Again and again, over these bleak few days, the hot sun carved a path through the Vat-Mother’s chamber. Invading through the palace’s wounds, it rippled wind through the dying hall. Everywhere that the light of the wicked day star touched, it burnt, leaving a trail of scoured flesh in its wake. The meat inside here was not inured to the evil sun, and now that it was dead, it couldn’t recover from the damage. Wisps of white smoke rose in delicate plumes as hair shrivelled and shell blackened.


    Through it all, Bee tried to find a sense of security. At Mother’s instruction, the child had run, gathering scraps from still-twitching rooms and groaning passages. She built a nest in the dim between two glass urns of murky fluid, draping the fabrics to cast a protective shade all around Mother. Woven cloth — once lustred scarlet and gold, now damp with grease and rot — was bundled alongside pillows of skin and soft fleshy tags easily torn from the floors and lower walls of the palace. It was all used to build some semblance of a safe space.


    The offspring played just beyond that little sanctuary, oblivious to the ruin around them. They played amidst the dead.


    Only once Bee crept home from that secret night with Heych, did she confront that which had been before her this entire time. The reality of a dying city — its people slaughtered. In a terrible way, they had become a part of the background. She had pushed them into the back of her mind. She saw them, but she didn’t see them. Yet there they were. Their bodies piled high. They filled the streets. They choked the corridors. They lined the alleyways and cowared in every alcove and hidden corner. Each one a different shape, first distorted through genetic discord and then broken through murder; only when Bee really looked did she see how alone they truly were.


    That was when Bee stood there as the day broke in one of the palace’s upper levels. She looked down at the body of a man, a xenozygote zealot, draped in red and gold cloth — colours Bee now associated with her mother. In his hands, a brass rod, a tool of violence, was still embedded in the skull of a woman he had cornered and bludgeoned to death. He had suffered the same fate, a crooked body slumped forward. The back of his head had blossomed outwards, some weapon having burst it with a terrible blast. The scene told a tale of chaos, infighting, and betrayal. Bee, holding her breath, could only imagine the terror of their final moments. How could their lives have ended here like this? Why had their lives ended like this?


    Swallowing a lump in her throat, Bee tugged at the brass rod. Their corpses were stiff and dry. They had been mummified by the heat and a crawling metallic liquid that occasionally slithered out of their bodies, attempting to repose them — restore them — despite lacking life.


    The brass rod came free with a crack. It was heavy and unwieldy. Bee considered it with a grimace, her wings spasming out of some involuntary urge to flee. The shaft was etched with ornate markings and decorative metal filigree that hinted at some purpose or reason beyond this final act. She realised she was holding her breath and slowly inhaled through the siphons on her back.


    “Why is everyone dead?” Bee asked her mother, later. She stood there, parting the curtains that sheltered her dying creator.


    “Bee — oh my sweet Bee,” the Vat-Mother whispered, collapsed where she had been laid down. “Come here.”


    Bee crouched inside, into the shade, and let the draped cloth hide them away again.


    “Listen to me, Bee,” Mother said, trembling. Then, with the most gentle touches, she traced a skeletal hand over the child’s cheek, wiping away a tear in the dark. Daylight still breached through swirling bio gel within the massive glass vessels they sheltered between. Their only illumination let Bee make out the silvered edges of Mother’s teeth and skull as she said, “I love you. I am the only one who will ever love you. Do you understand?”


    “No. I don’t understand any of this,” Bee choked, strangling back a whine. “There’s a clock ticking in my head. I have someone else’s name. I know these words, and I don’t even know why. Why am I like this? Why did everyone have to die?”


    Sitting at the Vat-Mother’s side and trying to control herself, Bee buried her eyes against her knees to hide her tears. Her hands tore at her hair, the sharp cranial spines amongst the dark tresses standing on end.


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    “You must avenge us,” Mother said in a rasping voice that was little more than the edge of her breathing. “My sisters did this... All of this. Do you understand?”


    “But why? Why would they do this?” Bee looked up to her mother and shouted. “It’s not fair! It’s not!”


    “Hush, my sweet. Hush. Listen to me.”


    “Y-yes. I mean— Yes.” Bee said as the Vat-Mother raised her hand. At her gentle urging, she lay against her mother’s legs. Wrapping her arms around them, she settled down.


    “Long ago, we were gifted an abundance of life,” the dying mother explained. “Our creators bestowed it upon us in their final moments, shaping us from nothing more than mindless matter. This gift, in turn, became a curse. Unable to control it, we have grown fecund and all-consuming.”


    The Vat-Mother paused, looking beyond their confines towards some unseen distance, before continuing.


    “It was once — so long ago — the hope that we may return that gift, restore life to our creators, and complete our most ancient purpose.”


    Bee lifted her head, looking up at her mother. With tremendous effort, the fallen one touched her child’s head, comforting her. Bee released a gasping sigh from the flutes upon her back, closing her eyes. There, they dwelled in the ghostly and pale backlight of the bio gel. Mother was cool to the touch despite the wicked heat of the day-star from which they had escaped. Her cold skin made Bee shiver.


    “What happened?” Bee eventually asked.


    “The world is a complicated place. There is so much suffering, so much injustice. But, my sisters, even I — we realised that we could protect ourselves from that.”


    Coughing weakly, Mother’s head tipped to one side. Then, groaning with the ghost of a laugh, she continued.


    “We made ourselves rulers above all else. We destroyed our rivals. We invented games of title and court. We abused technology and our gifts to keep the world under our dominion. For a thousand years, we—”


    “I don’t understand,” Bee said softly.


    “We hurt people, Bee. Oh, we hurt so many people. Our ways brought war and destruction. It all started to come crumbling down. When I realised we could not squander our gifts anymore, it was too late. My sisters would not hear of it, even the ones who are... Me.”


    “What happened then?” The child dared to ask, tension rising in her.


    “My sisters and I have sought the... Ability... To recreate our progenitors, whole. For the most part, we have succeeded. However, a few pieces eluded us for such a long, long time.”


    “Okay,” Bee concentrated, listening intently.


    “My sisters and I believed that, if we instead made ourselves into the form of our progenitors, we could do great things — return to the stars on the chariots of our ancestors, be free of this awful, awful world. But...”


    “But?”


    “Such a thing was borne of ignorance. Then, finally, the cities themselves spoke to me. Now I understand — to find the Crucible and recreate our forebearers is the only hope for this world and everyone on it.”


    “So we have to find these lost pieces and take them there?”


    “Oh, Bee, you are a wonder. What I would have given to have seen you grow and stand at our side. Yes. Perhaps you will, one day, reassemble all of the lost pieces of Humanity and take them to the Crucible. First, though, you must do something for me.”


    “Anything!” Bee blurted out, realising that she meant it.


    “The Wire-Witch,” Mother said, pausing, her dry tongue tutting in her mouth. Then, as she felt the child’s grip tighten around her leg, she said, “You must be careful. She betrayed us, yet she did so out of fear, fear for herself, and not contempt, I think.”


    “What do I do when I’m there?”


    “She will be able to help you send a message — a message to the bone monks in the gardens of the Crawling City’s skulls. Let them see who you are. Yes. They will covet you. Oh, you are so beautiful, Bee...”


    Bee nodded quickly, black eyes transfixed upon her mother, hanging off every word. Yet the fallen Goddess was greatly wearied from speaking, rasping out only a few more words.


    “Let them see you. Tell them that you will bring justice. Let the world know that even the elders can fall. Tell them— tell them you will avenge us. Make things right, for me, Bee. Make things right.”