Mikhail

The cave’s crystals cast their faint, ethereal light over the group of escapees like a clear night sky. Many days now they'd walked through the damp system of tunnels, and for all their beauty it still reminded Mikhail a bit too much of the mines.

Elka was as quiet as he'd been right after their escape. He knew the girl missed Nebo, maybe even as much as he did, but comforting a person had never been his strongest suit. He didn't have the time to care much about others, anyway.

Mikhail had decided to put all his effort into locating Nebo, and slitting as many imperial throats as he could in the process. He'd go back to the man he once was, the man his father had built him to be. He’d need to.

Frehar had asked him to keep an eye out for caveshriekers. Slimy, insect-like beasts that had adapted to the low light of the caverns.

He'd been given a pair of daggers again after requesting it from Frehar, at which Twenty had somehow shook his head in disapproval.

“Frehar, come join me for a second.” He said. Several heads turned in mild alarm.

Frehar's surprisingly light footsteps approached from the back, until he'd caught up with him.

“I'm here, what is it?”

“How much longer until we reach the encampment?” He asked. “People are tired with hunger and uncertainty,” He glanced at Elka. “And grief.”

“As am I, damn you,” Frehar sighed. “Sorry, I hate these caves. It should only be a few more hours before we reach the western gate.”

Mikhail grunted in agreement. “Good, people tend to get antsy when they don't know how long something will take.”

“You’re right, I'll pass it on to the others.”

Frehar wandered off and whispered to the other escapees that it wouldn't be much longer now. Several sighs of relief could be heard.

Mikhail felt a tug on his sleeve, Elka had moved next to him. Her faithful winged companion was perched atop her shoulder, it had followed her in the escape.

“Can I ask you something, mister?” She said, looking up at Mikhail.

“Sure, but call me Mikhail.”

She smiled. “Are you doing alright?”

Mikhail looked at her, confused. He thought she came to ask how much longer it would be, or to ask him about Nebo. Instead, she'd asked about him. It caught him off guard.

“I'm fine, lass. Why?”

“You seem hurt, even though you try to hide it.” She grabbed his hand.

He pulled his hand away, he had to stay strong. “Don't worry about me, I'll focus on getting him back, little one.” He patted her head. “I know you miss him too, but we have to focus on surviving until we get him.”

She nodded. The rhythmic steps of the group nearly drowned out the sound of her silent sobs, but Mikhail could hear. All they could do was keep going for now.

A shriek disturbed the relative silence of the caverns.

“Frey! Twenty!” Mikhail hissed. “What the hells is that?”

“That, my friend,” Frehar said wildly looking around, “Is a caveshrieker. Be on high alert for anything that moves.”

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“Damn it all, it just had to happen when we're so close.”

Twenty patted him on the shoulder, and motioned for Mikhail to let him lead.

“Acuamorii have far better eyesight than we do in the dark, Mikhail, let him walk in front.”

Twenty grabbed the dual axes on the sides of his hip, and silently crept ahead scanning for anything out of the ordinary.

“Stay close, lass.” Mikhail said, grabbing Elka by her arm. “Nebo would never forgive me if you got hurt.”

Whimpers of fear filled the tunnel, and a ripple of panic started spreading through the crowd.

“Frehar, what do we do?”

“Not much we can do except hope for the beast to pass, if it-”

But a mighty roar interrupted him. Flashes of faint crystal light reflected off a flurry of axes flickered ahead of them, and a guttural scream pierced their ears. Twenty had managed to cut off one of the creature's six legs. The creature looked like an unholy combination of a human and an insect. It's torso was black and shiny, sporting plates of carapace as if it were wearing armour. It's head looked almost human, except it was twisted in a grimace of a caricature of agony. Its thorax was covered in reddish spikes and excreting a kind of slimy substance.

It pushed Twenty aside and paused to look in the group's direction. Then it charged.

Mikhail was knocked into the rocky wall together with Elka and Frehar as the caveshrieker thundered past them, followed quickly by Twenty gone berserk.

Mikhail immediately got up and ran after them. “Frehar, keep her safe!”

But he was pulled back by the Sklora of the Feohal. “That's your job, time to show you what a Sklora can do. Sorry, Mikhail, but you're still too weak right now.”

Mikhail knew he was right, he was still underfed. He saw no point in arguing, and quickly stepped back to shield Elka from harm. “Careful, you damned poet.”

Frehar pulled a longsword from his scabbard, and flicked a switch. The sword lit up in flames, then slowly settled into a red-hot aura, giving it an impression as if it just came out of the forge. He quickly ran after Twenty and the caveshrieker, twirling his blade. Screams of pain and death rattles could already be heard along with the sounds of the creature reveling in its slaughter.

The light from Frehar's sword lit up the tunnel, and as he ran forward the blood and guts of the killed escapees glistened in its fiery glow. He felt Elka trembling behind him.

“It'll be alright, lass.” He said, as he crouched into a ready position in case something came their way.

Nebo

An acrid smell wafted into his nose as soon as he exited the portal. Flasks containing unidentified liquids littered the shelves spread across the room, and bowls of dried ingredients were meticulously organized inside glass cabinets. This was a Weaver's laboratory.

“Now then, you must be tired, so I'll keep this short.” Nodryev said as he turned around to face Nebo. “When we finish here, my little friend here will show you to your chambers so you can recover.”

Nebo nodded, he didn't have much choice for now anyway. “What is it?”

Nodryev weaved a simple pattern, and a sudden gut punch made Nebo gasp for air.

“Try again.”

Nebo felt bile rise in his throat, but managed to swallow it down. He clenched his jaws and took a breath. “What is it, Threadgiver?” He managed to say.

“Good,” Nodryev said. “You learn quickly. I applaud boldness, but disrespect and failure to adhere to tradition are things I shan't tolerate, fledgling.”

“Understood, Threadgiver.”

“I'm sure.” Nodryev paused. “These next few weeks I will be teaching you the basics of magic, alchemy–” He motioned to the flasks and ingredients around them. “Imperial philosophy and other subjects you'll need to be well-versed in before attending the Elysian Tower.”

Nebo scratched the back of his neck and nodded.

“For your sake, I suggest you pay very close attention to e-very-thing I teach you.” He said, putting emphasis on every syllable. “I don't have time to teach you for more than these few weeks, and if I judge you unable to attend the Tower because you failed to grasp the basics, I'm afraid I'll have to end your life.”

Nebo felt a heavy pit in his stomach, and it was as if someone doused him in ice water.

He thought he could take his time.

“Why would you do that, Threadgiver?” He asked, a tremor in his voice. “Didn't you say I was talented?”

“Talented? Yes. Irreplaceable? No.” It felt as if the old Weaver stared directly into his soul. “I have other responsibilities to the Empire, child, and I can not set them aside indefinitely for the purpose of getting you ready.” He sighed, and opened a leatherbound tome close to him. “You're too dangerous to be left alone unsupervised, so I would have to end you before returning to my duties.”

A cold sweat ran down Nebo's back. He’d have to succeed or die, there was no compromise. If he wasn't feeling sick already from blood loss and mental exhaustion, he sure was now.

“Now that that's cleared up, get some rest. We begin tomorrow, fledgling.” Nodryev snapped his fingers, and the demonic little creature stood at attention. “Vrathel, show the young man to his room, and bring me some thirdlebush tea, please.”

Vrathel grabbed Nebo's sleeve with his scaly clawed hand, and pulled him along towards the exit.

“Oh, Nebo, one more thing.”

Nebo turned his head. “Yes, Threadgiver?”

“I suggest that you don't try any magic without my consent, a Weaver's home is full of traps, and if you do try,” Nodryev said, not looking up from his tome. “The consequences are yours to bear.”

Nebo swallowed. “Yes, I understand, Threadgiver.”

“Marvelous, run along now.”

Nebo followed Vrathel towards the exit. The creature swung the heavy looking door open with surprising ease, and they disappeared into the dark hallway.