Bee’s footsteps echoed against the cold, spiralling steps as she ascended the narrow stairwell deep within Ymmngorad. The tower trembled intermittently, the aftershocks of explosions rumbling from its beleaguered base. Dust and small debris dislodged from above, sprinkling down onto her.


    She pressed onward, her breathing steady yet shallow. The organic walls of the stairwell seemed to close around her, the once spacious spiral narrowing into a claustrophobic tunnel. Thorned vines twisted and coiled along the walls, their growth becoming increasingly wild and dense. Some thorns grazed her skin as she passed, drawing thin lines of blood that she barely noticed.


    “Keep going, my sweet,” the worm whispered in her mind, a soft murmur amid the chaos. “We’re so close now...”


    Bee nodded silently. She followed the stairwell as high as it would take her, her wings tucked tightly against her back to avoid snagging on the encroaching thorns. The air grew cooler, the sounds of the tower’s destruction muffled by the mass of living overgrowth.


    As she reached a small landing, she stumbled upon more bodies—the fallen defenders who had dared to stand against the Eidolon. Their lifeless forms were strewn haphazardly, some entwined within the thorns as if the tower itself sought to reclaim them. Bee paused, her gaze lingering on a young guard whose eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.


    A wave of nausea washed over her. The scene mirrored the haunting memories of Sestchek—the empty streets, the silent screams of the dead. She clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm.


    She tore her eyes away, swallowing the lump in her throat. Moving forward, she navigated through a series of old corridors, each one a stark contrast to the lower levels of Ymmngorad. Here, the architecture was different—older, untouched by the renovations and scavenging that marked the rest of the tower. Ancient machines filled the spaces, their steel frames and intricate wiring preserved yet dormant. Flickering lights cast eerie shadows from their sharp, ungrown shapes.


    Bee reached out to touch one of the consoles, her fingers brushing against cool metal. She remembered the astronomer, Ak’aruk. The den of the Wire-Witch. Things such as these must have existed in Acetyn. It only made sense. Still, the purpose of these devices was a mystery, their functions lost on her. What did they do here, in Ymmngorad, in an age now forgotten? There was a sense of reverence here, more akin to a mausoleum than a workspace.


    “What was this place?” she mused aloud.


    “I don’t know, my sweet,” the worm replied. “Some remnants of a time before Cruiros.”


    A distant sound—a heavy groaning from a source unseen—snapped Bee back to the present. She quickened her pace, following the trail of destruction left by the Eidolon. The corridor widened, leading to an immense gate adorned with faded engravings and symbols she couldn’t decipher.


    As she approached, faces emerged from the shadowy walls—grotesque visages moulded into the organic material. Their eyes flickered open, milky and void, mouths stretching into silent screams.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    “Turn back,” the faceless martyr wept. “Spare yourself.”


    “Leave this place,” another whispered, its features contorted in sorrow. “Only torment and doom lies beyond this step.”


    Bee’s heart raced. “I can’t turn back,” she said, trying to sound more certain than she felt.


    The faces twisted in agony, their pleas growing more desperate. “You cannot save her,” they cried in unison.


    She hesitated briefly, doubt gnawing at the edges of her resolve. But then another upswell of emotion came to her. Fleeting images of the Eidolon, beautiful and perfect, flashed through her mind. The worm coiled in her brain hard enough to make her brain crackle. She gasped and struggled to stay upright, knees trembling.


    With a grunt, Bee pushed open the gate.


    The faces sank back into the walls, their voices diminishing into silence. The entryway swung open with a reluctant creak, revealing a vast expanse beyond.


    Bee stepped out onto a colossal bridge that spanned between twin spires of the tower. The structure swayed subtly beneath her feet, the integrity of its supports compromised by the damage already done. Far below, the burning remnants of Ymmngorad spewed smoke and embers high into the air, its sight akin to a wounded beast bleeding out into the night.


    She moved cautiously, the wind tugging at her hair and wings. The panorama of Cruiros unfolded beneath her—a tapestry of overgrown flora stretching out to the edges of the City’s cavity. So far below, she couldn’t quite make out the ruins and the desolation so apparent from street level. It looked like a verdant garden. And, all the while, the bone sky arched overhead, its pale expanse cradling the landscape.


    Drawn by that vast sweep, Bee lifted her gaze upward. Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld one of the great titans sculpted into the City’s structure. She had seen them from afar—colossal figures either carved or grown into the very fabric of the City, both monuments and architectural marvels.


    Now, so close, she could see the intricate details of its form. The titan’s visage was both awe-inspiring and terrifying—a fusion of mechanical and organic elements, its features chiselled with artistry beyond anything she had seen before. And then, to her astonishment, it moved.


    The titan’s head turned with a weighty slowness, massive eyes of deep obsidian locking onto her. The gravity of its gaze was palpable, pressing down upon her like an invisible force.


    Bee froze, every instinct screaming at her to flee. Her wings quivered, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. The City’s presence enveloped her, a familiar yet overwhelming sensation. Memories flooded back—the cryptic communications with Acetyn, the warnings, the brief moments when she had felt connected to something vast and unfathomable.


    It spoke.


    From its open mouth came a bellowing call, its wordless voice so loud that it collapsed the air into surging mist and spattering rainfall. The sheer weight of its voice bludgeoned Bee down to her knees and she cried out in terror, screaming back up at it, as if that could change the world.


    And then its call ended as suddenly as it began.


    Gasping and breathless, Bee forced herself back to her feet. Adrenaline surged through her as she tore her eyes from that vast figure above, looking back and forth across the bridge. Its message was clear. The City knew she was there now. Bee felt the urge to flee, flee back down beneath its gaze, to hide herself away in the endless chaos below.


    But she couldn’t.


    That worm slithered through her head. She tried to tell herself that she had come too far to turn back, tried to put its influence on her out of her mind. And so she continued, staggering, across the bridge and to that sempiternal damnation of the Rose of Thorns.