My vision darkened around the tunnel with the spellbook, and I abruptly found myself looking up at a modern city.
I hated cities. There wasn’t anything wrong with them on the whole. In fact, I found crowds of pedestrians rather impressive in a force of nature kind of way. They moved so smoothly, with barely any bumping that would inhibit the smooth flow as each individual person went along their day. I liked to think every one of the faceless people could become a cherished friend if only I stepped out and pulled them from the throng.
The problem was that high population density almost always came with other -- less pleasant -- byproducts. Sour smells and acrid smoke filled the air around me as I blinked owlishly at the looming skyscrapers. A distant haunting melody filled the air in melancholy sadness. The pedestrians who walked through the smog-filled streets carried their belongings with downcast expressions as a black, lightless sun baked the asphalt beneath.
I wasn’t in the dungeon anymore. Or even in the world, as I couldn’t bring up my status.
The pedestrians swarmed around me like a river around a stone. Looking closer, I noticed the people were...ghostly. Semi-transparent, with indistinct features that seemed to shimmer and change the closer I looked. Their clothing was wispy, and even the various items in their possession seemed moments from dissipating into the polluted air.
I coughed, eyes watering as I stepped out from the center of the street to try and get my bearings. The alleyway I found myself in was riddled with piled refuse, from cardboard boxes to stained clothing sitting in pools of unmentionable filth. I started breathing through my mouth, looking around desperately for anything familiar.
I was unlike the other people. Where they were indistinct and fleeting, I was as solid as I always was. I looked so out of place when even the buildings had a vaguely translucent appearance. That was when I noticed the pulsing blue thread extending up from my brow. It floated above me and threaded through the streets toward the center of the city. Like everything else, it was barely visible. Unlike the ground, I couldn’t touch it with my hands.
“I’m so confused...” I muttered, setting aside the strange phenomena for now. I needed to get on top of a building for a better look around. Before I could find a fire escape, however, my vision blurred, and I was standing atop a nearby building.
I flinched, but no other unexpected translocations occurred. I looked out over the skyline, but that only made my confusion worse. The city around me was set atop a circular disk hovering over a dark void. Dozens of warehouses and apartment buildings lined the periphery, emitting sparkling lights that the black sky seemed to absorb hungrily. Dominating the center of the city was a massive factory-like structure that belched out a continuous stream of dark smoke.
Trying my teleportation trick again, I found myself once more on the street as people flowed around me. Huh.
“Excuse me,” I paused one of the ghostly pedestrians. “Do you—”
“I’m so sorry! I absolutely must bring the LEX bus schedule to warehouse 8C, or else the Custodian will kill me!”
I blinked as the figure raced away. Trying again, I received similar results. Each person was in a hurry with what felt like completely random items they were moving between warehouses. I sort of understood those carrying packages or computer machinery, but there were a significant amount that carried faded pieces of paper or old cassettes as if they were gold.
“Dude,” I scratched my head. “What is this place?”
I started walking toward the center of the city, which coincidentally was also where the blue thread coming off my temple was pointing. The streets narrowed as the buildings grew taller, but just before I reached the center, the blue thread veered off to the side. I hesitated for a second, then turned off the main road. I could come back to the central factory later.
The thread vanished inside a large warehouse that dozens of people were coming in and out of every second. I watched the bustle for a couple of minutes, then slipped into line and entered the warehouse. Rows and rows of shelves filled the space. Each one was struggling under the immense weight of countless massive steel safes. In the center of the room stood a huge, 8-foot-tall, bald man who bellowed orders to the workers. Some were directed to drop their items into safes, but most were rejected and told to move along to a different warehouse.
Surprisingly, the blue thread led directly to the huge bald bodybuilder.
“Excuse me...hello?” I stumbled over my words as the man turned to me. A huge grin split his face, to my surprise, and he leaned down to pat my head like a child.
“SKYLAR MORRIS!” he boomed. “IN THE FLESH! WHAT RARE OCCASION DOES YOU FIND YOURSELVES IN VAULT?”
“Uhm, hi,” I winced. “Could you lower the volume a little?”
“Ahh, sorry,” The huge man scratched his bald head ruefully. “What I do for you?”
“Well, I was wondering where I am, but now I am wondering how you know who I am. I don’t think we’ve ever met before.”
“You don’t remember me?” The huge man placed a hand on his full chest as if hurt by the statement.
“Well,” I hesitated, shooting a glance at the blue thread connecting us. “I mean, no? I don’t think so. But I forget names all the time, so don’t take it personally.”
“No matter. I Custodian of Vault. But call me Crusty for short.”
“Nice to meet you, Crusty. It’s nice to finally meet someone who will talk to me. I just appeared in this place and don’t know how to get out.” I paused, realizing what I’d just said. “Uh, not that there is anything wrong with this place...it’s just...”
Crusty let out a booming laugh, patting me on the shoulder and nearly knocking me over. “No worry, Skylar Morris. This place yours. You welcome here even if you wish to be not here.”
“Uhm, ok.” I said, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “So, how do you get out of here?”
“Easy! Travel to Center and sit on Chair.” Crusty pointed and I followed his finger towards a huge door where the largest crowd of people was coming in and out of. I nodded and thanked the big man.
It was easy to slip past the crowds using my newfound teleportation trick. The path quickly opened up toward the massive soot-stained factory in the center. The huge factory reeked of motor oil and ozone, but I quickly passed through the gates and found myself in a large audience chamber.
People filtered in to present themselves before a huge throne upon which a grim, frowning man held court. He was less transparent than the rest of the people but still not as solid as I was. A thin blue thread rose from his temple and vanished through the far wall.
I gulped, realizing that the ‘Chair’ Crusty mentioned was likely the throne currently being warmed by the stern man.
“Excuse me, who is that?” I sidled up to a nervous man standing to the side whose bedraggled clothing made him stand out from the others.
“Oh! Hi, hi. I didn’t see you there, young lady,” the ghost said, jumping and nearly dropping a collection of papers and pens to the ground. “That is Charles Thrun. Yes. It is Dr. Thrun. Yes indeed.”
"Do you know what that blue thread thing is? The one coming off his head?" I asked, refraining from pointing to my own brow.
"What thread?" The ghost shot me a blank look.
“Never mind. Are you...” I paused, not sure how to deal with the jittery ghost. “Are you going to petition him for something?”
“OH! Yes! The designs for kerneling the Atlas QCT protocol. I’ve been working on it for so long, and I think I’ve perfected the procedure! I can’t wait to share what I’ve discovered,” the ghost grinned, holding up his papers proudly. But then he sagged. “Dr. Thrun has been busy on other tasks in recent times. Magic, I am told. I don’t think he will appreciate my interruption.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” I frowned thoughtfully as I patted the deflated ghost reassuringly on the back. “I bet if you go up there and share your enthusiasm like you did with me, he is bound to drop whatever he is doing and hear you out.”
“You think?” The ghost looked up at me, and I swore his body grew a touch more solid at my words.
“Sure,” I smiled. “Just remember to smile and be confident.”
The ghost grinned and rushed through the crowd. He stepped up to the throne and held up his papers. The group of ghosts speaking around Thrun fell silent as my new friend pushed past them.
“Dr. Thrun! I believe I have discovered a new methodology to layer the QCT using multi-stage kerneling—”
Dr. Thrun grimaced and pulled out a huge revolver before unceremoniously pulling the trigger. A huge crack shook the building as a shard of ice as thick as my wrist erupted out of the end and punched a hole through my friend. The ghost flickered dully, his mouth gaping, as a hush fell over the crowd. He teetered in place, then toppled over, staining the ground with wispy blue blood.
“Now,” Thrun rumbled into the dead silence of the audience hall. “Where was I?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The ghosts around him jumped to return to whatever they were speaking of before as I gaped at the proceedings. They ignored the body lying on the floor, and to my horror, I noticed dozens of other trampled bodies pushed against the walls of the room. Some looked quite old.
It was horrifying.
Suddenly a comforting weight settled over me, and I looked down to see my old iron and spined leather armor settling around my shoulders. I blinked, then smiled. I didn’t know what was going on in this dystopian hellhole or who this Thrun fellow was, but I was getting out of here, come hell or high water.
Stepping firmly through the throng, I unsheathed my adze and glared up at Thrun.
“Thrun! My name is Skylar. I don’t mean to be a bother—”
I snapped my shield up just in time to catch the ice bullet careening for my chest. The bullet shattered in a discharge of moonlight, littering the air with glittering shards of snow.
“Rude,” I cleared my throat. “As I was saying, I need to sit on that chair, so if you could please stand aside for a moment, I would appreciate it.”
Silence filled the room as the stern man slowly turned his attention to me. I felt my ears warm as I realized how silly what I’d just said was. I mean, honestly. I was basing my entire strategy on a few words by a barely fluent bodybuilder with delusions of grandeur.
“Get this fly out of here,” Thrun grumbled, gesturing to some of the ghosts. I dismissed all my hesitation and prepared myself for a melee. The ghosts on the sideline, however, were indecisive. Thrun waited a second for them to respond, then growled. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”
Iron gauntlets materialized over Thrun's fists as he raised the revolver at me again. A lance of ice erupted toward me, and I teleported to the side. Ghosts screamed and died where I had just been standing, but I didn’t spare them a glance as a surge of icy mist flew at me. The moonstone was ready, so I slapped aside the next spell and dashed toward Thrun.
My adze smashed down through his temple. He screamed, though amazingly refused to stand from the throne. I gritted my teeth and ripped the adze out, only to slam it back in. Thrun shot me a hateful look as he jammed his revolver into my gut.
I vanished to reappear behind him as ice rained from the ceiling. I grabbed him by the throat and impaled him on my spined buckler. Glowing wounds of ectoplasm pulsed as I tore through the ghost man. He tried again to dislodge me with an icy projectile, but I’d had too much practice in close combat for such tricks to work on me.
Suddenly the ghostly music that permeated the city swelled. A frigid wind filled the audience hall, and I froze. The music was hauntingly familiar. The words itched on the tip of my tongue. So close, yet they couldn't be farther. The ancient memory of the melody grated at me and a bolt of deep, gut-wrenching pain erupted from my heart.
Looking down, I saw the broken edge of a prison shank erupting through my chest. A ghost leaned over my shoulder to whisper in my ear.
"Remember that melody, girly?" the nameless ghost chuckled, twisting the prison shank in my heart. "Oh wait...you don't do you."
I growled and spun to slash at my new assailant. He just chuckled as my weapon just whizzed right through his tattered black cloak. His ghostly fabric reformed and condensed, becoming darker and more corporeal for each second I looked at him.
"That's not how this works, girly," the figure tsked me. "Don't you remember our deal? No? Then let me remind you."
He lunged at me and stabbed with he shank. He movements were graceful and timed to the pervasive music. I ducked back, dodging the first attack, and slapping aside the second with my shield. A went to counterattack, but once again my weapon whizzed harmlessly through the phantom.
"I will have control over my thoughts," Thrun spoke behind me and I spun on him. I'd somehow forgotten he was there, and caught another bolt of ice right on my shield.
I staggered with the force of the attack, which gave the phantom the opportunity to sidle lovingly to my side and insert the shank into my kidney. Thrun took that opportunity to surround me in freezing mist.
I screamed as chilling ice seeped into my bones. I fell to my knees as the phantom started humming in my ear. My strength oozed out of me. My fingertips grew faintly transparent to my horror.
I needed to get out. Perhaps alone, I could deal with the phantom. Or Thrun. But not both. Not with that infernal music grating my ears.
I just couldn’t.
The blue thread coming off my temple thrummed, and in an instant, I vanished. I appeared mid-air. I gasped as the prison shank abruptly vanished, and my lungs were introduced to a new path to air.
Strong arms caught me instead of hard concrete. I panicked, jerking away from the touch, but the arms were immensely strong. They were huge and ripped. Covered in corded muscle that was vaguely familiar.
Crusty.
"You can set me down," I said or tried to. My lungs were having a little bit of trouble contracting at the moment. Crusty, however, understood me, and set me down gently on top of one of the huge steel safes.
"Skylar Morris. You hurt," Crusty stated simply. He touched my shoulder and, suddenly, the wounds vanished. I still achhed though, as if the recovery was purely superficial.
“T-thank you,” I coughed, spitting out some blood that clogged my throat.
“You welcome, Skylar Morris,” Crusty patted my back amicably. “It is not good to fight alone. Come, tell Crusty what hurt you. Crusty help smash.”
I chuckled, unable to stop the vague mirth as the bald man offered his help.
"I went to the center as you suggested, but there was a little more resistance than I was ready for," I said, rubbing the back of my head ruefully. "Look at my hands. They are all fuzzy now."
"Hmm," Crusty clasped my open hand with his own. "It okay. Time heal all wounds."
"If you say so." I shrugged, plopping down onto the safe. "There was this Thrun fellow on the chair, and he was honestly way worse than I thought. Like, why do you work for him, man?"
“No,” Crusty shook his head. “I not help Charles Thrun. I help Skylar Morris.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause, like, you are maintaining one of the warehouses that filling this city with smoke. What is this place, by the way, and—Bloody hell, what is that infernal music?”
Crusty blinked, then smiled cheerfully. “Ahh, you forget. That okay. I show you. Come.”
Crusty stood and led me down one of the long hallways lined with steel safes. Crusty paused before one that wasn’t any different than the others and crouched down. His huge hands manipulated the lock carefully, and with a ratcheting click, the thick steel door swung open.
“What are you trying to show me?” I asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Here. This song, yes?” Crusty nodded to the safe where a small sheet of yellowing paper was resting. He carefully collected it and handed it to me. It contained the lyrics of an unfamiliar—
I remembered!
"W-wha..." I stuttered.
“Is sad, yes,” Crusty said softly, handing me a picture he'd taken from another nearby safe. A tall blonde man with his arm around a younger me smiled happily before a misting waterfall. "Always sad."
I grasped the photo as the terrible music played in the background. Something tore in my mind as memories I’d long buried started resurfacing. Dozens of blue threads erupted from my temple and speared into the surrounding safes. Tortured steel tore open as uncountable oh-so-familiar objects fell out onto the cool concrete.
I remembered. Jason. My husband. Our quant apartment on 301 West Elm, with that little white patio and the view of Girty’s Woods. That small frilled lamp that always flickered once when turned on. The fifth step that always creaked. Memories flooded back to me like a cherished dream.
“Is bad to lock up memories. Crusty jobless then, yes?” Crusty patted my back, chuckling awkwardly.
“Wh—what is this place?” I asked.
“Is Vault. We store special things here.”
“My memories,” I confirmed.
“Mhmm.”
“So this is all some freaky...dreamscape hallucination of my own psyche?”
“Is you.” Crusty nodded cheerfully. “Come, let us open rest of memories. Am eager to be real Custodian again.”
“Wait!” I reached out, stopping him. “If this is my head, why is Thrun sitting on the throne? Which I'm guessing is the metaphorical driver's seat in this whole thing.”
“Dunno. Maybe Custodian of Thrun know.”
I opened my mouth and closed it. Why in the world did Thrun have a custodian in my head?
“Can you take me to Thrun’s Custodian?” I asked after a second.
“Easy!” Crusty nodded and led me out of the warehouse. We passed by many streets and through many buildings. The path would have left me lost if not for the beacon of blue threads connecting me back to Crusty’s warehouse. The Vault, as he put it. Eventually, we stepped into another warehouse, and Crusty gestured proudly to a thin waifish man crouched over a wide mahogany desk.
“You are Thrun’s Custodian?” I asked, a tad more aggressively than perhaps was warranted.
“I am Phogik, Custodian of Riddles. Welcome Skylar Morris,” the man said. He leaned forward, revealing he was perched on the edge of the chair in a deep squat like some kind of demented crow. “Some say I am, some say I am not, but it is not up to the cloud to say what is or is not, wouldn’t you say?”
“I...what?” I blinked.
“Should we endeavor to think. I hazard to believe that it is indeed the time that comes that makes us forget. I wonder then if it is not I but you who has forgotten the commands of the sky.”
“Uh," Crusty nudged me. "Foggy say yes.”
I glanced at Crusty in askance but then shook my head. This place was so bloody weird.
“How come Thrun is on the throne?” I said, turning back to Phogik
“Through time immemorial, our place within the balance is not to rebuke, but to accept. Should the sky will it, it is but our prerogative to fly along its currents.”
“Crusty...” I grumbled. “What does that mean?”
“Uh, Foggy say you put Charles Thrun on Chair.”
“I did not!”
“Wondering to the where of when does not—”
“Shut it!” I snapped at the meandering custodian. “Alright, whatever. I put him there. Now I would like to take him off of it. I want him removed, dammit! How do we do that?”
“If that is the will of the sky,” Phogic whispered, noting something down on the orderly papers arrayed before him. Suddenly, the entire world shook as what little light there was dimmed even further. The ground grew foggy, revealing an endless void of darkness underneath that roiled hungrily beneath the thin membrane.
“So to shall winter slumber," Phogik chuckled cryptically. "But fly swiftly, sky of my eye, for the earth cannot abide the peace should the sky choose another!”
"Crusty, come on!" I sprinted away from the insanity with Crusty fast on my heels. All around us, the city rumbled as if a great earthquake was shuddering through its foundations. I gathered my courage and in the blink of an eye, found myself back in the audience chamber.
Thrun was slumped over the edge of the throne with drool coming out of his open mouth. Several torn blue threads hung listlessly above his glazed eyes. Beside him, the phantom in his torn cloak turned slowly to greet our appearance.
"Ahh, come back for more, have we?" the phantom chuckled, palming the knife gleefully.
"Crusty," I said harshly. "Keep him off me."
Crusty nodded and blitzed for the cloaked man. They crashed together like clashing titans, but I ignored the battle in favor of rushing to the throne. I lugged the completely comatose Thrun off the throne and spared the alien city one final glance.
"I'll deal with this later," I grumbled.
I plopped myself down on the throne, and a deep sense of rightness settled over me. The city-wide earthquake ground to a halt mere moments before my vision cut out.