《Growth》


 Chapter 1: Discovery

    Tan took a quick moment to wipe what could only be described as sludge off his leather vest. There really didn¡¯t seem to be a point in doing this, as he would quickly go back to rummaging through the loot-heap, but it was habit by this point. A trasher had to take pride in his work after all.


    The dark, viscous material hung on to his fingertips for dear life as he violently flicked his hand. Sometimes, the sight of the slime would remind him of his mother. As a child, Tan was frequently chided for coming home covered in the sludge. Somehow, exploring the caverns had been a lot more fun when he didn¡¯t have to do it to survive.


    Despite her lectures, his mother had been a kind lady, barring that troublesome habit of lying.


    ¡°Dream big, Tan, and the world grow large enough to match.¡± she would say, right after one of her infamous scoldings. The tone of the words would always lead Tan to believe that mother wasn¡¯t half as angry as she wanted him to believe.


    She was filled with saccharine gems like that, constantly trying to rouse him to reach for greater heights than the life of a trasher. Unfortunately, that was all there was in the Outer Rings.


    Tan let out a deep exhale as he shrugged off the tendrils of reminiscence, as well as further droplets of sludge that had dripped onto him. It was best to avoid thinking about his childhood, especially regarding his mother. After all she was gone now. He squatted down and pulled out a frayed brown pouch to tally the day¡¯s earnings. He flipped the open pouch onto his hand and three small metal discs fell into his hand.


    Two of them were a metallic silver and the third a lustrous brown. The silver discs were small, one more so than the other, and both easily fit in his hand. The smaller silver disc, a slice, was worth at least a few meals, while the larger one, a moon, was worth at least a drink or two. The brown disc, aptly called a browning, was smallest of all, and it brought an elated grin to Tan¡¯s face. Not a fortune, but the browning would see Tan well taken care of at least till the month¡¯s end.


    The discs all had strange symbols on the front and back, along with pictures. And words that no scholar had been able to translate. The ¡°front¡± depicted different faces, depending on the type of disc, and the ¡°back¡± showed buildings of some sort. It was a little strange how the smallest disc, the one made of the least metal, was worth heaps more than the rest. However, moneymen insisted that the use of a different metal signified its importance in the Ancients¡¯ money system. Who was Tan to argue? After all, he was just a trasher.


    ¡°Guess it¡¯s time to go cash these in. No use testing my luck more.¡± Tan thought, as he slid the discs back into his pouch and began a trek back towards hole that he came down, his path illuminated by the light that leaded through various cracks in the cavern. The caverns were Ancient-made, and it was harder and harder to find ones that hadn¡¯t caved in completely. He headed towards the stairway he had come down and a noise made him freeze.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Che, Che, Che, Che¡­¡± Chittering noises backed by scampering echoed through the walls. Tan¡¯s blood froze.


    ¡°I knew this was going too damn well. Ancients damn it.¡±


    For a brief second, he pondered a course of action. His first instinct was to break into a full sprint, but that would¡¯ve been far too loud. The noise wasn¡¯t earsplittingly loud, so they couldn¡¯t be that close. Right? Tan swallowed down his panic and decided it was probably best to just keep going at the pace he was. No use in making noise and giving the damned things a fleeing target.


    Despite this decision, it was hard to keep his stride from quickening from a walk to jog. A nervous energy filled each step, nipping at his heels and making him move more and more quickly. This fact was made painfully clearer by the pole strapped to his back giving him a thwack to the back of the calf with each step.


    Just yesterday, Mira had told him the caverns were as quiet as a bad minstrel show. Then again, Mira had also told him she once scared off an entire Pack with a single glance. Of course, he didn¡¯t believe her. He also didn¡¯t think it a lie. If anyone could do it, it would be her. Mira was just that type of person.


    ¡°Lying Chit¡­¡±


    For a brief moment, Tan had actually let himself believe that he would get out with his treasure, unscathed. He was just five minutes walking away from the exit. Then the scampering footsteps suddenly stopped¡­


    That¡¯s when Tan broke into the aforementioned full sprint.


    Two towering Chits crashed through the walls right behind him. The damned things had been stalking him the whole time. At least a few heads taller than him, the Chits sank to all fours and loped after him. Their stubby limbs weren¡¯t the best for a chase, but this was more than offset by the weedsprout-thick cords of muscle they contained. Their elongated faces ended with fine, lengthy whiskers. Their white fur was interrupted by patches of bare flesh, brown and hide-like in appearance. Tan knew from experience that the hide would shrug off most blows from a pole. Most terrifyingly, beady red eyes glinted greedily at him. With their long tails lashing violently from anticipation, they continued their dogged pursuit of Tan.


    Tan¡¯s senses were kicked into full throttle. He turned back to gauge his distance from his pursuers, shocked to find the gap had already closed slightly. His feet thundered against the stone beneath, but, no matter how hard he propelled himself off the ground, he just couldn¡¯t create more distance.


    The stairway came into view moments later. The creatures had made some progress in the chase, but there was still a healthy gap between them and Tan. Thankfully, their pursuit had stayed on the ground.


    ¡°Just some grubs. Guess, it could¡¯ve been worse.¡± Tan thought, with as much relief as a man chased by lumbering demons could have.


    It was just as he had that thought- that cursed, traitorous thought- that Tan heard a wet, squelching sound from behind him. Tan turned to see the creatures had halved the distance since he last looked. Still frothing furiously, the Chits had unfurled yellow, chitinous wings and were rapidly flying at him.

 Chapter 2: Flight

    The next thing Tan felt was a powerful force slam into his back, sending him flying. As he landed, the pole on his back clattered weakly next to him, smooth polished stone hitting the rough gravel of the ground. The creatures were on him in a heartbeat. One sat on top of him, its front paws pinning his torso, and lunged at his neck. Seeing the Chit¡¯s two long fangs coming for him, Tan held out an arm to block it. The creature was either too bloodthirsty or unimpressed to care and, luckily, Tan¡¯s outstretched forearm caught the Chit¡¯s neck. While all this occured, the other Chit had begun circling Tan and his captor, translucent wings slinking low, almost as if it was entranced by the war being waged. With one arm holding those gnashing fangs away, Tan stretched his other hand out, desperately reaching for his pole.


    Just as the Chit overpowered him, Tan managed to grab his weapon and swung the rock pole at the monster. Weak as the blow was, it caught the creature on the side of the head and interrupted its lunge. The Chit gave a deafening screech as it recoiled in shock. Freed from the Chit¡¯s overbearing weight, Tan scrambled to his feet, holding his pole towards the circling Chit. The Chit he had just hit was bleeding from under one eye, yellow ooze dripping down its face. Despite this wound, it seemed to have recovered its senses and joined his brethren in circling Tan.


    The two Chits were completely in sync, each footstep falling as if in time with some ominous beat. Tan flipped rapidly between the two opposing forces, holding his pole out to halt their approach. He was about as successful as a dam trying to hold back the ocean. The Chits continued to circle him, reducing the area with each rotation. If Tan were afforded the luxury of looking at this scene in safety, he would¡¯ve marveled at how grotesquely beautiful it looked. It was almost like a strange dance, building slowly, but confidently, towards a grand climax. Unfortunately, that grand climax probably involved these beasts eating his innards¡­This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Can¡¯t just wait while they take their time to kill me. Gotta do something.¡± Tan thought, feeling panic give way to an icy determination. Tan charged the Chit blocking off the way out. It leapt at him defiantly in response. As the creature left the ground, Tan stepped to the side, ducked his head down and rammed his pole up. The pole punched through the Chit¡¯s clear wing and Tan shoved himself forward, tearing through the wing like a hot knife. Their hides might be hard, but it appeared the wings were as delicate as they looked. The creature dropped mid-leap, squealing in agony as it writhed around in the white fluid exuding from the wound.


    The other Chit eyed him murderously, trying to decide between vengeance and retreat. Tan didn¡¯t give it time to decide.


    ¡°AHHHHHHH!¡± He let out a scream, trying to startle the creature. He stepped towards it, menacingly and the creature instinctually took a few steps back.


    Then, Tan promptly turned and sprinted towards the staircase. The creature stood looking baffled for a moment and then its bestial instincts took over, prompting it to give chase. The few seconds this charade had bought allowed Tan to reach the start of the stairs, sunlight shining down. As expected, the creature ran to the point where the illumination began, turned around as if blocked off by a wall and slunk away.


    Adrenaline washing away, Tan¡¯s legs gave out from under him and he collapsed to the ground, both Chits still in view. The exhilaration of being hunted faded with each rasping breath and pain flooded his body. His chest was bruised at the least, with the imprint of the Chit¡¯s paws still visible on his leather vest.


    ¡°These damn things eat better than I do.¡±


    Minutes passed, and Tan¡¯s breathing returned to normal. Using the pole as a makeshift cane, Tan forced himself to rise and began a painstaking walk towards the Outer Ring Settlements. He had definitely had better days being a trasher. On the bright side, he could probably use this experience to guilt Mira into buying the first few rounds.

 Chapter 3: The Lord’s Assistant

    ¡°I¡¯m coming in now.¡± Lyra warned as she pushed back the flap and entered the room.


    Inside she found the room in the same state it was in yesterday- disarray. She turned her gaze to the stone slab topped with a few layers of hide cloth. On this bed, lay a young man looking, without a care in the world, at the dark brown ceiling.


    Lyra gave an exasperated sigh. ¡°My lord, this is your working quarters, not a sty.¡± She eyed the sheets parchment lying on the ground and her disappointment grew.


    ¡°At least try not to leave several brownings worth of materials lying about.¡±


    She took a further look at the paper on the ground and noted it was covered in sketches of the night sky.


    ¡°More skymaps.¡±  Her disappointment almost fermented to anger. The mere purchase of parchment was bad enough, but wasting it on doodle of the night sky was explicitly indulgent. Paper was a rare commodity, as it could only be made from the corpse of a treefolk. Treefolk were hard enough to find separated from the forests, and harder then to kill. The few sheets on the ground would¡¯ve been enough to give everyone in her old settlement hearty meals of warm bread and mash.


    Adjusting to the inner circle had been hard. As daunting as the transition to massive stone buildings from squat weedsprout tents had been, Lyra found the indulgent opulence much more difficult to adapt to. The lords of the inner circle around the jutting metal poles left from the ancestors. They used carefully carved bricks inserted on top of the poles and held together by weedsprout sap to build homes. What was the point? A simple tent made using unfurled weedsprouts would do the same at a fraction of the cost. Worse than that, the lords each used wooden doors are entrances to their estates. At least they were sensible enough to use weedsprout curtains to close of individual rooms¡­


    ¡°Lord Fain, is it really prudent to spend your day drawing more skymaps? Your farms are reporting a below average crop yield this season. The house finances are poised to take a large hit. Get up and do something!¡±


    ¡°Ah yes¡­ Let me just step outside and grab one from my hidden stash.¡± Lyra stated drily, annoyance dripping from each word. Most assistants wouldn¡¯t dare speak to their lords in such a manner, but Lyra knew that Fain was far too lazy to care. And kind, but Lyra was more focused on the lazy aspect right now.  After a few more moments trying to shrug off Lyra¡¯s matronly glare, the High Lord of Molanter rolled out of bed and climbed to his feet.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    He was a young man, approaching his 15<sup>th</sup> cycle. He walked over to bowl of water and towel that Lyra had laid out earlier and rinsed his face. The rinse, and impeding drudgery, seemed to wash away the boy¡¯s natural joy, leaving apathy and weariness in its place.


    ¡°Far too young to have to bear such responsibility.¡±


    Alas, Fain¡¯s father, the High Lord of Agriculture, had passed from wounds received as he left the circles on an expedition. Most common folk, or lords, didn¡¯t know that know that this expedition               was to retrieve a crucial ingredient for making Evergrowth packets. Lyra had been Fain¡¯s aid back then, as well. She had been there to hold him when he wept, and in the moons after to guide him to maintain his House¡¯s standing. Other Houses, smelling blood in the caverns, had come hungrily like a pack of Chits. They offered ¡°aid¡± and ¡°counsel¡±, but really desired the formula for Evergrowth packets.


    Lyra, transitioning into her role as advisor and confidant, had advised him to guard that secret closely, even from her. As soon as the other houses had it, they would depose him and cast him off to the Outer Rings, if they were feeling generous. The other lords did not think much of the aging aid. It wasn¡¯t hard to think little of Lyra. She was a lowly woman from the Outer Ring, nearing forty cycles in age. This age, and a life of hardship, had marked her face, cracking it like a wind-torn stone. Beneath this however, rest a clever mind, held in check by her innate benevolence.


    ¡°Well Lyra, I¡¯m up. What now?¡± Fain inquired, resting his brilliant green eyes on her, filled with a deep trust.


    ¡°You could start by looking at the ledgers.¡±


    ¡°I do that every day! They never get better.¡±


    ¡°Try taking action after looking. I hear that¡¯s an important part in the process of managing a Circle.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± he replied, without much gratitude.


    Another silent moment passed. Tempting as it was to break the silence, Lyra did not waver. Sometimes it was best to not let conversations with Fain devolve to trading quips. Her gambit was rewarded.


    Fain strode over and rested his hand on the pale, yellow weedsprout flap. He seemed almost apprehensive, scared to begin the process of tackling this problem. Lyra sighed and shook her head. Then, she put her hand on his gently, and helped him pull it open.


    ¡°Where to, my lord?¡±


    Fain stepped out and started towards the chisel steps to the lower floor. Shoulders slumped, gait lethargic, he did not make for a regal image.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s finally time to see what Sacriel has to say about this.¡±


    ¡°Your uncle?!¡±


    He let out a weary breath. So much burden.


    ¡°I prefer to call him treespawn, but yes. My uncle.

 Chapter 4: Tavern Tales

    ¡°Mira! Another round of ales!¡±


    Mira put down the mug she was cleaning, and began filling a round. She loved her patrons, but by the Ancients were they needy- perhaps a little foolish, too. Who would squander there discs on ale when there were so few to go around in the Outer Ring? ¡°Coming right up!¡± she hollered back. No use questioning their habits, so long as they kept filling her pockets. She pulled back the flap on the lacquered weedsprout barrel and filled four mugs. The glass mugs had cost her a fortune to import from the Inner Ring, but they resisted the wear and tear that her stone mugs endured. Or maybe the patrons were more delicate with something that was so obviously expensive. Knowing her patron, Mira suspected that wasn¡¯t the case.


    She walked the four mugs over to the caller¡¯s stone table, balancing with casual grace only a bartender could. Gerand and his compatriots watched her arrive with excitement. One of them, a man Mira hadn¡¯t seen before, threw a few moons on the table and began divvying the treasure.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you around before.¡± Mira remarked.


    ¡°New ¡®ere. From the Inner Rings.¡±


    Mira raised an eyebrow. That was new. Most people who escape the clutches of the Inner Rings didn¡¯t return for visits- not willingly at least. She ran a hand through her tawny hair, pushing it back. Her eyes glinted like emeralds, filled with curiosity. She pulled a stool over and plopped down.


    ¡°Well ya can¡¯t just stop there! I¡¯m pretty sick of hearing Gerand tell the same three stories over and over.  Why the Ancients are you in the Inner Ring?¡±


    Gerand glowered at her, but didn¡¯t say anything. The rest of the table erupted in laughter, table-slapping include.


    Please don¡¯t chip the tables. Lyra thought. She didn¡¯t bother to chastise the group, she far too interested in what this stranger had to saw. The laughter died down, clipped short by Gerand taking some time to share his glare with the rest of the table. The stranger looked over the table appraisingly, then, as if the motley crew had passed some sort of test, the man leaned over and began to speak in a hushed whisper.


    ¡°Inner Ring ain¡¯t growing that well. Was workin¡¯ as a cook in Lord Rowan¡¯s keep. He came in, all withered like Decay ¡®imself, and told the whole lot of the kitchen we weren¡¯t needed no longer needed. Ancient-cursed bastard didn¡¯t even give us a day to pack. ¡®ad us up and out of the cities by the day¡¯s end!¡± By the end, the stranger was almost shouting, huffing loudly. The mere retelling of the incidence seemed to have brought some Heat to the man.


    ¡°Lord Rowan kicked you out?¡± Mira asked, genuinely surprised. ¡°His house owns that a huge chunk of the farming lands in the Middle Rings. Man¡¯s so wealthy he uses discs to hold his flaps down. Why¡¯d he do it?¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± The stranger let out a sarcastic laugh. ¡°So ¡®ed ¡®ave you believin¡¯. Bastard¡¯s broke. All the ¡®ouse staff has been let go for ages now. Rowan and the rest of the lords just want you to believe everythin¡¯ is fine.¡±


    ¡°T-That¡¯s not possible. I bought ale from the farm under Rowan just last week. No gouges or nuthin¡¯¡±


    ¡°Listen Miss, I¡¯m just tellin¡¯ you what I seen. Somethins¡¯ wrong with ¡®ouses. I been ¡®earin that Fain¡¯s outta EverGrowth to sell. All the farms are in Decay¡¯s hands. Good riddance. I may be back out here, but the Ancients have a wither brewin¡¯ for the lords.¡±


    Another man, Timbe, chimed in. ¡°The earth could crack open and swallow the lords and they would still try say it ain¡¯t the Ancients. Them fools prolly blame the weather or somethin¡¯. Damn Witnesses.¡±


    Finally, Gerand stopped scowling and added, ¡°Just ¡®cuz they¡¯re fool enough to not believe in the Ancients doesn¡¯t mean that they¡¯re immune to reckonin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± the final man at the table chimed.


    The stranger looked like he was about to say something, but the then the flap of the tavern smacked open. A haggard young man, barely over twenty cycles, stumbled in. His short black hair was a mess, sticking up all in all directions, as if it had just finished a failed escape attempt. His stormy grey eyes scanned the room, looking angrily for someone to smite. He wore a battered leather vest, marked with what looked like fresh scratches. More concerningly, he was bleeding from the side of his face. Finally, his gaze found Mira. He came right towards Mira, stumbling like a drunkard.


    ¡°You lying Chit!¡±


    Mira should have been offended. Tan had stumbled in, close to the time when she would begin cleaning tables and kicking people out, and began insulting her. But, she saw the blood oozing from her friend¡¯s face and the only thing she could feel was concern. She ran up to him, steadying him by grabbing his shoulders.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Tan!¡± she yelled, ¡°Are you all right?¡±


    ¡°Just a little bruised up. You owe me a drink. You damn lying Chit! Treeborn who--¡°


    Mira actually covered his mouth before he could finish that sentence. If he had done so, she would have to punch him, then and there. That really wasn¡¯t something she wanted to do¡ªat least not right now, with him so clearly hurt. She guided him to a table in the far back and eased him down onto the stone bench.


    ¡°Stay here! I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    Mira hurried back to the counter and grabbed some cleaning lichen. ¡°Bar¡¯s closed! Finish your drinks and get out! Leave your pay on the tables or Ancients help me I¡¯ll hunt you down.¡±


    She was met with a choir of grumbles and dissent, but the patrons all began to down their drinks and begin fishing for some discs. No tips tonight, I¡¯ll guess. As her guests shuffled out, still muttering about common decency and expectations, Mira went over to Tan.


    ¡°Ancients above Tan, what happened?¡±


    ¡°Chits happened Mira! In the same caverns you told me were as clear as Lady Light herself!¡± The man seethed. His words were filled with fury, but Mira could see the battle rush draining from him. He couldn¡¯t stop a look of relief from washing across over his face. Tan would bluster and growl, but Mira knew him too well. Whatever had happened in the caverns wasn¡¯t her fault and he knew that. He would try to milk it for a few free drinks, but Mira had already resolved to give him one and not a moon more.


    ¡°The caverns were clear when I was there, just yesterday. You know how Chits are, Tan. How did you fight it off?¡±


    ¡°It? Try them! Two of them ambushed me!¡±


    ¡°Two?! You fought off two Chits? Someone¡¯s is looking out for you.¡±


    ¡°Luck had nothing to with it. I killed one and then ran while the other was spooked.¡±


    Mira was actually momentarily stunned. She hadn¡¯t expected to hear about Tan fighting off numerous Chits. She gathered herself and tossed the cleaning lichen to Tan.


    ¡°What kind of idiot decides to fight two Chits?¡±


    ¡°Decides is not the right word to use. Trust me, I tried running first.¡±


    Mira grunted, not wanting to press him further on that.


    ¡°You at least find anything good?¡±


    ¡°Few discs, nothing special.¡± He paused, trying to clear his face of the emerging grin. ¡°You know, a moon, a slice, and a browning.¡±


    ¡°Ah, just a browning. Didn¡¯t stumble onto a hidden quarry, poor lad.¡± Tan¡¯s grin grew wider, and he drank deeply from a mug Mira had brought over. ¡°You¡¯re paying for that mug you know.¡± The man look absolutely affronted. He put the mug down, smile thoroughly cleansed.


    ¡°Please say you¡¯re joking.¡±


    Instead of answering, Mira rose and began cleaning. She would let him ponder that for a bit. Of course, she wasn¡¯t going to make him pay, especially today, but it would be nice if he worried about paying once in a while. She wrung out her rag into the barrel of water and dipped it in again. As she cleaned the tabletop, she eyed Tan. He had finished the mug, and was staring at with intense focus, a not-so-subtle hint that he needed a refill. He could keep staring but that wasn¡¯t happening.


    After the cleaning was done, she came back to the table, a mug in her own hand. The mug held dandelion tea, her favorite. Mira avoided drinking the poison she served her patrons. She took a sip of the warm, earthy concoction and finally deigned to break the temporary silence.


    ¡°It¡¯s getting worse in the Inner Circle, I hear.¡±


    He stared daggers at her, his eyes seemingly going from deep violet to icy blue at the mere mention of the Inner Circle. ¡°Don¡¯t care. What those crazy Witnesses and their lapdog servants do is not my problem.¡±


    ¡°A lot of those ¡®lapdogs¡¯ are getting kicked out and coming back to the Outer Ring. We had a man today talking about how his house lord was basically broke.¡±


    ¡°Good. We¡¯ve been scavenging all our lives. I¡¯d love to see those heretic lords try to do the same.¡±


    Mira knew she should¡¯ve expected this sort of vitriol from Tan when she brought up the Inner Circle of Molanter. Tan was kind, in his own gruff way. While the man refused to pay for his own drinks, he would often buy drinks for strangers and friends alike. He basically had a standing offer to help new scavengers start out, or provide a hand to the older ones. However, he turned borderline vindictive when Inner Circle came up. So much of what he said was so twisted by disdain, but Mira didn¡¯t bother to correct him. The wealthy of the Inner Circle weren¡¯t heretics, per say. They revered the Ancients, just not like Outer Ring folk did. Their servants from the Outer Rings weren¡¯t traitors, just people looking for a way out. Though Mira very clearly understood why Tan thought the latter. She hesitated, but then brought up the topic they both were dreading.


    ¡° She might be sent back to the Outer Ring soon too, Tan.¡±


    Tan stiffened immediately. He brought his arms to a cross in front of him, trying to contain himself. If Tan was icy before, he was a blizzard now. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, arms still tightly crossed before him. A positively hateful look came over his eyes, and it wasn¡¯t meant for Mira-which she found even more concerning.


    ¡°I don¡¯t  care.¡± He said angrily, clearly caring.


    Tan didn¡¯t look like he was going to continue this conversation, so Mira shook her head gently and just sat there with him. By the time she finished her dandelion tea, it was cold. She didn¡¯t mind much, the bitter, earthy flavor was just as good cold as it was hot. Tan was looking vacantly the stone wall behind her, lost in thought. Mira got up and addressed him.


    ¡°Spare room¡¯s open. You can use it if you want, I¡¯ll add it to your tab. I¡¯m going to get some rest.¡± She clapped his shoulder as she passed him. ¡°Ancients watch over you.¡±


    ¡°And you.¡± he absently responded. Momentarily lucid, he added. ¡°Thanks for tonight. Sorry I soured the mood.¡± Then he returned to whatever dark headspace he was navigating. Mira nodded, accepting the apology, and then left, wishing she could do something to help him. As she closed the flap of her room, she could see the man lower his head, mouthing a phrase to himself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care¡­I don¡¯t care¡­I don¡¯t¡­¡± He gave up on his makeshift mantra and just let his head sink, forehead resting on the table.

 Chapter 5: A Deal with the Devil

    Fain sidestepped, deftly, as an anxious servant nearly bowled him over. The markets of Molanter were crowded as ever, with patchwork stalls sprawled all over. Merchants yelled at anyone who dared passed by, advocating for the quality and necessity of their goods. One man noticed Fain¡¯s expensive garb and his hesitation.


    ¡°You know I have some wonderful decorative rugs. A must have for any lord, really. Here let me show you.¡± He grabbed Fain¡¯s hand, hoping to lead him to a selection of ratty rugs, covered in ornate red circles and crossing lines. Lyra sharply smacked the man¡¯s hand away. Without saying a word, she grabbed Fain¡¯s wrist and led him through the markets.


    Lyra stood out in any crowd. Even without the fiery red hair, showing no signs of her age, it would¡¯ve been easy to pick her out. She had a strange aura about her. To certain people she seemed warm and nurturing, while to others she seemed wild and dangerous. Fain had heard conflicting stories making their way through his keep¡¯s staff. He himself had spent much time with Lyra and, to him, she seemed both.


    Most high lords would be indignant that a mere aid would be so presumptuous. In fact, a small part of Fain was. However, Lyra wasn¡¯t a mere house aid, at least not to Fain. She was his advisor, his confidant, and, perhaps most importantly, his barrier from the chaos of Molanter. For a few years after his mother had passed, Fain¡¯s father had cycled through house aids, none seemingly up to the task. That was, until Lyra came along. His father had recruited her straight from the Outer Rings, not the Middle Ring, which was deemed odd. Even more strange, was the woman¡¯s unerring competence. She came to the house, a worn and battered 30-something cycles, with every skill needed to help raise young Fain. In all honesty, he had more memories with Lyra than he did with his own mother. That thought was both warming and firmly guilt-inducing.


    While Fain mused on this, Lyra had successfully navigated them to the side path that led to his uncle¡¯s keep. They must have traversed at least a quarter of the city, but Fain had barely noticed. Lyra suddenly stopped, jarring Fain back to the present.


    ¡°My lord, why are we here? What reason is there for visiting Lord Sacriel, other than tormenting yourself?¡±


    ¡°We have to ask him for a loan, Lyra. We need more money.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to send out discs in place of wheat? Somehow, I don¡¯t think the people will be as pleased as one would think.¡±


    ¡°Obviously not. But we could use the money to recruit more Blooms. Get more grain to plant.¡±


    Lyra paused, no quick remark at the ready. Or at least not one she wanted to use. She looked at him, gently, almost pityingly. She knew the problem with that plan, just as he did, probably more.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to say it before. But  we both know it¡¯s not lack of grain or Blooms that is the problem. Crops won¡¯t grow without Evergrowth. Blooms can¡¯t change that.¡±


    Fain wanted to be angry. How dare she tell him something so obvious? Did she really think he was fool enough to not realize that? Why couldn¡¯t she let him have this delusion? Of course, she couldn¡¯t let him pretend more Blooms would fix it. Her friends and family, of whom she spoke so little, would starve. All of Molanter, and neighboring Circles, would. He sank down against a wall, one hand running through his hair, the other clenched tightly to his side.


    ¡°I know, Lyra. I know. I want to try those solutions, but I know they won¡¯t work. If not¡­¡± He steeled himself, pushing back the terror. Once he said it aloud, especially to Lyra, it was a plan, not just a thought. Not just a nightmare. ¡°If not, I¡¯ll use the money to mount an expedition. The same one my father went on. We¡¯ll have to go out and get the ingredient for more Evergrowth.¡±


    That was answer she wanted. The right one. She offered him a hand to pull him back up.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be frightened, Fain. Your father was a good man. A brave one. But you will have one thing he did not. Me. I¡¯ll come with you. We will find what we need to make more Evergrowth.¡±


    Those words helped Fain slam the gate in his mind and lock the fear out. He knew that already, but hearing them still helped. Even so, he couldn¡¯t help but notice how the expedition was already a done occurrence to Lyra. Were his other ideas really that fruitless? Probably. He took her hand and pulled himself up, nodding appreciatively. Her touch was warm, too much so, almost.


    He turned towards Sacriel¡¯s keep and wordlessly continued onwards. Lyra followed just as silently, stepping behind him this time. It would be unwise to be seen by Sacriel¡¯s staff with a servant leading the way. Even if that servant was one such as Lyra. It was a small detail, but he was glad that Lyra noticed these things. He would have undoubtedly forgotten and ended up giving his loathsome uncle more stones to throw at him.


    The path leading to the gate of Sacriel¡¯s keep was different than the main path it branched off of. Unlike the gravelly worn stone of the main path, this one was smooth, polished, and pristine. Fain felt as though he might slip if he didn¡¯t tread carefully. Even more startling was the emptiness of the path. It was a stark contrast to the marketplace just a few minutes behind them. It was like leaving a party and pulling the flap closed behind you. You can still hear the hustle and bustle inside, but it quickly becomes distant, fading until you weren¡¯t sure if you could still hear the noise, or merely remembered it what it sounded like. Fain actually found the sudden shift interesting. He was curious how Sacriel made it happen, as it was surely intentional. The answer was likely the same as most other Sacriel related questions- money. His uncle was the richest man in Molanter by far. That was the only reason Fain had swallowed his pride enough to come after all.


    Finally, Fain and Lyra reached the gate that blocked off an imposing stone keep. It was a wide keep, one that would probably take a person at least an hour to completely circle, probably more. Even more daunting was the sheer height of the building. It was four levels high, completely built from a jet-black type of stone, with two large towers to each side. Even now, in the middle of the day during peacetime, Fain could see a person in each tower. Sacriel had paid a few dozen trashers handsomely to spend an entire year hauling the stone for this keep from the Outside. Thousands of brownings spent in what could only be described as an exercise in vanity. Worst of all, the entrance to the keep wasn¡¯t the weedsprout flaps you would find anywhere else. It was a treasure outshining the rest of the keep combined. Two massive wooden doors, at least twice the height of any man, closed Sacriel¡¯s keep off from the outside world. The wood displayed a polished wavy pattern, shining from the lacquering, and had metal rings jutting from each one. Yes, to add insult to injury, when Sacriel had his new keep, he chose an old Ancient residence like all the other High Lords. However, instead of using the jutting metal poles as a foundation for his home, he had ordered them ripped from the ground, building his palace from the ground up. In one fell swoop, Sacriel had shown himself to be disrespectful, arrogant, and heretical.


    A guard stopped their progress towards the gate, holding out a hand. ¡°Stop there. State your purpose. This is the property of Sacriel Harroputz, High Lord of Commerce, Wealthiest of all Mola-¡°


    Fain irritably swatted the guards out of his airspace. ¡°Yes, yes, you don¡¯t have to list them all. Tell him the High Lord of Agriculture humbly requests an audience.¡±


    The guard who had outstretched his hand paled. Common residents of the Inner Circle had lost hands for far less than sticking them in the face of a High Lord. He scurried, as much as a hulking guard in full leathers could, towards the wooden doors. Fain rolled his eyes at the man¡¯s terror. He would never harm a commoner for something so frivolous. It was far too much effort, and Lyra would likely have strong feelings about that.


    Just as he pictured the chiding, Lyra chimed in with a snide remark. ¡°You know he likely would¡¯ve recognized you if you spent more time being a High Lord, and less drawing.¡±


    Fain rolled his eyes for a second time. It seemed like he would get a lot of use out of that gesture of derision today. ¡°So you tell me Lyra, but if I did my duties, then you would have much more free time. Frankly, the thought of you with free time terrifies me.¡±


    This quip piqued her interest. ¡°What¡¯s so terrifying about that?¡±


    Luckily, Fain had a reply armed. He laughingly responded ¡°You might go teach the serving class reading and arithmetic. I hear that¡¯s the first step to a full blown revolt!¡±


    Lyra¡¯s eyes flared in anger. She turned to him sharply, hair raised almost like a wild flame. Fain felt sweat bead on his brown as nervousness set in. The remaining guard took a step back towards the gate, hoping to extricate himself from this situation. Perhaps that wasn¡¯t the best joke to tell a lady from the Outer Circle. Fain cursed his poor judgment. He had really missed the harvest this time. Lyra opened her mouth ready to let him have it, eyes still flaming, and then, miraculously, closed it. The fire in her eyes went out as quickly as they started. Her enraged posture slumped. Even her hair had seemed to lose some of its red shine. Worst of all, her mouth had formed a deep frown.


    Silence settle as Fain fumbled for an apology, the other guard still creating as much distance between himself and Fain¡¯s camp as possible. It had only been a few minutes since the guard left to get Sacriel. How could it feel like eternity?


    Finally, Lyra broke the silence. She spoke quietly, so soft that Fain could barely hear. ¡°I really thought I taught you better. Education won¡¯t lose you your throne. Callousness and greed will.¡±


    Damn it! He really should¡¯ve known better. Teaching was the thing that made Lyra come to life easiest. She spoke often about how she would try to educate children in the Outer Circle, though never disclosing where she herself got the skills. She used to teach Fain, when he was younger. And what a fantastic teacher she was. It came effortlessly to her. Knowledge spread from her like a wildfire. Back during their lessons, she would even educate him on the value of education, fiercely advocating for the lords to build schools in each Circle¡­ He knew he needed to apologize.


    ¡°Lyra, I didn¡¯t mean to-¡°


    Of course, just then, a procession of fifteen servant left poured through the wooden doors, banging large weedsprout drums. The guard from before stumbled towards them, past the servants.


    ¡°High Lord Sacriel, Master of Commerce will grant you an audience, my lord. This way if you would.¡± The guard gestured his arm towards the now-open wooden doors. Fain couldn¡¯t stop his jaw from dropping. A massive hall, wider then some rivers, stood before them. Detailed paintings of varying scenes hung throughout, like trees on the riverbank. The hall branched out into smaller streams, threatening to sweep unwanted guests away into hidden depths.


    Fain looked at Lyra with pleading, apologetic eyes. This issue wasn¡¯t done. He tried to convey to her his regret. Fain would make his apologies, genuinely, after this. Right now, however, he needed her solidarity, support, and wisdom. He didn¡¯t know what he could outside of actually begging to convey this. Fortunately for him, Lyra relaxed, and straightened her posture. Fain could see that she wasn¡¯t completely mollified, but she seemed to be willing to put it behind them for now. Ancients bless her! Fain had no clue what he would¡¯ve done without her here. He straightened his own posture, and replied as lordlike as he could.


    ¡°Very well. Lead the way, guard.¡±


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°Nephew! Wonderful of you to come visit. How long has it been since I last saw you? Five cycles?¡±. Sacriel sat on an exotic deep red chair, the wavy pattern imbued on the material mimicking wood. He was as loathsome as Fain remembered from his youth. His greasy black hair was slicked back, the curls unsuccessfully trying to fight their way to the front. He was unpleasantly rotund, exuding indulgence by his very being. Most abhorrent of all, were his beady blue eyes, which seemed to constantly scan the room for the threats. Fain didn¡¯t even bother guessing what worried the man. Probably something to do with money.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Sacriel began to straighten the tassels on his ornate shoulder pads. As the man¡¯s focus eased off him, Fain replied. ¡°Far too long, indeed, High Lord Sacriel. I have been quite busy with my new role these last few years. No offense was intended, of course.¡± Fain added extra emphasis to the last few words.


    Sacriel narrowed his gaze before plastering back on his eerily-wide smile. ¡°Of course. Call me uncle, young nephew. I was saddened to hear of your father¡¯s death. You know, you could¡¯ve reached out to me for help at any time. You still can. We¡¯re family Fain. ¡±


    Fain resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He stepped forward, Lyra quietly following, and sat on the coach opposite Sacriel¡¯s chair. The coach was not quite as grand as the chair, but it was still far more luxurious than those of his own keep. He pulled his back taut as he sat, fighting back the impulse to slump into the couch¡¯s depths.


    ¡°I know¡­uncle. Those were trying times and my aid informed me of the letters of support you sent. They were¡­appreciated.¡± Fain loathed the games of the lords and it was evident in his voice. It was all so disingenuous-so posturing. More than that, he wasn¡¯t very good at it. In fact, he was so unskilled in this regard that Lyra had handled most of his etched communications to the other lords. He wryly shook his head and collared his tongue, it would do no good to offend Sacriel.


    Sacriel seemed to be in no rush to speed this along. ¡°Yes. In fact, I believe that you and I can still accomplish great things together. Before I continue, would you like to send your aid to the kitchen or library? I¡¯m sure my house staff could find a use for her as we discuss more sensitive matters.¡±


    Fain turned to Lyra, half-expecting the stately woman to respond to that. Instead of the fire from before, Fain saw nothing in her eyes or posture. Her hair remained a flat red, prim and straight. She looked through Sacriel, as a person looks through the layer of dust atop stone. It was almost hard to tell which of the two nobility was. Lyra didn¡¯t respond to his comment because she genuinely saw Sacriel as too beneath her to merit anger. She was right, in Fain¡¯s map at least. Fain swallowed, reigning the sympathetic flash of indignation.


    ¡°No. Anything we discuss is for Lyra¡¯s ears as well. She is my personal assistant and been an invaluable asset these past years. She is trusted.¡±


    Sacriel waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Very well, whatever you fancy. Take care not to be too lax with those beneath you. That was your father¡¯s undoing.¡±


    Fain ground his teeth and rose slightly, ready to stand. The main was clearly baiting him. Fain wasn¡¯t stupid. Sacriel had barely even bother hiding his pleasure he saw the remark hit home. A good lord would trudge through such remarks for the greater good. His people needed him to make this deal. There was no use jeopardizing it over such an overt, senseless slight. Lyra sensed his anger. She discretely pulled him down to the coach, trying to remind him to settle himself. He wanted to be the lord she had spent years molded. But he was not that person. Not yet, with so many years ahead of him. Not now, with this worm of a man disparaging his father¡¯s memory.


    ¡°Ah yes, Sacriel. If treating one¡¯s staff with decency was a fault, then my father had that in excess. I personally think it¡¯s why he was a far better lord than you can imagine being. It¡¯s why his men stood by his side facing death. It¡¯s why his legacy, my House, is still the most respect House in Molanter. Must drive you mad that all your discs can¡¯t buy the people¡¯s respect.¡± By the time Fain finished his fervent reply, he was on his feet, almost panting from the sudden change in effort. Standing next to, Lyra had risen as well. The look of disapproval Fain had expected was there, but there was a faint smirk on her lips. She was glad to see Fain speak on the importance of treating others well, and doubly glad to see it used as a stone to throw at Sacriel. Despite her collected demeanor, she found the man just as loathsome as Fain. She had told Fain so herself.


    Sacriel¡¯s expression darkened. As if the Chit was expecting to fling around snide remarks to another High Lord and not be challenged for it. He sipped a glass in front of him slowly, the yellow liquid inside clearly not cooled yet.


    ¡°I see you still have his temper as well. Your father was an idealist. There is no harm in that alone, but when mixed with a fool it is a quite dangerous combination. I hate to see it infect those I share blood with¡­again.¡± The man¡¯s face remained controlled still, an almost disappointed note entering his tone. If Fain didn¡¯t know better, he would¡¯ve thought that Sacriel had actually cared, in his own twisted way.


    He continued, the disappointment replaced by venom. ¡°To clarify one misconception, nephew. The only thing keeping your house with any level of respect or power is the Evergrowth. It¡¯s the only reason the other lords tolerated your father, and it¡¯s the only reason anyone bears your incompetence. From what I hear, that quarry might have dried up.¡±


    He drained the glass completely and carefully placed it back on the stone table, motioning for a serving girl to refill the glass with more steaming yellow liquid. His calm demeanor was not broken, but the venom in his voice intensified, threatening to poison Fain. ¡°My propriety is wasted on you dear nephew.¡± He sighed and his face took on a pained expression. Had the man actually been expected a civil reunion between the two? Sacriel cleared the expression and donned his impassive mask. ¡°What brings you to me Fain, if not familial bonds? I hear tales of Cataran¡¯s treasure drying up.  Speak boy.¡±


    The serving girl, dressed in a simple brown cloth dress, scurried back in with a new pitcher. Fain tried his best to ignore the fear exuding from her, but it was too strong to overlook. Combined with the fading purple bruise on the girl¡¯s cheek, it was rather clear how Sacriel treated his staff. In this matter, the rumors seemed to be rather accurate.


    His rage already boiling over the brim, Fain could hardly control himself at seeing this. He took a few deep breaths. He would commit this, all of it, to memory. Now wasn¡¯t the time. Unbound anger would do no one any good at this moment.


    ¡°Fine. I came here to ask for a loan, Sacriel. The harvest is poor this year, and I hope to hire more Blooms and buy more land. This could be more profitable for both of-¡°


    ¡°No.¡±


    Fain was thrown aback. He knew his uncle would be difficult; there was a lot of bad blood here after all. However, in the end, this was for the best of Molanter. He had honestly expected his uncle to relent and give him the loan. Of course, Fain had come prepared for someone prolonged bartering and negation, but this outright rejection from the start was not expected. Fain needed this loan for all of Molanter to make it through the Frostwinds.


    ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°I am not inclined to give you a loan, nephew. There is little reason for me to do so.¡±


    ¡°We could both benefit from this Sacriel. I came here willing to offer you three-fourths of my houses revenues this year. Think of the discs you could reap from this.¡±


    This seemed to annoy Sacriel, more even than the previous exchange. He motioned two guards to approach. The two hulking men, dressed in leathers came towards them. Sacriel spat, ¡°What use have I for discs, Fain?¡±


    ¡°Uh. I¡ª¡°  Before he could string together an answer, Sacriel turned away from him and began whispering with his guard, a heavyset man in the fashion of the one outside.


    ¡°¡­ready¡­prepare it.¡± Fain could make out.


    The guard looked surprised, and eyed Sacriel cautiously. ¡°Are¡­ sure¡­lord? ...preparations?¡±


    ¡°¡­six guards¡­vault...specific precautions¡­discussed¡­armed.¡±


    Fain stopped trying to follow the conversation. The few words he could make out could mean a bevy of things and he really had no idea what was happening. He fidgeted in his seat, waiting for Sacriel to make his decision. Perhaps the man had decided three quarters of the revenues was too good a deal to pass up? He looked over at Lyra who was as confused as he was. After all, the proposal had come into existence after heavy editing from her. They had been convinced he would be unable to resist.


    ¡°Follow me nephew. There is something you need to see before we continue.¡± With that 5 more guards entered the room wordlessly. Sacriel rose and motioned for Fain to do the same. He looked towards Lyra and she nodded in assent. He reluctantly rose to follow. The guards formed a buttress between Fain and Sacriel. He led them down several winding corridors, almost at random. Each one was made of stone, but decorated in vivid dyes. The designs etched into the walls were centered around a different theme in each corridor. One hallway was pained in bright blues which bled into white and collided with sprawling greens-an abstract depiction of the Far Coast and the Great Forest. Another hall was almost entirely white, with small pockets of yellow. Another, one that took Fain¡¯s breath away, was a massive backdrop of bluish-black, with startlingly bright yellow and white spots decorating it-the night sky. It was relatively accurate from what Fain could tell. He spotted the most tell-tale formation, a cluster of stars that formed a large ladle. Fain had stopped at this point, looking around the wall wildly, trying to find familiar formations. Sacriel turned back and saw this.


    ¡°Ah, I see you¡¯ve noticed my decorations. This corridor took the most time.¡± He noticed Fain¡¯s eye on the ladle. ¡°I¡¯ve always found it interesting that people can easily see the Ladle, but not the Great Chit formation it is a part of. Shows how shortsighted men are, I suppose.¡±


    Fain was baffled. Sacriel had not only commissioned this accurate depiction, but was familiar with it. It wasn¡¯t a hard observation that the Ladle formation was only a part of the larger Great Chit, but not many cared to notice. Or if they did, not many cared to comment. ¡°Why?¡± he questioned. This made no sense.


    ¡°Why what child?¡±


    ¡°Why do you have this? Why do you know the formations and their names? Why?¡±


    Sacriel sighed again, looking almost human. He looked at the mural wistfully. Then, snapping from his trance, he turned and motioned for the retinue to resume their walk. He called back, ¡°It might surprise you to find that we all had dreams at one point Fain. Some of us just needed to cast them aside for the greater good.¡± After that interruption, the group moved along the beautiful hallways without another word.


    Finally, they reached the end of a particularly long corridor and were left facing a plain stone wall, the ground decorated by a deep purple rug. Sacriel walked nonchalantly towards the dead end, and lifted the rug, revealing a wooden trapdoor with a silvery metal handle. He pulled the handle up revealing a ladder, made entirely of wood.


    ¡°Come. It¡¯s time you understand the scale of the game you are trying to play.¡± With that he began climbing down the ladder, with four guards following after. The guards¡¯ stone poles clanged against the back of the narrow chute, the noise echoing back up to Lyra and Fain.


    Fain looked nervously at Lyra. ¡°Do we follow?¡±


    Lyra pursed her lips, looking almost confused. ¡°I don¡¯t see any other option. Let me go first Fain.¡± She began to move forward, but turn to Fain before descending and rested her hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Thank you for what you said earlier. You still stumble at times, but you¡¯re a good lord, Fain. Guard and foster your compassion. It¡¯s what will let you rise above animals like Sacriel.¡±


    Fain was thrown aback. ¡°Anytime. And you know I didn¡¯t mean tha-¡° He tried to squeeze in the apology from earlier, but Lyra had already turned and begun descending down the chute. That conversation would have to be shelved to a later moon. Fain took in a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly each as Lyra had taught him. His body was alight with fear and nervousness, with no clear source. He tried his best to purge them with each exhale, but they clung to him. The nervousness pulled his hamstrings like a lute, his legs feeling just as shaky as plucked string. Worse, the fear seemed to have taken root in his stomach, clawing around, reaching up at times to throttle his heart and steal his breath. It was physically painful.


    He had to do this. Be the lord that his subjects, and Lyra, believed in. He needed to find a way to lead them past it. Fain knew he wasn¡¯t the man for the job, even if no one else seemed to realize the scam he had unwittingly pulled. However, at this very moment, he was Molanter¡¯s best shot. He took refuge in this, using the thought to help pry the fear out of his insides. He took a final breath and descended down the chute.


    Sacriel led them another passageway. Unlike the stone walls that Fain was accustomed to seeing, this passageway was made entirely from metal. This basement level was like no other Fain had seen. Metal was rare, not as rare as wood, but precious nonetheless. Molantians had no method crafting it on their own, and thus relied on what was left over from the Ancients. Even recrafting it was difficult, to the point where most keeps and homes were simply made around the metal poles from ruined Ancient structures. An entire hallway made of metal, illuminated only by the guards¡¯ torches, was more than surprising. It was wrong on a fundamental level- eerie and alien.


    While looking around in awe, Fain slipped on the smooth metal floor, his sandal failing to give enough traction. He broke the fall with his hands, one knee and one hand pushing against the floor. Lyra was immediately at his side, hooking one arm under his shoulder and pulling him. He was glad for this, even if he needed no help in getting up. The metal had sapped the heat from his hand, and even his covered knee, greedily. This had made him suddenly more aware of how cold and unwelcome this room was. If a room could be hostile, this one was. However, after helping him up, Lyra had stayed by his side, walking stride in stride with him. She radiated heat and this helped fend off the shivers that this room brought. For this, and her support, Fain was immensely grateful.


    After what felt like a trek around the entire Circle of Molanter, the small group reached the end of the metallic hallway. The room had slowly expanded in height, until they had reached a point where it was three times a normal man¡¯s height. At the end, was a massive metal door, with a giant silvery ring jutting out of it. Several thick weedsprout ropes were tied around the ring in various places. The guards each grabbed a rope and began to turn the monstrous ring, grunting in effort with each heave. Finally, the door gave a creak of relief, like a stiff joint being suddenly cracked. The guards dropped the rope and all four of them placed both hands on the door. They pushed in sync, and nothing happened for a moment. Finally, after a few tense moments, the door slowly swung open.


    Sacriel stood with his back to the room. The room was lit, though no torches were present. Instead, glowstones lined the wall in several different rows. The light was almost blinding, as most stone-lit rooms held one glowstone at most. This barely mattered at the moment.


    Lyra¡¯s jaw actually dropped. ¡°By the Ancients.¡± she whispered.


    The sight of the room¡¯s contents crashed into Fain like a tidal wave. It slapped him in the face like a sudden gust of wind after turning a corner. He almost dropped to his knees again, just from sheer shock.


    Inside the room, that Sacriel stood so confidently with his back to, there was an ocean of discs. Moons, slices, and brownings were stacked to the ceiling. In this bizarre, metallic vault lay more discs than could be found in the rest of the Circles combined. More than any man would be able to count in an entire season¡¯s time.


    Fain felt his heart drop with frustration. His frustration swept through him, washing away the prior fear, and the current awe. It came as a certain realization did. If this wealth was Sacriel¡¯s, then nothing he could offer the man would be enticing enough. Molanter really was doomed.

 Chapter 6: Boiling Point

    ¡°H-How?! When did you get all these discs?¡±


    Sacriel looked at him contemptuously. ¡°I¡¯ve always had them. Before I, my father guarded these, and his father before him. Even your mother knew. This is House Harruputz¡¯s power.¡±


    Fain stepped back, instinctively, bewildered by what he was hearing. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense. Why even bother running your businesses and giving loans?¡± There was another thought that Fain didn¡¯t voice. If Mother knew, why didn¡¯t she tell Father. Or did she tell him and neither of them trusted me enough¡­ Did Lyra know all along as well? He looked back and saw a mirrored look of confusion on her face. I guess not.


    Sacriel¡¯s contemptuous gaze dissected him. His crossed his arms and lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper, leaning back against a wall as if it was the most comfortable position in the Circles. ¡°I care not for money, you sniveling child. It¡¯s about power, control, and influence. Using these worthless discs, I can unite Molanter under one strong rule-mine.¡± As he said this, he raised his thick meaty hand and grabbed a browning, a week of meals for some, and flipped in the air as if it was worthless.


    Fain took another step back, raising his hands placatingly. Sacriel seemed close to dropping his veneer of sophistication completely. ¡°Uncle, look around. You have all the power you could want. You¡¯re the richest man in Molanter. Ancients, probably in all the three Circles.¡± Sacriel anger did not fade as Fain had expected. This should¡¯ve been his warning that he had misjudged the situation. Boldly, he trudged forward with his argument. ¡°Use this wealth. Help me save Molanter. We can unite the city and lords together.¡±


    Sacriel¡¯s regarded him coldly. He was practically a statue at this point, face austere, blue eyes intensely focused. ¡°You are just like him you know,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Cataran, boy. He offered me the same deal, so high and mighty. His house, yours now, has always held all the power. So weak, na?ve and yet controlling the fate of Molanter.¡± The man couldn¡¯t help but to let envy show through his voice.


    Fain was thrown aback. He had seen many unappealing traits in Sacriel, however, envy was not one. ¡°What do you mean? I have come here pleading for your help. My house is struggling to stay above water and the farms are withering.¡±


    Hearing this didn¡¯t seem to surprise Sacriel. A hint  of compassion softened his features. ¡°Maybe you really are just a fool, Fain. A scared child overwhelmed by the task his parents left him. Maybe this is Senna and Cataran¡¯s fault. And mine.¡± He took a breath and eyed Fain again, seeing him for the first time. ¡°Discs are useless without a use, child. Give a man the choice between the last disc in the city or the last loaf of bread. What will he pick?¡±


    Fain waited, saying nothing. He was both unsure whether Sacriel wanted an answer and what that answer was. There were a lot of factors to consider. Could the man use the disc to get more food? Did he already have food stored? This didn¡¯t seem to be a good time to ask Sacriel to clarify, so he kept his mouth shut. It was perhaps his first good decision of the day. An awkward few heartbeats of silence settle into the room.


    Sacriel gave an exasperated sigh. ¡°He will take the bread. Coin is a proxy to give people access to food, cloth, and so on. If there is no food left my coin becomes worthless. The people will use it as sling fodder while they siege every keep. To control the people, and the other high lords, I need to control the food supply.¡±


    Fain saw where he was going with this. In hindsight, it should¡¯ve been a fairly easy conclusion and Fain was by no means the idiot his uncle thought him to be. He whispered, ¡°The Evergrowth. You want my Evergrowth.¡±


    ¡°Not just Evergrowth. I want the secret behind Evergrowth. What is it? Where can I find the ingredients? How do I make it? I want all of it.¡±


    The mere thought of Sacriel with that power over Molanter terrified Fain. He could see it now-a tyrannical empire where Sacriel would rule by limiting food, using it to strong-arm the people to his will. Maybe he thought too little of the man, but it was too great a secret to risk. It was too much power for anyone to have, even himself. Once, he had tried to share it with Lyra, feeling crushed by sudden responsibility after his father passed. She had stopped him from revealing, telling him that it was his burden to bear-his duty, his treasure. Fain had eventually realized that she was right. It was his legacy to guard, at least until he found a better protector for it. Sacriel was not that man.


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°Think carefully. I am offering you anything you want. Money to fund whatever it is you want to do. You can have the entire contents of this vault. Go and hire scholars. Finish those starmaps you love. Live the life your parents never lived long enough to give you. Leave Molanter.¡± He paused. ¡°I¡¯m throwing you a rope here Fain. You aren¡¯t made for this. Neither was Cataran, but he never seemed to realize that. Just take my offer and go live your life.¡± He spoke almost gently, but the greed in his eyes gave him away. He seemed to think that he was a Snapper, and Fain was the innocent creature resting in his jaws. But no, Fain saw through this. This was never an option.


    ¡°I said no, Uncle. This was a mistake from the start. I¡¯ll find another way. Let¡¯s go, Lyra.¡± He turned to leave and Lyra did the same, still eyeing the room cautiously. Sacriel looked genuinely disappointed. He was now looking at Fain with a look he had never expected, pity.


    ¡°I knew you wouldn¡¯t take it. Cataran¡¯s stubbornness is a curse to you. I hope that Senna is Witness to this. I gave you a chance even after everything. Now my conscience is clear.¡± He snapped his fingers and the two guards pulled the vault door shut. The door gave the same creak as before when it closed. The guards, looking a little tired from the effort of pulling the enormous gateway, pulled out wicked swords, made entirely of metal. Sacriel pulled out a metal dagger of his own. They all walked imposingly towards Fain and Lyra. She looked at him and Fain shook his head slightly. This doesn¡¯t need to end in bloodshed.


    Four guards surrounding Fain. A particularly large man with the characteristic leather vest raised his sword towards Fain¡¯s face. He shifted backwards to move away from it and felt a cold pinprick on the small of his back. He turned to see another guard, a lithe female with an evil smile looking straight at him.


    ¡°Take another step backwards if you would please lordling. I love this part.¡± She crooned tauntingly.


    The heavyset man in front of him shook his head in mild annoyance. ¡°Enough Vivy. On your knees lord. This doesn¡¯t have to turn ugly yet.¡±


    The feline woman behind him harrumphed, but he did feel the sword at his back retreat. Fain had never been in a situation like this before. He wondered, very briefly, if fighting back was the right option. Surely, they wouldn¡¯t kill him. But what could he accomplish in the face of four armed gaurds. He slowly sank to his knees, shaking arms resting on his lap. Dammit stop shaking! He was a damn coward and he knew it. A real lord would¡¯ve done something here to protect himself and his people. His people! The feeling of the cold metal at his back and almost made him forget Lyra was here too. He turned to look where she was.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Two guards were trying to get her to kneel as they had Fain. She stared back at the man in front of her, seemingly unperturbed by the metal just a hand¡¯s length from her face. She was eerily a still, trapped between the sword at her face and the knife the other guard held to her back. ¡°Kneel woman. NOW!¡± the man in front screamed, spittle flying all around. Fain felt a flash of envy at her courage, but that was immediately swept away by the wave of concern. He knew Lyra, she wouldn¡¯t kneel. The man was asking the sun to stop burning. Please, Lyra. Just this once. She did not. Instead, features unchanged, she slowly raised a hand to her face to wipe the flecks of spit that had landed on her cheek.


    Then, in a nonchalant tone, she said, ¡°This probably isn¡¯t the first time you¡¯ve asked a woman to do that. Unfortunately, like all the rest, I¡¯ll have to decline.¡±


    She¡¯s insane. As amusing as Fain would¡¯ve normally found the remark, now he felt nothing but horror. The brute in front of her looked confused. Then, after taking a few moments to process, a look of anger replaced the confusion. He roared and swung the butt of blade, also made a shining metal, at her cheek. Lyra stayed where she was. The hilt collided with her face with a sick crunch. The impact literally threw Lyra a few steps across the room. She lay on the ground, unmoving.


    Then, after the longest moment of Fain¡¯s life, she placed her hands against the floor and slowly pushed herself up. When she rose, he saw blood flowing from a mean looking split on her upper lip. In addition, her cheek had already begun to turn a dark, angry purple, as had the area under her eye. She finished getting up and brushed off the bottom of her dress, now marred with black streaks.


    ¡°Maybe you need a different approach to courting. I can¡¯t imagine this has proved successful in the past.¡±


    The man charged her angry, edge of the sword raised to swing. Lyra raised her hand in front of her, hair beginning to darken to a slightly deeper shade of red.


    ¡°St-Stop!¡± Fain shouted, surprised to hear his own voice. ¡°Lyra please. Just kneel. Don¡¯t do for them, do it for me. I¡¯ll... I¡¯ll handle this.¡±


    The charging man stopped. The interruption seemed to stop his moment and give him a moment to control himself. Lyra looked at Fain appraisingly. He could see her internal debate. She thought she could fight her way out this. Not even a Wick could take on six armed guards though. Finally, something gave within. She nodded silently, brushed off the dust on the ground beneath her, and knelt. Even with the four guards still surrounding him, Fain breathed a sigh of relief.


    He held on to this fledgling sprout of courage and turned to address Sacriel, who still standing looking down at him imperiously. ¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this?! You can¡¯t expect to assault another house lord without the other lords intervening. There will be a price for this Sacriel!¡± This came out much less confidently than Fain intended, his words interrupted by panicky, hitched breaths.


    He gave up on the threat. More pleadingly, he continued, ¡°Let us go. We can etch this off as a moment of bad judgment. Just stop this.¡±


    Sacriel¡¯s mouth curved down in a grimace, like doing this actually pained him. ¡°It seems you weren¡¯t listening Fain. You and your wench won¡¯t leave here. And the other lords won¡¯t care as long as I come out with the secrets of Evergrowth.¡± He walked up to Fain, oozing confidence and control with each step. Fain hated the man, but a part of him wished he could be like that. Sacriel shooed away the guard in front, the heavyset man who had stopped Vivy, and stopped within a hand of Fain. He pulled out a wicked looking dagger of his own. It looked much like the guards¡¯ but ended with a much sharper hook and held a yellow gem embedded in the hilt. Out of the corner, Fain could see Lyra eying the dagger, with eye swollen almost completely shut, with genuine fear.


    ¡°Y-You know that I can¡¯t- I won¡¯t- give that to you. Don¡¯t be insane.¡±


    Sacriel leaned down and held the hooked end of the dagger under Fain¡¯s chin, the point forcing him to look up at those icy blue eyes. ¡°This is a torturer¡¯s dagger. I expect you will become quite familiar with it in the days to come. First, your servant will be tortured. If that isn¡¯t enough, you can have your own turn with it. I will get the Evergrowth eventually. Make it easy. Tell me now.¡± He paused, the same look of pity crossing his face. Silence permeated the room, each second making it more and more clear that Fain wouldn¡¯t speak. Sacriel¡¯s features returned to their normal flatness and he wordlessly pushed the dagger up, causing beads of blood to begin to run down the edge.


    Fain felt incredibly cold. It was as if his blood has stopped flowing altogether. In fact, he would¡¯ve been sure that was the case if not for the sight of it dripping off of Sacriel¡¯s evil dagger. He wanted to break so badly. He could tell Sacriel, in exchange for their lives. If Sacriel was not willing to spare Fain, he could surely be convinced to let Lyra go. Who would believe an assistant anyway? That thought was almost enough, but Fain remembered the night his father told him about the secret of Evergrowth.


    It was the night before he had left on his own expedition to secure more and explore the surrounding land. He had always know there was a chance that there would be no return. So he had called Fain to his private study.


    What I am about to tell you is a burden you shouldn¡¯t have to bear. But someone must. If the day comes when I cannot, it will be your curse alone. I trust you, son. I trust that you are the man for this. One who will protect this secret with all your power.


    The memory sparked defiance and strength in Fain. His father had believed in him. He wanted to find a way to get Lyra, and ideally himself, out of this, but Lyra would never approve of giving in like this. That much was clear from her earlier display. He followed suit.


    ¡°Rot with Decay. You¡¯re a pathetic, heinous excuse for a Lord and you will never have that secret.¡± He saw Lyra nod slightly in approval, though her face was still wracked with concern and her hair was begin to rise and darken.


    Sacriel didn¡¯t look surprised. He didn¡¯t even look that angry. Instead, he went completely cold again, seemingly exhausted from the small concern he had shown earlier. He rose and turned away.  ¡°Beat some sense into the fool. Give him a taste of what¡¯s to come.¡±


    Vivy looked elated. ¡°Can we cut him. Just a little?¡± she asked, like a child asking for an extra serving of dessert.


    The apathetic reply echoed back, ¡°Just don¡¯t kill him. Not without the Evergrowth.¡±


    Fain had expected some build-up, or perhaps more taunting. A small part him still didn¡¯t believe there was any real danger. People didn¡¯t just kidnap and stab lords. Apparantly, no one had taught Vivy that. Without any of the sadistic jeering that the woman displayed before, she whipped her arm back and stabbed Fain directly in the right shoulder. She dug the small knife in as deep as it would go and then yanked it out. It was stained completely red when it left Fain¡¯s shoulder.


    It was, in fact, so sudden that for a second Fain felt nothing. Then it hit him. He fell over, clutching his shoulder trying to stop the bleeding and began wailing. The part of him that was concerned with anything except the pain-a very small part- felt ashamed. The rest of him just felt the agony from the pain and, even worse, the shock and terror about what was happening. His world was spinning and he couldn¡¯t focus on anything except his arm. His halted breathing rang around the room, rapid but still not enough for his screaming body.


    In a moment of clarity, he turned to try to see Lyra. If they would do this to him, someone they needed, Ancients only knew what they would do to her. He saw her and was briefly distracted from the pain. Her hair would  always darken and rise with her emotions, but this was different. It had turned a scarlet red, richer and brighter than the blood dripping around him, and was waving around her wildly, like a flame in the wind. The air around her started steaming, waves of heat visibly emanating from her. The guards took a step back in shock and started yelling something to the others. Fain couldn¡¯t make it out.


    Then, Lyra exploded in a pillar of flame. The two guards closest to her were thrown back, the metal hilts of their swords blackened and seared to their hands. The pair screamed in anguish, sounding far more pained than Fain himself earlier. Something that Fain wouldn¡¯t even have believed possible a moment ago. Lyra rose from her kneel elegantly, her dressed burned away revealing pristine bands of some shimmering white cloth wrapping her chest and her legs, down to the knee. Somehow the garb seemed even more refined than the dress that hid them. Flames wicked off of Lyra¡¯s entire body, leaving the cloth unmarred. She stepped forward and the guards screaming intensified. The side of the closest one¡¯s face began bubbling and blackening. Lyra looked down, and then without a reaction, looked back up. She walked casually, as if she wasn¡¯t literally on fire, towards Sacriel. Taking each step as if she was strolling through the keep¡¯s gardens.


    Fain¡¯s vision began to swim, the whole vault was much hotter and it wasn¡¯t helping. The edges of his vision grew spotty and black, the spots multiplying. Before he passed out, Fain heard Lyra utter a menacing sentence to Sacriel.


    ¡°Time for a long overdue lesson, Sacriel.¡±

 Chapter 7: Into the Fire

    Sacriel backpedaled as fast his legs allowed. What in the Forgotten Gods was happening? He had suspected the woman of being a Wick when her hair had darkened in the sitting room. But he had never seen a Wick do this. A foreign emotion clutched at his chest-terror. His machinations had not accounted for this. He was confident he had been confidant his men could handle a Wick bodyguard-they were well trained and equipped with metal blades after all. There was a thump and Sacriel felt metal at his back-he had run into the wall at the end of the room. Usually, the cool touch of metal comforted him, reminding him of all he had accomplished. However, it took on a darker context this time, trapping him with this monster.


    The vile woman left the two guards in front of her charred, flesh completely blackened and bubbling like it was water mixed with lye. He needed to collect himself and quickly. Sacriel licked his dry lips, but the moisture evaporated. He tried to yell for his guards but the words died in throat, burned away by the inferno that was Lyra. Luckily, his guards lived up to what he payed them and were trained to fight Wicks.


    Vivy, the most sadistic of his guards, pulled a sling from her back pocket. She grabbed a nearby disc and whipped it back on the sling, launching it at Lyra. It struck her on the exposed shoulder, searing itself onto her arm. Wicks may be unharmed by their own Heat, but that did not stop heated materials from burning them. It was well known, in his circles at least, that a Wick¡¯s own temperature was only slightly above normal.


    Lyra gritted her teeth and stopped her methodical trek towards Sacriel. The tempest in the room seemed to lessen. Still far hotter than what Sacriel had ever seen from a Wick, but slightly more tolerable. At the very least, he didn¡¯t feel as if his own skin would start sloughing off like weedsap right there and then.  Sacriel sighed ever so slightly in relief. He remembered the difficulties he had in reigning Vivy in before. Unbelievably, the woman was a much more restrained creature than when she first entered his guard. This small respite made all his efforts worth it.


    Unfortunately, Lyra¡¯s full attention snapped from Sacriel to Vivy. She sprinted towards the guardswoman. His poor guardswoman kept up a flurry of coins, but Lyra dodged each narrowly. The other guards joined in the barrage, but to no avail. It was inhuman to behold-like watching a man walk through the rain without getting wet. Lyra swayed erratically as she ran towards Vivy, almost as if she were a flame herself. The other guards realized her target and dropped their slings, reaching for their swords. They were too slow to react, for who could compete with the speed at which a flame burns. Lyra was on Vivy in the blink of an eye. She assaulted Vivy with a malice that seemed unlike everything else Sacriel has seen from the woman, even including her initial outburst. While the heat in the room was slowly dissipating, the monster¡¯s eyes burned on-a cold blue, not unlike his own.


    Vivy was good, but no mortal could hope to match this. Lyra fought with a brutal efficiency, one Sacriel would have respected if it were not ruining all his plans. She fought using open hands dancing around her unfortunate victim¡¯s attempts at resistance. With each missed swing or jab from Vivy, Lyra would hit her with an open palm. Vivy swung her dagger, still dripping with Fain¡¯s blood, at Lyra¡¯s head. The assistant shifted under the blow with ease and grabbed Vivy¡¯s hand. She held tight, clearly squeezing with intention, as a hissing noise pervaded the room. The noise was quickly drowned out by Vivy¡¯s howl of pain. The woman dropped the dagger, and any pretense of bravery, as she pulled her hand away-or at least tried. Lyra¡¯s vice grip held firm. Vivy looked like a trapped animal, kicking and shoving wildly, looking all around for help. Her fellow three guardsmen averted their eyes, and continued trying to push open the vault door open, screaming for help. Sacriel would fault the men, but he himself made no move or sound to help. He merely watched with terrified fascination. Was this what awaited him? Or was that hopeful thinking?


    Lyra released Vivy and the guardswomen flew back and landed on the ground, nursing her now-charcoal wrist like a child. Lyra¡¯s face was devoid of both the kindness she showed Fain and the apathy she had shown Sacriel. She was a beast on the hunt. And just like a wild Chit, she leaped on her prey, pushing Vivy completely flat against the ground. The heat in the room was still dissipating, but not nearly fast enough-they were all doomed. Lyra was straddling the younger woman, whose screams for help were muffled by Lyra¡¯s hand against her mouth. Vivy-brave Vivy- tried to the end to push Lyra off, but Lyra pinned her struggling limbs. Vivy¡¯s resistance grew weaker and weaker until they faded completely. Finally, after a futile, weak swipe at Lyra¡¯s chest, the resistance stopped completely. Lyra lifted her hand, revealing burns that almost looked like an exaggerated smile marking Vivy¡¯s lifeless face. Lyra stood emotionlessly, like a butcher who had just finished slicing a slab of meat, ready for the next. She made a step towards Sacriel, and then saw Fain, lying on the ground, still bleeding.


    Humanity bled back into her eyes, which reverted to a dimmer orange color. She ran to the boy quickly, stopping a few feet short of him. A hissing noise filled the room once more, as steam rose from Lyra¡¯s face.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Oh Fain.¡± She murmured gently. Then she leaned down next to the body, appraising his wound. Sacriel decided this was a good as time as any and began to shuffle towards his guards. Lyra turned to him sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t! There¡¯s a long¡­conversation we need to have.¡± Sacriel retreated back to his corner. There was no way to fight back here, hopefully her anger would quell to the point where he could talk his way out this.


    Then he watched and actually gasped in surprise in surprise as Lyra pressed her palm into Fain¡¯s wound. The boy awoke with a jolt, instantly scream. He saw Lyra and immediately ceased his yelping. The child reached for Lyra¡¯s arm, trying to find a way to stand, but the woman swiftly moved away, leaving Fain grasping at air.


    ¡°Stay there Fain this will be over soon.¡± The heat had dulled to a scorching summer day, uncomfortable, but still tolerable. This is what Sacriel had expected to deal with, but it was too late now. His men¡¯s morale was shattered, and even he, himself, didn¡¯t dare make any moves. The matronly woman resumed her trek towards him, a decision already made.


    She looked the part of an angel of death, garbed in simple white cloth, fiery hair whipping wildly, death in her eyes. Sacriel hadn¡¯t noticed before, but the woman was beautiful, in a rough, common sort of way. Beautiful, and terrifying. A decade passed on her journey to Sacriel. He contemplated what his legacy would be.  It would not be kind, he knew that. The other lords would conspire; paint him as a gluttonous, greedy man, who hungered for power.


    They all missed the point. They grew complacent in the Inner Circle. No one, but him, seemed to recognize the flaw in just one man holding the secret of Evergrowth. Molanter had been lucky so far. The secret had remained in the custody of weak-hearted men, who didn¡¯t think to use it to rule. That could change at the drop of a disc. Sacriel needed to be the one to bear it. Who else could keep the Circles in order, while staving off the threats of the other cities?


    Alas, his dream of uniting the city under competent leadership would burn away right in the heart of his power. His death had arrived, standing just a few hairs away, opalescent hand reaching for his face. He felt the heat, even diminished as it was. He closed his eyes, waiting for the end that he had etched for himself.


    ¡°Lyra! Stop!¡± the boy¡¯s shrill voice rang out. The guards turned to him, having long given up on their endeavor to escape. He had risen to his feet, still holding his wounded shoulder. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this. You¡¯re not a killer! Don¡¯t do this.¡± His voice trembled at the end, almost pleading.


    Sacriel almost scoffed. The boy hadn¡¯t come to his senses enough to witness the carnage around him, clearly. The fool seemed just as bewildered as everyone else. Did he really not know the monster he had waiting on his whims?


    Lyra looked back, a wistful look in her eyes. Another hissing noise pierced the room, as steam rose from her face. ¡°Someone else told me that once, dear. Unfortunately, I am.¡± She continued her action.


    ¡°Stop! You-You taught me better than this.¡±


    Those words seemed to effect the woman even more than the prior ones. She withdrew her reaching hand. She walked back to Fain¡¯s side, making sure to keep a healthy distance. The heat was now merely a warm summer day, but no one dared to try anything.


    Fain steadied him and scanned the room, a nauseated look crossing his face before he quickly hid it. Then, as the smell hit him, he turned, ran to a corner, and retched pathetically. Another eternal moment passed as Fain¡¯s retches echoed. He turned to Lyra, a momentary wary expression crossing his face. The woman looked away, shame etched on her face. Fain cleared his face of the emotion and addressed Sacriel.


    ¡°Uncle.¡± He emphasized the word, hoping to emphasize their familial ties-a transparent appeal. ¡°You gave me a way out before this. I¡¯ll give you one. Let us free, no retribution will be sought. You won¡¯t help me, message received.¡±


    Sacriel was baffled. Not only was the boy going to let him out of this, he would seek no recompense. For someone who looked so much like Senna, Fain was clearly his father¡¯s son. Or maybe, he was like Senna near the end-confused, lost, and optimistic. Regardless, the comparison drew Sacriel¡¯s ire out. He swallowed it down-not the time- and sat silent.


    He stewed for a moment, ego throbbing at being bested so effortlessly, but eventually he pushed his pride aside. Live to see another day and might be able to save this city, yet.


    ¡°Guards! Get the vault open. My nephew has clearly worn out his welcome.¡± He croaked out, throat still dry.


    The guards redoubled their efforts, pushing against the door with all their might, to no avail. Finally, Lyra approached, her prior demeanor almost completely re-donned. The guards started to edge away as soon as they noticed her approach.


    She sighed. ¡°Here, I believe I can help with this.¡± She rested her hand against the hinge of the door, until it glowed softly. ¡°Push now.¡± The guards did and, miraculously, the door slowly opened, groaning with effort. Lyra gestured for Fain to move in front of her and began following. As Sacriel and the guards began to follow, she turned back. The guards and Sacriel himself jumped backwards defensively. ¡°Stay here for some time. Think on what you learned here today. We know the way out.¡± Then she silently followed Fain up the ladder, until they were both out of sight. Sacriel was a little annoyed that the servant woman dared to give him orders in his own keep, but this was largely overshadowed by his relief. They had fought death herself and survived. He could save the city yet. Fain was more a threat than ever, with that demon watching over his shoulder. Luckily, the wheels in Sacriel¡¯s mind had already begun turning. He would get the secret to Evergrowth and unite this city. He just had to deal with that damned monster first.

 Chapter 8: A Reason

    The lantern light that usually illuminated the tavern so well seemed to cast an ominous glow to the room. The flickering shadows took on an eerie affect, and Mira couldn¡¯t help but feel that room was colder than before. The tavern was crowded as ever, humming with the usual chatter. The only exception was the trio huddled on the stone bench in the corner, isolated in their own world, lantern light barely reaching them.


    Mira¡¯s hand throbbed as she cleaned the tabletop, making sure to avoid a large hole in the stone. It gaped back at her tauntingly, an unneeded reminder of when the group had come back, bearing the news. The counter glistened spotlessly, but Mira kept circling the counter with the pale maroon lichen, needing to keep her hands busy. The resounding chatter grated at her, making the few quiet hours of contemplation she had before a distant memory. She longed to send everyone out and take the time to mourn with Tan, Naran, and Timbe, but she wasn¡¯t in the position to turn away business. Maybe she should just get it over with and go to House Estrell. She heard the Blooms in his employ were treated well, and she could make a real difference towards this crisis. She could escape the savagery of the Outer Ring. This was her home, she had fought to stay when other Tuned left in droves, but maybe it just wasn¡¯t worth the trouble anymore. This was getting more and more frequent.


    Her thoughts were interrupted by a patron. Mira ground her teeth as a man, dressed in a fancy dark brown duster, flailed his hand in the air, asking for drinks for himself and his two female companions. Man buys a nice coat inside Molanter and thinks he¡¯s Outer Ring royalty. She cupped two mugs in one hand and a third in other, filling them all in the barrel less than generously. As she made her way over, she could hear the man¡¯s companions ¡°Ooh¡±s and ¡°Ahh¡±s of feigned wonder as he regaled them with tales of his former life as a guardsman. She fought to keep her lips flat, a smirk threatening to break free. It¡¯s amazing how he can¡¯t tell they don¡¯t care. Not my problem. She placed the drinks down silently and began to walk towards the next table. The man raised a hand to stop her and held out a shining silver slice to her. Not gasp worthy, but a nice tip on top of the drink¡¯s cost. Maybe he¡¯s not so bad after. She took it with thanks, jamming it into one of the many small pockets in her cloth pants. Then she took a breath and continued her rounds.


    Eventually, she worked her way to the group¡¯s corner. The atmosphere was a distinct from the rest of rowdy room. None of the men spoke, opting instead to lay there, shoulders slumped and eyes faint. Each looked as if they were looking for something to say to break the curtain of silence, but just couldn¡¯t find the right words. She knew a few that might help though.


    ¡°Anyone want a drink?¡±


    Silence responded, louder than any possible response. She sighed in understanding. This wasn¡¯t something ale could fix. She motioned Naran to scoot over and making room, seating herself on the bench. She kept one eye on the rest of the tavern, wishing it would just start clearing out already. No such luck. She couldn¡¯t fix this, so the least she could do was wallow with them.


    So she sat amidst the silence, eyeing the table, wracking her brain for a way to lift their spirits. She was no stranger to stillness and silence, but this was wrong. Those things should be enjoyed on a warm day with sunlight crashing down, not a chilly tavern corner.  Tan especially concerned her, and not just because he was her closest friend.


    When the group first arrived, Naran had settled the group down in the corner and gone to Mira, asking permission to bury Gerald near the tavern. Mira had acquiesced, offering a hand after her initial outburst. Her particular affinity with soil helped them as they dug, the arid ground parting much more easily to her hands than it did from Naran¡¯s shovel. As the worked, Naran told her how Tan had stopped the Rit, threatening to take Monk on himself. She had shaken her head in dismay. When word of this spread, people might take it upon themselves to punish him for supposed heresy. She knew he was no heretic. Rits were barbaric, a veiled tool for the strong to take what they want. That Tan was brave enough to step in should¡¯ve been to his credit, but the rest wouldn¡¯t see it like that.


    She saw none of her friend¡¯s usual bravado or kindness right now. It had been replaced with a limp demeanor and the persistent vacant look in dull brown eyes. Leaving would¡¯ve been a lot easier if she didn¡¯t think Tan needed people around recently more than ever. The loss of Gerald wouldn¡¯t help that cause. The rest of the table had fared a little better, at least. Naran sat next to her, stroking his wiry red beard thoughtfully. Timbe looked agitated, anxiously tapping his fingernails against the stone to an unheard beat. She almost quirked a smile at that. Ever the musician, Timbe. He was pretty good back when they were kids, too. That¡¯s how he had gotten the nickname Timbre, now shortened to Timbe.


    Had things always been this bad? Was she just too young to notice it before? Mira found that hard to believe. The Outer Rings had always been a tough place to live, but before it was a tough place they all lived in together. She had to blame the food shortages, her people weren¡¯t always like this. People used to stop things like this, instead of blindly following. They had been a community once. Now it just felt like they were all animal trapped in the same cage, not enough room or feed to keep them all satisfied. There had been laughter, singing, and dancing in her tavern before. Even now amongst all the noise, people remained confined to their own tables, talking and laughing with their friends and no one else.


    She rose abruptly, an idea powering her steps. Naran and Timbe looked up, startled, curiosity breaking through the shell of mourning. Her leather sandals slapped smartly against the stone as she made her way behind the counter. She dug her fingers through the barrel where she left all the cleaned dishes and silverware. A meat knife pricked her finger and she pulled it out, swearing in surprise.


    ¡°Ancients damn it!¡± There had to be an easier way to find it. She slowly removed each item in the barrel, placing the silverware in the bowls and mugs. Her foot tapped impatiently as she sorted, increasing her search as much as she dared. Finally, she felt a smooth stone bowl, thinner and wider than the rest. There you are. She set the bowl, chipped on one side, on the countertop reverently.


    ¡°Be right back!¡± she shouted, as she began to clack away to her quarters. The perplexed stares of the dozen or so patrons bored into her, as there was a brief pause in the handful of conversations happening. She didn¡¯t care at the moment. In fact, it was nice to hear nothing but her sandals against the stone rhythmically while it lasted. As soon as she closed the flap to her quarters, the conversations and mumbling resumed.


    She rummaged around the leather sack at the end of the hide she slept on. Easing herself down, she shouted in relief as she found it-a rolled up recently dried flap of weedsprout, pale yellow as most were.


    ¡°There you are!¡± The noise outside paused again as her exclamation traveled. She ran back out to the counter, noticing that this time the conversations did not resume-all eyes rested on her. She scowled and set on her task. She pulled out a cord, made of torn and wound strands of uncured weedsprout, and set it on the smooth stone. Unraveling the flap she had retrieved, she pulled it taught and wrapped it over the thin bowl. Holding the bowl tight under her arm, she bit into the excess flap and began tearing it off. By the time she was done, there was only a fingers length of excess flap hanging over the bowl. She grabbed the cord and tied it around the bowl, so it pulled taut the flap taut. She beamed proudly at her creation and ran over to Tan¡¯s table.


    She was in such a rush that she didn¡¯t even notice the pinprick of a dozen stares. She arrived at the table with a bead of sweat running down her oval face, panting a little from the rush. Slamming the bowl down in front of Timbe she basically shouted at the man, ¡°Play something!¡±.


    The man stopped his anxious drumming, and looked up, seeing her for the first time tonight. ¡°Huh? What¡¯re you on about?¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon Timbe! Play a song, tell a story, do something!¡±


    The crowd liked this idea, especially the man Mira had served before and his entourage. The women looked towards the corner bench, intrigued for the first time tonight. Other patrons hunched forward, looking intently at Timbe now. The man seemed offended by all the gawking.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Buzz off, all of you. I¡¯m no minstrel.¡±


    ¡°Play something Timbe! As a favor to me?¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t work.¡±


    ¡°Just do it!¡±


    The man¡¯s glower deepened, but he picked up the makeshift drum hesitantly. The crowd leaned in even more. He rested it on his lap gently, as one might a child. Using his first and second finger he swung down swiftly at the flap, barely tapping the surface before pulling his hand away just as quickly. A faint, dull sound came out and Timbe cocked his head. He brought his whole palm down the next time, slapping the flap hard. A slightly louder, but still muted, noise emerged and died just as quickly. Timbe shook his head and placed the bowl back on the table, looking at it like a disappointed father.


    ¡°That¡¯s no drum, Mira. Can¡¯t make one with stone, no matter how thin.¡± He sounded even more disappointed than she felt. What a stupid idea. Even if it worked, what was the point. Her flash of inspiration blinked out of existence. Shame and embarrassment took its place. Some songs and laughter wouldn¡¯t fix what was wrong with the Outer Rings. It wouldn¡¯t even make a dent in the lives of her patrons.


    As she began to spiral down that dark series of thoughts, a clear whistle rang out. Sounding almost as if it came from a flute, Timbe formed a small ¡°O¡± with his mouth, pulling in and exhaling air methodically. He was concentrating intently, seemingly oblivious to the room¡¯s attention on him. Naran caught on, looking around the room. He stood and walked to the man from before, handing him two stone batons and whispered in his ear. The man looked confused and then terrified, shaking his head violently in protest. Naran pulled the man away from his table, arm slung amicabally around his shoulders. He continued whispering to the man, occasionally pointing at the two women left at the table. The stranger¡¯s eyes gleamed in understanding and he was now nodding eagerly. Timbe¡¯s melody rang clear throughout the entire time.


    The stranger went back to his table, took a deep breath and began tapping the stone batons rhythmically, his face scrunched from the effort of trying to keep a steady beat. Naran went back to the table and whispered in Timbe¡¯s ear this time, stunning red eyes glinting. Even Tan snapped out of his daze to see what was happening. His face turned ghoulish, clearly not in the mood for this.


    Naran took a breath and bellowed, ¡°For the friend I lost¡±, he pierced Tan with his gaze, ¡°and the one I may yet lose. I invoke the tale of Eaph, the last Ancient.¡± The crowd stirred in fascination, murmuring between themselves. It had been a while since Mira had heard this one-the last time might¡¯ve been when Tan¡¯s mother had told them.


    ¡°Last of the gods! Eaph, bold and kind. Stood, against all odds. Looking to free us from our binds!¡±


    Mira listened in awe. Her heart beat with the words fleeing from Naran¡¯s lips. She felt foolish for being so quickly drawn by the first line of the tale, but looked around to see the rest of the crowd rapt-not a whisper said, not a drink taken. Some of the patrons had joined in the stranger¡¯s beat, clapping their hands or stomping their feet with every other crash of the batons.


    ¡°His brothers had ascended! He alone remained. Trekked to the rotting marsh, where Decay lay contained!¡± Naran took a shaky breath, struggling to keep to Timbe and stranger¡¯s rhythm. Keep going. Myra knew how the tale ended, but she needed to hear it, now more than ever.


    ¡°Eyes narrowed, he fought. With vigor and fury, our lives he bought and left to Heat in a hurry.  Crossing o¡¯er lands dry and hot, suffering through Heat¡¯s domain. He marched for our future, as the one that remained.¡±


    Naran seemed to be in a different sort of trance now. Eyes distant, not cold like before, but rather burning with passion. Tan looked at the man intently, finally awake, listening for the message underneath.


    ¡°He went to Her, knowing the respite we needed. Knowing the wrath he¡¯d incur, Eaph knelt and pleaded. She gave a hiss, her face lined with a pout. Not a single beat missed, Eaph reached tore his heart out. Two boons were granted, for two gifts were given. He wandered the planet, so that we were forgiven.¡±


    Mira felt silly as her heart pounded. It was a children¡¯s tale, albeit a bloody one. She knew the ended and yet her heart still ached hearing Eaph¡¯s struggles.


    ¡°His chest was aching when he reached the chill of Frost. He stood unbreaking, so that the future was not lost.¡±


    Mira shuddered at the mention of Frost, almost as if his chilling presence was in the room beside her. Then she looked at Tan, and the rest of the guests, drawing into themselves to stave off the cold. Maybe he was. Even Naran looked a bit effected, just from the mention of Frost, but he carried on.


    ¡°Eaph begged and plead. Frost lay, secure in his bastion. Eaph knew our greatest need and gave Frost his own passion.¡±


    Mira saw Tan gape, the words hitting him a second after everyone else. This performance was for everyone, but it seemed to be giving the man exactly what he needed.


    ¡°Eaph¡¯s was broken. To the Forgotten he was sold. He had only one token, to offer Growth.¡±


    Naran paused, playing the part of a master storyteller, leaving the audience on edge. Mira saw pleas for Naran to continue bubbling on the patron¡¯s lips, but no one wanted to break the scene. She could see the events Naran described play out in her head. Eaph, worn from his fight with Decay, hole in chest, eyes cold, standing before Growth, only one thing left to offer. Naran pierced her thoughts.


    ¡°Eaph, our last champion. Offered his life to Growth, the last treasure he was carrying, his final oath.¡±


    The room was dead silent, almost as mournful as Tan¡¯s table had been. Some people were quietly wept, including women at the stranger¡¯s table. No one noticed that the rhythm had faded; they were too engrossed in Naran¡¯s tale.


    ¡°Gods and mankind wept. Eaph lay dead for our lives. His spirit spent, so we may thrive.¡±


    The story ended there, abrupt. Eaph hadn¡¯t ascended with the other Ancients. He remained and slowly sacrificed himself to stave off the old gods, finally giving his life to ensure humanity would prosper. The room erupted in the noise they had held at bay, all dozen of the compatriots rushing to the table to clap Naran on the shoulder or comment on his rendition.


    ¡°You do any minstrel work for Rowan.¡±


    ¡°What a telling! Haven¡¯t heard it like that since Lyra!¡±


    ¡°Any other stories?¡±


    Mira extricated herself from the table going back to the counter. Naran should enjoy his moment of fame, hopefully this would curry some favor for the ex-Inner Ring resident. As she left and situated herself, she kept her gaze on Tan. He showed signs of life, rising and commending Naran with the rest of them. More than that, his eyes were wide and glossy, shining with a vigor Mira barely remembered. He had taken more from the story than anyone else in the room, as he should.


    Mira knew Tan, more than anyone save for her. He could rise above this, just like he had clawed his way past every other stone in his path. Even now he was magnetic, kind¡­and well he was Tan. He could overcome this and she would be here to help him do it. The room had slowly realized their thirst and rushed to the counter like a Hive of Chits, crying out for ale. Swallowed up in the rush of exuberance, Myra exclaimed, ¡°Let¡¯s finish these barrels! Drinks on the house tonight!¡±.


    That was met with an even louder cheer as Mira frantically began setting out mugs. She ran out of mugs almost immediately and groaned internally at her impulsive decision. The patrons grew more and more drunk throughout the night, but the atmosphere remained considerably light. At one point, Timbe began singing a silly song about a man who tried to marry a Tree and the stranger whipped out his batons to bang on the stone floor in accompaniment. Mira winced briefly action, as her floor would definitely come out worse for wear, but it was worth it. The whole tavern was abuzz with conversation- a single conversation to be more specific. They laughed at strangers¡¯ jokes and danced merrily, even though Timbe¡¯s song had long ended. Even Tan dropped his glower and joined in. Mira would only have the few barrels in back left after this, but she smiled proudly anyway.


    Naran came and gestured towards the center of the tavern, where the emboldened guests were flailing wildly. Mira set aside the mug and took the proffered hand. She joined the guests as another cheer erupted, along with a joke about how Naran had managed to crack the hardest stone, to which she gave a glare. Time flew by lazily as Mira found herself lost in the dancing and laughter, spinning wildly one moment and snorting uncontrollably the next. As the night wound down, and some guests filed out, Tan found himself in the center of much less sinister ring, retelling the tale at how Mira had almost killed him for breaking an entire shipment of mugs. The man throttled himself and fell to the floor, playing dead. Mira rolled her eyes at his exaggeration. She had barely strangled him.


    She tried to tell her side of the story, but it was drowned out by the cackles of the crowd. Mira threw up her hands, relenting. Guess Tan was the victor in this war. The moment slowed for her, a brief smooth area in a chipped rock. The scene before her was the Outer Ring she had set her roots in. It was why she had initially refused to go to the Middle Ring, and why she would refuse again.


    Mira breathed in deeply, hoping to extend this moment of clarity. The air was oddly moist, wet from the crowd¡¯s panting laughter; she didn¡¯t mind. This was right. The fact that she could create moments like this, amongst the hardest times the Outer Rings had faced, was enough for her. She saw a community-her community- come together for a brief moment. She would hold on to that hope, plant it, and watch blossom into something that bore fruit for all. That was her role as a Bloom. She would stay, she couldn¡¯t abandon these people. After all this was the Outer Rings-her home.

 Chapter 9: Answers

    The withered stalks offered no resistance, letting go of whatever imitation of life they had left, as his sandal came down atop them. Each crunch knotted Fain¡¯s stomach tighter. Sneaking out to the fields used to be one of his favorite pastimes, especially if it was night. The moonlit sky, uninterrupted by shadows cast by glowstone or lanterns, offered a surreal view the stars. It might have been in his head, but he could swear they were more distinct out in the open pastures of the Middle Rings. His father, and later Lyra, had tried to stop him from sneaking out at night. Apparently, anywhere outside of Keep Estrelle was wrought with danger. Luckily, a great benefit of the keep being positioned right next to the wall dividing the two rings was there were far too many connecting tunnels to place a guard at each. Of course, with Lyra still barely conscious for an hour each day, making his way here had been laughably easy. Today, he had chosen the passage leading out of the storage room next to Lyra¡¯s. Usually a bold choice, it was simply the most convenient this time. Made it easy for him to go right back to Lyra¡¯s bedside when he was done.


    His stomach made another twist. The fresh air hadn¡¯t done as much good as he was led to believe. She would be all right, this was Lyra after all. That¡¯s what I thought about Father too. His sketchbook rested in his curled fingers, weighing more than usual. For the first time since Father¡¯s death, with the stars mocking him from clear skies, he didn¡¯t have the heart to reach for his pen. He craned his head up, until the back of his head rested firmly between his shoulders. They were so magnificent, so large they threatened to dwarf everything else in insignificance. Yet, they couldn¡¯t give him a single answer, hint, or damned clue about what to do. He grit his teeth and shoved down a scream that would make the unruliest of toddlers proud.


    The blackened crops around him, Lyra bedridden, and the looming expedition were all collapsing upon him and his dearest friends offered no help. Fain let his neck down, quickly scanning the acres of wizened stalks around him. Even now, late in the night, he could see a man leading a turren painstakingly down the field. The poor creature was emaciated, trudging slowly as it pulled the plow down a line of crops. Its three eyes, usually unerring, were only a dull red, no pupils in sight. The beast of burden looked forward in an expression that almost seemed hopeless. It was an apt mirror of the beast master¡¯s demeanor. Behind the cleared land, two Blooms had their hands dug deep in the ground, everything from the elbow down obscured. Fain couldn¡¯t make out their expressions, but that they were out here spoke volumes.


    An emotion swelled in his chest; one he didn¡¯t run into much these days-pride. His people still worked for a solution. In Molanter¡¯s darkest hour, the common folk were actually pouring their lives into the dirt to help. It wasn¡¯t the riots that Sacriel and the lords feared. It wasn¡¯t even the ignorance or indifference that a nagging part of Fain expected. Instead, these people slumped, worn, and starving showed strength- and belief in brighter days. He couldn¡¯t wander here, cursing the stars, bemoaning the situation. He owed these people more; he owed them a better lord than himself. The best he could do now was try to become that person. Thankfully, he had their, and Lyra¡¯s, support to help him get there.


    Pride still swelling, lifting his shoulders taught and head straight, Fain swept aside the decrepit stalks in his path and marched towards the wall to his back. Keep Estrelle-no, his keep- loomed over the wall, almost a full level taller than the wall. His bag felt lighter, each step easier was easier to take than the last. Thoughts racing, Fain barely noticed that he was sprinting by the time he reached the wall. Running his fingers along the fifth row of bricks, Fain moved along the edge until he felt a soft indentation. Out of habit, he traced the marking, his fingers drawing a faint outline of a grossly oversimplified star. The motion was natural to him, one he thoughtlessly etched on doors, parchment, and, long ago, this brick.


    However, this brick was of little importance. He bent down to the second row of bricks under the engraved one and gave it a tentative shove. It smoothly gave way, sliding past a flap hidden behind it and landing with a loud thunk. He pulled the one to right out, quieting the child in him, begging him to flee before the whole wall collapsed. It didn¡¯t, another testament to weedsprout sap. He repeated this with the two beneath, leaving a gap revealing a pale yellow flap in his wake.


    Fain couldn¡¯t stop his face from scrunching into a grimace. This was the messy part. He dropped prone to the ground, soil taking up new residence on his white cloth garb. Why did I pick these clothes? He began crawling, elbow after elbow through the flap. After his body had made it all the way through, he reached his hand out blindly past the flap, reaching for the bricks he had left behind. There has to be a better sequence for this. A few moments of blind grasping had passed and he finally managed to secure all four treasures. Slowly placing them in their rightful spots, all evidence of his secret erased, Fain stood and braced his hand against the right wall. He looked forward, if what he did could be counted as looking. The inside of the wall was pitch-black, allowing not even shadows to enter.


    Hand still flat against the wall, Fain began moving blindly down the passage. The rough sensation of the stone disappeared from his presence at one point, but he faithfully carried on until it returned. This happened four more times, but Fain was undeterred. He knew this path inside and out, he didn¡¯t even need to carry around a glowstone anymore. The next time the stone¡¯s touch disappeared, Fain turned right, part of brain still concerned about walking face first into a wall. After that was another right, and then a long walk leading to a dead end. Faint light leaked out from the wall of the dead end, encouraging Fain to quicken his pace towards it. He let out an exhaling, silencing the part of him worried about getting lost.


    Just as he had done when he entered the wall, he pushed out a lower brick and made a small crawlspace. There was no flap after this one though, instead it just led into a slightly less imposing darkness. The faint light in this room was almost blinding after walking the walls. Dimly lit boxes rested, collecting dust from years of abandon. It was an interesting twist of fate that they had placed his father¡¯s personal effects in the storage room with a passage. Fain almost reached to open one and reminisce, but there was a time and place for that. Stepping towards the flap, Fain reached out to move it aside.


    ¡°Back so soon? I expected to wait here another hour. Pi-¡°If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Fain whirled around, a scream for help clawing its way out of his throat. His fingers twitched, looking for something to throw at the voice- nothing of use. Instead he turned again, and burst through the flap into hallway. He landed on his knees, toppling over from the off balance sprint. Lyra was next door! He had to find some guards.


    A figure calmly exited the flap behind him. Fain scooted backwards, eventually hit the wall. Then he spotted the dull red hair. He jumped up and leapt at the figure, feeling relieved in more ways than one.


    ¡°Lyra!¡± She hugged him back, radiating familiar warmth. After taking a moment to remind his heart there was no danger, he spoke again, trying his best to sound irked. ¡°Why would you do that?! Almost scared me into Decay¡¯s arms!¡±


    Her mouth quirked in amusement. ¡°Figured it would be a better lesson than simply telling you to stop sneaking out.¡±


    Fain let go, still unable to find the air of annoyance he wanted to give her. He felt too relieved, some of the weight on his shoulders lifting.


    ¡°How are you feeling? Need anything?¡±


    Lyra reached her hand up on top her head and pulled her neck to one side until there was a faint pop, followed by a groan of relief. She repeated this for the other side.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired, and very stiff. I could use a walk.¡±


    He gestured down the hall. ¡°Kitchen? I could get you some firespice tea.¡±


    She arched an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re going to make it?¡±


    He flushed, a little embarrassed at his wording.


    ¡°I meant I would ask a servant to make some.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a good suggestion. Don¡¯t wake the house staff at my expense though. I can make it just fine.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re not up to it, I could do it myself. How hard could it be? You put the spice in hot water, right?¡±


    She smiled and gave a weak laugh. ¡°A nice gesture, my lord. But I¡¯d prefer not to be poisoned so soon after my recovery.¡±


    It would¡¯ve sounded dismissive coming from most, but from Lyra¡¯s lips it was refreshing. Clearly, her prowess at mockery was unharmed. A grin split his face as he fell into stride next to her, walking slowly towards the kitchen. For the first time all week, things felt right, if only for the moment.


    Fain watched as Lyra sipped the steaming mixture from an ornate ceramic cup. It made sense that Wicks loved the drink. The stuff was foul, worse even than liquor. The one time he had tried the brew, it burned in his stomach, making him feel as if something was very wrong. The feeling faded after a few minutes, but it was enough to deter Fain from touching the stuff again.


    A strange silence had filled the space between the two. It was the kind found between close friends who hadn¡¯t seen each other in a long time; the bonds were there, but something felt off. Lyra set the cup down and it twanged hollowly against the stone.


    ¡°I take it you have a question?¡±


    ¡°More like a few dozen.¡±


    She gave an uneasy chuckle at that. ¡°Ask and I¡¯ll try my best to answer.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Sacriel betrayed us.¡±


    Fain arched an eyebrow, fighting back his own smirk. ¡°This is your best? I¡¯m thoroughly disappointed.¡±


    Lyra rolled her eyes, a more petulant gesture than she usually gave. ¡°You know I¡¯m a Wick. What¡¯s the actual question here?¡±


    ¡°I knew you were a Wick, not Lady Heat herself! You exploded, Lyra. I¡¯ve never even heard of a Wick doing something like that.¡±


    ¡°Is that really how you would talk to Lady Heat? Seems unwise.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t avoid the question.¡±


    She sighed, slumping over in a very un-Lyra fashion. ¡°What do you remember about what Wicks are?¡±


    Dammit. Fain had not been expected a test. ¡°Uh, they are tuned to Heat.¡±


    Lyra rolled her again, apparently waking up from a week long slumber did not leave her in a good mood. ¡°Anything else?¡±


    ¡°They, uh, absorb heat?¡±


    She scowled. ¡°It appears you remember absolutely nothing about when we discussed Tuned.¡±


    Fain set his jaw, making sure not to shrink back. She wasn¡¯t going to shame him into giving this up. ¡°Enough Lyra. Just tell me.¡±


    Surprisingly, she actually smirked a bit at that response, like he had passed some sort of test after all. ¡°Fine. You win.¡± She paused, a contemplative look crossing her face. ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much, that¡¯s a common misunderstanding. To start, rub your hands together.¡±


    Fain eyed her, skeptically. ¡°More questions? I thought we were past this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting there. Do it.¡±


    Fain felt foolish as he put palm against palm and rubbed furiously.


    ¡°What do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Warmth. What¡¯s the point?¡±


    ¡°That is. Movement becomes heat, and vice versa. Everyone has some amount of it they use to live. Wicks can just hold more than normal. It¡¯s why we¡¯re warmer, faster, and quicker.¡±


    ¡°What about making fires?¡±


    ¡°We let some of our excess heat into the environment. It¡¯s not absorbing heat, it¡¯s the opposite. In fact, absorbing heat is actually how Chills express their-¡±


    Fain nodded his head, cutting off the tangent. ¡°Ok, fine that makes sense. What about the explosion? Wicks make small fires, not infernos.¡±


    Lyra furrowed her face, struggling to find the words. ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain. Think of it the ability like a muscle. As Wicks age and train, their ability to hold heat improves. What you call ¡®the explosion¡¯ is known as the Ignition. You take all the heat you¡¯re holding and¡­¡± She gestured helplessly, uncharacteristically at a loss for how to explain something. ¡°squeeze it?¡±


    Fain couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°What?¡±


    She flushed, clearly flustered. It was a night filled with uncharacteristic reactions from Lyra. ¡°Don¡¯t laugh. If you were a Wick you would know what I mean. Extra heat builds here.¡± She pointed right between her ribs. ¡°When I Ignite, I force that heat tighter and tighter and just¡­let it all out.¡±


    Fain could see she was trying her best to explain it and decided to ease off the topic. It would surely be frustrating to Lyra to be unable to explain this. He wouldn¡¯t to worsen her mood further.


    ¡°Ok, I get it¡­sort of. How did you learn that? Can you teach it to other Wicks?¡±


    ¡°I learned a while back, before I came to Molanter. And I could teach it¡­given a decade or so of instruction.¡±


    Fain deflated, slinking into the hard stone bench. There went his hopes of bring a handful of Lyra¡¯s on the expedition. It would¡¯ve made the journey much less daunting. ¡°I guess it can¡¯t be that easy.¡±


    She looked at him, noticing the idea die in his mind. Her expression softened, melted by pity. ¡°Unfortunately not.¡±


    ¡°How long until you can Ignite again? Will you be ready by the time we leave to get what we need for Evergrowth.¡±


    Lyra ran her fingers through her hair, looking ruefully. ¡°Ignite like I did back then? Maybe a half dozen years. However, I¡¯ll be back to myself in a week or so as I build heat.¡±


    Fain nodded. Even if they weren¡¯t the answers he wanted, it was nice to have them. It helped chip away at the confusion that plagued everything he did. ¡°I don¡¯t want to rush you before you¡¯re ready. It¡¯s just-¡°. His voice broke, not wanting to speak these words into existence. It would make it even more real. ¡°The fields are all decayed. I just don¡¯t know how much longer we have.¡±

 Chapter 10: Peering Through

    Veins bulged, drawing tracks across the man¡¯s face, as he shouted, flecks of spit flying from his mouth.


    ¡°Valant! You can¡¯t just let this-this demon live here. Get rid of it! We have families to look after!¡±


    Assent moved through the other faces in the crowd, hesitant at first, but gaining momentum with each nodded head.


    ¡°He¡¯s right!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s gone too far!¡±


    The smoldering flames cut through night¡¯s gloom, casting terrifying shadows over each member of the crowd. The formerly two-story building was now just a stone covered floor with charred and molten lengths of wood scattered about. In front of it, Valant stood, dark stubble added a grim look to his already serious face. Lyra had found his broad build intimidating before, but now he stood between her and the crowd, the last line of defense. She had hated the man, even after he had taken her in, but now all she wanted to do was run and cling to him, playing the part of the scared little girl she was. She couldn¡¯t though, for fear of burning him away like anyone else who tried to help her. So, as the crowds unease swelled, she clutched at her elbows and brought her head down-withdrawing into herself as much as she could.


    The few flames that had spread past the house were stopped in their tracks by the Stillwoods, the giant trees proving far more resilient than the wooden planks. The woods stretched out around the small village in every direction. Sometimes, Lyra wondered if she was better off living deep within, alone, where she couldn¡¯t hurt anyone. She shuddered; thinking of her parents-it was too late for that.


    She was torn from the respite of her thoughts as a sharp pain struck her brow. Her hands shot up trying to hold the pain inside, and she felt a strange warmth. Lyra stared down, dumbfounded, at her hands, covered in streaks of bloods. Children had woken and gravitated to the scene, like Chits to a corpse. Valant shoved Lyra squarely behind him as he berated the offending child, who guilty held a fistful of assorted pebbles and stones behind his back.


    A gruff woman interceded. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare yell at him! Even the children can see what a monster she is.¡±


    The growing army of children liked that. They chimed in, tinkling shouts of ¡°Monster!¡± weaving into the crowds outrage, as parents made half-hearted efforts to shoo the children back to their homes. Hatred and self-loathing waged a vicious war within Lyra-hatred winning out in the end. She could feel it, mixing with rage, surging in her belly, coursing through her veins, pounding behind her eyes. I don¡¯t want this! Why can¡¯t they just understand that?! She wanted to go back to before her parents took her to find roots-before the massive Scaler roared down on them-before they found her crying amongst three charred corpses. Everything good in her life inevitably burned away to ash, but all these people could do was stand and curse her. Why did good things burn, while the bad stayed? Maybe it was time that chan-


    Valant grabbed her hand, pulling her from behind him to his side, her thoughts interrupted for the second time. His eyes were narrowed, flicking from face to face, looking for signs of eminent aggression. None came, thought the disgusted looks cut much deeper than the stone had. Even so, Valant looked nervous, sweat beading above his brow, hand creeping towards the baton at his belt. The other hand gripped hers tight, his face trying to mask occasional winces of pain from the heat.


    She tried to yank her hand free, but he held firm. It was typical, even when she meant no harm, she found herself in positions where all she did was create pain. Why wouldn¡¯t he just let go? She didn¡¯t want to hurt him. She didn¡¯t want to hurt anyone! Overwhelmed, she sank to her knees, self-loathing returning for a chance at vengeance. This time, it won handedly. Valant tried to help Lyra keep her feet, but she just didn¡¯t care anymore. She was exhausted and bloodied. Valant gave up his efforts, letting go of her hand before he tore her arm off. Lyra didn¡¯t know what to do -she never had. Her hatred bled from her as the self-loathing claimed his spoils. She put her hands to her face, trying to block everything out as pathetic sobs wracked her body. There was nothing else to do, maybe it was for the best if this was how it ended.


    Valant¡¯s warm, pitying look froze to ice as he eyed the crowd once more, staring at each member pointedly, as if some grand point had been made. Maybe it had. ¡°Look! She¡¯s just-she¡¯s just a kid. You call her a monster, but stand here yelling for the head of a weeping child!¡± The words cut through the unrest, serving as icy water to jolt the crowd from their haze.


    Some members of the crowd turned away or looked down, shame streaking their expressions. Like the vitriol from before, this spread like a sickness. Just as had happened with Lyra, the hatred leaked out of the crowd, returning to whatever dark corner it lived in. Just as quickly as it had violently burst into flames, the situation quietly dissipated into smoke. Valant took his chance and drove the point further, the final hammer on a tent stake.


    ¡°Go home! No one is in their right minds. It¡¯s been a long night.¡±


    The crowd took the rope Valant had thrown down, and climbed out of the chasm, some of the rowdier members muttering as they walked away. No one looked happy, but it was enough for now. Soon all that remained were the smoldering home, Valant standing grimly, and Lyra, still kneeled over weeping. He squatted down until he was eye level with her, which seemed quite uncomfortable for the tall man. He tried placing a comforting hand on Lyra¡¯s shoulder, but she jerked away as soon as she felt his heat. Her outright bawling had subsided to choked sobs, rudely punctuated by grasping breaths.


    ¡°Lyra. Please look up. I just want to see if your cut is ok.¡±


    She petulantly shook her head, hands still covering her face. ¡°No.¡± Why couldn¡¯t he just leave her alone?


    ¡°Lyra.¡± The firm intonation reminded Lyra of her own father. It was the quiet before the storm. Begrudgingly, she looked up, face smeared in blood, tears, and mucus. She could only imagine the ghastly image she must be presenting. Valant reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a plain white cloth. It looked worn and rough, obviously having been used and washed many times before. As his hand reached for her again, she flinched back- an odd reaction to the man she was clinging to just a few moments before. She didn¡¯t know why she jolted away. Part of it was because she didn¡¯t want to hurt him. However, perhaps a large part was that she didn¡¯t understand why the near-stranger kept helping her after the first fire.


    Valant sighed, the breath a unique mix of frustration and sympathy. He held his arm straight out and made no further move, proffering the cloth to her. Like a frightened cat she pounced quickly, grabbing it and retreating back away. She wiped at her face, not knowing where to start.


    Valant spoke slowly, saying each word in a hushed tone. ¡°Lyra. It¡¯s going to be all right. They won¡¯t hurt you.¡± She looked up, frustrated that he couldn¡¯t see why that wasn¡¯t the problem. Lyra almost broke right there, needing someone to finally hear the terror and anger broiling inside. She stopped, mouth open. That was when things always got worse. She wouldn¡¯t make that mistake again-not if she could help it.


    Valant continued, undeterred by her silence. ¡°You can¡¯t stay here. You shouldn¡¯t have been alone here in the first place. Come with me. We can go see Marianne and Quil.¡±


    The last sentence broke through. Lyra liked Marianne and Quil, perhaps more so than anyone else in the whole world now that her parents were gone. Marianne always gave her food, and Quil, despite being a kid just like her, seemed to understand. Carefully, she nodded, and tried to push herself back to her feet. She almost did, but her left leg gave out just as it was almost straight. Lyra fell to the ground with a yelp, looking annoyed with herself. She began to start upwards again, when a hand stretched out in front of her. She relented, someday this man would lose his hand to hungry Chit, with the way he seemed to offer it out constantly.


    ===========================================================================================


    Lyra gazed through the cloudy glass with unwavering focus. She pressed her hand against it with ever-increasing tension, to the point she worried her hand might break through. Seeing Fain and his guard try to weave through the half dozen people gathered outside the keep¡¯s gate had stirred uncomfortable memories for Lyra. I¡¯ve moved past this. But the thought didn¡¯t stop her from feeling like the out-of-control little girl. The fatigue throbbing with each waking moment didn¡¯t help.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She hadn¡¯t lied to Fain, but still cringed guiltily, even alone, as she thought of the conversation. Lyra had intentionally omitted that each Ignition was not created equally- for starters, most didn¡¯t nearly kill the Wick. Her outburst in the cold, metallic vault was no controlled Ignition, but rather a violent outburst- a quick expulsion of all the heat she had held for half a decade. She ought to have better control of herself by now. The effects of the Ignition still lingered, her blood crawling along like it was weedsap. Any breeze sent a chill straight through her. Her movements were slow and painstaking. Fain had brought some of the Blooms in to take a look at her, but they didn¡¯t quite understand a Wick¡¯s unique physiology. The consequences also stretched further than the physical, her mind feeling just as slowed as her body. Even her mood had soured, at least according to Fain.


    He¡¯s probably right, she thought, recalling her bitterness when he had insisted on visiting the other lords without her. ¡°Rest, Lyra. Please¡±, the boy had begged. In the end, her protests and concerns for his safety had been brushed off in light of her condition. It was one of many blows to her gradually acquired feelings of control. She always worked so hard to veer her life on the intended path. Every time she did, a boulder blocked her way- Quil¡¯s death, her last argument with Tan, and now this. She wanted to blame Sacriel, or maybe Fain, but she knew better. The thought crashed down on her, physically pushing her to sit on the bed. It was her fault. She knew better than to let Fain seek out Sacriel. She knew better than to descend into that cavern. She knew better than to lose control¡­again.


    The scene outside continued to unfold, Lyra watching like a hungry Beak eyeing a Chit. ¡°All you lords look at us like turren!¡±, a man shouted outside, walking menacingly towards Fain. She wanted to leap through the window and rush to his defense, but she couldn¡¯t find the heat to even get up from the bed. It was too reminiscent of the second time she had lost control. The unwanted memory bubbled to the top, like boiling water. Then Lyra saw the boy shoo his guards away, turning to tell the men to drop their poles. Several members of the crowd looked perplexed, the yelling man¡¯s rage giving way to scrunched confusion. Lyra couldn¡¯t help but to smile as she saw Fain handle it. He looked so earnest, so pained by the crowd¡¯s anger, not a hint of hate in his face. His arms waved around as he plead with the crowd, trying to explain the situation to them. Pride kept the corners of Lyra¡¯s mouth pulled taut. Fain¡¯s situation reminded her vividly of her own, but the boy-the young man- stood in stark difference to her. Whatever kindness and calm she had worked decades to build, Fain possessed naturally. He turned to his guards, motioning inside the keep. The men quickly scurried away.


    While he waited, Fain, eyes wide, continued to talk with several members of the group. He was sweating from a combination of the heat and his own frantic conversation. Lyra had to suppress a laugh at that- a lord who was better at talking, and connecting with, the commoners than other lords. It was a ludicrous thought considering how other lords ranged from disinterested to outright cruel when it came to the common people. Of course, Fain had Cataran to thank for his disposition. The boy was an exact reflection of his father, though he himself couldn¡¯t see that. They were both good lords. So good that Lyra had thought meeting them would change Tan¡¯s outlook, but that moment never came to pass- root pulled before a sprout could show.


    A few more moments passed. Lyra spent most of them just trying to focus on anything except the constant aching. Her attention was drawn to the guards, rushing back with baskets in each hand. They placed the baskets at Fain¡¯s feet and he immediately went to pull out the soft yellow balls of Oompat. The balls of grain weren¡¯t the most appetizing meal on their own, but they absorbed flavors well and was an inclusion in pretty much every meal. As Fain handed them out his brow was furrowed, and he seemed to be mumbling some words to each person. The poor boy was probably apologizing as he handed out precious rations.


    While the gesture was nice, Lyra wondered if it was the wisest course. It wouldn¡¯t make a dent in the starvation festering the city and might attract more crowds outside the keep. Future ones may not be as easy to please like this. Lyra sighed, and pushed herself, slowly, to her feet. She roughly shook her head, trying to beat those thoughts out.


    Her ruminations were broken by a tight tugging in her belly. The sight of food had roused something in her-hunger.


    ¡°Marcey!¡± she called.


    A short, stammering man ran in room with surprising quickness. ¡°Yes,¡± he said, stammering, ¡°Is there anything you need, my lady.¡±


    ¡°I told you before. I¡¯m not a lady. Stop calling me that,¡± she snapped.


    ¡°Of course, mistress. As you say,¡± he said, bowing his head in deference. ¡°What did you need?¡±


    Lyra¡¯s annoyance subverted to guilt, as it often did. ¡°Sorry, Marcey. I need some help getting to the kitchen. Not feeling too hot right now.¡± She chuckled at her own joke, though Marcey didn¡¯t join. Instead, he hooked his arm under hers, offering a steadying presence. Lyra didn¡¯t miss the distance the man kept- as much as was possible in their current position. It seemed like the entire household had heard of her abilities. Wonderful.


    They arrived in blissful silence. Marcey didn¡¯t feel the need to make conversation and Lyra¡¯s appreciation for the man grew a fraction for that. She edged along the stone table, reaching for the firespice to make some tea. Then, seeing a blur in the corner of her eye, she withdraw her grasping hand. Unep¡¯s worn face scowled down at her. The cook towered over even Lyra, a feat that not many, man or woman, could claim.


    ¡°Sit. I will cook. My holy,¡± his deep voice intoned.


    ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself. I¡¯ve got it.¡± She reached a hand out again and was quickly forced into another tactical retreat.


    ¡°Sit. My temple.¡±


    ¡°Well really, it¡¯s Fain¡¯s temple,¡± she argued, putting a doubtful emphasis on the ¡®temple¡¯, ¡°As his aid, I superce-¡°


    ¡°Sit,¡± he said, growing more forceful with each iteration.


    Lyra harrumphed as Marcey carefully eased her towards the seats. The old cook had come to Fain¡¯s father from another of the cities, far beyond the one or two Molanter even briefly communicated with. His people apparently worshipped food as their gods, paying no heed to the Ancients. In her travels, Lyra had seen a handful of differing beliefs, but none so straightforward as this. Ancients, her own home had worshipped the Stillwoods over all else. They had still acknowledged the Ancients, Eaph in particular, but it was always a secondary mention. But food? Why would one eat their own god? The logic of the religion didn¡¯t make much sense to her, but his devotion showed each time Lyra reverently saw him whispering to meals or cleaning the kitchen. She kept her mouth shut. The man deserved the right to believe as he wished.


    After eternal minutes, Unep brought a steaming dish and a small glass of amber liquid to her. He was beaming as he did and whispered something indecipherable as he set the plate down. Lyra found herself starting down some of the same Oompat that Fain had called for. The difference was that hers was cooked to a faint yellow, and covered artfully in hot brown gravy. Lyra almost laughed in delight as she saw the gravy flecked with bright green and red spots. Peppers! Ancients bless you, Unep. As she picked up the ball of grain and bit, another warm gush of gravy erupted from within. Lyra, student of all and teacher of many, was absolutely perplexed. How did the man make a dish clearly intended for her in a few minutes? She hadn¡¯t eaten a fresh meal from Unep in at least a year now, preferring to eat whatever was left over from the day¡¯s meal. Even when she had eaten with the rest of the house, her meals had never looked like this.


    Unep looked at her eat smugly, radiating satisfaction. ¡°Is good?¡±


    Lyra¡¯s immediate reaction to his manner and tone was to deny it. She chided herself for the petty thought and responded back, ¡°Very. Thank you,¡±. Apparently the man had heard about her recent state and taken pity on her. She and Unep had butted heads in the past, and a few minutes ago, but the man had always been loyal. As touchy and strange as he was about cooking, he took pride in helping to support the keep.


    Lyra finished the meal, and drank her tea in one swallow. The warmth from both spread throughout, and though it didn¡¯t do much for her actual heat, it energized Lyra. She rose, a bit more quickly, to her feet and walked the dishes over the wash station. Marcey moved to come help, but she waved him off. She put them away unassisted and looked towards Unep, wide smile still plastered to the man¡¯s face. His smile, seemingly smug before, looked kind to Lyra. In fact, Lyra couldn¡¯t see how she thought it smug before. She forced a smile of her own back, and said, ¡°Thank you again. It really was good.¡±


    ¡°You come more? Been long time you eat fresh. I send some more for you tonight.¡± Unep¡¯s smile was wide and toothy now, threatening to split his face in two.


    ¡°That would be wonderful, Unep. I¡¯ll come back for fresh food sometime.¡± To her surprise she meant it. Lyra didn¡¯t really think about how she had stopped eating with the keep, but the nights eating alone in her study had become a habit. That would change.


    She started to move towards an exit. Some fresh air and sunlight would be pleasant after the meal. Effortlessly navigating around the keep, Lyra passed through a double flap leading to a stone walkway. Sunlight crashed down on her and the arid air swirled around her in embrace. Lyra could actually feel the heat around her. It was hard to explain but air with heat actually moved quicker. She took it in with deep breath, and exhaled slowly. It wouldn¡¯t do much for her own heat, but it was a soothing feeling. Wicks didn¡¯t really soak in much heat from the environment. Most of the time, they ran hotter than the air.


    Still, Lyra sat and lay back, taking in what she could, enjoying what she couldn¡¯t. The events of the old memory that had surfaced, but the pain had burrowed back. It always did, waiting to strike out when she was vulnerable. Little did it know, it could never stop her. Each time it clawed out was accompanied by memories of Valant that day. Memories with Quil followed suit. Then memories with Tan. There had been some struggles in each of those, but the good far outweighed the bad. Even with Tan. She could fix that. She had fixed mistakes before. After all, she was Lyra Wildfire, student of all, teacher of many. She learned from her mistakes, and overcome them. She took lessons and helped others with them. Right now, she would use all she was and knew to see Fain through this. Then she could fix her mistakes with Tan. Actually, right now, she would use all she knew to lay catatonic in the sunlight. After that, she could start on the rest.

 Chapter 11: Turmoil

    The punch connected solidly with her ribs, actually managing to push Mira back a few steps. A few of the people leaned in hopefully, whooping cheers for their friend. Mira grunted and stepped up to the punch¡¯s owner-the walking stone known as Monk. She grabbed his retreating arm and twisted her body in a half circle, throwing the massive man almost across the entire tavern. The giant lay sprawled on the ground, struggling to lift his massive frame up.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there,¡± he croaked. ¡°Get her!¡±


    The cheers died, turning to hushed whispers. The motley crew did not look too pleased at the idea of attacking a Bloom, especially after witnessing how Monk fared. Mira didn¡¯t fault them, they had probably been riled up by the boulder¡¯s bragging. As sense reclaimed its hold, Monk¡¯s supposed friends began retreating towards the double flap entrance. Mira shrugged, ¡°Works for me.¡± She didn¡¯t bother to stop them, they wouldn¡¯t try something like this again. Monk, however, needed some more persuasion.


    She glided over to the man, finding him having made his way to the wall. He was leaning on the wall, hand clutching at his side. It was a surprisingly pathetic look from the massive man. Mira was tempted to throw a kick his way- he definitely deserved it. However, cruelty left a worse taste in her mouth than alcohol. Monk wasn¡¯t worth the mark on her conscience. She pushed the thought away with a roll of the shoulders and squatted down to eye level. ¡°So I take it you aren¡¯t going to order anything?¡±


    Fear and anger made an interesting mixture on the man¡¯s face. He seemed to debate the worth of his pride versus his life.


    He wheezed out, ¡°Think you broke my ribs.¡± Defiance crossed his face. ¡°Witch.¡±


    Mira rolled her eyes, obviously and clearly to let Monk know the insult didn¡¯t bother her. People loved their colorful descriptions for Tuned- witch, cursed, demon, and so on. She had heard them all. Sometimes from her own father, until they had made their peace. It used to bother her, cutting deep each time. Only Tan, and his mother, treated her like an actual person-instead of like an unchained Sniffer. Tan¡¯s mom, especially, had always made it a point to remind her that her abilities only meant what she wanted them to. Hearing that from another Tuned, especially one like her, had held Mira through a lot.


    She looked over Monk, still wheezing haggardly, and sighed. It wasn¡¯t worth it. Pulling him to his feet, she said, ¡°Don¡¯t forgot you¡¯re the one who stomped in here screaming for blood.¡±


    He coughed and winced. ¡°That Chit, Tan. I have no business with you, woman.¡±


    ¡°You came in here screaming some idiocy about challenging my friend to a Rit. What did you expect? A finger in his direction and a pat on the back?¡±


    The question proved too complex for the brick. He just glowered at her. ¡°It¡¯s my right. I can challenge anyone. ¡®Specially heretics like him.¡±


    Mira shifted suddenly, and shoved Monk to the wall. Given the man¡¯s penchant for not wearing anything from the waste up, the act was more difficult than it needed to be. Mira would¡¯ve preferred a vest or tunic to hold. In absence of those, she settled on pushing a hand on the man¡¯s sternum. The man squirmed and kicked like a wrestling child. Mira tried her best to ignore it, but then a dull blow caught her calf. Annoyance flashed on her face.


    ¡°Stop squirming. I just want to talk.¡±


    The man must¡¯ve heard the fraying patience in her voice, as his kicking subsided.


    She leaned close, voice a low growl. ¡°It is your right to abuse our faith and kill Tan.¡± She paused, trying to turn her tone from feral to stern. ¡°If you do, then you¡¯ll have another Rit to fight-with me. We¡¯ll see how quick you are to a death fight then. Understand?¡±


    Once again, the battle between fear and pride was clear on Monk¡¯s face. ¡°Dun¡¯ be so confident witch. You¡¯re lucky I didn¡¯t bring my pole.¡±


    Mira sighed. Must the man insist on posturing even now. Flipping her scowl into a sickly sweet smile, she leaned in and pulled a stone baton from her belt. Monk shrunk back in terror, he clearly didn¡¯t expect this. Then, flipping her palm up, Mira held the baton out to Monk. ¡°Wanna bet?¡±


    Monk reached out hesitantly. It wasn¡¯t a bluff, but all the same Mira found herself hoping he wouldn¡¯t ruin a baton to test something he knew. Blessedly, some semblance of sense had finally creeped into that thick rock he called a head. Monk withdrew his fingers, and began shuffling out. It seemed there was something wrong with the man¡¯s right ankle. Not my problem.


    ¡°Fine. Just ¡®member you won¡¯t always be here.¡± He scanned his eyes over the empty tavern and chuckled at a joke only he heard. ¡°Seems like that¡¯ll be sooner rather than later.¡± It was with that the man limped out, smiling like he had won a crushing defeat.


    Mira crashed down on a stool and rested her elbow on the table. Hopefully, that would keep the fool off Tan¡¯s back. She prayed it would, as her threat was also no bluff. Mira really hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to that, and not just because it would likely mean Tan was hurt. She hated Rits. Even their original use seemed questionable to her. There was a reason the lords in the Inner Ring had done away with the practice generations ago.


    Mira cursed herself when Tan walked into the tavern a few hours later, surprisingly early. Mira had procrastinated cleaning up the tavern, expecting Tan to stroll in only a couple minutes before the guests did. Apparently, Mira¡¯s scolding had made Tan feel guiltier than she intended. A few days after Gerald¡¯s death, he had come in, looking only slightly less worn, and offered to start working at night to help pay off his tab. It was a sweet offer, though completely useless. Hands, wasn¡¯t what she was lacking. Customers and ale on the other hand, would¡¯ve been nice. Still, Mira missed spending time with her friend, and working at the tavern stopped him from drinking all her ale-which did end up saving her some money.


    ¡°What happened here?¡±


    ¡°Some fools came in and got a bit too drunk.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Tan surveyed the mess. ¡°Still, new guests is good right?¡±


    ¡°Somehow, I doubt they¡¯ll come back.¡±


    Tan laughed. ¡°Scared ¡®em off, Mir¡¯?¡±


    Mira masked her unease with a laugh of her own. She didn¡¯t like lying to Tan, but there was no use in bothering him with Monk¡¯s idiocy. Quickly, she tried to veer him off the path. ¡°You¡¯re here early.¡±


    Tan shrugged. ¡°Trashing hasn¡¯t been so good lately. I heard Chits and pretty much ran out.¡±


    ¡°Anything good?¡±


    ¡°Found some bits of metal. Pretty useless, but I think there¡¯s a lord buying metal for a slice every stone. Almost have enough.¡±


    Mira found it ridiculous that metal sold for such a measly price. Metal weapons were prized by keeps for their ability to harm Tuned. However, forges were far and few between, so only some lords even bothered to buy metal. She stood and replied, ¡°Better than nothing. Going back tomorrow?¡±


    Tan looked away, looking a little embarrassed. ¡°Actually, I wanted to ask you something about that.¡±


    Mira quirked an eyebrow, a welcoming half-smile on her face. ¡°Out with it.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s hard to go too deep without Chits all over me. I was wondering if you could take a day to come down with me.¡±


    Mira groaned. Tan had brought her to the caverns once before. She enjoyed being underground, there was a connectedness she felt there, but it was not worth the disgusting slime. She had thrown away the shift and pants from last time, finding them unsalvageable. It always amazed her that Tan wore the same leather vest to the caverns each time. The thing reeked, to the point where she had banned it from her tavern.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Tan. We¡¯ve talked about this.¡± It made sense he would ask her. Animals seemed to avoid hunting Tuned, especially Blooms, if possible. Even plants only or trees only hunted them if pressed. There was even an old story about a crazy Bloom living in the caverns with Chits as his only friends. It did not do much for their already-tarnished reputation.  The request was more troublesome than dangerous for Mira, but she still hesitated. This was not how she wanted to spend a day with poverty clawing past her flap.


    ¡°Please! It¡¯s trashed out in the areas I¡¯ve been. I¡¯m sure we can find some amazing stuff deeper.¡±


    Her smile soured to a pout. ¡°You know people pay a lot for Tuned escorts.¡±


    Even when asking for a favor, Tan couldn¡¯t resist. Mira regretted the quip as soon as she said it, knowing the direction his response would take.


    ¡°I know things are rotted, but you don¡¯t need to think about escorting yet.¡±


    Mira could feel the blood rush to her face, her amber skin turning clay-like in color. She groaned and threw the nearest object- a stool, in this case- at him. He, at least, had the care to catch the stool, bending low with the weight. He set the stone seat down gently, straining noticeably. After which, he proceeded to promptly collapse over the thing and laugh maniacally, probably thinking he was the wittiest man in the world. Mira rolled her eyes- the joke wasn¡¯t even that funny.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡± She muttered, giving him her best death glare. ¡°Fool.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± he replied cheerfully. ¡°But seriously, Mir. I need your help.¡±


    Mira appraised the man, piercing his muddy violet eyes with her own emerald gaze. The laugh from before lingered, etching an echo on his lips. He still looked like the resident of a trash heap with his prickly, unkempt stubble and his stained cloth shirt. But he looked the part of a happy resident. The constant tension had eased, and his laugh had weight behind it. Tan was more affected than most by Gerald¡¯s death, almost wanting to carry the blame on himself, but he was distracted from his grief more easily each day. Sometimes, the visage slipped back into that of raw hurt and pain, but those wounds would heal. Mira could take solace in this. If he wanted to distract himself into trashing, she would help him do it.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she groaned reluctantly. ¡°But you owe me.¡±


    ¡°Two thirds of what we find is yours.¡±


    She leaned back and whistled. ¡°I would¡¯ve taken half. Still would if that suits you better.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it Mir. I¡¯d prolly waste whatever I earn on your ale anyway.¡±


    She let out a singular laugh in acknowledgement-he wasn¡¯t wrong. Then she pursed her lips, thinking she had forgotten something.


    ¡°Oh!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°And you owe me a new shift, pants, and vest. I¡¯m trashing whatever I wear.¡±


    Tan scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t be a child. You can wash it out. I do.¡±


    Mira eyed him with mock disdain. ¡°No Tan. You try to wash it out. There¡¯s a difference.¡± She folded her arms in front of her chest, looking as stern as she could manage. ¡°Non-negotiable.¡±


    Tan threw up his arms, exasperated. ¡°Fine, have it your way. But you¡¯ll have to take it out of my cut. I¡¯m¡­¡± He paused, trying to find the right words. ¡°¡­avoiding the Tents for a while.¡±


    Mira frowned at that. She wanted to protest, or let him know there wouldn¡¯t be any trouble there. She wondered if he didn¡¯t want to go to the place Gerald had died, or if he was worried about running into unfriendly faces. Maybe it was a bit of both. Mira knew she shouldn¡¯t try to push him so quickly. He needed his own time to heal.


    Her nature urged her to speed growth along- creating life and vibrancy. It didn¡¯t just apply to plants, though most assumed it did. Her instincts screamed to take the man¡¯s hand and lead him to the Tents, forcing him to confront whatever trauma he held. She wanted the old Tan back; like a farmer yearned to see his crops grow tall and hearty. The vestiges of regret and guilt hidden beneath each smile and laugh hurt to look at- a deep ache that spread from her stomach. But, that was her burden, her faults, and she wouldn¡¯t push them onto Tan.


    She had let silence creep across the room for just a bit too long, and Tan begun shifting uneasily. His eyes glanced over each part of the room except for her.


    ¡°Is that all right, Mir?¡±


    Mira¡¯s features softened, like arid ground being watered, and she let out the breath she was holding. ¡°Yeah, Tan. I¡¯ll live.¡± Then, in part to break the awkwardness that had settled, she added, ¡°It¡¯ll wbe a really nice vest though. Maybe one made of turren hide. Ooh! And a nice silk shift. Yeah that¡¯ll work just fine.¡±


    Tan chuckled. ¡°Sure, good like finding that in the Tents.¡±


    Tan fell to his backside with a grunt, his baton¡¯s still clenched in his hand. He snarled and slid back as she leapt at where he was just a moment ago. Perspiration ran down his face in thick streams, the exertion and heat beating on him like hands on a drum. Mira eased up as he clambered to his feet, exhaling in relief that she hadn¡¯t gone too far. She set her stance, legs slightly apart with the knees creased, and hands floating around her hips, ready to rise to attack or defend. Tan had risen a few strides in front of her, frozen in place. Past experience told her that he was looking for an opening.


    Stillness set into them both, as the sun¡¯s rays seemed to cut a swath between the two. Tan was standing firmly in the sunlight, the yellow-red orb shining violently against pale, cloudless skies. It was a day where the sun stood in stark contrast with the rest of the sky, the vivid colors made brighter by the lack of any surrounding features. Mira, thankfully, stood protected under the shadow cast by the tavern. She hoped the shadow would help mask the delight creeping across her face. Sparring was everything that she loved about fighting minus the guilt that came with violence. It let her stretch and flex her abilities. More than that, it was still a thrill to Mira, a novel way to break the daily routine.


    She waited patiently. Tan was at the clear disadvantage here. His tricks and experience wilted in the face of her natural abilities. They used to spar in the past, until Mira got sick of his frustration at that fact. Now, as her blood rushed with intent and her face flushed, she wondered if that was a hasty decision.


    Luckily, Tan had insisted on making sure she wasn¡¯t too rusty for the caverns tomorrow. Mira personally thought he relished the challenge. He was like a Chit on the hunt with these things, chasing them until exhaustion.


    Mira called out, playfully. ¡°You going to stand there until it¡¯s time for opening?¡±


    He gave her a venomous impression of her own death glare and bent down, slyly cupping his hand around the soft soil. He yelled back, hoping to distract her from the motion. ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky!¡±


    Tan charged and swung his hand filled with dirt at her. He had no problem playing a little dirty to win a spar session, and he was emboldened by Mira¡¯s durability-she had learned this the hard way before. She raised a hand protectively over her eyes, waiting for the feeling of the dry soil hitting her hand. Nothing came. She lowered her hand, looking with confusion.


    It was then that a dry cloud hit her face, particles settling in her startled open eyes. Mira recoiled and let out a noise that could only be described as a shriek. ¡°Damn it!¡±


    She couldn¡¯t stop herself from bringing both hands to her face and rubbing at her tearing eyes. Tan didn¡¯t accept this as a sign of defeat and collided with her. The full force of his momentum, concentrated on the point of his shoulder, met her sternum. Mira was pushed back several steps, each one a failing attempt to regain balance. She fell back in a perfect reflection of Tan¡¯s earlier plummet.


    She continued to rub her eyes, rasping greedily for the air Tan had knocked out. Her vision eased back to a watery blur. Tan¡¯s outline eased over to her, strutting more confidently than a noble lady in a new dress. He squatted down with a grin splitting his face. ¡°Guess this one is my win, Mir.¡±


    She grunted in response. Then, on a whim, she grabbed one of his nearby ankles, and pulled-hard. Tan¡¯s feet came out from under him and he landed flat on his back. Laughs interrupted the fool¡¯s wheezing breath. Mira relented and said, ¡°We can call it a draw.¡±


    The coughing response came back, still punctuated by chuckles. ¡°I never said that you couldn¡¯t knock me on my ass. That claim was decidedly one-sided.¡±


    Mira rolled her eyes. The fool had taken her silly boast as a challenge. She rose and offered the still-downed man a hand up. ¡°Whatever, Tan. Have it your way.¡±


    They made their way back inside, Tan practically glowing from his ¡®victory¡¯. She would let him have this, at least until he got too annoying about it. When they stepped inside, Tan was still advocating on the validity of dirt as a combat tool. Mira had the good nature to at least pretend to care. Inside sat Naran and Timbe, waiting expectantly.


    ¡°Took ya long enough. What kind of tavern doesn¡¯t have anyone serving ale?¡±, Timbe said, his jovial face contradicting his words.


    ¡°A closed one.¡±, Mira retorted flatly. ¡°Do you two even read the etching outside?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve come around midday before.¡±, Naran challenged.


    ¡°Clearly you fools have taken my pity as an open invitation.¡± Mira scowled as she went back and began pulling out three cloudy mugs. She looked over each of the men with mock sternness as she began filling them. Her second to last barrel was dangerously empty, but three mugs wouldn¡¯t be the difference. Besides, though she would never admit it aloud, Mira enjoyed the company and consistency they brought.


    Tan stiffened when her false look of severity went to him and then rankled, indignant. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me. I work here.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t want this ale?¡±, Mira teased.


    That was all the invitation Timbe needed. The man¡¯s hands dropped from his own mug and greedily stretched towards Tan¡¯s. Tan rushed to its defense, joining the two at the counter in a heartbeat. He was surprisingly quick when it came to defending his beloved, caressing the mug gallantly, protecting it from Timbe¡¯s wicked reach. Mira half-expected him to begin crooning to the mug, but instead he just brought it to his lips and drank deeply.


    ¡°Hands off!¡±


    Timbe threw up his hands in defeat and settled down with his own mug, as the entire group laughed at the display. Mira went back for some dandelion root, deciding to join the drinking, in a sense. As she came back, she saw the three idiots embroiled in a heated argument on whether an archcat could hunt a Chit. Mira rolled her eyes, and joined with her own response. Sure, they were idiots, but at least these were her idiots.

 Chapter 12: Excavation

    Despite being entirely unfamiliar with the Caverns, Mira boldly strode in front of him. It seems she didn¡¯t learn from her last visit here, as she far too dressed up for the occasion. It wasn¡¯t anything gaudy- a simple shift with an overlaying cloth blouse, and dyed red leather pants. It was a nice, simple ensemble that would inevitably be ruined by the dripping sliming and general surrounding filth. Tan had expected her to come dressed in old tattered clothing, given her prior complaints. Worst of all, she would most definitely find a way to blame him after her fetching ensemble was thoroughly ruined by caverns. Hopefully, whatever they found past the Chit hives would make up for it.


    Mira was surprisingly giddy for someone who was begrudgingly dragged here.


    ¡°Hurry up!¡±, she turned and said, hands resting easily on her hips.


    ¡°Maybe you should slow down. Gotta long trek ahead¡±, he replied.


    Instead of responding, Mira just gave him a rather rude gesture. Tan had grown used to the dichotomy that was Mira. For someone with such a small, sweet exterior, she was as gruff as a Far Coast fisherman. One moment she could be the essence of kindness, and the next she could be literally tossing a rowdy patron out of the tavern. It was what made her so intriguing, and more so it was what made her Mira.


    She ignored his prior request and continued to run ahead. Tan sighed and quickened his pace to try and catch up. It felt wrong to be basically running in the caverns. That was a sure way to attract Chits. Sure enough, as he finally caught up to Mira he could hear the Chits skittering around in the walls. Mira walked confidently, with no fear. Her confidence was born from equal parts arrogance and security. It would take a lot for Chits to attack a Tuned.


    They settled into a comfortable pace, Tan matching each of his footsteps with Mira¡¯s. Mira tried to dodge dripping slime, but as they got deeper the pseudo-rainfall intensified until even she couldn¡¯t manage it. Each time a droplet hit her shoulder, or Ancients forbid, her hair, she scowled in disgust. Tan couldn¡¯t watch it any longer. He stopped and rummaged around the pack on his shoulder, fumbling around for a thin hide blanket. He threw at her back, fully expecting her to turn and catch it as she did.


    Raising an eyebrow in surprise, she said, ¡°What¡¯s this for?¡±


    ¡°Wrap it around your head. Might with the sludge coming down.¡± She gave him a strange look but did as he said. After she was done, she had managed to cover her shoulders and hair. The amount of slime dripping increased steadily as they trudged on. By the time they passed where Tan had found the browning, Tan was completely drenched in the dark purple substance. It didn¡¯t smell as strongly as one would expect, but it had a unique metallic odor to it. Tan had been privy to many debates as to the sludge¡¯s origin, mostly by other trashers a few beers in at the tavern. Theories ranged from some sort of Chit excrement to metal melted by the land itself. Some had tried harvesting the material to see if it cooled into metal, but in the warmer temperatures of above, it dissipated before more fruitful results were found. Tan didn¡¯t care much for the slime¡¯s origin, or why it seemed never-ending. It was just a constant nuisance as long as he¡¯d been trashing, as sure as Chits or cave-ins.


    As the chittering around them grew more intense and loud, Tan had to break the comfortable silence that had fallen between himself and Mira.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± he asked. If Mira felt like anything was amiss he would scrap this terrible plan and call it day.


    ¡°Hungry. Other than I think we¡¯re fine. I¡¯m not feeling anything ¡®off¡¯ about our friends in the walls.¡±


    ¡°I guess I¡¯ll have to take that for now¡±, he said sarcastically, while feeling a tangible relief.


    The silence Tan had broken apparently could not be repaired. Mira turned to him, continuing to walk backwards as she spoke. It displayed a confidence in the caverns that Tan hadn¡¯t developed after years spent scavenging them.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice here. I mean, if you ignore the slime, Chits, and smell.¡±


    ¡°I think those things stopped me from seeing the natural beauty and all.¡±


    Mira hit him playfully. It still hurt like she had thrown a brick at him. She had gotten better at reigning in her strength over the years, but she still seemed to lack a sense of exactly how strong she was. It would definitely be a nice purple bruise tomorrow. Tan took it in stride and shot her a cheeky smile, swallowing the pain as he did.


    ¡°I mean it, Tan! Don¡¯t you feel it?¡±


    He looked at her quizzically. ¡°It?¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± she said, gesturing aimlessly at the surroundings. ¡°It. The¡­completeness of it. It¡¯s¡­¡± She trailed off, unable to find the words. ¡°It¡¯s a lot nicer than I remember it being. It didn¡¯t feel like this last time.¡± She was illuminated by the glowstone she held. The faint light seemed to cast her in a personal glow, matching her exuberant mood. It was a stroke of luck that Mira possessed a few glowstones-perks of owning a tavern. It would be very difficult to venture this deep into the caverns without them.


    Tan was almost certain that what Mira described was a feeling that only other Blooms would share, but he held his tongue. Mira had gone through a lot after finding she was a Bloom. She had a complicated relationship with that label. Instead, he lamely responded, ¡°Maybe I¡¯m so used to it I stopped noticing. It¡¯s just wet and deadly to me.¡±


    She gave him that funny look again. ¡°I know it¡¯s probably a Bloom thing. Thanks for humoring me though.¡± She beamed at him as she turned back around, apparently content.


    Less than a minute had passed before she turned to him again, resuming her eerily comfortable backwards trek. Mira had some days where she chattered her head off to anyone who would listen, and others where all she seemed to want was a nice corner to sip her dandelion tea. Clearly, today was the former.


    ¡°What are you even expecting to find?¡±, she asked with her hands clasped behind her back. Tan couldn¡¯t help but continue to notice how she seemed to sidestep uneven terrain without looking. As far as he knew, that wasn¡¯t something that being a Bloom had gifted her, which made it all the more baffling. He was tempted to run ahead of her just to get her to look where she was walking. His legs already protested at being forced to maintain Mira¡¯s torrid pace, so he shelved that temptation for now.


    ¡°Honestly Mir, I don¡¯t know. But if we can make it past the hives, we can search places no one has been before.¡±


    ¡°Ooo,¡± she said in mock marvel. ¡°Unexplored trash!¡±


    ¡°Go rot. That¡¯s a lot more exciting than it sounds.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you say.¡±


    Hoping to turn the conversation away from his distinct lack of a plan, he asked, ¡°Hear back on getting more ale for the tavern? We¡¯re getting dangerously low.¡± Cracking a smile, he added, ¡°You know my wage is paid in the stuff right.¡±


    Mira¡¯s skipping steps lost some of their vigor at that. His diversion had done its job too well. The words managed to slow her frantic pace to a crawl. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing the curly russet locks back over her head.


    ¡°Um¡­¡±, she started, eyes flitting around at anywhere except him. ¡°I wanted to tell you. I sent a message to Lyra about joining the service of her High Lord.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯ve been making it work, Mir.¡± Tan tried not to let his irritation bleed through. He tried his hardest to keep his voice calm and level. ¡°Things are going better. We can find more help if we need it. Go to another city to get ale.¡± Despite his best efforts, his voice had pitched up while speaking, making him sound the part of a pleading child. Mira drummed her fingers against her thigh as she continued her reversed pace. Her bubbly affect seemed to dissipate as he spoke. Her face became decorated with lines of worry and despondence.


    Tan hated that expression, though he had grown more familiar with it in recent days. It was a remnant of the past that should have remained there. Throughout the years, he had seen Mira wear many different expressions-anger, joy, irritation, and, most frequently, her ¡°no-that-ale-isn¡¯t-free¡± look. Of all those, he hated her masks of worry, frustration, and helplessness the most. Seeing them broke any irritation brought on by hearing Lyra¡¯s name.


    He took a deep breath and tossed the dozens of other pleas and suggestions he had aside. ¡°What did she say?¡±


    Mira responded, sounding weary and downtrodden all of a sudden. ¡°No. She said no.¡±


    ¡°What?! How dare she! Leaving and then turning her-¡°


    ¡°Stop Tan. She said she would try to find something else for me. Things are going worse in the Inner Circle than I thought.¡± She took a deliberate breath, steady herself against some unknown assailant. ¡°She wanted to know how you were doing. She misses you, Tan. She told me she wants to come visit when things calm down.¡±


    ¡°Did you send word back?¡± he asked through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Not yet. Like I said, I wanted to talk to you about it first.¡±


    ¡°Well let her know that I¡¯m doing just fine. As for visits, maybe she can go to visit our old home.¡± His voice grew louder as he continued. ¡°Oh! Or perhaps she can visit Father¡¯s grave! I¡¯m sure he would love to see her after all those years!¡±


    ¡°Tan¡­ You know it¡¯s more com-¡°


    He raised a hand, staving off her defense. Mira had always looked up to Lyra too much to see what she really was- a cold, selfish person. It was almost ironic how detached she could seem for a Wick. Except for when her temper flared that is. ¡°Save it Mir. I really don¡¯t want to talk about this anymore. Thanks for telling me.¡±


    Mira grew silent, turning back around to walk like a normal person. They walked in silence for what seemed at least another half hour. As they walked, the constant pitter-patter steps of Chits in walls grew in volume and frequency. There wasn¡¯t a set point, at least one that was known, for when the hives began. It was just known that if one wandered too far into the caverns, the chances of returning intact grew slim. The number of Chits moving around in their many tunnels in the walls was a good indicator. As their scampering grew louder, it was generally a good idea for any sensible trasher to mount a slow, careful retreat.


    Instead, he and Mira persisted onwards, defying every natural instinct screaming in his mind. He stopped briefly to fumble for another of Mira¡¯s glowstones, shining weakly in his pack. The one he had been holding would need to be replenished. Mira stopped as he did, moving to do the same with her glowstone. As they both crouched down, she looked towards him and said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know you aren¡¯t all right with what happened between you and Lyra. I¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault,¡± Tan murmured. He took a shaky breath, afraid to even express his next thought aloud. ¡°I just want to get to the point where it doesn¡¯t always feel like the day right after she left. Every time she or the nobles are brought up just dre-¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    To his surprise, Mira dropped what she was doing and wrapped her arms around him. The suddenness of the motion and Mira¡¯s natural strength almost winded him, but it was comforting nonetheless. It wasn¡¯t the most scenic of moments, with slime still dripping off both of them. Between the metallic odors of the slime coating both of them, he could smell earthy scents of fresh rain and wheat. Despite the context and surroundings, Tan felt, at least momentarily, better than he had in a while. It was like getting a present he didn¡¯t know he wanted.


    When he finally broke the embrace, Mira¡¯s eyes shined, even dim light of his glowstone. She quickly started to wipe the corners of her eyes and said, ¡°I know, Tan. I know. It¡¯s been a hard few years.¡±


    Tan reached into her bag to grab the glowstone she was looking for. He stood and held it out to her, helping her up in the process. ¡°Aye, that¡¯s for sure,¡± he responded, clapping her shoulder. ¡°Luckily, we¡¯re too stupid to know when to stay down.¡± With that the two friends continued their journey into the caverns, their path lit only a few steps ahead of them by the dim light of dying glowstones.


    As they continued, the walls of the cavern grew more and more porous. Openings to tunnels that could hold two people comfortably became commonplace. They oozed with the purple liquid that fell from the ceiling, leaving the tunnels slick and murky. The dirt around them was crumbly and loose, obviously having seen frequent movement. Most disturbingly, massive white heads, followed by monstrous bodies filed in and out of the tunnels with increasing frequency. They had ventured deep enough that there must have been at least a few dozen Chits that passed by the duo.


    The Chits were more docile now than Tan had ever seen them. Their wings were out but clasped tightly against their bodies. The translucent yellow wings looked distinctly delicate against their tough hide and dirty fur. Feeling like a man dropped into the Far Coast without being able to swim, Tan stood perfectly still as a Chit stopped next to him, walking on all fours. It sniffed at his trousers, so close that he could feel its wire-like whiskers brush against him. Almost suddenly, it pulled back and hissed at him, baring its two massive teeth. Tan almost took off in a sprint right then and there. He was stopped by Mira¡¯s hand on his shoulder. She didn¡¯t look as comfortable as before, but any signs of true panic had yet to show on her face. Instead, she held a hand, palm down, right in front of the Chit. Other Chits filed past the group, bits of scrap or carrion held gingerly in their maws. The particularly agitated Chit began to sniff Mira¡¯s hands with more vigor than before, smelling something it found particularly intriguing. It opened its jaws even wider and Tan started to move Mira away. She stopped him as a lolling tongue dropped out and gave her hand a quick lick.


    Tan didn¡¯t know quite how to react to this. ¡°Mira? Is this...¡±, he spoke slowly, trying to not to further bother the creature. ¡°-is this normal?¡±


    ¡°How would I know?¡±, she hissed back. ¡°It¡¯s not like I do this every day.¡±


    Their conversation, however hushed it may have been, broke whatever interest the Chit had. Instincts kicked in and the monstrosity picked up the smooth metal orb it had been carrying and scurried off into a tunnel.


    ¡°What in Eaph¡¯s name just happened there?¡±


    Mira gave him an annoyed look. ¡°I already said I don¡¯t know! Let¡¯s just keep going.¡±


    The faint metallic odor slowly shifted to something much more vile. A rank smell, a unique mix of filth and rotting meat, along with a sickly sweet tang, filled the cavern. Tan gagged as it grew too strong and Mira had forgone protecting her clothes and hair to wrap the blanket around her nose and mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯m most definitely burning these clothes after this¡­¡±


    ¡°You always say that, Mir. I think you might be on to something this time.¡±


    Suddenly, Mira stopped, the path in front of her had ended. The walls around them were still poked with holes, but the number of Chits passing between the tunnels had lessened. Tan had only seen a handful of the busy little scavengers for the last few minutes. The ones that did pass by moved away from the direction they were walking, doing their best to avoid the area. As Tan approached the dead end, his glowstone cast its light over a massive hole, at least a few times larger than they had seen to this point.


    ¡°Ancients help us. What in Decay is that?¡±, Mira intoned in a hushed whisper.


    ¡°A tunnel. For something very big.¡±, responded Tan. The hole was more than twice their height, covered in the seeping viscous fluid like the rest. Tan had never seen a Chit large enough to warrant a tunnel this large, but he had a creeping suspicion what it was for.


    ¡°What do we do now?¡±


    ¡°Go through. Or we could turn-¡°. Tan didn¡¯t get to finish the second option, as Mira had clambered up into the massive void, scowling faintly as the substance coating it stained her pants. Seeing as the decision had been made for him, Tan followed suit. Once inside, he held up a hand to stop Mira and moved to take the lead. It made more sense for the experienced trasher to lead the way at this point.


    The tunnel was filled with smaller branching paths, traversed by passing Chits. These Chits were rather strange, having shiny smooth black coats of fur instead of the usual dirty white. Their tails ran the length of several persons and their eyes gleaned yellow instead of the monstrous red. Instead of bulging freakish muscle, these Chits had sinewy cords of strength. They scurried along much more quickly than their regular counterparts, some stopped to hiss at the duo as they passed. Mira clutched her glowstone close, trying to hide the light as to not aggravate the creatures. Tan tried to follow suit, but his eyes were struggling with the already dim conditions.


    ¡°Mira, what-¡° Tan started to whisper. Mira quickly silenced him with a shush, and the two carried on in absolute silence. Finally, after what seemed like the longest walk of his life, the tunnel ended in a massive hollowed-out space. Through their dim light, they saw dozens of pairs of glowing red and yellow eyes, all grouped around a gargantuan mass. Sitting with its back against a shiny metal wall, lay a Chit that looked as if it could barely fit through the tunnel Tan and Mira had just exited. It was leaning back, belly exposed as the cubs gathered around and nursed greedily. The mother looked entirely uninterested, eyes completely closed and tongue lolling out slightly. The


    ¡°Ancients above!¡±, they both seemed to mutter at the same time.


    ¡°It¡¯s an actual Matron. We need to turn around Mir.¡± Tan hissed. ¡°Now.¡±


    He turned around and started to walk back, but Mira¡¯s firm grip caught his arm. ¡°Tan! Look!¡±, she said, barely containing her voice below speaking levels. Tan reluctantly edged back forward and looked at what Mira was pointing at. The wall behind the Matron was strange enough on its own, but a person¡¯s length away from her was a descending path. It wasn¡¯t a tunnel, like several other entrances in the room, but a stairwell of sorts. The stairs glistened even from the distant light of their glowstones, and a brighter light seemed to emit from whatever lay at the bottom. The sides of the entrance were equipped with handrails, also made entirely of metal.


    ¡°There¡¯s no way that is actually metal,¡± Tan muttered.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s obviously some sort of special rock.¡± Mira shot back, rolling her eyes with exaggeration.


    ¡°What could even be down there? Mir, who makes stairs entirely out of metal?!¡±


    ¡°You know who Tan.¡± Mira had skirted into the hollow room as she whispered. ¡°Only the Ancients worked metal like this.¡±


    This was enough for Tan. He moved ahead of Mira and skirted along the wall away from the Matron. They had covered their glowstones entirely at this point, guiding themselves with hands held against the wall and slow, careful steps. If they were going to get to those stairs, it made sense to stay as far from the Matron as possible. He and Mira moved along the edge of the room, making a slow, deliberate half circle to the stairs. The Matron didn¡¯t take any notice of them as they made it halfway to the stairs. Instead, the pups scurried off into various tunnels as she shrugged them off. A terrible scratching sound filled the cavern. It was like nails running across smooth stone, magnified tenfold.


    Tan took the risk, curiosity urging him on, and loosed his grip a tad on his glowstone. The Matron was digging straight down at the ground under her, emitting snarling grunts with each motion. Without warning, after the hole was to her satisfaction, she drove her snout straight down. More dirt parted in wake of the force with which she slammed her face down. Tan heard a bloodcurdling wail leak out from the whole and the Matron threw her head back holding a person-sized dirtflier in her jaws. The blind limbless creature didn¡¯t have a chance. It¡¯s tough, jagged wings circled weakly, trying to churn dirt that was no longer there and get away. The smooth pink body, along with the pasty yellow wings disappeared down the Matron¡¯s throat in one quick swallow.


    She didn¡¯t seem satisfied with just that. The Matron looked around the room for another snack until its smoldering red eyes fixed on them. Her eyes were almost glowstones themselves, holding an internal luminance that required no outside light. The creature drooled slightly and started a languid pace towards them. Maybe this would be a mistake, but somehow Tan didn¡¯t think this would go quite as well as other encounters they had today- Bloom present or no.


    Tan lifted his hand entirely from his glowstone, revealing the door to be a handful of strides away. Unfortunately, the Matron was in the perfect position to cut them. The distance between them had halved in the time Tan had taken to assess the situation. Next to him, Mira stood paralyzed, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Tan hoped she wasn¡¯t under the delusion that a Matron would care if she was a Bloom.


    ¡°Mir?¡±, he said, not even bothering to keep his trembling voice under control.


    Mira sounded meek and terrified when she responded. First time for everything. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    Tan took his glowstone and threw it with all his might right at the gravel in front of the matron. He looked away as the stone burst in a flash of bright light. It was fairly innocuous but startling and painful to something that spends its days lounging in a pitch-black cave. The matron reared back in shock and anger, crashing its frame against a massive wall.


    ¡°Run!¡±, he screamed, willing his words to somehow speed them on their retreat.


    The Matron was still stumbling around the room blindly, snout twitching furiously. The creatures snarls had deepened to howls and her lashing tail crashed easily through several piles of stone. A shower of dirt and stone rained down on them as they made a wild sprint to the stairs. Just as Mira tumbled through behind him, a body crashed behind them. The Matron smashed against the metal wall surrounding the stairs and the whole passage shook but remained intact. She leaned down so her glowing orb of an eye was looking right down the entrance, hunger, and hatred exuding from her glare. A giant paw shot through the entrance, claws almost goring Tan as he stepped back.


    His footing slipped and he found himself on one knee staring at a claw the length of his pole. It was off-white and coated in dried blood and sludge. Mira gently pulled him back a little more, and the two made to quickly move as far from the hungry beast as possible.


    ¡°Damn it!¡±, Tan cursed as he almost lost his footing again. The stairs were surprisingly steep and the area didn¡¯t appear to be completely insulated from the sludge that pervaded the rest of the caverns. They weren¡¯t necessarily slick with the stuff, but there was enough present to making a brisk pace treacherous. The stairs being made entirely of smooth, glistening metal was also a contributing factor. Tan couldn¡¯t fathom why anyone would see fit to make stairs out of something so unsuited for the purpose.


    Mira was still breathing rapid, shallow breaths. ¡°Wha-Why,¡± she started, taking a longer gulping breath to steady herself. ¡°Why did she attack us? The rest of them ignored us.¡±


    Tan continued his pace, not even turning to look back at her. ¡°That was my fault. I should¡¯ve urged you to leave when we saw the Matron. Was distracted by greed.¡± He removed a turren-hide waterskin from his pack and handed it to her. ¡°The running theory, or so I¡¯ve heard, is that simpler predators avoid or respect Tuned. Something to do with Tuned being equal or above them in whatever twisted hierarchy they have.¡± He held an open hand towards Mira, the other gripping a metal handrail tightly. The handrail didn¡¯t help too much, seeing as it was also smooth metal and damp with sludge. After Mira handed him the waterskin, he took greedy gulps as he continued. ¡°It seems the Matron doesn¡¯t agree with her brood¡¯s assessment. In her world, there is likely nothing above her. Decay himself could pop in, and she would probably bite his head off if hungry enough.¡±


    It had all seemed to be a stroke of misfortune on the cosmic scales. Eventually, the walls faded and they were left traversing a staircase that was held only by a narrow slit of stone. Emptiness surrounded them and the source of the faint light emitting from the stairwell became obvious. Large glowing orbs, each larger than a person in diameter, floated around them. There were dozens of them, crackling with miniature lightning raging against their containers. Tan thanked the Ancients and even the Forces for the handrails. Without them, they would be walking a floating staircase leading to gods knows where. Eventually, they hit a smoothed out section of stone-a sort of platform interrupting the winding staircase. The handrails continued, thank the Ancients, leaving Mira and him staring at the sight below. The blue-purple orbs, held aloft by nothing, illuminated a massive city, made of shiny obsidian-black material. Several stairwells, forming a circle with their own, ran down towards the massive city. Spires, previously hidden in shadows, pierced upwards, almost touching some spheres. Tan had never seen the Inner Ring of Molanter, but this scene looked like everything he had imagined and more. The city surrounded a middle plaza, with four indistinguishable statues and an empty center. Buildings of various heights sprawled outwards from it, some circular and others rectangular.


    Mira stood beside him, clutching the railings and leaning forwards, knuckles white. Tan saw none of his trepidation in her, only curiosity and wonder. Her eyes gleaned, the bright green reflecting the light of the orbs. Her mouth was agape, and her lips curled in a wide smile, widened further by the shadows cast by the light shining down. For a moment, Tan almost forgot about the wondrous city below, completely distracted by Mira¡¯s glowing exuberance. She was beautiful-radiant. Tan wouldn¡¯t have made it this far without her- and not just because she was Tuned. Things always seemed much less daunting, and much more enjoyable with Mira by his side-this bizarre expedition included.


    He walked up to her, placing his hands on the handrail beside her. ¡°Its¡­¡±


    ¡°Amazing.¡±, she finished voice breathy with amazement.


    At that moment, Tan had no idea what would be down there waiting for them down below. What he did know is that it didn¡¯t matter. He and Mira would see it through together, adding another brick to their house of shared memories.


    He let go of the railings and held out a hand forwards. ¡°Well, what are you waiting for Mir?¡±