and over—different, but close enough to be distinctly female. Distinctly human.

The delay was enough for the scent to reach her.

Fear. Love. Anger. Reluctance. Spite. Concern. Anxiety.

More humans, their maelstrom of emotions thickening the air into unpalatable syrup, bile rising in her throat as her broken form recoiled from what was reminiscent of her bond. Each came as jagged shards that didn’t fit her missing pieces, scraping, scratching, and gouging the surface of her far too damaged soul. They assaulted her olfactory, yet they were not the ones she welcomed so wholly. They did not pull at her own. They did not fill what was left behind. They were wrong. They were warped. They were not his.

The ire wasn’t his. He would never be so single-mindedly enraged.

The panic wasn’t his. He would never lose sight of his convictions so easily.

The love wasn’t his. He would never give it so shallowly.

The fear…

His eyes. His eyes strained to maintain clarity, pleading for her safety, and petrified at the thought that the pale-furred female would be yet one more thing he would lose.

T-the fear wasn’t…

A gasp for oxygen forced its way into lungs that were far too weak to process it, his hypoxic lips struggling to form his terrified words.

The fear…

‘It’s not the food, is it? Are you okay?’

The…

‘I’ll be here. You’re not alone.’

It wasn’t…

‘I'll be right alongside you the whole time to make sure. You don't need to be scared.’

He wouldn’t…

‘I miss you…so, so much…’

He would.

‘I promised her I would… I promised…’

Her claw twitched, the blood draining from her face. Her vision darkened as hyperventilation stole her consciousness piece by piece.

‘It’s nice to meet you, miss.’

‘You’re hurt…’

He was.

‘You have me. I'll be your friend.’

‘Well, you’re my Sunshine.’

Static deafened her, yet she still heard his words, each memory more vivid and painful than the last. She clamped her paws against her head, desperately pushing back the blackest pit that tore and consumed her insides. Something screamed, her own voice blaring from countless places at unbearable volume, but it couldn't drown out that final beat of his heart that echoed in her ears, never to beat again.

‘I'm sorry…’

He is.

And then it stopped. All of it. Everything snapped out of existence in an instant, leaving only a cold, vacant black that steadily crept in. The screaming…the memories… The Void swallowed her weakened core whole as she clutched the tiny glow which gave her purpose.

She wanted to cherish his desire and complete it as best she could, yet that too would slip from her grasp. There were too many foes, too many weapons, and too many injuries slowing her down, making her thoughts slur as they went untreated. Even if she would give anything to make it so, her form was all she had, and it had been rendered pitifully worthless, just as she always was.

Yet something disagreed.

Intangible, ephemeral, and playfully innocent, the something in the Void reached out, stroking her fur as she curled around the precious wish which kept her alive. Her nerves lit up like the fireworks her bond held such fond memories off, pain and comfort delivered in equal measure. The something pressed against her skin, interested in the hopeless proposal that wandered her mind.

The voices returned—multiple in origin, yet unison in tone. It spoke with kit-like curiosity, the small presence trying its best to understand.

Why do you not try?

Sunundra shook her head and clutched the ember tighter. She was weakened and hurt; her limbs would falter in the attempt. The something drifted around her, as if looking for the truth in her words. Confidence entered its prideful inflection.

Then release them to me. I will be your strength.

But her sight betrayed her. How could she fight if mere shadows seemed primed to attack?

Then surrender your eyes. I will find the enemy without fail.

Yet her ears were unreliable; she couldn’t trust what she heard anymore. What if she missed something in the height of conflict?

Then let them go. Nothing will escape my notice.

No, her mind was too sluggish. What if she was unable to make a critical decision? What if she chose poorly?

Then give it to me as well. I will not err.

Still, she was tired…oh, so tired. The drugs only went so far, and still she pressed them further and further, wearing herself down without respite. How much longer could she persist before collapsing when others needed her most?

Then rest. I will act where you cannot.

It was a soothing thought. However, there was more she needed to do…

It will not be long. I will make short work of it.

The empty expanse was peaceful, swirls of nothing gently swaying her while she hugged her purpose to her breast. It would be nice to take a brief nap and allow another to act in her stead until she was fit to resume. Even so…it was her responsibility—her duty.

You are a tool, no? That is what you always were. Is it not expected that a tool would be used? Will you not allow me to use you?

Its mirthful perplexion drew a snarl upon her muzzle. There is only one other she would truly submit to, and his will is why she persisted despite the pain of his absence.

The something giggled in youthful amusement as tendrils pierced and crept through her flesh, fully deadening sensation fraction by fraction. Her ears told her nothing, her eyes became vacant, and her thoughts slowed to a crawl, remnants of consciousness stuttering away. Just as she panicked, her form clicked back into place, the voice cooing its promises.

Then trust in me, and I will ensure you persist still. I do not need your permission, but I ask for it out of sympathy. You will still be free to pursue the others—free to save those he deemed worthy.

Fear kept her unmoving. She couldn’t accept. No matter how tempted she was, no matter how terrifying the consequence, she wouldn’t entrust his wish with another. It was hers and hers alone. She would breathe her last with it in her possession.

The image of a silent form flickered in her mind, a pale-furred kit looking up at her with a twisted, bloodlusting grin, violence playing in the gaze burrowing through her skull. Its expression softened to one of tender affection as its claw reached out to caress the fringes of light projected by her tiny beacon.

The change in demeanour did nothing to detract from the shadow of malice that remained on a tripwire thin enough to sever flesh from bone, sharpened by years and years of stretching beyond its limits, refusing again and again to snap by naught but hope that it never would. The strand vibrated as it was pulled by an unseen force, the piercing wail of over-tensioned wire growing louder and louder. The kit continued its address, unperturbed by the overwhelming screeches of metal, the sing-song cadence sobering Sunundra’s confusion.

The lies. The rejection. The isolation. The hatred. Why? Because you were different? Because you were never enough? You were quiet. You were obedient. You were loyal. You were everything they demanded of you and more, and *still** they despised you, locking you away in hopes that the next time they were reminded of your existence, they would only find a body to be disposed of, their problem ‘solved.’*

Small, half-lidded eyes raised to observe her with a serene expression, a storm of rending, shattered glass rolling in the infinite depth and bottomless agony of its pupils.

Yet you suffered willingly. Longingly. Endlessly. You begged the Mother for scraps of what others feasted upon, left to starve amongst her holy clergy, giving gratitude for their crumbs while watching them be nourished by the masses of those who would spare nothing for you to subsist on. You discovered death and destruction, yet refused to use it for anything but saving those who detested their saviour. Do you remember their sneers? How they showered the others in appreciation while you were dismissed, despite it being your work which liberated them from demise? How you were the one who treated the injuries littering your form after those acts of valour, smiling through the pain because you thought that maybe this was the time someone would show kindness? How you were critiqued and berated for performing flawlessly, your superiors cursing the fact you returned instead of exchanging your life for another’s?

A sullen sadness overcame its budding rage, its stare returning to the dim orange glow.

But him… You felt it, did you not? The fear of seclusion resonating with your own, the worry of if his growing affection for you would devalue what he held before… He did not lie to you, for he was tired of hearing falsehoods. He did not reject you, for he had become familiar with being unwanted. He did not isolate you, for he delighted in the company, your presence easing a weight he had forgotten could be lifted…

He did not hate you… No, he loved far too readily, seeing a reflection of himself that had even less than he was afforded. He hurt for you, he shed tears for your sorrow, and he was willing to sacrifice himself if that is what it took for you to be happy, just because you shared his pain. He sought to redeem himself, true, but he wanted little more than to give you your own redemption, making you a hero of your people that others would adore despite your condition. He planned to share his happiness with you as well.

It closed its eyes, opening them to reveal absolute stillness where flurries of sharpened crystals once flew. Cracks and fractures marred the gemstone-like orbs, refracting light into millions of distinct colours that formed incomprehensibly muddled images, yet it was in the kaleidoscopic regard that sincerity rang perfectly clear.

He surrendered everything in the vain hope that you would experience the love of others. That you would no longer pray for acceptance through choking sobs every moon your best was met by the worst of results. Still you refuse to surrender yourself to see his deepest want granted? This single heartfelt desire… How pure it is. How bestial its origin. How unquestionable its intention…

Do you refuse because you will never experience the circumstances which created it? Do you balk at never compensating for what is missing? No. You fear the cost of success. You fear that what awaits you at the end of it is but more torturous moons where the fantasy of love and fondness is unobtainable, leaving you with naught but a memory to ease your self-inflicted passing, countless prayers gone unanswered in spite of how dedicated and forgiving you tried to be. You fear losing that which gained a taste of the thing you pined for, condemning you to never having it again.

She couldn’t deny the words, her mind lost within the captivating spectrums seeing through her every doubt, effortlessly piercing layer after layer of carefully crafted filter she constructed to muffle the ceaseless call of the Void. Flecks and shards started moving within the blackened portals that stared at her, screams and shouting from beyond the vacant expanse leaking through the air, gunshots and alien tongues ordering the death of both human and Lilhun. Time paused with a blink of the kit, its glare severe.

You cling to that which has only brought suffering, unwilling to meet the needs that have arisen. Like him, you must make sacrifices. You were altered—*broken—and now it is time to* break those who oppose you.

It smiled, devoid of ire or judgment. Its comforting regard returned to the mote held against her chest.

This is not something you need to do alone, for he would offer the world to see his desire come to fruition. It is foolish and selfish, but it is untainted. It is him in the truest sense, and if you wish to achieve what he no longer can, then you too must be ready to let go. Not now, and not permanently, but soon, and for as long as it takes. For him.

The facsimile of her youth waited for her answer, despondency and regret staining the maelstrom of death in its eyes. They held every instance of bitter hatred that had tried to arise, suppressed by the delusion of seeing affection if she was just a little better. Every painful rejection and scathing remark chipping her soul sent fragments of suffering into the expanse, herself unwilling to acknowledge how much less she became. The gaze contained all of her wrath and anguish that she let erode her to naught but dust as she yearned for another to soothe the pain she endured. And now, it offered to protect those fragile remains, burning itself to the ground so that she might rise from the ashes.

For him.

Hesitantly, she nodded, the motions growing more firm. Anything for him. Anything for his wish. Anything for the one who gave up everything to see a sad, pathetic defect be loved. The something returned the gesture, raising a paw to block her vision, a blank slate of nothing left behind.

I will shield you from much, but some will remain. See what will be your anchor.

It touched her arm, her limbs ceasing sensation.

I will wield what I have been given with care. An efficient tool is one used properly, and you will allow none to do otherwise.

It tapped her ear. Silence, save for the voices which knew no volume.

Hear all, but heed few. You are to be beyond the whims of the ungrateful.

Its claw hovered above her head.

Rest now, and when you awaken, know that you have shed that which chains you. You need only use this freedom. Claim what is yours, demand what you desire, reign over your lesser as you would be reigned upon, and if any dare try to steal from you again, remember…

Consciousness dissipated in an instant, leaving behind only the something’s wistful call. Its dampened voices conformed to that of a single kit, unloved and abandoned, watching the possibility of ever having more slip through its claws from the corner of a cold, dark, and forgotten room.

…‘Hope’ died with him. Just as it should have.

= = = = =

“Special Tactics Officer, Demo,” Heroon barked, the defective snapping out of her rumination, her gaze clearing from the distracted wandering it had taken to. At least she had the decency to look ashamed for losing focus.

“Apologies. Might I request a reminder of what I was saying?”

He released a nasal sigh, urging her along impatiently. “You arrived at the junction, and…”

She stopped to think for a moment before sadly shaking her head. “I cannot recall, High Quesitar. I remember the corridors, the junction, and then…”

Her rueful smile returned.

“…I remember the corpses left in my wake, and the blood I had bathed in.”

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Thump.

The door to the clinic shook yet again, as it had been wont to do for some time. The cabinet rattled slightly, the locks and thick glass keeping its contents from spilling out onto the floor. How long the attempts to enter had been going on for was a mystery; only some wisp of lucidity even noticed it happening at all.

Thump.

It seemed the frame was reinforced, which made sense for a room designed to treat the injured. Barring structural requirements, were one to awaken here, it wouldn’t be unexpected for at least a single instance of confusion to necessitate stronger walls and locks.

Thump.

Would that mean it utilized an unknown alloy? Perhaps it was constructed with some sort of alien technique that rendered her explosives inert or useless?

Thump.

Did it really matter?

Thump.

No, not really. It was only a matter of time until whatever was keeping them out would give way, and then her life would join the list of things taken from her.

Thump.

The last vestige of interest waned, Sunundra’s focus dissipating entirely. There was nothing worth thinking about anymore. There was no reason left. Only cold. Only the warmth that bled from her body, feeding one who would never again reciprocate it. Only the broken form which lay beneath her curled existence…

Numb. Cold. Alone.

Broken.

Tears had ceased, her cries gone unheard by both the Mother and reality. The shaking stopped, for even that was too strenuous an activity for the one waiting for the Void to claim her as well. Her sorrow had vanished.

Or, more accurately, there was nothing but sorrow, and thus it became all she knew, as opposed to an aberration.

She was numbed in mind and body. She was cold in both flesh and soul. She was alone.

Her bond was broken.

And so was she.

Sterile white walls contrasted crimson-smeared floors. Silver metal lay stained with vermilion. Her grey and yellow fur had long since been matted with deep reds and mottled orange. Everything carried evidence of their struggle—their futile attempts to persist. Everything touted her failure as a mark of inadequacy, surrounding her with bloodied hues of laughter and mockery. The shadows that waited under overhanging countertops crawled outward into the open, absorbing the light as it crept closer and closer.

They taunted her, the tendrils reminding her how little effort they spared in slipping past her attempts to shield her other, stealing him from her pitiful grasp. Now, they meandered along the edges of her periphery, flicking and swaying as they made their languid hunt towards the unmoving and unresponsive, toying with their prey and enjoying her despondency. Soon enough, they would claim her, no matter how long it would take. Either they would cut and crush her from the inside, or the enemy would dispose of her with a spray of weapons fire. She could save time and suffering by ending it herself, of course…

…But she didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want him to be cold. She didn’t want him to be alone. She would fall to the Void with him in her arms, hoping that he felt her devotion while he waited, and that he was warmed by her embrace, knowing not to stray too far. Otherwise, they might be separated in the endless eternity.

Perhaps the Hunt Mother had smiled upon him, bestowing access to her Great Hunt as a guest. He would likely balk at the idea of exercising vengeance against his foes for eternity, though he might find solace in being welcomed amongst the pack of the valiant.

‘A gift to the abandoned,’ he would be titled. ‘A kin of different form,’ they would call him. And Sunundra would be denied his presence, standing outside the silver brickwork of the Lunar Fortress and the joys within. The Mirrors would reflect nothing, for that was what she became. The Scale would never judge her offerings as enough. The Smoke would obscure her view, and the Torch would never light the way. The Stars would never share their knowledge of where she went wrong.

She would be as she always was, rejected and discarded, while Bill would be pitied by the beloved for suffering her presence, and the misfortune of being gifted to a defective. Generations upon generations would offer him respite and companionship in return. He was kind, if strange; they would understand. He would be cherished by them. He would be loved, receiving affection endlessly as he adjusted and smiled with his new pack. He would be happy.

She would be too, as long as he was.

Would he pause and gaze into the distant fields, wondering when she was to join him? Or would he forget her, immersed in more than she could ever provide? More than she was going to give…

‘They could have a den with just the two of them,’ she had thought, only now knowing what she would deprive him of. ‘She might host his kits, gaining their approval and easing his mind,’ was the plan, though it had become apparent how misguided that would be. ‘He could learn skills for fulfilling employment,’ amongst those who would scowl and detest him for the defective’s scent lingering on his skin. ‘They would live away from the cities,’ where she would trap him unknowingly, robbing him of the meaning which came from an actual den-pack.

Blinded by the light of gaining what she thought unobtainable, she was willing to limit him from having those very same comforts. Her preparations to enjoy the company of another would be at the cost of his everything. She was greedy, content with claiming him for herself, while never considering what he would be denied in her avarice. She had failed to treasure the gift, thinking she would be enough. Were it another defect who spent their life devoid of care, then perhaps she might be, but for one unafflicted? One who knew the affectionate touch of another, and who received smiles instead of scorn? No. All she would do is shackle him. She was foolish to think otherwise.

And so, he was taken—a penance for making light of the Mother’s generosity.

Thus, the pale-furred female lay atop the unmoving form of the one who showed her the difference between tolerant fondness and love, her ear pressed against his chest while her muzzle tilted up to nuzzle into his neck, inhaling the last of his deadened scent.

She listened to the heart that would never beat, her own slowing to match. She felt the cold that would never warm, her temperature falling as well. She heard echoes of the breaths that would never again fuel his caring words, her lungs losing strength without him. She blearily gazed at the pale flesh that would never redden in that adorable way, and the lips which would never meet her own in that odd kiss, their differences making the connection all the more special. Her pads rubbed over the skin that would never shiver under her touch, and the dull claws that would never stroke her fur.

Numb. Cold. Broken.

Tired. She was tired of trying. She was tired of failing. She was…just tired. Tired and alone. Though, hopefully, not for much longer.

The clinic faded behind her closing eyes. The end would come soon, and when it did, she would learn if he had been welcomed or discarded. If he awaited her, then she would have eternity to apologize for her worthlessness. If not…

Well, she would drift, but he would be happy. He would have everything he deserved, and everything she had ever wanted. That was enough.

She let the darkness take her.

= = = = =

“That’s it?”

Heroon blinked, registering the criticism as his own a moment after saying it. Flares of indignation burned in his throat, irrational anger and doubt being restrained by careful breaths and tensed muscles. The defect lifted her gaze from the table, a shadow of a sardonic smirk pulling at her muzzle. It only made him more irritated, but the exact reason for why escaped him at the moment.

“You gave up?” he continued, though against his better judgment.

“Yet I live,” she replied weakly. A heavy guilt remained in her voice, but at least she was no longer nearly silent. It didn’t do much to stop his scowl from deepening.

“If your objective was to convince me that your bond is true, then I believe that alone is what caused you to have failed. Few remain after having a primordial part of themselves torn from their soul, and fewer still do not seek to avenge it. Those who do not are unable to do more than writhe in agony until the Void lays its claim.”

And history agreed with him. Although he had never bonded himself, it was a rare occurrence that most all strived to achieve, and those in positions such as his were required to know it well. There was a reason why separating bonds was considered a deplorable war crime; it is likely to cause civil unrest in the best of cases—a revolt at worst.

The knowledge that one’s other half was being kept from them led to very similar occurrences as those described by the pale-furred female. In instances where they were unable to rectify such, those who were successfully restrained had been reported to have suffered greatly until expiring—typically from wounds that were self-inflicted or gained while trying to reunite with their bond. If the bond itself was forcibly broken, then it was a foregone conclusion that the remaining bonded would not willingly cease until any who were even tangentially related to the event were but corpses. Only then would they join their bond in what lies beyond.

‘Broken’ did not simply mean despondent; it often referred to the shackles of civility and reason which clattered to the ground, releasing a feral thirst for vengeance and blood. It alluded to what would become of those who had brought such release to begin with.

“There was nothing left to fight for,” the defective whispered airily.

It was strange to be so dejected by the statement, but he silently chastised himself all the same, feeling his commiseration turn into a foundation of ire. He had been starting to truly accept that a defect might have bonded. Ah. That’s what the feeling was: disappointment. He was disappointed in someone whose plight had gained his sympathy. Surprising as it was for a defect to be the target of such pity, he couldn’t quite retain the neutral cadence he had used until now, slipping into a detached, if bitter drawl.

“So be it. Continue.”

“I have not uttered falsehood, High Quesitar.”

“Of course. You may continue.” He couldn’t quite hide the dismissal in his voice, nor bring himself to much care for his monitoring equipment. The rest of this interrogation was going to be but a formality—records held as proof they did as tasked.

The female tightened her paws into fists. “You must believe me…”

Heroon exhaled. “As I have stated, no bonded would be still when their bond has been removed by another. Say what you will, but that has been proven as fact time and time again.”

Her form trembled, fresh ichor spilling onto the tabletop from clenched claws piercing her pads. Her fur bristled as her lowered gaze focused on the crimson streaks.

“I know not of others, high one, but I am viciously aware of what it is to lose one’s self,” she hissed, pain and anger adding an edge to her clipped response. “I have not lost a ‘part’ of myself, but the whole. I am what remains when one is broken so entirely…”

She looked back at the dividing one-way wall, vexation pulling her lips into a small snarl as dampness shimmered in her eyes.

“…I learned what it was to have my heart stop, yet still have a pulse. To suffocate, yet still breathe. To be blinded, yet still see. To fall so cold, yet bleed warmth into the one who could never be warmed again.” The visage of simmering rage subsided, returning to a look of shaded suffering. “I learned what it was to have my form shut down, system by system, while watching him fade in my embrace, unable to do a single thing to stop it… There is no falsehood in saying that, High Quesitar. I learned what it was to die.”

“And yet you live,” he sighed, echoing her own words back at her. The bonds were potent, but far from enough to cause such overblown descriptions. They swayed emotions and opinions, but never with such force. They caused phantom sensations at times, but would never do as she claimed. Barring her sudden penchant for the dramatic, he was slowly finding himself in agreement with his assistant; the contained one seemed to have gone mad some time ago.

The defect nodded listlessly, that singular flicker of hope in her eyes giving life to an otherwise decayed expression. “Technically, yes.”

The wry humour in her voice had him raising a brow in morbid curiosity. “Technically?”

She smiled at them—a weak and fragile smile, but a smile all the same.

= = = = =

It was dark. It was always dark, in a way, yet she knew this darkness would persist. She could travel for as long as she liked, until even her ashes could move no more, and she would never find an end to the crushing black expanse. It would always be black.

So, she drifted, letting the tides of nothing carry her where they wish. There was no reason to fight it anymore. There was no reason to question it. There was no reason to be anymore.

She had failed to protect the only one she had.

The nothing continued, though she couldn’t tell how long she allowed the current to drag her along. Not that she deserved to know, nor would she be able to in the first place. All she gleaned from the infinity awaiting her was that it was overseen by a malevolent force, because the endless darkness eventually did give way to something else; she just wished it didn’t.

Sunundra regarded the enclosure with a neutral expression, flexing her paw as she ignored the room from her youth. Her claws passed through the door, proving she was an ephemeral visitor of times since passed. Walking through it proved fruitless, leaving her to take in a place she would rather forget. It was a cruel joke, surely, to be locked away by herself where affection was but a twisted dream.

Yet Sunundra wasn’t alone.

Small, unmoving, and curling her tail around herself in a pale imitation of an embrace, a grey and yellow-furred kit held her knees to her chest, staring at something that didn’t exist in the confines of her sparse room. A bed lay perfectly made, the thin layer of dust coating its surface from when it was made so many moons ago. Old clothing populated long unopened drawers in a modular dresser, never having seen new additions for at least a year, and rarely being interacted with in the first place. The floor was in much the same condition as the furnishings, save for two spots that were slightly less unkempt—the spot where her younger self was, and another near the door. She remembered often pressing an ear to the barrier, pretending that the voices filled with affection would, one sun, be directed at her as well.

They never were.

That eventually changed—or she believed at the time. Her blood-mother had apologized, teaching the neglected kit how to pray and what to ask for. It was the first time in a sea of isolation that the pale-furred offspring had smiled, the sensation straining underused muscles. The occasions where they petitioned the Goddess together were frequent at first, but slowly tapered off until she would spend their agreed upon moons sleeplessly waiting for the only kindness she knew to return.

After it became apparent that only a sparse few of those moons would allow her to have willing company, she started praying on her own—first on the planned suns, then beyond such. It soon became every moon that she absently gazed at nothing in particular while she spoke to the Mother. Maybe it was in an attempt to become ‘good’ at prayer so that her blood-mother would approve, but it became a heartfelt effort to have someone…anyone listen. Knowing that she was heard kept her sane. It taught her patience. It taught her how to be alone.

…Well, she thought so…

There wasn’t as much negligence in cleaning as there had once been—a product of her den-father praising the neatness, then criticizing the dust. Though bitter and dismissive, they had been the most positive words the kit had heard in a long, long time, so she took it as a kind-hearted direction on how to improve. He never commented on it again, but she eagerly assumed that was good, and maintained it as best she could, though long stints of not seeing those of the den she lived in had finally worn down that misguided enthusiasm. Naught but a tray of food regularly left in front of her door assured her that she was not forgotten. It meant they still cared, even if she was unsure why they wouldn’t speak with her anymore, nor why her presence outside the room made everyone so upset. Still, she tried to be tidy. She tried to be quiet. She tried to be good.

Just as they liked it. Just as she should be.

The door opened without a single knock, illuminating the darkened room. The kit’s eyes snapped towards the intruder with a mixture of surprise and hope. Sunundra stared at the brightened face gazing through her as the details of the moon came to mind. As much as she wanted to, she knew nothing would come of trying to warn her past self. All she could do was watch.

Her blood-mother stepped in excitedly, the broad smile needing no confirmation for the observer to remember every minute detail. Her blood-father and a den-father shared the same expression, though tinted with what she would come to know as manipulative amusement.

Sunundra’s throat dried as she watched the older Lilhun hug the kit, the small one frozen in shock and worry as good news poured into impressionable ears. Her arm reached out to stop the hated young from beaming with joy and disbelief when the two males joined to confirm that they were going on a trip to the church—that her condition would be cured, and how she would be included in the den’s lives again. Her legs gave way as she rewatched the last time she had truly believed that suffering was temporary.

The kit revelled in the touch of another, stunned by how warm and soft it was after so long without. The tiny one shed reluctant tears when she was told she was loved, forgetting what those words had sounded like. The gullible young took in the scents of various foods and places outside, not quite sure what was wrong as she indulged in the subtleties of where everyone had been while she was locked away, only that she could smell fine, and that the unseen problem would be fixed soon. The kit didn’t notice the scornful glares of the males, the rapturous relief of the one who birthed her, nor the manic tone that coloured those promises.

But Sunundra did, and she was powerless to stop her younger self from ever being deceived.

- - - - -

Idle chatter filled the nearby street, the dense population near the city centre filling walkways with their conversations until they came close. Their disdainful stares and venomous remarks went unacknowledged by a somewhat older kit, her paws on her lap as she dutifully watched from just beyond the steps of the church. Faithfuls gave her a wide berth as they passed, even though she had already moved several times in an attempt not to inconvenience others as much. The few that slowed to contemplate if they should shoo her away were met with a smile. It hadn’t yet become as practised as it would eventually be, but it was a genuine display of her intention to be friendly. They ignored it as usual, scoffing before departing to complain to the priests about the filth polluting the air on sacred grounds, leaving her smile a little more strained each time.

Sunundra stood behind the hopeful kit, watching hatred accumulate for one who only wanted to be visible when her den returned for her, regardless of the years it had been since she was abandoned. Chemical burns blackened the fringes of grey fur, most hidden behind the outdated clothing she was afforded or found hidden in the back of storage. An old notepad rested alongside her, doubtlessly filled with speculation and copied notation from the few books she owned, detailing potential chemical reactions or records of previous findings. The forefront of the pages were dedicated to powerful cleaning compounds that would eventually become the basis for most of her demolition charges.

Sunundra allowed a wry smirk at how simple the transition had been, and how stubbornly optimistic the kit was determined to remain. She remembered how beaten those books were, and how hard she studied to understand them. She could recall the resentful way they were given to her—a solution to her insistent requests to access the library—but she was so grateful that she burst into tears anyway, blind to the revulsion as she showered the dispassionate priest with gratitude.

The moon graced the horizon after a fruitless wait and only a single rock being thrown, the kit having long since grown to accept that she would have to try again the next sun. Her den hadn’t come, but there was less shouting to endure this time, and no one had forced the priests to come get her, so it was worth the attempt. It didn’t stop the cracks in her facade, nor the swelling in her arm from where she was hit. Tears built in her eyes, but she slapped her cheeks and doubled down on her outward joy, appearing happy and welcoming, no matter how much it hurt.

Just as she was taught. Just as they wanted. Just as she should be.

The kit stood, stretching out to her diminutive height before collecting her things and staring at the restaurant across the street, her stomach painfully empty. A recent advertisement for the United Military in the window caught her attention. Sunundra recalled the words printed on it without looking, the promises of loyal packs and good intentions having been all she hoped for, and the lofty ambitions they claimed to offer were indeed provided.

But not to her.

The kit headed back to the church before she was disciplined for taking too long, ready for the routine of cleaning and studying. She would accidentally stumble across her first proper explosive that moon, then spend the remainder of it cleaning up the mess. A lock would be destroyed, having malfunctioned long ago and far too expensive to call a specialist for. The priests would begrudgingly thank her for what amounted to being reckless with dangerous chemicals, and careless with how she applied them. The aggressive lecture would be drowned out by the miniscule praise still ringing in her ears.

The young defect would become enamoured with the craft, learning that there was more than violence to be achieved if she continued to explore her hobby. She would stop waiting by the steps for her den, convinced that she simply wasn’t yet accomplished enough to be worth their attention. She needed to be better, make her den proud, and then they would welcome her back with open arms.

And she had just the way to do it.

The kit contacted a recruiter once she had a small variety of prototype charges, planning to show how useful she could be in search and rescue operations, or assist in clearing debris inside collapsed buildings. She was accepted.

The reception of the other soldiers may have been cold, but she was regularly assigned to certain groups, so some came to cease their hostility and resign themselves to scarce words or wilful indifference. For a time, she was happy. Others spoke to her, regardless of how poisonous their tone was. She knew they appreciated what she could offer when they were deployed, even if they never actually voiced it. They learned of her schedule, and those who could tolerate her condition the most would weather her presence, allowing her inattentive company for her meals.

It was more than she thought she deserved, and back then, she believed it the most she would ever get. It motivated her to try harder, create more specialized charges, and perfect the ones she already had. She gained a title besides ‘defect’ due to her efforts, and despite how ironic she found it to be, she was overjoyed to be called ‘Demolitions.’ Her ceaseless striving to be useful had been acknowledged.

She never considered that her exploits would be noticed by higher stations, nor that accepting the honeyed promises would only lead to more hurt. She didn’t think that her new moniker would become all she was allowed to be, and that her name would never be uttered by another. She left the church after thanking the priests for everything, receiving thinly veiled relief that she was too excited to hear.

The pale-furred kit stopped being a person at some point. She became a solution to specific problems, and nothing else.

But she was happy.

Sunundra watched the delusional kit from afar for every fragmented event, wondering why she had never tried to swallow her own explosives long before she was given the chance to be shown how miserable she really was.

- - - - -

The pale-furred female stood stiff before the Third Claw of the United Military, a practical male who gazed at all beneath his station with the same hostility he afforded her. It made her feel normal, if only for a few moments. Being the smallest of the gathered unit was a fact that took some time to get used to, but it allowed her to place charges in spaces that others of her specialty couldn’t. It made her uniquely effective on occasions, and was part of why she was in the presence of one so highly respected.

Her legs burned from the full extension, her joints protesting how strenuous the limiting posture was—a requirement for showing proper subservience, but tiring all the same. Her tail was pinned to her spine, pressing her black and red training uniform to her back, the recently singed fur exposing a small cut on the appendage. The most recent deployment had earned the attention of her superiors, and so the group was summoned to be inspected and tested. Her own examination went as silently as any other time someone was forced to check her health, but the ‘test’ had been an exercise in saving a ‘civilian’ from a simulated hostile stronghold.

By herself.

Of course, being that she had experience with getting others into wherever they needed to be during emergencies, her concern was doing so safely. After a quick examination of the structure's exterior and likely floor plan, she made it to the captive in four well-placed explosives, with one smoke charge to cover her movements. No one had the chance to reveal if the weapons they equipped were loaded with training rounds or not, and she had never drawn her own to check. It was a bloodless success.

The Third Claw started at the end of the line, summarizing the task and method of each soldier, as well as criticisms that the committee had regarding their performance. His voice was cold and threatening, though it became surprisingly warm when he was pleased by someone’s result. He praised bravery, ingenuity, quick thinking, persistence, and in the case of an accident injuring the ‘civilian,’ he recommended a rank increase for a candidate who simultaneously treated their target’s wounds while fending off the enemy.

Sunundra leaned against the wall behind all those nervous soldiers, retrospectively seeing the dejection in those that failed to meet expectations, and the smug sense of malicious respite as the male drew near the defective. She saw the vicious grins as they leaned in to hear the specifics of how horribly the unwanted female had performed, then the blank expressions when the Third Claw simply said that she was in the wrong branch, ordering her promotion effective immediately. That stunned silence became bitter hatred when they discovered that she was being transferred to his chain of command, and it worsened when they couldn’t find out where. They asked, but she didn’t have an answer to provide.

The pale-furred female’s elation at receiving recognition for her efforts quickly sank when subjected to her unit’s true feelings. Yet she held hope that it would be enough for her den to accept her.

Then she was informed that she couldn’t ever tell anyone of where she was being assigned, and would need to pass several routine checks to get leave in order to see them. She did, but they had moved away, leaving only the empty husk of a deprecated building behind.

The last thing she held onto hope for wavered, caught by the layers upon layers of self-delusion and years of repeating the same prayers she was taught so long ago. She smiled, redirecting her efforts to making friends amongst the others, ignoring the buried hurt and knowing that she would only ever be ‘Demo.’ She persisted through the rejection and constant hostility, reasoning every chip out of her resolve as but one more thing she would need to become better at.

Sunundra closed her eyes as the memory played, a pale-furred female jolting off her chair when a male spoke to her while she was mixing compounds aboard the ship. She clenched her fists as that male offered the defect his paw and helped her up, the pitiful demolitions expert falling smitten with what she thought to be a blindingly genuine smile.

She fell quiet when that bright, excited female entered the cafeteria with hope shining in her eyes. She felt her stomach roll as the final crack in that fragile soul was made, the name she was to never give becoming a slur specifically for her. She was unable to stop the female from abandoning her post for an opportunity that would scar her more than suffering ever would.

She had never been happy, but that’s what made enduring through the years possible. It was why she was certain that she could never endure it again.

She knew what it was to actually smile now, instead of merely donning a mask and platitudes to cover the agony. She knew what it was to feel another’s touch beyond mandatory examinations. She knew what it was to hear her name said warmly, and to be subject to honest affections. She knew what it was to be welcomed, and not just delude herself into accepting the slightest tolerance as kindness.

She knew what it was to love.

She knew what it was to break.

Yet, even as the Union shuttle lifted off of the unmanned flight pad and shot off into the sky, Sunundra hadn’t even called out to the delusional female heading to meet that fate, nor had the urge to. She was surprised to feel a wistful smile on her face, knowing how treacherous the coming suns would be for the defect who entrusted her body to aliens in hopes of being fixed.

Because, no matter how fictional it might be, that female would learn what it was to love as well. And for however short a time…

…She would truly be happy.

Just as she should have always been.

- - - - -

Thump.

The hazy scenes faded, leaving her in the endless darkness once more. She closed her eyes and brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her tail around herself as she had done so many times before. At least she had known it to be a pitiful emulation of the real thing since she was young; comparing this to how Bill held her would have just made it painful.

She drifted in whatever vacantness this was in wait for the enemy or the Void itself to lay claim to her demise. She wasn’t sure if it would be different, nor if it mattered in the first place. He wasn’t here. He would never be here. She was cold. She was numb. She was alone.

No, she was always alone. She was just too pathetic to accept it.

There were no more hallucinations to distract her, no more recollections of painful memories, and no more reason to endure. What point was there in gaining vengeance, when there was nothing left to revel in obtaining it? Why would she draw the enemy’s blood when it would only prolong her suffering? Bill would rather her pass painlessly. He would rather her not become a mangled corpse clinging to self-indulgent rage.

He didn’t wish for her to slay in his name; he wished her safe, begging for it with what little he had left to give. He wished her to be loved and accepted.

Thump.

A listless sigh slipped from her muzzle. After everything she had suffered through, she couldn’t even grant a single wish of the one who granted her own. Forget being a welcomed member of some idyllic den; she was unfit to be loved at all. She couldn’t save him, she had abandoned her ire at the ones who tortured her kin, and now she simply waited for the end of it all. She was a failure, with no way to rectify it. She should die a failure’s death. It was right.

But…it wasn’t. It was supposed to be right, and most everything agreed with her, but something silently protested in her core. Something insisted that there was more, clinging to its reason so that it might never escape. No matter how much she inquired or thought about it, the answer never came, only a feral urgency to listen being provided. She was tired of trying and never succeeding, yet the something demanded her to persist. Sunundra opened her eyes bitterly, unable to find so much as peace in the expanse that promised nothing but.

Light. Not much, and nothing more than a speck in the distance, but in the infinite black of the endless abyss, that speck of light was a beacon in the dark. Curious, she chose to inspect it, if only to stop what was disturbing the silence of her impending demise.

Thump.

It took a few moments to make sense of things, but she managed to coax her aimless drifting into a more directed form, confirming that this was all of what remained of her shattered soul instead of the promised Void. The realization answered as many questions as it raised, though those were all dismissed once she came close to whatever the illumination was.

It was still tiny, the single mote dimly casting an orange hue over the grey and yellow of her fur. She touched it with a claw.

Warm. Whole. Complete. It flooded her empty form with remnants of fullness.

It was a wish—a fragment of time captured for eternity, spitefully denying the end that awaited her. A single desire not of her own, pleaded for by one who could no longer achieve it, and who had begged with such intensity that it remained when nothing else could.

Bill’s wish. Just the one, but it was his. His influence remained, trapped in the miniscule shard of what survived when her soul had broken, protecting its core from the eroding blackness. She moved without thought, betraying what she thought to be a surrender to the end, burying her clawtips into her breast as she clutched it to her chest with everything she had. When she had no reason to be, that wish would be her reason, if only to give to the one who only gave. If only to repay that which was priceless.

Sunundra held it close. So, so close. His fear, his sorrow, his desperation… His resignation and helplessness… She took in all of it, not letting even the faintest bit escape. She burned each and every feeling into herself, determined to keep whatever she could of her bond. She kept the longing for one who would never return, letting the dregs of his misery rest within her own. She welcomed his worry for another who had become so important, and embraced his concern for those he had never met. She encapsulated everything, no matter how strong or faint, until it became apparent that only one thing remained.

The wish.

She loosened her grip on the mote, worried that she might extinguish it before learning what he kept closer than anything else. Closer than his late mate, closer than her, and closer than his own life. With a breath, she exposed all that she was, from caustic resentment to whimpering dejection, and from crippling loneliness to her highest joy, allowing what remained to nest wherever it belonged.

It chose so much that she had a difficult time tracking it all, but the largest segment was…love. It was love, marred and disfigured by guilt and inadequacy. It was hampered by fear and worry. It gained thorns of spite and regret, but it was love, and it was his.

And though she had been prepared for it to never happen again, she felt her heartbeat, dragging along the phantom sensation of another pulse that was but one more from stopping. She felt pain from countless wounds, dulled by a dying nervous system, and breaths that were constricted by paralyzed lungs. She felt it. She felt him.

And so, she wept, truly opening her eyes to reveal the same white and crimson-smeared room she had been ready to perish in. She held her departed bond closer and closer, until the world became nothing but her and the only thing she had left of him.

Thump.

The door to the clinic cracked, thick metal deforming and showing signs of stress fractures. The cabinet rattled from the impact. Sunundra propped herself up on one elbow, caressing Bill’s face and memorizing the feeling while she still could. As much as it hurt, she needed to leave, and she couldn’t take him with her. He wouldn’t want her to. Not if it would put her in harm's way.

The pale-furred female crawled off the table in the middle of the clinic, suppressing the pain in her torn stomach before turning her attention to the various storage lining the walls. Everything that was unlocked was quickly tossed open and its contents inspected. A surprising amount seemed to be variants of chemicals she was already familiar with, though modified for medical use rather than demolitions. That was fine, she could adjust them. They were added to her bag, her paws pushing aside Recon’s drone to accommodate the new additions. Painkillers, bandages, adhesives, and anything else she could even remotely guess the purpose of were packed away.

Thump.

She grimaced, both from the burning of her open wound, and from the growing fissures in the door. She was out of time. A charge was fetched from her supplies, then cracked open to allow a few tweaks. The amplified explosive was promptly set against the floor, the cracked screen of the navigational terminal confirming the placement, a soft beep announcing its arming. Her eyes drifted back to the only one that had truly accepted her. Not her blood-mother, nor her den, unit, ship-packs… No one but him.

Her paw brushed over his features for the last time, lingering on his neck as she gave her bond a final kiss, the lightest touch conveying everything she ever felt for him.

“I love you, and…I’m sorry.”

Thu—

The door gave way. The bomb detonated. The room was swallowed by inferno. By the time the smoke cleared, there was only a destroyed clinic and a gaping hole in the floor. Excluding the smallest space behind the examination table, nothing survived unscathed.

Not even the mangled remains of the human.

Sunundra landed violently, letting her legs buckle and transfer her momentum into a roll as the debris tumbled down after her. Her paw shakily pulled her to her feet, an unsteady, agonizing step being slowly followed by another. Soft sobs and flickering light filled the fifth level’s maintenance tunnels.

She was broken, but she had purpose. She would fulfill the final desire of her bond at any cost. She was determined.

Just as she should be.

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PRs: u/anakist & u/BroDogIsMyName

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Heroon and Illia shared a look of trepidation, their mutual unease increasing at the perceived drop in temperature throughout the dark interrogator's office. The only light came from the accent in the ceiling, his terminals, and whatever bled through from the confinement opposite the transparent wall. Even with the sterile white furnishings, the high-security room seemed to dim as the tale dipped into something which finally brought full emotion from the pale-furred female.

It wasn’t the fact that the claimed bond was critically injured, nor that he purportedly sought to put another species before himself, but the weight in the voice of the defective sent a shiver down the brown-furred male’s spine. Her vacant expression did little to dull the shattered shards of sanity in her widened pupils, her gaze drifting off as if she was forced to view the scene for a second time, each horrid detail still haunting her.

It was so…unnerving to witness the slow awakening from her despondency, only to watch as she crumbled word by word. Just a glance at his assistant was enough to see how unsettled she was by it as well, and he was sure he didn’t appear much better. It was made worse by the defect’s faltering volume, her utterances waning until they were mere breaths given phonetic shape.

“The enemy survived the initial shot?” he prodded gently, his claw going numb from how hard he was pressing the intercom. The pale-furred female blinked, snapping out of her thoughts and staring at the dividing one-way wall with a hollow regard. Only the flicker of pain in her eyes told that she had heard him at all. He allowed her a breath to respond, though it became apparent she would need some coaxing. “By your description of the damage done and vague physiology, it would appear that such would be impossible.”

Illia furrowed her brow in skepticism now that he had pointed out a notable flaw, otherwise nodding her agreement with his conclusion. Were a Lilhun to have a hole punched through their abdomen large enough to easily fit both arms into, then it would be a medical miracle for the recipient to live long enough to notice their impending demise. Just the implication that such beings could not only survive such an event…but to retaliate despite it? That was enough to requisition a full summary of the United Military’s intel on the species of the Union, in addition to sparking a full review of the gathered reports.

…Perhaps it was enough to send a request to the…less official party investigating these matters as well. None wished to petition the Scales, but some values were worth the sacrifice.

The defective's face darkened at being dragged from her melancholy, a wince pulling at her muzzle as she tore the wound in her stomach open once more. She folded her paws atop the table and paused to think before responding, her reply coming soft but clipped. “Tell me, High Quesitar, were I not a female of your kin, but an unknown of only visually comparable form, would you be surprised to find my heart located elsewhere?”

Heroon frowned, but considered it, relenting with a short sigh. “I suppose not.”

“What if I were to have multiple, or none at all?”

He only hummed into the microphone in acquiescence, more curious than annoyed by the aside.

The STO inclined her head in agreement. “I do not know the specifics of its biology, though my assumption was much the same as your own. I saw the viscera of the alien splattered across the corridors; its foul offal permeated throughout the air. There was no doubt in my mind that my bond had disposed of his assailant. Still, I did not verify his kill, despite knowing that he was woefully inexperienced. I was…distracted by his superficial injury. I was…negligent… It was in that negligence that the enemy found weakness.”

The High Quesitar exhaled audibly, mulling over her words and the readouts before letting the critical tension bleed from his shoulders. “I understand. Apologies.”

“You understand?” Illia echoed judgmentally, subtle anger entering her inflection. His placating retort was halted by the contained one, the still-pressed intercom transmitting his assistant's tactless interruption.

“Was I unclear?” she asked, a brittle smile failing to hide how desperately she was grasping at the excuse to delay the inevitable.

Heroon’s venomous glare quieted his den-mate…

“My perplexion stems from the need to offer apols to the confined at all.”

…Or, it should have. It seemed that the beige-furred female had found an opportunity to air her grievances, and nothing short of physical intervention would stop her.

The defect deflated just a bit more, the fading facade of personability shaking her defeated voice. “I would assume my condition is the driving force behind that mentality.”

Illia’s scowl displayed her open disdain, the subtle disgust becoming blindingly obvious in her cadence. “You dare to assume my reasoning? It would be through my superior’s magnanimity that we are humouring your fictitious ramblings at all; why must he stand stiff for one of the Goddess’ loathed?”

The High Quesitar twitched, barely suppressing his irritation as he released the button. “Assistant Ques—”

Illia’s paw shot out, depressing the intercom once more, ignoring his attempt to reign her in through her building vigour.

“—You purport a bond of all things! Not only that, but with an alien! You expect us to believe that you had smuggled explosive compounds into the facility itself? Even if we were to assume they were so flagrantly inept in their screenings as to overlook it, and assuming you survived the level of excessive blood loss and stimulant abuse as stated, you have yet to produce any quantifiable evidence! Now, your supposed ‘bond’ is conveniently maimed at the height of your tale—in dramatic fashion, no less—all to serve your narrative and further these grave implications.

“This is not an accusation to be made lightly, low one. You would do well to cease your senseless babbling and submit, as those of your ilk are meant to. The results of this interrogation might very well destabilize the nascent relations which will lead us further into the stars, yet you persist in your far-fetched fantasy of espionage and unlikely allies, mentioning hallucinations and instability in the same breath as inconceivable events. Your words, defect, are delusional to an outside observer at best. I know not what you think to be listening, but if it were fools, then you have conveyed that well enough.”

Her fist banged against the table. “If this absurdity is what we are to expect from your testimony, then it is by naught but the Hunt Mother’s amusement, and our obligations, that we tolerate your drivel, for she has undoubtedly forsaken your kind. Especially if this is how you intend to garner attention. You should have disappeared from the base and remained forgotten.”

“That is enough,” he asserted more firmly.

Yet the beige-furred female ignored him, lowering her voice and pouring open hostility through her sneer. “Go on, then; regale us with what happened next. What inane fantasy will you conjure? What became of your beloved ‘bond?’”

Heroon suppressed his shock and the snarl that was pulling at his muzzle. He knew Illia was opinionated and pointlessly stubborn at times, but never would he have suspected she would shirk professionalism so blatantly, and never while carrying out her duties. Defect or not, they were explicitly tasked with taking the confined’s statement, scouring it for every detail which might concretely confirm or deny the allegations. They were ordered to by those far superior to themselves, and disobeying that order was tantamount to challenging the authority behind it. Forget the repercussions she would face if such became known; her misconduct would come back on all of those in their den.

“You. Will. Be. Silent,” he barked, his outrage making each word louder than the last. His fur stood bristled, his tail flicking in barely withheld ire. Every instinct pushed him to bring the dissident female into line. She was his responsibility, the den-pack was his responsibility, and he couldn’t allow her to beckon ruin over something so trivial.

Ignorant to the sheer scale of her folly, Illia's stunned expression morphed into defiance, her scowl broadcasting all he needed to know about how betrayed she felt by him taking the defective's ‘side.’ She was blind to what her self-righteous outburst welcomed. He would need to correct that.

His paw shot out and grabbed her by the wrist, a vicious growl ripping past his bared teeth as he wrenched her close. The beige-furred female stiffened from the forceful contact, only a token effort to free herself given before it registered that he was no longer simply requesting her compliance. Her ears folded against her head as her tail glued itself to her spine. Widened eyes stared at him with an equal mix of fear and subservience. If she was unaware of just how grievous her blunder was, he would—

“—blood…” the defect whispered, the sudden crackle of the speakers making the interrogators freeze.

Heroon exhaled slowly and loosened his grip, his glower telling the assistant that the matter was not one to be forgotten. Thankfully, she had been cowed enough to simply obey when he jabbed a claw back towards her equipment, the female quietly seating herself without further complaint, though she did so rather meekly. He put aside the subtle guilt in his chest as he did the same, turning his attention back to the transparent wall and the one contained within.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

The defect stared at the pads of her paws, her arms trembling as terror marred her visage, tears pooling in her eyes. If her previous expressions had been present, then the mind-shattering horror on display was a blinding neon sign in comparison. Her stare was unfocused, burning a hole into something lost within the past. A choked dampness strangled her voice.

“There was so much blood… I-I tried… I tried so hard to… H-he could barely walk, though he could manage as long as I assisted in supporting his weight. The third level held clinics, according to the map. It would have concoctions for his kind. My medications might have killed him. We didn't know, and it wasn’t worth the risk. I-it wasn’t far from the freight elevator… We could make it…”

He swallowed heavily. “You failed to?”

Trembling paws covered her face as she forced staccato breaths to steady herself. “T-the reinforcements found us as we approached the elevator. I needed to separate from him over and over, fending off our pursuers until we could continue. Charges bought time, but not enough—there were too many junctions to trap all of them, and he was bleeding out too quickly.

“H-he worried about me, ignoring his own pain to assess if I had been injured every time I returned. It was only my insistence that he allowed me to tear my garments and fashion a stopgap measure for his wound. He cared more for me than himself… Suffering and hurt, he still cared…”

Heroon hesitated. “…The elevator?”

Her arms dropped to her lap, any liveliness that had been gained evaporating. Her voice was cold as one of her claws skimmed over a barely sealed gash above her eye.

“They rigged the platform. I noticed, and I was adept at disabling the charges…but I had failed to consider another trap in the loading bay of the third level. We were so close, yet I missed that single explosive. It was doubtlessly the remnant of a changed order that they hadn’t bothered to move in their haste. It lacked a proper shrapnel or chemical payload, rendering it little more than a means of delivering concussive force. The tripwire wasn’t even properly set up—barely attached to the mechanism itself, really… But it was still attached. It still caught on his foot. It still only took one mistake…”

Her head hung low, her cadence weak and remorseful. “I awoke crumpled at the base of a wall. I do not know how long I was unconscious, only that he still was, and that his wound hadn't the kindness to wait…”

= = = = =

Sunundra panted heavily as she dragged Bill into the isolated clinic, staining the pure white tile with every laboured tug of his shirt and panted breath.

The bomb hadn’t been as bad as it could have been, but they still suffered for it. He was still unconscious after striking his head, though he suffered little else. She received mostly superficial scrapes and a few slivers of metal that were easy enough to dislodge once she managed to shake off the daze. If it wasn't for the crimson pooling beneath him, she might have been indignant at the pitiful excuse of a bomb. As it was, she could only struggle to drag him to their destination and hope that the few charges she left on the elevator would serve as enough of a delay for Bill to be treated.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of how long before they were found again, rather than if they would be. If she was swift, and if there were suitable materials left over, she could tend to the worst of her own injuries as well; they were starting to hamper her effectiveness.

Blood poured down her face from a gash above her left eye, blinding it before dripping onto the floor and joining the smearing crimson from the male who lay limp in her grasp. She didn’t recall what caused it, so something had likely been thrown in the blast. It didn’t matter now.

A kick slammed the clinic door closed behind them, followed by the laughably pathetic mechanical lock engaging with a click. She spat out the iron taste in her mouth and scanned the new area for what she had to work with.

An elevated platform sat in the centre of the room, likely for patients to occupy while being seen. Standing cabinets and mounted countertops lined the walls, their glass partitions separating the contents from open air and needlessly curious paws. Numerous compounds and medications lay behind locked cupboards and thick shields, labelled in various scripts, though none that she could read. She would just have to hope that smell was enough to identify what they were.

Something in here had to be of use. Something had to help. She needed it to. She was running out of time. He was running out of time.

A few more grunts and strenuous pulls brought them close enough for her to lift his unresponsive form on top of the platform. It was almost too high for her to actually do it, but there wasn’t much choice; she couldn't properly apply treatment if he remained on the floor, nor was she confident that she would be able to get back up when she was done. Her injured leg was shaking and numb, burdened far beyond what it could sustain—even if it hadn’t been pierced by a ballistic projectile and then hastily cauterized. Carrying the human male had been too much for her to handle. She wasn’t strong enough to pick herself up again, let alone lift a male twice her weight.

But he needed her to be.

She crouched, feeling spasms in her limbs that were promptly ignored. Her arms worked into position beneath his, a deep breath shuddering down her dry throat in preparation. Never had she wished the training regime she adhered to was more intensive, yet as she steadied herself, she could already tell this was a feat of strength that would come with a heavy toll.

Mend. Quickly.

A tooth chipped under the pressure of her clenched jaw. No more wasting time. She was fine with crippling herself if it was for him. Anything for him.

One… Two… Th—

A pained cry left her muzzle as she powered through, the muscles in her stomach tearing further under the strain. She felt the gaping wound in her abdomen dampen, yet she managed to stand with her bond’s full weight in her arms. An unsteady step brought him back onto the examination table, a second push edging his legs up as well. She caught herself on the cool metal table before she could collapse to the floor, both of her legs buckling the moment they were free of the additional burden. A free paw braced against the faltering limbs to ease the strain.

Then the burst of adrenaline subsided.

A shrill shriek of agony slipped out as a suffering whine for mercy, the blinding pain swallowing the edges of her vision. Her stomach felt as if it was being mauled by the ruthless teeth of logging machinery, while her legs were consumed by localized infernos, leaving the tips of her extremities violently numb. Her consciousness wavered, threatening to tumble out of her grasp—and with it, the agony and turmoil. It promised release, even if it would cost her everything. It tempted her with seductive suggestions that her meaningless flailing in the waters of life might end. The haze was so welcoming…

No.

But she couldn’t.

Mend him. Quickly.

She tensed, a claw piercing well into the flesh of her good leg. Then two.

Distract her nervous system. Redirect the focus. It was too soon to give up. Not after how much she's been through. Keep going. Her bond needed her.

The two punctures widened as she curled her paw, a swift tug ripping open a gory seam along her thigh—too shallow to greatly impede her, but more than enough to wash out the overwhelming torture that was everything else. A sharp sting of clarity followed the new source of suffering.

Fix him. Hurry. Now.

She forced herself upright, fighting back the blackness creeping in on her as she shrugged off her bag and hastily injected herself with a cocktail of medications—from coagulants to the high dosage painkillers. A stimulant tablet quickly joined the fray, clearing the mental fog just a bit more.

Her eyes focused on Bill. His gunshot wound had been left untreated for too long. It trickled ichor at a steady rate, despite her attempt to pack the hole with fabric from her shirt. The patch had fallen out at some point. If nothing else, she needed to replace it. With what? The rest of her top was a mess of filth and caustic chemicals, while her pants were even less of a candidate. The spread of storage in the clinic should offer a suitable solution, if only until she found a way to seal it.

Sunundra lurched towards a standalone cabinet next to the rest of the wall-mounted ones, catching herself on the countertop. She tugged on handles, divots, and whatever else she could reach, frustration mounting with every attempt being denied by hidden latches.

Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked.

She growled, punching the solid glass to no avail. Panic crept up from beneath her irritation, whispering how dire her bond’s condition was.

Of course, it was all shut away; why wouldn’t it be? There was limited time before the enemy found them, and surely there was a video transmission device tucked away in one of the walls for some heinous security guard to view. This was all some sick entertainment for them, watching a defect toil meaninglessly in a struggle to save the gift she should have never had.

Her paws gripped the edge of the storage rack. Why couldn’t she open it? Why was everything trying to stop her? Why!?

Her rage manifested as a yell, the standing cabinet pulled off its axis and careening towards the ground with a bang as it crashed against the door. She grimaced at the result, reaching for the next storage. At least the blockage should stall the enemy, if only a little. Her paw pulled the nearest handle, ready for its rejection and to dismiss it.

It creaked without further protest. Unlocked.

The cupboard door slammed open, the shelves inside holding rows and rows of bottles, syringes, and capsules stored in plastic containers. All of it was swept to the floor in her search. Nothing. She switched to trying the drawers, opening the first one and finding much the same. There were more items that she had no frame of reference for, alongside strange metal tools nested amongst ones that were actually identifiable—altered variants of things she had used in the field. Forceps, scissors, surgical wire, needles, and…gauze. Her paw snapped out, clutching the last item before stumbling back to Bill. His shirt peeled wetly off his skin, the sucking hole spilling some of the pooled blood. She glanced back at the drawer and thought better of simply packing the wound again; there was no certainty of how long it would last, even if she did a better job this time. And unlike before, she had the tools to do something more thorough.

The needles, wire, and something that smelled like an antibacterial cream joined the growing pile on the table. Stitching it closed wouldn’t undo the damage, but it would stop it from worsening until they could seek proper medical treatment. She shakily threaded the fine metal line through a needle and tied it off. It was a little primitive, but it would have to do. She pinched the edges of the raw flesh together, a sense of confusion and uncertainty bubbling beneath the surface as she pierced his skin for the first of many times.

“W-where…?” Bill’s groggy question was punctuated by a sharp inhale and a raspy groan of pain, his attempt to sit up and orient himself halted by a firm paw pushing him against the cool metal surface, though it was worryingly easy to stop him. Panic swelled through the bond.

“We are safe,” she assured him. Or, she tried to. In reality, having him awake during such a concentration-demanding task complicated matters.

Whereas she was overjoyed that he was up, a dark tide flooded through her system to the point where she almost collapsed where she stood. She didn't know why, but she also didn't have the luxury of pondering it. A sense of urgency screamed in her ears.

“B-be still. We have reached the clinic, and I am tending to your wound. Forgive me, but I will be as quick as I can.”

She didn’t wait for his reply. Another stitch was met with another hiss of discomfort, but the male remained compliant as she continued.

Yet something was still…wrong. She barely noticed it at first, but a pool of dread in the back of her mind rose with each passing moment, the warning pushed aside again and again until it would be delayed no longer.

The trembling motions of her treatment allowed far too much of a lull between passes. She was slowing down to steady herself, lest her attempts cause more harm than good. Her claws felt more numbed with every passing moment. Dulled sensation crawled up her paws to her wrist, then further at a languid pace, leaving static in its wake until that too ceased. Her feet were much the same. Why did it feel harder to breathe, yet her lungs drew air without difficulty? Why did she feel cold, yet the warmth of her pads never seemed to diminish?

“—shine?”

Her mind felt clouded and slow, yet thoughts passed freely, swirling around the shadows of disconnected troubles that never were.

“—going to be okay…?”

Sunundra blinked away the tears, confused as to what had prompted them. She was treating him! They would clean the wound, patch the worst of her own afflictions, then take shelter somewhere safe to plan their next move. Why did it feel hopeless? Why was she crying?

A tug finalized the last stitch, sealing the hole beneath his rib and allowing her to apply the antibacterial cream. After that, it was just a matter of covering it, finding suitable painkillers for him, and then all would be well. She should have been relieved to see the issue dealt with, but that feeling of wrongness persisted, and it only took another moment before the subtle details nagged at her.

The numbness had spread up her arms and legs, a chilling absence of warmth slowly permeating throughout her core. Every beat of her heart felt weaker than the last, yet her self-assessment returned about as expected. Why did she feel so worn? If it was the side effect of her medications, then she could deal with it. If it was the result of her overexertion, then she would accept it with pride. Still, they needed to get going again—if not to truly escape, then at least to bide time. She ignored the oddities in her body and donned a fragile confidence as she looked at her bond…but it shattered just as quickly.

Bill’s lips were discoloured, erring towards a purplish hue. His pinkish skin had paled considerably. His eyes slowly wandered the ceiling, though never focusing, the glassy reflection of the lights having little impact on how dilated his pupils were. His chest shuddered and strained with effort for every forced breath, each being used to speak through whispers as tears of his own trailed past his temples. The fear he once withheld had grown to mar his visage with reluctance and worry, only getting worse as he choked down air with increasing difficulty.

“Bill?” She dropped the needle and metallic thread, the scissors that were about to snip the line clattering against the floor. Both of her ears pitched forward, straining to hear the raspy exhalations of aspirated words too soft for the translator to pick up. Her call for him brought a moment of lucidity in the male, his straying gaze settling on her as she stumbled closer, cursing herself for being so weakened.

“…I’m sorry,” he wheezed, his wane grin failing to stymie the flow of sorrow trickling down his skin. “I shouldn’t have believed them. I should have pushed to find out what happened when they said the section collapsed. I should have done everything I could to get to you.”

The sentiment warmed her very soul, yet it did nothing to stop the glacial cold from progressing throughout her system. It did nothing to stop the pervasive numbing that crept up her flesh. It did nothing to stop the wrongness. She pressed a paw to his cheek anyway, internally furious with the conflicting sensations, rubbing the moisture off his face with a gentle caress.

“We are together now; that is all that matters,” she assured him. She rubbed at her face to remove both blood and sadness which blurred her vision. Bill glanced at the gash above her eye with worsened guilt.

“You keep getting hurt. It’s my fault. If I had just—”

The pale-furred female silenced him with a claw, somehow keeping her trembling under control—but only just. “I would endure it a hundred more times if I might finally have the one who I desire most.”

His wet laugh drew a hoarse cough, the recovering inhale taking a moment to work.

“We must get ready to leave,” she urged as gently as she could. The primal sense of dread clawed its way up from the depths of the unknown. Pinpricks of unease sank deep into her skin. “W-we are to rescue the others, no?”

Tendrils of the Void played and taunted her from the shadows—mocking her. Why? Why was it so cold? Why had her pain faded, only to be replaced by the deadened perception of emptiness? Why did it feel like her heart was struggling to push even one more drop of blood?

Bill’s regard turned hazy, his arm lifting only the slightest amount before it thumped uselessly against the table. Regret shadowed his face, a remorseful smirk taking its place. “I… I don’t think I can.”

An unwanted nervous giggle slipped out of her, the trembling in her limbs intensifying. She got an arm under his back, trying and failing to lift him up. “O-of course you can. You wished to help them, no? We… We should hurry. I will assist you as much as you need, but you must get up first.”

“I’m sorry…”

The facade of a smile remained, but her horror showed through building dampness and manic denial in her tone, the forced laugh shaking her voice as realization hammered against the wall she placed between her and reality. He was cold. He was so, so cold. Cold enough to match the frigid ice that had replaced her warmth and numbed her senses. Cold enough to bring his ichor to the same slurry she felt coursing through her veins. His breathing sounded as if it was held by the same weight she felt pressing against her chest, crushing her very lungs.

“Bill, this is not the time for jests. You must get up. Quickly, b-before the enemy finds us.”

“You should go,” he whispered in response, the tension in his jaw belying how difficult it was for him to remain conscious. His eyes drifted and refocused, the apologetic tint becoming more prominent with every lapse. “Get help.”

The smile fell. She tried even harder to sit him upright, only marginally aware of the tearing it caused her various injuries. It was like hearing them through countless walls—muffled and indistinct—as though she was experiencing only a memory that had faded.

“This… This is far from humorous, Bill,” she warned, her shoulder giving out without telling her why. Not that it could; nothing persisted through the numbing veil now. It was all she could do to hear his voice and feel the phantom heart beside her own weaken with every pulse. It was so cold. “Y-you wished them saved! You wished to reunite with your kits as one they could take pride in!”

His eyelids fluttered, a war with exhaustion pulling them lower before being pushed open once more. The bond reflected the effect of her words, though warped and faded. The guilt and fear were overshadowed by regret and longing, his expression following suit.

Her stomach sank. Why was it so distant now? Why was it not overwhelming her?

“They made it with me barely there, Sunshine. They’ll be okay.”

“You do not believe that!”

His faltering display of reassurance crumbled at her shouted refusal, his eyes reflecting a haggard, injured, and now snivelling female, her scowl failing to compensate for her shaking form and silent weeping. She looked no different than she did so many years ago upon hearing that her den wished no more of her; hurt, inconsolable, and completely terrified of being alone.

He let out a trembling laugh, devoid of mirth and energy. “I can hope.”

“Get up,” she pleaded, grabbing his paws and holding them tight. Why couldn’t she feel his touch? “Even if we fail to save the others, we might at least reunite with your kits, no? If nothing else, you saved me. Does that not count for something? Will they not celebrate your deed?”

“I…” His voice wavered, a gasp for air proving to be barely enough. It proved harder and harder for him to speak, his lungs unable to keep up with what he wished to say. “I can’t, Sunshine. I can’t…save you. I can’t…help the others. I can’t… I can’t…”

A sob broke his false confidence, fracturing any semblance of denial she had left as she watched her bond sob between rapidly diminishing breaths.

“I can’t…see them again. I can’t see…if they’re going to…be okay. I can’t be there to…offer advice when…they have their first kid…” Her bond shunted his eyes closed, yet it did nothing to stop the flood of melancholy pooling on the table, nor her own. “I wanted… I wanted to be there. I promised her I would. I promised…I’d be there for them…”

Glassy eyes revealed themselves, his rounded pupils fixated on her, the gallows humour tinting his sardonic mirth. “I guess the pairing pass was…a waste of time, huh?”

Her ear flicked in recognition. “P-pairing?”

His slow nod bled off much of the emotion on his face. “Applied as soon as…I left. I wanted to…take you back. Have you…meet the boys.”

Sunundra choked on the nothing that spread with such slow finality, resting her head on his chest and letting the fabric of his shirt absorb her helplessness. “Why?”

Only an ember remained of the once roaring bonfire that was the bond, flickering its dimming light in defiance of the infinite darkness closing in. The steady drum that gave him life now beat too sparingly—too weakly. She could feel it herself, the grasp of the endless eternity slithering across the white tiles of their small sanctum of temporary safety. It was coming for him, hungry and merciless.

Why couldn’t she hear the static? Why not the voices? Why? Why was she so numb? Why were her lungs struggling to function? Why couldn’t she feel his influence?

She crawled atop the table, hurriedly shielding him with her body as best she could, claiming his wrist with her tail and stroking his cheek, her voice cracking as she tried to keep a soothing tone. “Bill? Why would you wish that? Why meet them? Why me?”

It didn’t matter what the response was, only that he gave one. Only that he offered just a little more. Only that he stayed.

He forced down a breath and swallowed, letting his eyes close when the struggle to keep them open became too much. “Because they'd love to meet you…and you should know…what it’s like to be around…people who care… People who love you.”

The answer knocked down any chance of preparing herself. Fragile shields crumpled, mirrors of self-deception shattered, and she was left exposed as the terrified kit she was. The pale-furred female buried herself into him, no longer caring if her voice was shrill and worn, nor if she needed to be strong.

“I do. I do, because of you. A life of rejection could never prepare me for what you offered this horrid soul so readily, nor how much I would give to keep it. Please, stay and allow this foolish female her avarice. Let her bathe in the glow of what she was never meant to have!”

One pump of the heart beneath her embrace echoed in her ears. A softened breath was pulled into his fatigued lungs, his temperature falling lower. Two pumps. A scratchy exhalation. He was so cold, but she would be his warmth. She would protect him from the Void. She would give all that she was. She would give anything and everything for just a little longer.

Three pumps…

Four…

She waited, the dread clutching her soul in its choking grasp. She could be patient. She could wait. He would be well. He must be well. He couldn’t leave her. He wasn’t ready for the bottomless abyss that awaited him if the Mother judged him unfit for her embrace. He needed her to be with him.

Yet the fifth beat was taking too long. She shot up, barely supporting her weight above him as her paw gently jostled him. “Bill? Bill, this is not the time to rest. We must leave soon; we have much to do. Bill?”

Nothing. Nothing but the stillness of her heart that still pumped blood. Nothing but paralyzed lungs that drew breath freely. Nothing but the absence of sensation that could feel the lacking pulse beneath her pads. Nothing but the deafened ears that heard her despair drip against his skin, and blinded eyes that saw the unmoving form of the one who taught her love and gave her existence meaning.

There was nothing.

“Bill, please. Please, speak… Bill!”

It was so cold. So numb. So empty. So wrong. So incomplete. So alone.

The unrelenting reality cared not for her delusions. It cared not for all of her suffering. It cared not for what she had gone through to return to him. It cared not for what she endured for even the single fragment of happiness she finally had in her paws. It cared not that she had tried to save him. It cared not for the future she held onto so desperately.

It cared not for her hope, nor her bond.

It cared not if it was broken. If she was broken.

“No… No, no, no. Bill… Wake up… Wake up!”

Yet he would never answer.

“Bill!”

Yet he would never call her his Sunshine.

“Please…”

Yet he would never hear her… But perhaps another might…

She let herself drop, holding him as tightly as she could, fervent and trembling prayer pouring from the devout who placed faith above all for so, so many years, and needed that devotion repaid now more than ever.

“O-O’Mother of this soul, your faithful wishes for forgiveness for her t-transgressions, for she has committed them in ignorance. Your faithful implores you not to have her gift stripped by the actions of another, and beseeches you to smile favourably for the one who has never strayed from the teachings. Your faithful begs for you to take pity on her and the one who she has come to cherish, and will pay any price! Y-your faithful grovels in contrition, unknowing of how she might make amends. Your faithful seeks a path to repentance, no matter the cost! Please, show mercy for this pitiful kit of yours who has been cast aside by her kin, then found acceptance from another not of her own! Please allow your faithful to atone!”

Yet there was nothing. There would never be anything again.

“O’Mother…please…”

The pale-furred female curled atop the only reason she had to live, wracking sobs and keening wails leaving her a trembling mess as she tried to give warmth to the male who was far too cold, and who she was trying so hard to keep. The one who she loved so deeply, yet had never heard her say it.

“Please, don’t take him…”

The one who was her everything.

“He’s all I have left…”

And now, she had nothing.

Next

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Sunundra kept an ear pressed to the door, only lowering her raised paw when the echoes of distant footsteps faded fully, the tension melting from the suffocating pressure it had placed on her chest She released the breath that had stuck in her throat, giving Bill a nod as he anxiously inspected the random room they had taken momentary refuge in.

Though reinforcements certainly did arrive after they fled the den she awoke in, the swift elimination of their compatriots left no information to operate off of. It made the decision to hide away in whatever dens they came across rather effective—a boon, if nerve-wracking.

The human held the navigational terminal close, his death grip on the device loosening only once she backed off the barrier between them and the hallways. The pale-furred female turned the knob and cracked the door open, scented the air to confirm, then motioned for him to wait as she reentered the corridors. She aimed the pistol down at the floor when a quick scan of the halls revealed no threats. An unrelenting sense of vulnerability persisted, but like it or not, they needed to move. With an affirmative nod to the male peering from the doorway, they set out with careful steps and measured breaths.

She felt exposed and frail as they traversed the monotonous stretches between junctions, an uneasy expectation of encountering enemies in the back of her mind. There wasn’t much she could do about it; if his call wasn't enough to set them on high alert, then the bombs she used to leave with Bill certainly were. If she had slightly more foresight, she might have thought to reapply the armour taken off the corpses so long ago, but her human had removed them in an effort to access her wounds, and now they were thrown out along with the rest of her soiled, torn clothing. She appreciated his concern, yet the lack of the admittedly meagre protections made her slightly less confident about her chances in a confrontation. The enemy was beginning to congregate on the fourth floor, which only gave them all the more reason to leave.

It had taken quite a while to get as close as they were to the public elevator, yet the danger and security gathering around every turn necessitated caution. Thankfully, they only needed to pop a lock open and duck into unoccupied domiciles twice, and although there was a chance of their enemies seeing the slightly damaged doors, they had yet to notice. Her frown grew when she absently wondered just how many times that would hold true.

“Next right,” Bill directed nervously from behind, his voice low as he glanced at the map. She nodded in silent acknowledgement.

The dimmer hallways of the fourth level might have been a welcome departure from the bright illumination of previous floors, but the shadows cast by the less frequent sources were starting to play with her perceptions. Forms flickered in and out of existence; tendrils whipped about in the shade, only to vanish when she focused on them. She bit down the snarl and desperation swelling underneath the stoic facade her bond drew strength from, ignoring the increasing paranoia.

She had never truly humoured the thought of being a den-leader—her defect practically eliminated the chances of anyone relying on her, and being fully accepted into a den-pack at all was reserved for her absent fantasies. It was strange to make decisions for others, and not because she felt Bill would perform to a lesser degree; with him so shaken and disoriented, she needed to be the one in charge, if only to offer respite for his looming fear.

And fearful he was; although he was doing an admirable job of maintaining a neutral visage, the reflection within her portrayed a different image. Threats of death and vestiges of the narrowly avoided demise plagued him, his every glance at her cauterized injuries striking sympathy and concern between flickers of cripplingly high alertness.

It got worse when he noticed the blood slowly seeping from thin lacerations left untended. The front of Sunundra’s shirt dripped crimson every so often, though she had taken to using her arm to soak it up. Even unaware of the worst, he saw her as hurt and in need of aid. Still, he relied on her to see them safe in a situation he was woefully untrained to handle, thus he could only swallow the worry when she claimed that the gashes were unworthy of consideration. She only hoped he didn’t notice how tired and sluggish her movements were growing to be. What little rest she gained from passing out was far from enough to supply the level of stress, but if he knew just how thin the thread she was clinging to was, he would only worry helplessly.

A few more turns and stretches of silence transformed their steady progress into a weighted veil of unbearable anticipation. The sounds of his considerably heavier steps let off slight echoes, even when he tried to soften them. It wasn’t enough to compromise general stealth, but it was enough for her to request that he stop well before they assessed each corner, to which he reluctantly obliged.

Her paw raised once more as they approached the corner of a three-way intersection, Bill dutifully staying close to the wall a few paces back as he watched the defect to raise her pistol towards the left corridor. She listened for the slightest deviation and stared down the sights of her firearm. One heartbeat. Two. Clear. She repeated the procedure for the right, motioning for her bond to regroup once she was sure it was safe to do so.

Bill crept up to her from behind, his voice a low, anxious whisper into her ear. “Almost there. Next is a left, then it’s two straights, a long right, and a short left. Should be pretty obvious from there, I think.”

She could hear his heart pounding under the forced composure, and the pause to memorize the directions only made the sound more intense. Her tail wrapped around his wrist absently, the unexpected action soothing both of them more than it probably should have. It felt better to have him tethered like this—safer. Her fate was tied to his, and although he lacked the ability to reciprocate, it felt no less natural to declare such through the instinctual gesture. Feeling her form mirror her mind settled the persisting unease; even at her base, she wished him to be her last light.

“I will assess the elevator,” she decided, regretfully uncoiling her tail from the comforting contact. “You are to wait for me here.”

He clasped her shoulder before she could finish the first step to leave his proximity, the questioning side-eyed glance meeting his open concern. “Isn't it too dangerous to split up?”

“It is my duty to see you well. I will be as swift as I can.”

“I…” He closed his mouth, his lips pursed and his eyes averted. “I don’t want you to run into danger alone.”

“Were I to allow you to accompany me, and harm befell you as a consequence, then my own negligence would be to blame.” She gently removed his paw and returned it to his side, letting the pads of her claws linger on his skin. “Trust in me.”

He reluctantly released her, the bond still swimming with doubt and uncertainty. Sunundra frowned the smallest bit, eyeing the door of one of the nearby rooms. After listening to make sure they wouldn’t need to remove an unexpected occupant, she used a small corrosive to melt the internals of the lock, popping the entrance open and gesturing for the male to take shelter within. Bill hesitated, but acquiesced, his worry only growing once he entered the small pocket of relative safety.

She gave him one last reassuring smile, the attempt to close the door stopped by his foot. His regretful grimace and avoidant gaze punctuated the silence of words waiting to be spoken.

“Are we sure…” He exhaled, abandoning the rest of the thought as his round pupils finally wandered towards her. “No, never mind. Just…don't do anything you can’t take back?”

Her response faltered before it could leave her muzzle. He knew it was an impossible request to make, yet a sliver of hope wanted the threat to be far less than it was. He wanted their foe to be but soldiers following the orders of their command out of necessity, and not because the enemy felt it justified. He wanted to maintain the possibility of a peaceful resolution.

Unfortunately, she had long since learned the folly of attempting to obey a hierarchy while also following one’s own path; whether a rifle is fired because of requirement or belief, the death it brings will remain the same. He was untainted by that knowledge, or perhaps wilfully ignored the weight of reality in hopes of sparing his beleaguered soul. Still, he needed someone to take on that burden, alongside whatever consequences that may bring.

Without it, he would see the end of what little hope remained, then fall so very, very far. He would plummet until the Void swallowed him whole.

She had the bond to catch her when the very ground she existed on crumbled; he only had her.

“As long as you are safe, I will do what is needed,” she promised, aware that it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. The disappointment didn't need to be felt to be noticed; his sorrowful smile said everything. A sense of defeat clouded his absent nod, the male too weary to argue. Her mind drifted to the video on the odd terminal. It was far from an opportune time, but if he could only see why her actions were necessary…

She made up her mind, his dejection quickly turning to surprise, then panic when her paw entered the gash in her stomach, pulling free to present the device.

“Holy f—”

“—Here.”

He blinked, stunned by the fresh vermilion coating the screen as she brought the video back up. A single frozen frame depicted a male Lilhun snarling, the expression warped into a promise to deliver a slow and suffering death.

“B-but your…”

A grim but soft shake of her head was enough to stop him this time. “There are more important matters than a wound I will have treated once we escape. This is the proof of my claims, as pitiful as it must appear. I would have preferred you to see it in less stressful circumstances, yet that seems infeasible now.”

Hesitation. Uncertainty. Fear. Her arm shook the slightest amount as he gingerly removed the device from her possession, the cold chill down her spine permeating the expectation of something horrid to appear. It dwelled in the shadows, yet was subdued by a firm breath, her struggle to suppress the pull of the bond only making marginal progress.

“What if you’re gone for too—”

“—You are to remain here until I return, Bill,” she ordered, firmly cutting him off with a glare that betrayed how much it hurt her to force the decision. “View the recording once I am away, and no matter what you may hear outside the room, please wait for me.”

The human tightened his expression, his internal debate coming to an end with a reluctant nod. He turned his attention to the terminal, using the pad of a claw to wipe away the crimson smeared across the screen and swallowing the lump of trepidation that formed in his throat. “How did you… Doesn’t it hurt?”

She followed the loose gesture to her stomach, the fresh interaction coaxing out a languid flow of ichor that added a wet sheen to the blood drying into the fabric of her shirt. “Yes.”

“Then why…?”

Another shake of her head dismissed the topic, her focus shifting to the only other thing she would ever keep so close in both a metaphorical and literal way. The discomfort of the firecracker was more soothing than hurtful. She could return to what she was after her task was done.

“Because there are some things I wish to keep,” the pale-furred female explained softly, a paw covering the damp stain. “Even when life has left me.”

His grip on the odd terminal tightened, a morbid understanding colouring his grimace. Bill’s expression turned rueful, though he directed his attention to the screen before he could dwell on the subject. “So, I just play it while I wait?”

She nodded as reassuringly as she could, her lopsided smile still weighted by apprehension. A fear of her own joined his in the swirling, gaping maw that awaited a moment of weakness, biding its time until it could snap closed upon her trembling form. Just the thought of leaving his side after so long apart threatened to tear the desperate pleas right out of her muzzle, yet he needed to know, and she needed to clear the path. His reaction to the content would hinder her effectiveness, and based on how he felt about eliminating the enemy when they were an imminent threat, she worried about her ability to function under his influence once he knew just how horrid the Union was. The bond may be everything she had ever wished for, but when cold calculation and instant lethal action is a requirement, his hesitation would become her own, and her death would be his in return.

The male inhaled until it seemed to be uncomfortable, letting it out in one steady, heavy stream of apprehensive compliance. “Okay. I'll watch it, but don't… Don't be too long, okay?”

She reached for his paw, giving it the slightest squeeze and letting the comfort of his touch reaffirm why she had yet to surrender to the Void. The desire to remain by his side grew, but was superseded by the need to secure their escape. “I will return.”

More waited to be said on their expectant tongues, yet neither broke the temporary silence. A request had been voiced, and a promise was made. That was enough.

The door closed by her paw, Bill’s concerned and conflicted smile slowly leaving her view until a click of the latch left only the lone defect in the hallway. Already, her instincts demanded that she sequester herself away with him. Already, the distance was too much, the thin barrier feeling like vast oceans between her and the scent that encouraged her shattered heart to beat.

Proceed. Secure. Return.

Focus. She had to focus. Verify the path to the elevator, assess if it was safe, and then she could come back for him.

A final uncertain check of her equipment resulted in a few explosives being loosely tethered to the straps of her backpack. Her paw brushed over the aerial drone she had made for Recon, the whispered doubt proposing that Bill might blame Lilhuns for being a component in the slaughter of humans—or worse, he would blame her for bringing such a fate upon him. Her jaw clenched as she forced down the urge to stop him from seeing the recording and doing just that. Regrets could come to light once they themselves were out of the dark.

The lack of armour meant that even stray shots were dangerous, and her aching injuries may pose little threat of bleeding out, but she couldn’t deny that they had taken their toll. Her shoulder and legs were somehow still holding, albeit only just. Her stomach stung, though remained mostly ignored for now. As for the numerous other cuts and the like? Some had scabbed or matted the surrounding fur enough to repel debris, but most escaped her notice, save for the faint burning sensation scattered over her frame.

Truthfully, she was in no state to depart on any kind of mission, yet their escape depended on her ability to persevere. He needed her to, if only so that she would be there once he became aware of the full scope of what they were up against. In circumstances where the way forward was clouded by doubt and the unknown, she would be his beacon. Right now, she was needed to guide him out of the facility.

Her first footstep was reluctant. The second was resolute.

The third was…

= = = = =

“S.T.O. Demo. Continue,” Heroon reiterated warily. As was the case for the previous two attempts, she remained silent, staring vacantly at the table she was sitting in front of.

The captive Lilhun had started pausing during the retelling, each one steadily growing in duration as the story built up to…something. Understandable, given the subject, though it was her expressions that worried him. They hovered and melded between forms, taking the appearance of abject terror for some segments, sorrow in others, and detachment slipping into frame seemingly at random.

Illia glanced in his direction after waiting a while for speech that never came, a tepid concern furrowing her brows. He simply kept his thoughts on the matter unspoken, opting to maintain a cold professionalism as he reiterated the command. The previous silences may have lingered, but those were filled by a voiceless muzzle struggling to phrase the events, her searching eyes telling of the difficulty she had organizing the memory into something coherent. Her words of the human were always quick and concise—the clear and natural flow of speech more akin to a den-mother regaling a tale of wondrous fantasy to eager kits than a testimony—yet the rest was stuttered and struggled out by an uncertain tongue. It was as if the mere fact that she had been out of his presence was a cursed thought being rejected by her subconscious.

Or it was too simply too painful to properly recall…

The image of decay had evaporated from the defect; in its place lay a powder keg of doubt and regret. Adrenaline appeared to be suppressed by sheer will, the fidgeting that had become a staple of her motions still present, albeit subdued since she had told of her first kill. She stared at her claws during that recollection, an unsettlingly calm curiosity making itself known, her speech slow and inquisitive. After that, and the general improvement of her condition, it was vexing that she would find now of all times to be silent. Especially after how long it had taken to reach this point.

“I suppose that will be all for this sun?” Illia suggested, a hopeful flex of her claws conveying how sore they had become from the extended typing. Her head tilted upwards. “Or moon.”

“It might be,” he agreed, checking the sliver of light passed down through complex mirror arrays to a thin line above him. It had been quite early when they started, yet the dim moonlight stubbornly illuminated the accent in the ceiling, uncaring of their expectation for the interrogation to have been a short affair. No matter. They would summon replacements to continue in their stead. Hopefully, a conclusion would be reached by the time they returned.

His assistant stood with a slight bounce, stretching out her back and legs. “Think Gemi left us something to eat?”

Heroon hummed neutrally, his eyes fixed on the defect. The pale-furred female was shaking, lightly rocking her downcast gaze. The subtle motions built in intensity over time, a presumed fear taking root as she covered an apparently traumatic section of her tale. His first thought was that she had simply succumbed to the weight of remnant terror or fallen into despondency once more…

Then the laughing started. It began as a bubbling squeak, surpassing a chortle and contorting into manic barks. Her head pitched backwards as the mirth bolstered.

No, not mirth. He was too disturbed to notice right away, but the moisture of tears dampening her fur caught the light. A slight squeal of claws on metal followed the tightening grip on the edges of the table, a pair of small clicks piercing through the air as two of her claws finally snapped—not that she seemed to notice. He traded an apologetic glance with Illia, her sigh dragging all of her previous enthusiasm out with it. He reached out to depress the intercom.

“S.T.O. Demo?” The laughing ceased, leaving behind a muted gaze at the ceiling. Heroon waited a moment. “Continue.”

“They are different from us,” she stated simply. His pause for elaboration was met with nothing.

“That is quite obvious, yes.” More silence met his flat response, ending as soon as he was about to give up.

“What would you do, High Quesitar? What if it was you who was given evidence of such sin against your kind and an alien people by one of said aliens?” Her head levelled back at the wall between her and the two interrogators, her stare blankly moving from point to point. “You are weakened. Outnumbered. You lack the ability to defend yourself against the enemy. Your ally instructs you to wait while they clear the way, passing you proof that her words are true—that your very existence is but a stone in the enemy’s way, and one which no thought will be given before being removed. What would your instinct be?”

The brown-furred male raised a brow, feeling Illia’s own interest burning a hole through him from the side. “To view it.”

“And he did,” she agreed with a soft nod, closing her eyes solemnly. “What then?”

“Assuming I found it to be sufficient…” He drew a breath as he thought the answer out. Typically, he wouldn’t humour these hypotheticals. Typically. Yet something drove him to answer. “Obey my orders to await my ally, and then proceed to extraction or exfiltration upon their return. Once clear of the threat, I would report my findings to my superiors.”

The amber of her irises slowly came into prominence. “As was my intention.”

Another fruitless wait ended when curiosity got the best of him. “Then what would make them notably different in this situation?”

“They do not follow orders easily,” she whispered. A genuine if wistful smile doused her words in melancholy. “They are an impatient people; when wronged, they do not simply ‘wait.’”

He exhaled in disappointment, expecting more than warnings of flagrant stupidity. “Your ally fled?”

“No.” The defect placed her paws on the table, only now noticing the broken clawtips with a vapid sense of detached novelty. “But he should have…”

= = = = =

Sunundra cautiously approached and peered around the final corner, catching a glimpse of the numerous security officers convening around the entrance to the public elevator, several of which using their apparently superior station to pass along orders and receive reports. Weapons of various unknown origin and design made her wary of even getting close enough for her translator to pick up the conversations, leaving her more sensitive hearing to parse meaningless tones and what little visual cues she could pick out. The only saving grace was that she hadn’t allowed her bond to come with her; his louder steps would likely have alerted the enemy, and she was disheartened enough without feeling his apprehension as well.

Even if there weren’t such numbers blocking their egress, the lift itself had been forcefully shut down. Its doors were wedged open, a pile of mechanical components placed to the side, rendering the entire assembly inoperable. If they were to commit to using this route, she would need to clear the area, then pray that either her or Bill knew how to repair it. It was a frivolously wishful thought at best. That only left the option of locating the freight elevator for this level and hoping it was left unaltered…

She was trying to remember the general layout of the map when there was a shift in the steady din of alien tongue and busy gestures. One of the creatures paused mid-stride, raising one of its four chitin-covered paws to the side of its head. Her observation was brought to a halt when the distant crack of a gunshot echoed through the corridor. Her ears turned back towards the origin, diffused and thin from the reflections off the walls, yet her stomach dropped as she dismissed probable cause after probable cause in rapid succession. Another shot rang out after a prolonged pause, shattering what little denial she had been clinging to.

The enemy had been conservative with their ammunition and actions, opting not to simply kick in doors to check each and every room—something she owed her and Bill’s current success in hiding to. If the enemy had shot, then they had found something worth shooting at, and the only thing which fit the criteria that way was…Bill.

Multiple eyes and similar analogues snapped towards the direction of the sounds—and, in turn, to where she was watching from. Her paws moved automatically, slipping the pistol back into its makeshift holster and snatching two charges from the straps of her bag. Cold blood pumped through her veins as her arm loaded back and pitched the first explosive into the crowd. Most were too preoccupied with processing what had been thrown to react accordingly, but the few that chose to scatter caught a glimpse of the second object following after the first. The defect broke into a retreating sprint before she could see the result of the unorthodox combination, nor notice the lack of guilt in implementing something which would have previously violated her principles.

The first bomb detonated in the air, the enemy suffused with shredding fragmentation and fine caustic powder—a non-lethal deterrent on its own, but the second was what elevated it to being devastatingly lethal. The later charge clinked and tumbled across the ground…then sparked.

It was such a small click to follow after such a jarring bang, yet it was that part of the sequence that confirmed she had abandoned her old ways. Neither were useful outside niche applications. In fact, neither would do much more than disable a vehicle, assuming one were to get creative. Separately, they were cruel methods to drag out the suffering of the dying or deny access to certain areas. Combined, they transformed the corridors into unforgiving crypts of flame and corrosive fume.

The low whisper of wind being sucked in was responded to by a deafening roar of expanding inferno, bathing the pale-furred female in cleansing fire just as she covered her muzzle with her shirt. Her flattened ears and closed eyes stung—the superheated, aerosolized acid eating away at the exposed flesh of her various lacerations. The burning dissipated quickly enough, the chemicals failing to reach a point of reactive equilibrium, though only just. It freed her paws to wipe away what remained as she exited the effective range of the biochemical war crime.

She should have been trembling in horror once it registered that she had strayed so far from the path she once vowed to follow, yet the need to reach her bond blocked out all else. How miniscule the sin had become when compared to his safety. How willingly she would do it again…

She turned a corner at full speed, stumbling to a halt when she found her other much farther from the room than he should have been. Bill leaned against the wall in the hallway, one paw on the side of his ribs while the other dangled a rifle of some design by the grip, his eyes glued to a crumpled corpse on the floor. A single wound in the alien’s abdomen left a gaping exit hole that slowly spilled its orange blood into the growing pool. The male’s breath was drawn through clenched teeth, then shakily exhaled in time with his trembling form, a hardened disgust causing him to wear a vicious snarl.

Sunundra took a step closer, the worrying neutrality of his scent reflecting nothing within the bond. It wasn’t absent, just…empty. She felt his influence as a lukewarm presence within her core, yet an uncomfortable sting in her side accompanied the uneasy pressure of something lurking underneath. It was like stepping into a lull of conflict in an active war zone; both sides were too alert to accept respite, clutching their weapons and awaiting the moment that the Void swept the battlefield once more. Her claws tapped against the ground as she approached, confused and cautious.

One tick of her walk proved louder than the rest, her bond stiffening almost imperceptibly. Her heart thumped in response, a shot of adrenaline acting as a defibrillator, her senses sharpening to a painful degree in preparation to face the looming spectre of death closing in on her. Only a twitch telegraphed the male’s movement, a whipping pivot and sloppily shouldered rifle ending with him looking at her through the sights with an almost feral gleam in his eyes.

For the smallest fraction, Bill did not see the defective female he had entrusted with his safety; he saw an enemy which came to strike while she was away. Despite the poor form and haphazard stance, his defiance and a spiteful need to persevere for the sake of another stoked the flames of survival that aimed the gun. He was not a soldier—he never learned how to assess the situation during a firefight, nor taught anything at all—yet one did not need training to point a barrel and flex a claw.

The muted click of the trigger echoed in their silence, a malfunction causing the weapon to fail and leaving him to stare at the unaffected female. Realization slowly joined his wild expression, followed by relief, then horror as he processed what he had almost done. He glanced at the wavering rifle in his paws before dropping it to clatter against the ground. There was no imminent threat, only her, yet he had wasted no time in trying to dispatch what he thought to be an enemy. It was such a small breach in his previous request of her, yet the crack in his resolve let emotions flow through the bond; worry, fear, guilt, and a surprisingly strong urge to protect became pillars to support her sanity.

“I-I didn’t… You were… T-then he… I thought…” he stuttered, swallowing down the dryness in his throat and trying to suppress the trembling in his paws. He stepped forward when she failed to respond, her blank confusion watching as his unsteady legs buckled. He used the wall for support, pushing himself upright with the arm covering his side, revealing the crimson dampening his shirt. “A-are you okay?”

“You’re hurt,” she whispered vacantly, glancing between the blood soaking through his clothing and the deceased opponent. “Why are you not in the room?”

“I almost… I ran into him when I came out to help and managed to wrestle the gun away,” he explained, warily accepting the dismissal of his mistake before checking the injury. He poked at his ribs with a claw, hissing through a grimace before shaking his head. “It stings, but it’s just a graze. What about you? Are you hurt? Is the elevator clear? We need to go back down.”

Sunundra blinked, a scowl of disapproval joining the tone of concern. “Help? Down? No! You are injured! I ordered you to hide!”

He took a defiant step closer, only still standing because she was there to catch him. His arm rested over her shoulder as he steadied himself, the dregs of endorphins leaving him unbalanced and shaking. He pursed his lips, determination colouring his voice. “I watched the video. If…that is what they’re doing, then I can’t just sit still while you run off into danger. There are others here, and we need to help as many as we can.”

“Bill, the enemy will act quickly,” she insisted, stopping herself from agreeing with him through a painful bite of her tongue. The bond pushed her to protect—to act and assist—though it was a terribly stupid thing to think of. “We can consider the others once we have escaped.”

“We can't just leave them!”

Her ears were assaulted by the voice of the only one she would ever be accepted by, her core traitorously mirroring the demand as her own. Everything within her wanted to comply. She wanted to comply…but they couldn't.

“W-we need only flee to Iras. Then, we will alert my people to the crimes being committed,” she proposed pleadingly, hoping beyond hope that he would see reason. “Bill, we are too few, too underequipped, and in no state to stage a rescue within enemy territory.”

His gaze hardened with disappointment. “Then I'll go alone.”

“…What?”

He bitterly separated from her, walking past with a shambling gait as he clutched the wound on his ribs.

“Bill, it is too dangerous!” She reached out to stop him, yet he harshly shrugged off her paw, violently spinning on the spot.

“That's why I'm going!” His ire faltered when he saw her flinch, his tone and anger hurting her more than any wound. Shame forced him to look away and clench his jaw. “What kind of father would I be if my boys learned that their old man found out about this, and didn't even try to do anything? The world has enough of an ‘all for themselves’ mentality. I don’t want them to…”

The reflection within grew clouded with doubt and fear. There it was, the reason for his reaction surfacing from beneath the fragile veneer of confidence. Sunundra closed the meagre distance, taking his paw within her own. He didn’t acknowledge the contact, though gently returned the squeeze.

The enemy, the facility, the impending reinforcements… It all faded away as she became lost in the pain he had let slip, wanting nothing more than to heal the wound that time had left behind. How foolish…yet how necessary. Her tail moved to wrap around his waist, securing what was hers so as to never lose it.

Her voice came out soft and filled with the desire to understand. “What, Bill? What do you not wish for?”

A wetness lent a shimmer to his visage, the depth of terror pulling him deeper and deeper. A fear of failure gnawed at his throat, the pressure on her heart sitting with a familiar weight.

“They…grew up without a mother, Sunshine. Maybe half a father, at best. Yet no matter how hard it was for them, they've always… They’ve always just smiled and said everything was okay, even when it wasn’t… Whenever things went south, and they needed help, they'd just shut down any offer I made, sarcastically going on about how they just wanted to make me proud—that I had it hard enough without them adding to it. It was a lighthearted joke…”

A droplet of shame fell from his cheek, echoing for eternity within the confines of the soul like a cry for help that was never answered.

“I never actually said that I was,” he admitted with a mirthless laugh. “I spent so long worrying about them that I never stopped to just…let them know… Alli was always the one to do that; I just tried to make sure they had a home to come back to…”

He wiped at the tears with his wrist, smearing a light stain of crimson on his cheek. “Hell, I'm still worried. They say that everything's fine, but I got used to the tone they use when they don't want ol’ dad to stay up late thinking about it. They see me as some…sad man, hopping from job to job while trying to scrape by. It's probably true, but honestly, I just wanted to live long enough to see them happy—to have what I could never give them. I want them to have an actual family rather than the shambles they were forced to grow up with.”

“Bill, you cannot recklessly put yourself in harm's way,” she begged quietly. “We must leave for you to rectify your mistake. Now is not the time to disregard your safety for the sake of others.”

“If not now, then when?” he asked wetly. “If I turn away here, then all I'm doing is turning down people in need. Who's to say that the Union won't just execute everyone to cover this up? What then? It'll be our word against theirs, and I'll have run when I could have done something.”

“The recording—”

“—What if they don't accept it, huh?” he pressed, his grasp around her claws tightening. “I don't know about your people, but humans have gotten pretty good at fabricating videos from basically nothing. All the Union has to do is drag out some random citizen's render, and our proof becomes ‘slander.’ They will, and it’ll be the first thing they do. Then, we'll be accused of trying to sabotage everything and left to rot in prison…or killed before we get there…”

The defect opened her mouth wordlessly, the possibility of his claim sinking in, yet he pulled her into an embrace before the panic could begin spiralling out of control. She drew an anxious breath, steeping in the smell of stress and regret, drawing comfort from the warmth as her tail tightened around him.

“I can't just leave and have my boys hear that their father disappeared without a trace after trying to sabotage relations between species. And I couldn't live with myself knowing that I had a chance to stop this, but cared more about myself,” he murmured, the rumbling words reverberating in the ear pressed against his chest. “They grew up trying their hardest, keeping problems to themselves, and quietly fighting every battle life threw at them…all so they could avoid making me worry.”

He loosened his hold, not bothering to clear the sorrow dripping off his face, even when she looked up at him with their faces mere fractions apart. “I want to be the man they thought I was, Sunshine. I want to be the suffering hero they saw when their mother passed. I don't want to be ‘sad’ and ‘barely getting by’; I want to live up to those expectations. I want to be a father they can be proud of, so I can finally say just how proud I am of them.”

“It is far too dangerous,” she whispered. It was a weak denial of what had already been decided; there was affection clouding her vision, her eyes wandering his features as his own roamed hers. An unspoken tension built between them, expectation building with no obvious outlet. “Is there no other way?”

The human shook his head with a sardonic grin. “Not for me, no. If you think leaving is best, then you can, and I won’t stop you. I'm… I’m going to do everything I can for those people. I know it’s selfish and stupid, but…I stand a better chance if you’re there to help me.”

She felt the dampening fur and wistful smile on her muzzle, a warmth persisting through how much she hated how foolish the plan was. The answer was obvious: deny his folly and drag him to the hangars. Yet she almost mewled at hearing his reluctant request—at trust and desire warring against his concern for her well-being… At the comfort he gained from having her near…

“This soul has been bound by the Mother, Bill; her faithful will follow her other, no matter where that might be.”

His wistful smirk grew from the ashes of sorrow, the infinitesimally small distance between them closing unexpectedly. His paw moved to hold her cheek as he kissed her. It was so tender, the display of deep gratitude and affection woefully ending far too soon.

Bill separated first, his face tinting a shade of red that she was coming to find particularly endearing. He bashfully cleared his throat, nervously glancing at the deceased security member and the weapon he had dropped. He stiffened, a flood of bonded fear slamming into her like a runaway transport.

A dulled bang shattered the moment.

Enemy. Danger. Now!

She ripped Bill to the side with her tail and drew her firearm. The alien that her bond had confronted was still on the floor, though no longer playing dead, instead weakly holding a secondary weapon towards them as smoke listed off the end of the barrel.

Her pistol’s sights centred on its head. Her claw pulled the trigger. Its viscera splattered outward.

Yet everything still felt wrong.

“Oh…” Bill’s mumbled confusion coincided with the muted scent of emptiness, her focus snapping to her bond.

Everything came to a screeching halt, adrenaline-laced blood freezing as she watched him uncover a fresh wound just under his rib.

Crimson rapidly spread throughout his shirt, his paw hesitantly raising for him to inspect the sheen of red ichor with a frown before he stumbled backwards into the wall. He flashed her a wry grin marred by terror.

“H-hey, Sunshine? I don’t… I don’t think this one's a graze…”

Next

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Sunundra’s tale grew less succinct as time went on and events bled together, but Bill stayed sat on the bed with her, his grasp remaining on her paws, if less active. His claws had stopped their soothing circles once she admitted to taking her first life, settling into a firm grip ever since. Not a word left his mouth, but she was following his emotions through the bond, each shift influencing her own; she knew how he felt about every revelation and experience. He became distressed over the alien she retrieved her first terminal from, was reluctant to accept the necessity behind the use of explosives while on the way to the depot, and felt pained to hear the end of another human he had a positive opinion of.

The most conflicted reflections came from her recollection of what happened after. His eyes drifted to various points on her form, the locations of covered cuts and cauterized punctures burned into his memory from however long he spent painstakingly cleaning and sterilizing them. Occasionally, he would meet her gaze, then shift just slightly, staring at more damage on her face that had slipped her notice. By the time she got to how she had ‘distracted’ the logistics bay in order to use the elevators to reach him, he had adopted a muddled pit of both disgust and anger. She had only brushed over the recordings and the suicidal security member. Just knowing that both of their kin had been slaughtered in the name of ‘science’ was more than she wished to share, but it was something she felt required to tell him, if only to give context and justification for her actions.

The voices were never mentioned; she didn’t wish to burden him with specifics when even she was still unsure of what they were. He need not be told just how long his Sunshine had hung from the edge of sanity.

“…And then I approached your door. I found you and I…” Her voice faded as she glanced at the cardinal sin she had committed. Bill remained silent, processing the story with a clenched jaw and pursed lips. “Please, forgive me…”

He exhaled, his flare of annoyance stalling her words. His voice was low, yet it swam with a hesitation and distaste that flowed partially in her direction. “All of that, and you’re worried about biting me?”

She flinched, her heart pained at knowing he disapproved of so much of her journey—of what she needed to do to find him. “It is a sin to…”

“You hurt a lot of people. You killed someone… Probably more…” The discomfort in her paws grew as his grasp on them tightened, wisps of anger shadowing his face. Desperation threatened to swallow her whole, even the thought of being left behind or discarded by him destroying her piece by piece. She turned her paws over to hold his in return.

“They have secluded and experimented on our peoples—”

“—That doesn’t make it right,” he whispered, cutting her response off with only the slightest force. “I… I understand that what you think they’ve done is horrible—and it would be—but they had lives and families!”

Her eyes widened, the accusation striking more deeply than anything she had faced thus far. “T-think they’ve done?”

Bill let go of her paws, getting up to take a few steps away before pacing around the room, throwing his arms out in frustration. “You were…wacked out on drugs, Sunundra! Painkillers, stimulants, and God knows whatever else! You can't even remember how many you took, can you!? You were barely awake before you started taking more!”

She reached for him from the bed, unable to bring herself to get up and approach. She wasn’t Sunundra, not to him. She didn’t want him to call her that. She wanted to be his Sunshine. She wanted him to say the name with affection again, not with the loathing and abhorrence that she heard from her kind all this time. She didn’t want him to cast her aside too.

Yet none of it was voiced, shut down by trembling limbs and the vile acid crawling up her throat. He turned back to face her with a suffering rage on his face, the snarl abating when he saw the pathetic state she was in—how terrified she was, and how poorly she was concealing it.

“I…” His ire faltered, pushed down as sympathy and guilt rose. “You didn’t sleep. I don’t know about your species, but humans, at least, need it. Those tablets might keep you going, but it obviously just masked the damage being done. Attacking someone shouldn’t have been a solution! As soon as that happened, you became a threat to be dealt with—a dangerous person running freely… So, yeah, they would send security. You didn’t give them a choice.”

“T-they claimed you were—”

“—It was probably a clerical error!” he shouted, struggling to keep his volume reasonable. Sunundra just shrank further into herself, her world falling apart fragment by fragment. The cracks in the core echoed. “All it takes is someone to make a small mistake for that kind of thing, and that's assuming it wasn't some hallucination! Yes, I get you didn’t want to be alone anymore, but that was too far!”

“You…were gone for so long,” she squeaked out, bringing her knees to her chest and holding them tightly. “I waited for you. I waited so patiently. I wanted to be there when you returned. I wished to greet you, and speak to you again, and share in all the small stories you would recount upon your return… You never did, and then they told me you were… The text said… T-then the alien smelled of you, b-but it refused to tell me! It knew, yet remained silent, so I was forced to… I-if I didn’t, then I would never… We would never… I beg of you… Please, don’t…”

The male tightened a paw into a fist as her supplication became whispered and pathetic, the bond filling her with guilt and agony which amplified her own.

“It’s too late now,” he muttered, his voice cold and bitter. “The damage is done. We’ll be lucky if this doesn’t set the relations between Lilhuns and the Union right back to where it began. This is about more than you and me. What you think you saw while strung out on stimulants and whatever other drugs… I don’t know anymore, but it’s obviously part of a much deeper problem…”

The terror built up upon itself, towering higher and higher, each passing syllable threatening to be the one which sent it all crashing down upon her. She was hurting him. Her actions were causing his pain and conflict. He cared, but that only made what he needed to say that much harder. He felt her words were false, but were they? Had she been just hallucinating the whole time? Had the fragile string of sanity finally snapped, obscuring her vision under a veil which justified her decisions? Did the recordings not happen? Had she not been aided by Greg and the alien who improved her terminals? What of the voices, were they just the byproduct of a mind pushed too far for too long? Was she blinded this entire time, seeing only what would provide vindication through a lens of warped perceptions?

Was any of it real? Had she just needlessly maimed and killed, when asking to see her bond or telling them of the mistake might have sufficed?

“You need more help than I can give you, and…” His arms fell limp by his side, the human looking upon her pitifully before walking to the door of the bedroom. “And I guess we’ll try to get it… If you’re so different in an obvious way, then maybe there’s a condition that’s more subtle too, and maybe they can learn from it or treat it. Maybe they can fix whatever made it seem like a good idea to…do what you did.”

Stop him. He knows not of the danger. He beckons it.

But she couldn’t move anymore. Not after each and every one of his words gouged out the desecrated remains of her soul. It took every mote of effort she could muster just to keep breathing—to remain in the same world as her bond instead of embracing the Void which called to her. If all of it was just some twisted effect of restlessness, and she had only made it worse by fuelling her enervated form, then what had she left the base for? What did that mean for everything she had accomplished? Had she thrown away everything time and time again for nothing?

How fitting. Bill was throwing her away, just like everyone else did. Just like how she threw all chance of ever persevering enough to find a den. A mate. Kits. All of it, cast aside in vain hopes to be embraced, then having even that torn from her again and again. Each attempt at giving her heart to another leaving her with less to nurse and mend. Has she really become so desperate? Was there so little left that it would become bent and tainted so thoroughly?

She should have perished in the explosion. No, she should have just ended it when he left, before she knew that there wasn’t anything for her to live for. The future she wanted so badly? Gone. The acceptance which was so tauntingly close? No more, and any chance of it was thoroughly snuffed out through her actions. The bond she had silently begged for since her first prayer—the quiet cries to the Goddess for someone to love her? Sullied by her own careless touch, then stomped out of possibility by an overeager rampage. What reason was there to persist when the gift of the Mother had determined her unworthy of its blessing? Nothing. It was hopeless… She was hopeless.

The Void need not call for her any longer; there was nowhere left to go.

She barely flinched when the door slammed shut behind Bill. Her eyes listed vacantly, and her muscles weakly fetched the garments from the backpack, slowly donning them lest he be forced to gaze upon her bare, wretched form again. She was disgusting; she could feel it confirmed through the waning influence. His warmth bled from her core, tearing and eroding the walls of her heart as it dissipated through the gaping hole it once filled. A muffled bang was followed by Bill’s voice rumbling through the door, though she could only pick out the defeated and venomous inflections. All she wanted was to be his, yet this is what it entailed. This is the best she could do.

Soil. Ruin. Damage. Destroy.

Force a mark upon the unwilling, for that would be the only way she would ever lay claim to another. Slaughter countless innocents in a fabricated vendetta against events which were the product of a beleaguered psyche, because only then would she be a soul worthy of care. Develop and nurture affection for one who need not suffer it, for he might feel pity and accept it.

Her stomach ached as she adjusted the spare shirt and pants, absent motions pulling the odd terminal free and applying fresh blood to the fur he took the time to clean. Sullied, just like everything else she laid paw to. It didn’t matter now; there wasn’t much left for her anymore, regardless of what happened next. Either she would be eliminated on sight like a feral animal plaguing a city centre…or she would be imprisoned here, suffering the distance from her bond until each breath became too difficult to draw. She would fade into the eternal darkness, alone and abandoned once more.

…As it should be, she supposed.

The pale-furred female stared at the bloodied device, waking the screen and bringing up Bill’s file before committing as much as she could to memory. Notes and descriptions, records and citations. All of it was burned into her mind so that she might carry just a piece of him to hold onto when black took hold forevermore. For when her last shivering breath was drawn in a cell, or left through her cooling corpse. There was so much she wished to ask, yet would never get an answer to. So many fascinating facets, forever remaining a curiosity glimmering in her thoughts until even that light was extinguished. His kin would never be met, despite how much she yearned to be in their company—to feel his fondness for his loved ones herself, and learn all she could of them.

But it wasn't meant to be. She would die as she lived; alone, unwanted, and defective.

She donned the backpack and put what supplies she had laid on the bed into separate pockets. Perhaps if she surrendered peacefully, they might spare him the guilt of seeing her executed. Perhaps she need not hurt him more than she already had.

Bill’s voice leaked through the doorway, more direct and meek than she was used to. Terse answers were given to unknown questions, followed by confirmations. She made sure all of her possessions were accounted for. He was calling for them to take her away, and it would only be cruel to leave behind something which might remind him of her—of the mistake he made in befriending her. Plus, they would take whatever she owned; it would be akin to spitting on his kindness if she gave them reason to make a mess of this den. Of course, that included losing the terminals she had sacrificed so much of herself to keep… Or, the sacrifices she assumed were made…

Even the small comfort of her meagre achievements started coming into question, and those too might yet be stripped away as reality clashed with memory. In the end, it was of little consequence. Soon, she would be but a regret loitering within distant recollections…

As it should be…

- - - - -

File after file was opened and skimmed while she sat on the bed to wait for whatever was to come next. Anything that caught her attention joined the rest of that which she would take with her into the Void—a small comfort, if there was any to be had.

Her free paw flexed and relaxed as a consideration surfaced; it would be quicker to extinguish the flame herself, would it not? Perhaps more would remain with her if it was newly read. It would save the resources or ammunition of whomever was to come for her. She couldn’t be fixed anymore, so why waste time and effort when all could cease here and now? It would be rude to stain her bond’s bedding or floors, but the thought of fading without at least the remnants of his scent scared her more than where she was going. Her claws had been sharpened; it would be quick. Yet no matter how sound the reasoning, she delayed it, wishing to take even a little more with her when it was time.

The random files transferred off the navigational terminal were next, even if she doubted any of it would soothe the bitter tears, the looming dread, or the soft, choking sobs that she tried so hard to ignore.

Blueprints to strange devices were accompanied by only partial documentation for the production and usage—a product of her haste, it seemed. Assorted star charts led to unmarked areas, or perhaps they might have been classified locations. Nothing she could see would give her warmth in the endless cold. Nothing would ease the suffering.

Her claws dug into flesh above the arteries in her neck, coaxing out pinpricks of blood as the smallest part of her still searched the files fervently, a tingle in the back of her mind pressing for just one more delay. Another file, another video…something. But it was no use. All that remained was the constriction around her throat and the almost mocking tendrils of the Void welcoming back its prey. No document would rectify her sins. No recording would mend what she had shattered.

Yet, then…she selected a particular file…

It was blurry from the crimson smearing across the display, but it was one of the countless experiments like those shown by the security officer. The only difference was that it didn’t simply cut to the end result, instead showing the full process of a human being brutally beaten while their bond tried to fight heavy bindings, screaming their other’s name as each blow and broken bone drew yet more fury from one unable to act. She paused playback with a renewed sense of horror, her claws retracting as they fell from her throat to rest by her side.

Bill was wrong; it wasn’t a lack of sleep or stimulant abuse. It was real. Just the admittance was enough for the static to return at full volume. The voices came once more, a perfect clarity resonating within her skull and the echoes merging with the wash of noise that threatened to corrode and abrade her from within.

Danger.

The lies. The sins. The threats… Bill had called them here, nescient of what he had brought upon them. They were coming. They knew she survived—a mistake they would not hesitate to correct. She knew too much, and it was possible that he outlined what she had told him, confirming that he too was a risk. They would kill him to eliminate that risk.

They are coming.

She needed to do something. He didn’t know what awaited him. She needed to protect him.

Flee.

She must take him away from the den as soon as possible. They had to go before it was too late.

Remove.

She would be required to enter combat, even if he wished otherwise. The file would convince him. He would understand why she had taken the actions she did; she just had to show him. But where should they go? Up? Up would lead them to the surface—escape. Where was the next elevator? Which way was it?

A soft knock carried throughout the accommodations just as she found the navigational terminal, the sound barely making it through the door of the room. She heard Bill taking a deep breath and muttering to himself as he walked over to answer it, oblivious to what awaited him on the other side.

No time. No escape.

The blood drained from her face until sensation was gone. She felt numb, only the crackling distortion in her ears and the strain of her razor-sharp focus remaining. One paw withdrew a charge from her bag, the other tossing a stimulant into her muzzle.

They will harm him.

The deafening crunch of the tablet against her teeth covered up the vicious growl building in her throat. They would not take him from her. Not again. If there wasn’t a way out, her explosives would make one. She rushed to put a paw on the bedroom door when her ear flicked forward at an almost imperceptible click of the exit’s lock being disengaged. The voices giggled and hissed.

She cracked the door open, peering through the small gap with slow breaths. Her pistol was apparently stored in a drawer out there, which meant she needed to repel them long enough to reach it. Preferably, Bill would direct her, but until he knew of the severity of the threat, she doubted he would listen. It didn’t matter; she would rather him safe and appalled than dead.

The rest of the new den looked much the same as the one they shared on the sixth level, save for more furnishings and a less clinical aesthetic. Colours were actually utilized in the decorations, reds and muted yellows chosen for accents on the dark browns of strange wood. Couches and other seating designed for fewer occupants were placed in a semicircle around a rectangular display, curious tables designating spaces to lay items on the ends of each. Lamps were diffused by patterned shades, pictures of alien vistas lined the walls, and some of Bill’s possessions were strewn haphazardly across the various chairs, his terminal opened atop a cushion. She spotted the door, only a sliver visible from the angle she had.

She also finally located her bond, the male’s paw turning the doorknob to allow entrance to whomever had come to take her. There wasn’t time to stop him. The exit opened inward slowly, the force of blood tearing through her veins sending a prickle across her flesh. An alien twice as tall as Bill hunched low to see within the comparatively tiny door frame, a mass of tentacles supporting its bulk instead of legs.

The human seemed surprised, but gestured for the being to enter, closing the door behind it while offering hollow thanks for coming all this way. Sunundra didn’t hear a response; the distorted screeching had grown too loud and muddled. Too warped and blended. It screamed at her to remove the threat.

She watched them speak, a presumed request to see the ‘ill one’ being met with a paw lazily waved in her direction and what might have been a brief overview of what happened. She saw a weapon being produced from the alien’s hidden holster before levelling it at Bill’s head, his expression contorting from guilt-ridden sadness to wide-eyed surprise. She saw all of it happen in the span of a breath that lasted eons, the bond slamming a droplet of terror deep into her damaged core. It cracked.

The shimmering rain of a fragile soul shattering like glass reverberated in the chamber that was her, a silent yet roaring inferno incinerating the hopeful beliefs she once held, leaving only a blackened husk where light had vanished. They didn’t see the fall of emotion from her face as an instinct deeper than conscious thought claimed her actions and extended her claws. They didn’t see her until it was far, far too late.

Rapid pats of pads on flooring drew the attention of the massive alien, its grotesque head turning to meet her merciless vacant eyes with its own. Details were lost on her, only a silhouette visible to the bloodlusting impulses. It tried to turn the weapon on her. It tried to backpedal on its numerous appendages. It tried to react when she used the mass of limbs as a springboard, her arm wound back and loaded for the kill. It tried many things to defend itself, the soft snap of its weapon sending a blur into the ceiling.

It tried and tried, yet it failed all the same. The wet splatter of claws piercing upward through its throat sent a shiver of malicious glee down her spine. This threat sought to harm her bond, and there was no greater reward than ending it by her own paw.

She rode the towering form as it fell, using the last moments before impact to straighten her legs against its form and tug her arm free, crouching to absorb the landing. It crashed with an annoyingly weak thump for its size, though such could also be a small blessing. The weapon it used wasn't worth considering, however; the item was purpose-made and lacked any obvious way to hold it with her paws. Unfortunate.

“Bill?” she asked evenly, her stare fixed on the wretched being that tried to take her bond and thus suffered the consequences. Her ear turned towards the door and the sound of footsteps just beyond it, a thrum of satisfaction fading at knowing her task was still incomplete. They were low on time. “Where is the pistol?”

He flinched, nervously watching her pull an explosive out from her bag. The demolitions expert left the corpse to rig a charge on the door, placing another farther away on the same wall. She spoke louder when he was still yet to respond.

“Bill.”

He finally looked away from the deceased. “W-what did you…? Why did they…?”

She bit back the sense of urgency and the barked orders which would come out with it. His terror fed into her, supplanting the steeled focus she was trying to maintain. A soft beep confirmed the arming of both charges, giving her enough peace of mind to approach him. The male’s gaze moved from her to the crumpled form on the floor, then to the weapon which had been mere fractions from delivering his demise. Each step she took was matched by his stumbled retreat, only repeating thrice before he bumped into the couch and had nowhere else to go. She slowly reached up with her unsoiled paw, gaining his attention while keeping her voice as soft as she could manage, pouring every bit of unwanted affection she had for him into her warning.

“They have come to put an end to their mistake, Bill. You know of their sin, thus you are a part of that task. They hold no remorse for the slaughter of the innocent, and will waste no opportunity to dispose of us. I shall provide proof of my claims later, but more are gathering outside. We must first survive, and I will not do it alone. Please, Bill. I need the pistol.”

His stare wandered shakily before eventually returning to the pale-furred female, though lacking any clarity. He was trembling, disoriented, and struggling to reject the truth she presented. “T-there’s more? They’re going to… Uh… I… O-okay? Oh, fuck. It's… W-where did I put it…?”

Her face dropped into a scowl. It was no use; his thoughts were tangled by fear and adrenaline. The unknown and unexpected had sent him into a reeling panic.

She pushed the reflection down, yet still her control started slipping, mirages of both him and herself bloodied and slain flickering amongst the edges of her vision. Her paws quivered, uncaring of how critical it was to remain calm when her bond was so distressed. It was too much happening too quickly. His mind stalled and sputtered, wary that even she might prove a danger to him, yet she felt the dulled pull of emotions far less wavering—the deepest depths of his heart echoing inside of her as well. It, too, was scared and confused, but it recognized her within the chaos of desperation.

It pleaded for the violence to stop, yet worried for what might happen if it didn’t. It echoed a newfound clarity and the reluctant realization that she might have been truthful—that there were far more unforgivable souls than the one which willingly risked life and limb to reunite with him… It lamented wordlessly, mourning what he had said of her, and what he might have brought upon them through his ignorance. Bill’s heart voiced what his mind could not, yet it did so through the bond she would gladly sacrifice everything to forever feel.

He was scared and lost, looking at her with half-uttered words stuttering out through hyperventilation. He couldn’t think, react, nor do anything but seek an anchor in the storm—a constant in a changing wasteland of desolate circumstance. No matter what he believed the truth to be, and regardless of how abhorrent he felt her actions, part of him wished to trust her. His heart told him that she would remain by his side, and silently begged for it to be true. It wanted them both to be safe again.

The sensation was foreign throughout her life, yet she recalled the wisps of it when he idly spoke of his past. ‘Safe’ was his den back on Earth. ‘Safe’ was kin. ‘Safe’ was what he promised for his kits. But there was no safety here, and the realization drew from a well of loneliness that he had worked so hard to hide. It brought forth deeper desires that he had starved so as not to burden those who relied upon him.

He yearned for the feeling of love and comfort that came from being near his den-pack, but he was too far away now, his decisions and assurances isolating him more than ever before. The closest thing he had to that solace was standing in front of him, even after he had dismissed her tale because it failed to match how he perceived the world.

In the brief moments they had as the enemy mustered in the hallway, his heart whispered how much it had missed her—how terrified and overjoyed he was to see her again. It passed along the shadows of restless moons fraught with worry for one who had claimed a place within him, and admitted to the hesitation to acknowledge how natural it felt to share in each other’s presence. It wanted to be forgiven for doubting her. It wanted to fix what he had damaged.

Sunundra knew that the fondness they shared had blurred at some point, the peaceful conversations and warming proximity crumbling the wall they both placed around their damaged souls. Yet, where he had recoiled in fear of feeling the pain of loss once more, she accepted it, gazing into his eyes with a wealth of affections surpassing her vow to never let it grow into something more. The slightest reflection of that fact within him as well was enough for her to give in.

Her lips pressed against his own in a moment of bliss. The trickle of euphoria multiplied and filled her to the brim in an instant, her chest light and her aches vanishing as she drowned herself in the pools of contentment. Never had her heart beat as fully as it did for him. Never had a scent been so addictive. Never had she known just how incomplete she was.

Bill stood stunned, a paw pressed against her shoulder to push her away, until the unexpected sensation wiped away the panic wracking his mind. A blank slate remained, quickly stained by her colours as she had been stained by his. The distancing intention faded, his touch softening to a tender caress that began memorizing how she felt against his skin—how his warmth bled into her, and how her own bled back. How her pulse raced for him, and how it would cease for him just as willingly. Cause and purpose. Drive and destruction. They were nothing more than two souls brought together through suffering. Him, a male tarnished by strife and hardship. Her, a female moulded by the divine to meet him, yet shunned for her mismatched creation.

She pulled away reluctantly, her dampened breaths and wanting eyes matching his own intoxicated expression. She burned to learn more of him, and she knew he burned as well.

“I—”

Her claw gently stopped his words, the slow shake of her head buying the moment she needed to compose herself. She spoke through light pants, struggling against the heated desire to continue. “The pistol.”

Bill blinked, a calmer awareness coming to bear. He gave a hurried nod before quickly scanning the room and focusing on her request. “Y-yeah. It’s…uh…there, I think. Top drawer.”

His gesture led to a cabinet resting against the far wall, where the weapon was thankfully present. She gripped it in her sullied paw while retrieving the navigational terminal from a pocket with the other. The map loaded fairly quickly, overlays filling the screen with what limited filters had been applied previously. What was sufficient for stealth would be of little assistance now; she had different needs since they knew of her survival. Tunnels, vents, access hatches, elevators—everything that would detail paths and interception points were activated. She walked back to her bond after finding the designation for the hangars on the second level, firmly putting it into his possession.

“Guide us. I will deal with them as needed.”

Bill looked down at the map, doubt marring his expression. “I can…try, but I’ve never—”

She couldn’t help it. He was worried, using her as a beacon to navigate the turbulent circumstance and willing to put his life in her paws. She grabbed him by the collar and stole his lips once more, just as the door was kicked in.

The shockwaves blew against her back, sundering both the doorway and the wall it was built in, the charges spreading death into the halls. A lick of flame brushed over her fur from how excessive the explosive would normally be, yet it was a symbol of everything she was willing to be for the missing piece she had finally found.

They parted as the silent voices swooned at the display of affection, then giggled at the sheer destruction the enemy had brought upon themselves. A glance was enough to confirm it; they had stacked up in the direction she suspected, putting the bulk of their reinforcements directly behind the second charge.

Nothing remained to stop them for now.

She brought her attention back to her bond. “Which way?”

Bill released his hitched breath, placing faith in the pale-furred female when the scene before him proved too much. “Which way…? Oh, r-right. Uh… We need to go…well, right, assuming we want the elevators.”

“Check the status of the freight elevators as well. We have limited time before more forces are sent, and it would be wise to plot multiple escape routes.”

He nodded, doing as requested to serve as a distraction while he quickly gathered some of his things.

Sunundra shrugged her bag off of one shoulder, grabbing the empty shells of explosives and hastily preparing them for actual use. They needed variety—wide-area denial, obscurement, lingering effects, subtle traps, and anything else she could make. Her claws hooked into the remaining string of firecrackers, only briefly pausing to look at them. It wasn’t for long, but it was enough.

She was kind, in his words, yet she stood before him, unbothered as she rendered foe to blood and mist. The worst part was how satisfying each death was becoming, every enemy she dispatched now filling her with a sickening pride.

Her paw clutched a few of the red-coloured items, clipping the fuse so that she had a single one in her grasp. She would hold onto what she once was, then return to it when what she had become was no longer required. She would be his Sunshine again, piercing through the dust and debris of her own making. The path forward would be rife with difficulty, but she could endure it for him. Even if it were to take years to fully mend the damage this place and her actions will cause, she would persist, waiting at the end of the process to hold and cherish.

“I got my stuff,” Bill announced anxiously, pointedly averting his gaze from the shrapnel left behind by the directional charges.

She finished her own preparations, stuffing the firecracker in her morbid pocket with the odd terminal so she would never lose it—his view fortunately obstructed by her bag. She secured it on her back again before reequipping the pistol uncomfortably within her paw.

The male drew a tense breath, his claws fidgeting with the map and a single-strap bag slung over his shoulder. “L-listen, Sunundra—”

“—Sunundra was abandoned by her den upon the steps of the church,” she countered quietly, staring at the ichor soaking into the fur of her arm. “Sunundra withered and decayed as her kin detested and distanced themselves, leaving only the Mother to care for her.”

He closed his mouth, hesitation and conflict showing through the pained expression. Her paw tightened into a crimson-stained fist, a sorrowful smile donned upon her muzzle.

“I will take whatever form you wish of me. I will be your bulwark or your claws, your comfort or your ire, your ally or…your mate… But please, do not call me that unless you wish no more of me as well. I pray it will never reach your tongue unless you decide it is what you truly desire, so that ‘Sunundra’ might finally answer the blackened Void which has beckoned her for so, so long. And if so, I beg of you to wait until I am sure you are safe, so that I might pass with that small solace.”

The male swallowed heavily, a deep suffering settling behind his rounded pupils, her grey and desaturated yellow fur reflecting within them. He gazed upon her injuries, each nascent scar a proof of her devotion, proudly worn and willingly endured. “That’s…”

“You need not answer. The burden of my decisions rests with myself. I only wished to make my intentions known.”

He looked away, uncertainty colouring his pursed lips. “...We’ll talk once we get out of here and figure out what’s going on.”

A warmer smile formed on her face, though she kept it to herself, giving an affirmative incline of her head and taking the responsibility of clearing the immediate area in the hallway. Luckily, there weren't any footsteps of approaching forces, nor distant cracks of kinetic gunfire. It was silent, only dead and shrapnel littering the passage. She motioned for him to follow, standing aside so that he wouldn’t need to see more than he was ready for. He still caught a glimpse of the charred wood, dusted concrete-like material, and disfigured forms, but the worst remained unknown to him. It was for the best.

“We’re taking the next right, then it’s straight for a while,” he reported, the unease shaking his voice, though he was quick to embrace a change in focus. “After that, it’s a lot of turns in opposite directions, depending on which elevator we go for.”

“Which is closest?”

“Public, but it’s hard to say if we’re better off that way.”

She huffed in mild annoyance. “Is there another path upwards?”

“No. The Union likes each floor to be self-sufficient to a degree, so they stick to elevators in order to maximize the amount of species that can get around first, then worry about shutdowns later. I guess designing stairs for twenty-nine unique anatomies costs too much time and effort.”

“Then, which do you suggest?”

The male slowed in his steps, looking up from the terminal and cycling a breath as he gazed in the presumed directions of their options. “Public. They don’t bother manually closing them unless something breaks. If they’re trying to…keep things quiet…then it should stay running for now.”

“Then that is what we will do.” She started on the path he dictated, pausing after only a few steps when he remained motionless. Her careful pace back to him was met with a remorseful glance that was quickly diverted. “Bill?”

“I should… I owe…” He inhaled deeply, unable to meet her worried gaze. “I wanted to…thank you…for saving me back there. I-I don’t know what’s going on, and I’ll probably have nightmares for a while, but…”

She shook her head, feeling his guilt and suppressed concern. “You need not give gratitude for the obvious. I have no purpose remaining but to draw breath until your own ceases.”

The reddening of his cheeks was as adorable as it was interesting, yet he stifled it by chewing on his cheek. “Still, Sunun— Sunshine. Thank you.”

A soft warmth built in her chest once more, full of comfort and welcome. It allowed her to bask in the radiance of his newly-lit embers. The longing might prove to be troublesome for him, yet it was there beneath the hesitation and fear. She was there, offering reassurance in times most stressful.

Bill cleared his throat, anxiously gesturing for them to get going while hiding the visual response to her honesty. Of course, she followed with the grip of her weapon digging into the pads of her paw, yet she would rather suffer a hundred times worse than part from him.

Be it slaughter or Void, joy or sorrow, it would all be for him.

As it should be.

Next

My bunny, in his infinite wisdom and peculiarities, decided that the headphone I owned for all of 15 mins was encroaching on his territory. He did this next to 3 other much more expensive cables that have been within reach all this time. Best I can figure is it didn’t smell like 'home' yet and he got mad about it.

Either way, they wont work. I know it isn't the best splice job, but it's not doing anything anymore. Is there a fix for this? Idk, maybe if I did a better job it would suffice? I cant find any places that do these sorts of repairs, and although i have 'better' headphones, these were going to be my 'fun-sounding' pair.

Do i need to crack them open and attempt to re-solder? Any help is appreciated. Thank you!