For once, when the darkness receded, there was light. Not the dim, greyscale coating of night-eye fuelled dark vision, but true light, colourful and blinding. It swirled around her in a medley of hues from bright blues to burning oranges, soft greens to twisting violets. So much violet. Enough purple to drown all of Lake Wyrr in its light.

As if it noted her wonder and disapproved, the space around Talia flickered and crackled, allowing the dark back in for a moment. Had she blinked, she’d have missed it. Then the colour flooded back in as if nothing had happened.

But Talia knew. She knew that the flickering was not a good sign. Just like she knew she wasn’t actually awake.

This is a dream. Or a not-a-dream. Something between the two?

Gathering her bearings, she peered down winding passageways, waiting for the voice to guide her. She hadn’t had much agency last time, but it wasn’t like she was an expert on prescient dreaming or whatever it was she was experiencing.

A dark part of her murmured of the deranged, delirious delusions some fell prey to at the end of their lives. The rest of her struggled to deny the truth that lay in the heart of that intrusive thought. She’d already seen that her senses were untrustworthy.

Luckily, a voice spared her from deliberating the possibility any further.

It mewled and gasped and whimpered. Soft sobs and nonsensical muttering echoed against psychedelic tunnels. With nothing else to go on, Talia followed. The organic passages coalesced and pressed in on her around her like some great, big, metaphysical sphincter. Pushing her in the direction of the sound. She took no turns, nor did she change directions, but eventually, she wrapped around and found herself in a large, open space. Multicoloured, pulsating walls covered in purple veins gave way to a blank void.

A void that was occupied by not one, but two others.

The step she took past the threshold didn’t seem to alert them, so Talia took a moment to take in the odd sight.

One of the girls was coiled up in a fetal position with one arm twisted and limp off to the side. She lay on her side as ribbons of violet light carved their way under her skin like living ropes of power. Glowing citrine eyes rolled in their sockets. She jerked to and fro at shadows only she could see. All the while teeth gnashed and lips mumbled. The girl’s tone was obviously pleading. For what, Talia did not know.

The second person was more familiar. She seemed to watch the whimpering form on the ground, impassive. Unwilling or unable to help. Her posture gave no clues as to which it was. Her back was too straight and her head was held rigidly high. Her right arm had been replaced with dull mithril and shining silverite. She stood with her back to Talia, but if the arm hadn’t piqued suspicion then the shock of red hair, identical to the girl on the ground’s, gave her away.

What. The. Fuck.

“Pitiful, isn’t it?”

Talia’s doppelganger turned to face her, and her face was…not right. Too sharp. Faceted, almost. Her eyes burned vivid indigo. Like cut crystal held up to the light of purple magelamps.

“I—uh…” Talia answered eloquently.

Crystal Talia waved an imperious hand at the shape that gibbered still on the ground.

“That’s me. Us. The part of us that couldn’t handle it, at least. It would be sad if only there weren’t more important things to worry about. Like the death of everyone we care about, if we don’t succeed,” Crystal Talia mused, steel in her voice.

The girl’s words brought up so many questions, implied so much that Talia didn’t quite understand, but felt like she should. She burned to ask. To know. But the only thing to come out of her mouth was a single question.

“Then…who are you?”

Crystal Talia smiled. It was an ugly thing, full of sharp teeth and arrogance. Cold calculation and pride shined in her eyes.

“I’m the one we made to get shit done.”

Talia frowned, wanting to know more, but scared to ask.

“And me?” she asked instead in a small voice, barely a whisper.

Crystal Talia shrugged languidly.

“You’re what’s left.”

Talia nodded slowly, turning her gaze to the mewling mess on the floor. Every compassionate bone in her body pushed her to go to the girl, to comfort her as she had wanted to be comforted as a girl. Something about the sharpness in Crystal Talia’s eyes told her that would be a bad idea.

“She was weak,” Crystal Talia asserted, “Soft.”

It was Talia’s turn to shrug. Her doppelganger spoke of things Talia herself had no knowledge of, but Talia got the sense even her alter-ego didn’t know why they were here, or how they were speaking. Crystal Talia presented a good façade, but something in her stance spoke of dangerous uncertainty. There was a desperate need to be right in her that, from the outside, was clear as arcano-light. Or maybe it was because, in a way, they were the same person.

But if you’re me, then who are you trying to convince?

Crippled Talia moaned on the floor, jerking out of her fetal position for an instant before snapping back into it, shivering. Crystal Talia muttered something Talia couldn’t quite hear. It sounded almost like ‘Who indeed?’

Can she hear my thoughts?

Before she could ask, Crystal Talia spoke.

“You shouldn’t be there,” she said with an unwavering certainty.

“You mean…here? Do you know the way out?” Talia chuckled mirthlessly, “I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming.”

The doppelganger shook her head.

“No, I meant there. In the driver’s seat. In charge. Running the show,” Crystal Talia enunciated. She stepped closer with each syllable, casting a disgusted wave in Crippled Talia’s direction, “She was weak, but at least she knew it. Redeemed herself. Put me into play. You? You know nothing. Less than nothing. You’re even worse than when we left home. No magic. No friends. No knowledge. Without even a working body to safeguard. You fucked us.”

Crystal Talia was right up in her face now, forcing Talia to take a few intimidated steps back, nearly stumbling over her feet. She’d have been angry if she weren’t so terrified. There was emotion in her doppelganger’s voice, but it was clipped. Sterile. Like someone putting on a show.

Talia understood none of it.

It doesn’t make sense, that’s why.

“I-I—I don’t—”

The spittle cut into Talia’s cheeks as her doppelganger pushed her too-pointed nose against hers, forehead cold and hard as marble.

“You were right about one thing though.”

Talia chuckled nervously, feeling the soft wall against her back. The colour leeched from the walls all at once, flickering and returning in a split second.

“Oh, uh, that’s good. I uh…which part?”

Crystal Talia’s grin looked like it hurt. Like the corners of her mouth might start bleeding at any moment.

Stolen novel; please report.

“You need to…wake up.”

Talia would have been nodding frantically if their heads hadn’t been pressed painfully together. As it was, a whine escaped her.

“Not…my…fault—”

What the fuck is wrong with her?!

“Irrelevant. I said. WAKE. UP.”

A metal hand grasped at Talia’s throat, pushing her into the malleable wall at her back. Crippled Talia’s gibbering rose to a fever pitch as she squirmed and thrashed against the floor behind them.

Talia squirmed nearly identically, pulling at the inexorably clenched silverite digits wrapped around her throat. But it was too little, too late.

The wall absorbed her.

Real or not, dream or not, she suffocated. Instincts older than time raged for breath, repeating primally in her thoughts.

Can’t breathe. Can’t. Breathe. Can’t—

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

Talia woke with a scream and a shuddering gasp.

“Holy shit,” she muttered, rubbing at her throbbing temples and wincing as the sharp fingers of pain stabbed through them. Her unresponsive right arm was nothing but an afterthought. Talia’s whole body burned, sweat dripping from every pore. The shakes rushed in, either from earlier damage or from sheer terror. The whole world bobbed up and down like— Talia froze, grasping hands making up for useless eyes and feeling around.

Metal. Cold, unfeeling, inscribed with countless grooved runes that flowed so elegantly across the construct’s chassis that it hurt to feel them.

Oh, fuck me. Ok. Ok. Think, Talia. It’s just carrying you right now. Taking you somewhere. Gods know where. But if it hasn’t killed you, that means it needs you alive, right?

As her vision returned, Talia looked up into the smooth metal face of the construct that had just moments ago —at least, from her perspective— been raging after her. And more than likely looking to cause her serious harm.

One crucial detail was off, however.

The runescripts…they changed colours.

The old runic inscribed in the metal man’s chassis emitted a dim purple glow, illuminating the smooth tunnel around them. Talia thought back to the crippled version of herself she’d seen in her latest dream and the barbed, violent threads of power that had infected her.

The colour change doesn’t mean anything; it could be just as dangerous, in a different way. All sorts of scripts out there to change the colour of channels. Hells, it could mean that it’s fully operational, instead of damaged, like before.

The thoughts swirled around, plausibility mixing with implausible, oftentimes bypassing realistic and heading straight for catastrophic. Knowledge she didn’t understand or know the provenance of seeped through the haze of her memories, informing choices she was only half cognizant of.

I need to escape—

In a panic, she sought to raise her right arm again, knowing without knowing how that if she could bring it to bear, runes and metal both would crumple and tear at its touch. Which, of course, is when she registered that she couldn’t feel the limb at all. It hung limp, useless, drained of mana.

The…other…one said something about magic, didn’t s—aarggh

Before Talia could finish her thought, pain flared across her body again, worse than it had ever been. Needles crawled up her nailbeds. Hot magma scorched her skin and seared her twitching muscles. Something ravenous tore at the centre of her ribcage, searching for something that wasn’t there.

When the episode passed, she felt weak. Drained. Like when she’d fallen ill as a child and been bedridden for a whole week. She spared not a thought for how clearly she remembered the brief moment of her childhood. With the relief from the pain came a grim realization.

I can’t. I can’t escape.

And it wasn’t just her infirmity. She was pressed up against the construct’s chest in a princess carry, its flexible appendages wrapped snugly around her waist and knees. It held her tight enough that she had very little wiggle room, but not tight enough that she felt restrained. Though she held no illusions about its strength. She shuddered as she remembered the force with which it had pulled her out by the ankle.

Fighting resignation Talia felt the urge to scream. It boiled up her throat on a current of helpless rage that brought tears to her eyes. She cursed the Stone, the gods, old gods and anything listening for putting her in the position she was in.

Helpless. Lost. Powerless.

Deep beyond memory and recollection, she knew that she didn’t deal well with things beyond her control, and it only served to fuel her rage. But she didn’t speak. She didn’t scream. Or cry or pound out her futile anger against the unfeeling chassis of her captor.

She fumed and roiled and battered at fate’s will in silence until it all escaped her in a huff. Once the emotions had run their course, she felt empty. More empty than she ever thought possible.

I…I should assess, at least.

Turning her head slightly, Talia noted that they had left the factory floor room far behind. Or at least, an hour ago, if her timepiece could be trusted. Back in the long tunnel then. Each of the metal thing’s clunking steps was eerily quiet, as if its every move was the epitome of power controlled. It wasn’t necessarily what she’d call fast, but it was relentless; its pace never flagged, nor did it trip or stumble. It was also undefeatable in her current state. Talia fought a chuckle. The very idea that she might ever be able to fight the thing was laughable.

But if I’m getting this right, I’m not all…me right now. Maybe the other one was better in a fight. Hell, with a sword that big, she’d better be, otherwise Compensation was a better name.

After minutes passed in resigned silence, Talia remembered a tidbit she’d overlooked. During the fight —if you could call it that— the thing had spoken. It wasn’t any language she knew, but it was eerily familiar —the same sound she’d heard in the first dream.

Talia shifted, looking up at its faceplate. Just like the rest of it, the head was covered in scrawling runework so tight and complex it boggled the mind. It had no features except for eyes. Glowing, crystalline stones about half the size of a fist. If Talia looked closely, the inner light seemed to shift periodically from side to side as if it was sweeping the long corridor with its gaze.

From this angle, it almost looked…

…protective. Was this the voice I heard in my dream? If it was, then why did it attack me? Was it even attacking me? Maybe I misunderstood…no. Nothing runs at you like that with good intentions, I’m sure of it.

Something had changed, then, when it had caught her. What that was, on the other hand, was anyone’s guess. Everything about Talia’s predicament was anyone’s guess, really.

What this place was, what the construct was, how they’d come to be —though that one was easier to guess at— where it was taking her, why it had attacked her, why she was here, why it had stopped attacking her, why it was helping her, the dreams, the doppelgangers—

Alright, enough. Too many variables, too little information. You’re just torturing yourself, Tals.

Talia clamped down on her runaway thoughts, putting them out like candles.

All the questions she had barely scratched the surface of the many mysteries the construct represented. Most of which she was sure she didn’t remember enough to even begin asking. The most important question now, the determining one, really, was where it was taking her. Talia’s first dream had given her the sense that whatever lay behind the door would help her. It had been insistent, that tinny voice. Hopefully, that was their destination. It certainly seemed like it.

Eventually, thoughts awhirl, Talia let her head rest against the construct’s chest.

Whatever it wants with me, it’s not like I can stop it.

Right in tune with her fatalistic conclusion, her vision flickered. Colour faded to greyscale, and then to blackness. The only light that remained came from the glow of her captor’s runescript. Splotches of violet danced across the viscid black like a clutch of lumen bugs.

Eventually, the construct’s unnaturally silent, plodding footsteps rocked her to sleep. This time, it was blissfully dreamless.

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

Odd echoing noises were the first thing to register when Talia woke.

Fuck, my head. Ugh, my everything.

She’d have thought she’d eventually get used to feeling like she’d been passed through an oil press, but no. Every time she woke, the agony was just as fresh. Just as irritatingly happy to inform her that she was terribly, horribly damaged in some way she didn’t understand.

At least I don’t have to walk myself anymore.

Talia frowned as she realized the construct’s plodding gait had changed. Then, she noticed the weightlessness. Still not quite adding two and two together, she did what any sensible person would do: she got her bearings.

Then she realized she was hanging from three all-too-thin-feeling appendages as the construct climbed up the inside of an enormous shaft.

Before she could get a thought through, she screamed.

The construct stopped.

Shock had her mouth clicking shut faster than she could blink.

Warbling, tinny sounds emitted from behind her, too alien to be comforting, or whatever it was going for. Talia squirmed, desperately trying to get a grasp on one of the thing’s appendages. Just the illusion of safety it presented was alluring.

Her own voice echoed back at her as the metallic, almost liquid tendrils tightened around her bust, waist and knees.

“Oookk—” she breathed as she stopped swaying, “I’m ok. It’s not going to drop me. It’s got me.”

I hope.

The metal man emitted the exact same tone it had before, the mellifluous lilt of whatever language it was speaking ruined by the grating, metallic texture of its voice.

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Talia ground out, eyes screwed shut.

If it understood her, the thing gave no sign. After repeating itself a third time, it began its climb anew. Talia kept her eyes closed and dug her fingers as best she could around the tendril at her waist, taking comfort in her white-knuckled grip.

If I’m going to pass out, now’s the time.

Of course, now that she yearned for it, unconsciousness remained out of reach.

The climb felt like it lasted hours. She was never accidentally smashed against a wall or even gently rocked. The tendrils around her kept her stock still.

Finally, Talia felt the first sway of the journey since her awakening as she was winched out from the cylindrical shaft. In one smooth motion, she was back in the construct’s embrace.

It disturbed her to realize that after the long, terrifying climb, its steadiness gave her some measure of comfort.

But her feelings were neither here nor there. For better or worse, her theory —that the metal man was bringing her to the door from her dreams— had been confirmed. Talia recognized the winding corridors.

Though there was a big discrepancy: here, the smooth stone of the lower tunnels had given way to some sort of dark alloy, dense with dead, runerotten enchantments, so thick it had formed a patchy patina.

Looks like a gate into the hells, if you don’t know what it is.

As unlikely as that was, in a few moments, she would know for sure. The door wasn’t far.