Awareness returned to Talia in the form of a star-filled dream. They speckled the darkness high above her, twinkling invitingly, beckoning her. Pulling her up and up, between the stalactites and into—

Wait a second…what?

The young woman jerked upright, the soreness of the rocky floor beneath her too real to be a dream. High above her, limned in the grey edges characteristic of her dark-vision talent, the ceiling was dotted with tiny specks of quartz that caught and reflected the light from…

Oh shit, my eyes!

Passing a hand in front of her face revealed a telltale glow on her palm. A death sentence in more ways than one. An effort of will was all it took to refill the tiny artefacts with mana. Passing her fingers in front of her face confirmed that her citrine orbs had once again been replaced by placid grey.

Throwing a look around her in case she’d been spotted only made the kernel of confusion in her mind grow even larger.

What in the name of Daedal’s flabby arse…

All around her, the expedition crew lay in disarray, strewn about the large cavern in poses reminiscent of puppets with their strings cut. Most were positioned in ways Talia might expect someone who had never slept a day in their life would lie: arms akimbo, legs folded in odd ways, necks stuck at angles that would guarantee a nasty crick upon waking… One was even—

How the hells did Hanmul end up hanging upside down from the wagon roof?

Everywhere she looked, the scene was the same. In fact, Talia was so confused that it took her a good five minutes of gawking at the odd sight before she realized the most important part of the whole situation.

Somehow, the expedition had left the Chasm of the Lost.

Gone was the gaping tear through the fabric of the Under, the abyssal darkness that even her talent couldn’t pierce.

Instead, the caravan was haphazardly stopped in the middle of a large, natural cavern whose walls were covered in quartz crystals. It was about as long and wide as first haven, though nowhere near as tall, with three wide tunnels that branched off from it in tight turns.

A trickling sound drew her gaze towards a river that ran in a groove, two-thirds of the way through the space, before dipping back underground down a slim crack in the floor.

Talia made her way towards it, stumbling upright with a body that felt like it had been taken to the tanner’s and stretched in all the wrong ways. She threaded her way through randomly parked wagons, oddly contorted, snoring delvers, piles of kit and supplies, snoring drakes—not something you saw every day— and dropped on her knees by the edge of the river.

Cupping her hands into the lukewarm water, she splashed a little on her face, wiping the crust from her eyes and streaks of dirt from her cheeks. As she dipped her hands in to get a drink, she noticed perhaps the oddest thing yet.

A divot in the water. A floofy, spastically fading and reappearing, divot, that zoomed past her on the surface of the rapidly flowing streamlet.

Talia paused, hands still halfway to the water.

Is that the godsdamned cat?

It was.

The little lynx kitten, notably larger and rapidly shedding its whelping fur, was taking a bath.

Or something of the sort.

In perhaps the strangest turn of events Talia had ever seen, she watched as the blissfully unaware feline reached the end of the river, its tiny body too bulky to fit down the crack that led further into the Deep. Then, as if nothing was amiss, it hopped up onto the bank and slinked its way back to where the river started. Once it made it to the wall where a stream of water gushed from a seam in the ceiling, it got down low and scooted its way down into the water, still flickering in and out of sight.

The moment it finally noticed Talia was impossible to miss. It had just finished its second pass and was making its way back to the top when it froze, wet fur spiking up as best it could, and then slowly turned to meet her gaze.

The two just stared at each other for a moment, until it let out an inquisitive ‘mreow’ and poofed out of sight.

Talia eyed the drips of water falling to the floor seemingly out of nowhere and bellowed out a laugh.

Then she frowned.

Her mindsense was active, which in itself wasn’t odd…no, what was odd was that she hadn’t noticed. Instead of the glaring world of grey and black, it was just…an awareness. Like knowing where everything was in Reggie’s workshop. She didn’t need to see to know exactly where everything was.

Her mindsense was the same now, an instinctive knowledge of where every living thing in her range was, if they were awake or asleep, sober or inebriated. Instead of having to focus, it just…was.

Not necessarily an improvement over how it had been before, there was no increase in range, nor in strength—in fact, if she focused, bringing back the world of colour on grey was simple— this was it was just less…obtrusive, for lack of a better word.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to ponder the matter further, as that same sense was telling her that the delvers were stirring in their sleep. Moans and groans began making their way to her ears, along with a few crashes as people woke up in places that no one should wake up in.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Talia giggled a little as she heard Copperpike’s angry muttering—well, more grumbling, from the volume of it.

Then a spike of concern hit her as she looked at the space where there definitely wasn’t a cat. The empty, dripping space that was vaguely growling.

Shit!

Pouncing across the bank of the river, she grabbed the kitten around the midsection before he could react and—unable to think of a better plan, stuffed him up the front of her scale shirt.

It was a tight fit. One that the little bugger did not like. And was not shy about informing her about its displeasure with little snicks of his shockingly sharp claws.

Holding in a yelp as confused and concerned mutters grew louder behind her, Talia tried to direct a wave of soothing intent at the poor thing.

Her efforts only half worked.

On the bright side, the little shit stopped squirming, so she only looked like she was in the early stages of pregnancy, as opposed to being a victim of some kind of violently parasitic, giant insect.

On the other hand, ‘calm’ apparently meant ‘stick my wickedly curved, sharp little claws as deep into warm flesh as I can and then freeze’.

Tradeoffs. It was all about the tradeoffs.

Making her way back towards the wagons, Talia searched through the mess for wagon two.

Surprisingly hard to tell them apart when they’re not lined up in order. Ouch! Fuck, would you quit it?

Around her, the crew were getting rowdier and rowdier, some arguing amongst each other while others mumbled darkly about curses and warded away Ishmael’s servants. A few of the beastkin had gotten together and seemed to be praying, of all things—at least she thought so— if the rhythmic chanting was any indication.

From what she picked up from the disparate grumbling and the general feel she got from her empathy, no one remembered anything that had happened after they’d stopped to prepare for the fight against the Crescians.

If that was true…

Talia thought back to how easily the Matriarch had put her to sleep and shuddered. Then the young woman remembered one particular comment during the whole exchange when She had pointed out how—comparatively— easy it had been for Talia to command a swarm of blight devils to kill themselves.

Suddenly, she was very glad that she’d been cooperative instead of combative.

Gods, She could have told us all to just— stop breathing, and that’d be it. Snap of her fin—er mandibles and we’re all dead.

Before the reality of what she’d just experienced could truly sink in, sharp little claws dug deeper into her skin, completely unhindered by the fabric of her thin undershirt.

Pushing it all aside, she held in a wince as she slipped past the group of praying beastkin, noting offhandedly that a kneeling Darkclaw counted among their ranks.

Finally, just when she was considering—gods forbid—running, she found the officer’s bunk wagon, somehow nestled by the solitary tunnel—probably the entrance—right next to wagon eight.

How in the world… Ow shit fuck, ok I’m going, I’m going.

Shrugging mental shoulders, she slipped in the door, pulling open the curtain and making a beeline for her bunk, only to nearly run face-first into Zaric, simultaneously scaring herself shitless—thankfully only figuratively.

“Ohmygodsyouscaredme,” she whisper-gasp-yelled, clutching the stupid cat as it dug deeper into her belly.

The mage’s usually bald head sported about a centimetre of tight curls, matching a burgeoning beard that made him look much older than usual.

Talia didn’t miss the generally jovial smile slipping far too quickly from his marble-white teeth. The uncharacteristic frown.

Uh oh.

“Was it you?” he asked, eyes cold and tone deadly serious.

Talia matched his frown with a furrowed brow that she hoped looked more confused than affronted.

“Was it me what?”

The mage-commandrum channelled his inner Calisto, gaze flinty and expression cloistered.

“Was it you who puppeted us out of the Chasm?” he pressed.

Well, that was fast.

“No,” she answered honestly.

Zaric’s frown deepened to a pronounced v, and he crossed his arms.

“So you’re saying someone else did it? Some other psion that we don’t know about?”

Talia winced at the most inconvenient time as the godsdamned cat shifted uncomfortably.

“Look I don’t know, I just woke up, same as the rest of you, and we were here. Why do you think we got…puppeted anyway, isn’t it possible that we just—” she trailed off, trying to think of any other plausible explanation.

Yea…that’s gonna be a tough sell. It wasn’t me guys, it was a toxic fungus-fueled mass delusion. Shit. I’m so fucked.

Should she discuss the Matriarch? Given the reactions of the crew upon the discovery of the Crescian nest, she didn’t think it was a good idea. The officers—minus Hanmul and Darkclaw, who still didn’t know she was a mage— though, they’d believe her right?

Somehow, ‘a giant, gods know how many years old spider probably took control of our minds and bodies so we didn’t have to fight her children’ sounded worse than the mass delusion excuse.

Luckily, Talia had the perfect ‘alibi’ for herself, whether or not the officers believed her.

Affecting an offended look—a pretty easy feat considering she was peeved at being falsely accused— Talia stared Zaric down.

“Oh sure, while still manaburned to shit from barely, just barely, getting rid of a pack of blight devils with nothing but the power of my mind, I decided to take the next logical step and mind control the whole caravan. A few of whom I know for a fact have the skills to shield their minds. Great rational thinking there, Zaric. With that logical process, you should’ve been a schoolteacher,” she sneered.

Though the drama of her tirade was somewhat undercut by her hunched posture and gritted teeth—courtesy of the lynx’s tender ministrations— Zaric had the good grace to look ashamed, scratching at the back of his head uncomfortably and glancing at her boots.

“Er—right, sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse; I was just a little concerned and—”

Phew. Maybe ease up a little there Tals, he’s probably the closest thing you have to a friend.

The young woman decided that the mage-commandrum deserved an explanation—when she’d gotten rid of her little parasite, and gotten her head straight about the whole situation herself. She had no doubt she’d have some explaining to do with Calisto and Torval later as well, not to mention her next talk with Lazarus.

“I get it, people are a little confused, a little scared, and you’re just checking the boxes. All good. Now if you don’t mind, I really, really need to hit the water closet,” she interrupted more tersely than she’d intended to, groaning at the curled spikes ripping into her abdomen and crossing her fingers that no blood was leaking out of her armour.

Of course, the godsdamned cat chose that moment to growl lightly.

Thankfully, Zaric took it in stride, looking, if anything, relieved at having been given an out. Maybe even a little ashamed.

The young woman would normally have felt bad, but she truly was a little vexed that his first thought had been that it was her doing.

Though maybe I could’ve put it a little nicer. What’s the word— Diplomatically! There it is. Ugh. Note to self for next time: don’t snap at people.

Talia gave him a one-armed pat on the shoulder and a tight smile as she slipped by him, the other hand griping the vicious little bundle of fur that was doing its best to disembowel her.

Second note for next time: keep feral cats out of shirt.

She yelped as the little prick’s claws found their way to the healed but still very tender scar tissue on her right side.

Owowoww stahhp!!