Chapter 15 - The Mausoleum of Gems

She. Broke. One.

Killed. More.

Hunter. Threat. Ending.

Beginning. Start. Savior.

Delusion. Distortion. Delirium.

What. Now? She. Knows.

No. She. Saw. Does. Not. Understand.

Not. Yet.

Not. Ever.

She. Will.

Shhh. She. Stirs.

Waking. Up.

Rising.

Tsc… Dramatic.

***

Bel-Alis’s hand moved with precision as she held the wand against the pieces of armor she had bought for May. The leather was stiff and colored with light gray paint — dull in its coating and somewhat flaky — but intact enough that few untrained eyes would consider it as old as it was.

The Emporium’s enchantments had kept the armor looking new for as long as it could, but it couldn’t make it look… better. It preserved things, not improved them. And the workmanship behind the making of it was... poor to say the least.

Sighing, Alis put the wand down for a second, cracking her stiff neck. She knew this was as much as she could possibly buy with her limited budget, especially considering she had been having a hard time finding proper employment these past few weeks.

Yes, it was difficult for anyone to hire her services in Crystalia — considering the exorbitant amount of enchanters in the city — and even more difficult considering she was from a race as foreign to the city’s citizens as Arachnes, but there had always been something. A gig, a quick fix, a sudden need to redo a small enchantment in a stove or pipe or toilet.

Watcher Below, even her divination abilities were employed sometimes — though she rarely advertised it. Too many people wanting to see the future for cheap and clogging the line of customers she could actually assist.

As if setting one's sight into what is to come was something easy to do.

Nevertheless, these past few weeks had been a complete dud. No old ladies wanted her to search for their lost cat. No creaky beds she could enchant in the more… bohemian areas of the May-called “slums”. Gods, not even enchantment appraisal or ritual divination at the Adventurer’s Guild had been an option.

Bel-Alis suspected the answer to her lack of employment though. That discussion between Mirn and the tax collector was just one of many repeated arguments she and Kreacher had been hearing about around the city — and it wasn’t difficult to point it out as a likely cause.

Taxes were rising. Abruptly. To the point people were questioning the capabilities of the Eye of Trade, which was a very dangerous position for the Queendom to find itself in especially with the past few years already being so difficult for its unity.

The Queen’s absence from the throne. The rise of a King. The lack of a significant victory against Ferrovia’s new advances. Pirian. Those were only a few of the problems plaguing the Queendom and it was chaffing on the population’s soul. And Bel-Alis didn’t need a pledge to the Cry of War to feel the unrest in the air.

There was only so much propaganda could do after all. And although the criers around the city helped stem the flood of dissatisfaction with its platitudes and exaggerated tales of success, the tide kept on rising.

The Priestess feared the attack at such a historical sight as The Brimming Plaza would end up bursting the dam. And that wasn’t something she needed this close to new advancements in her research — just thinking about having to stop her work due to a civil war made her groan over the inconvenience.

And worst of all? All that unrest made people stop spending on their more frugal desires. Suddenly, that annoying sound on your door becomes not so bad. Or that missing ring you loved stops being a family heirloom and turns into just a ring.

People convince themselves they don’t need to spend coins on the small problems they can live with. And that, unfortunately, meant no employment for workers like Bel-Alis.

She sighed. Again. And continued to work while munching on a stale biscuit.

Alis had set some plans in motion already.

But for now? Well, the armor wasn’t going to enchant itself.

***

Kreacher’s paws instinctively avoided the puddles of water made by the morning summer rain that lashed against the Outer City’s more fragile buildings and streets. They had been trying to jump at least one for a few minutes now and there had been little success — the body just didn’t want to let them do it.

They knew they came with… certain instincts at times. Like how the frog desperately wanted to lash out with its tongue and eat whatever fly had been buzzing around its head back down at the [Chapel], or like how the pigeon wished to soar free from the underground, and peck on the small remains of food loitering the open streets of the slums their shared mind could see.

But those instincts could be overwritten with some effort. A pigeon could live the remainder of its body’s usable time underground when under their domain. And a frog could survive in nothing but water and fancy cakes if they managed to get it. It all depended on the degree of contamination Kreacher was willing to engage in.

How insidiously they wanted their hyphae to grow.

And yet, this kitten body was proving to be somewhat of a challenge for them. Oh, it had been easy to dominate it, as the animal was still asleep when they managed to find it and replace its tongue for a part of themselves — allowing their filaments to begin spreading inside their body — but the complexity of the brain and nerves were a new beast Kreacher had to tackle.

They had been reading anatomy tomes for a few days now. Well, a tome. And reading wasn’t really the correct way to describe it — more like a passing glance over the pretty paintings and trying to pronounce the odd names healers came up with while giggling — but they had learned… a little.

For example, nerves. Those silly little connections between brain, spine, and limbs that Kreacher found disturbingly similar to their own inherent biology comprised of hyphae and mycelium — that only made them more sure that fungi were the superior species if all the others kept on trying to imitate them — were things they could hijack with little effort when in the periphery of the body.

Which meant they could move fingers and tails and even ears with disturbing thoroughness, but when it came to brains, things got a lot more complicated.

It took active energy for Kreacher to properly understand all the brain could do, and the difference in evolutionary paths of the different animals made them all more certain that it was way easier to be born without one. Just like them.

And this kitten one was proving itself to be… particularly difficult to manage. There were just so many more connections than Kreacher was used to. An expanded memory that built onto their own, a more developed voicebox, acute hearing, retractable claws… all things Kreacher now had to learn how to manage on top of this bursting need to hunt whatever poor rat scampered around the streets.

So, puddles. They were an easy test for them. A way of ascertaining how deeply Kreacher wanted to change whatever instinct had been ingrained in the cat’s biology, as they enjoyed leaving at least some part of the original configuration remaining.

It gave some flavor to inhabiting the different animals — made it a lot more fun for Kreacher as they could experience new ways of interacting with the world. But whatever instinct remained, Kreacher was quick to overwrite it if they were detrimental or limiting.

Their reflections waned as Kreacher’s focus turned back to actively spreading their body inside the kitten’s body. Hyphae growing to the point of pressuring the skull, the fungal blooming kidnapped the basic connections of the brain by merging with the tissue or using itself as a bridge for even larger growth.

By the time Kreacher was done, the animal’s brain was a mass of cancerous white growths and pinkish mass — those small parts responsible for enabling responses originated from centuries of evolution thoroughly contaminated with their presence.

Kreacher tried again to jump at the puddle, and the sensation of brackish water on their new black fur sent all of his bodies into a giggling fit of pride and achievement. The frog's body deep below the earth almost choked on its own tongue as it tried to laugh.

Satisfied, the cat continued to walk at the Outer City — investigating as the scout Kreacher thought of themselves as. The thing about the area, despite May’s somewhat funny insistence on calling it slums, was that it really wasn’t all that bad.

Kreacher hadn’t lived in the Outer City for as long as May had, true, but they had studied it — and by that, he meant trying to understand how this secluded, almost hidden, part of Crystalia worked and developed. May, if their observation of her during their chase was correct, seemed to prefer being more… stealthy in her approach.

Granted, being a living doll probably made it hard at times to properly explore the city during the day — when its citizens worked and lived properly — but it didn’t feel fair to Kreacher to dismiss the struggling, pulsing life that made the Outer City so much less decadent than May insisted it was.

If asked, the fungal creature that they were would explain this part of the capital by dividing it into three long sectors — somewhat similar to the rings in a tree’s trunk… or some of the symbols engraved in the small temple for the Flower of Change in the All-Saints Square.

The first ring, close to the wall that separated the Inner City from its Outer counterpart, was the second most extensive and the richest of all parts. There was where those not rich enough to live in the colorful houses and inns of Crystalia settled, where all the faithful had built their temples, and where the largest — if not the most eccentric — open market was.

Cheaper brothels, inns, and other more... secretive services were found here. A place that didn’t burst with Mana and Gift like the Inner City, but that could live and develop fairly well if left alone.

It was the region where the workers lived, those that made for the larger numbers of the city’s citizens with a territory that expanded like a wave to the west — in the direction of the Arilan Jungle and hidden from the rest of the Queendom that lay to the east.

Beyond it, the middle region was what Kreacher would call proper slums. The thinnest of rings, it lacked in all the ways that made its neighbor so much more interesting. Here were those that lost too much and didn’t know how to properly step back into a worthy life.

It didn’t mean, however, that there was no life here. It was just… stubborn, sick, thriving like moss that grows between the rocks and the mushrooms that develop in rotten wood. Most of the citizens didn’t deserve to live here, but were granted the card of poverty when born and had been juggling their lives ever since.

Here, alongside Kreacher that kept on walking further south, were the war orphans, those who were too injured or too sick; the workers that worked for other workers. It was a sad place, a festering place, but it struggled with effort and kept on winning its place in the world every day.

Then, there was the largest of the areas Kreacher knew of. Growing on the sides of the two areas and expanding outwards to almost encompass all the remaining outer space outside of Crystalia’s walls were the fields. Plain and bursting with the systematic agriculture that turned Asden into an important exporter of food.

It was where farmers lived. Those that gave their lives to the soil and different animal breeds, magical or otherwise. Kreacher had walked a few times through that area — as it lacked anything of interest after the novelty of watching the animals passed — but it was one of the prettiest places around. The fields of crops, the scent of turned soil, the baah sound of the sheep; all those details kept building onto themselves to form an idyllic image that Kreacher still enjoyed seeing from time to time.

It was… peaceful. Serene. Maybe they should bring May here someday, the girl could really use some time to relax.

They had seen her expressions when they were discussing the plans for their later delving into the dungeon, and she seemed way too tense about it all. May had even snapped at Alis when she proposed a few alterations to her plans as if any changes were heresy to her ears.

Far from her, Kreacher scoffed at May’s pride. They hoped this new adventure could mollify her just a little bit more to their and Alis’ advice. Although Kreacher was all too willing to let the youngster break her nose against the walls, May kept on building with her stubbornness.

But that was for later. Right now? Kreacher had a mission to complete. A quest given to them by the Priestess of History herself.

Their white paws got dirtier and dirtier as they walked south while inside the slums. Kreacher’s objective wasn’t in this area, but they knew enough not to go straight at the target like an arrow — no, their approach was a lot more… subtle. Or at least they tried to be.

So Kreacher left through one of the northern gates and darted from shadow to shadow until they had left the first ring and entered the second — the black fur covering most of their body proving itself useful. When there, they wandered south until their position was roughly aligned with their objective and made a sharp turn to the east.

Going towards the walls of Crystalia.

And their destiny? A tiny church that sits far from the All-Saints Square — but still within the first ring. A fairly recent building when compared to the ancient ones that surrounded the main area of worship of Crystalia — as they were as old as the end of the Exodus itself.

No, this place was one obtained for services done for the Queendom. Or at least that’s how Bel-Alis had explained to Kreacher. A small terrain where the Faithful had erected a somewhat bleak building — or at least that’s how Kreacher would describe it if given the chance.

The stone church was an old, stained white in contrast to the quickly approaching dawn. Windows made of dirty, blue glass and shaped like raindrops were present along its walls, installed in odd, asymmetrical bundles — never single windows, but always two or three or four that were so close together they could be processed as a single odd architectural design.

It had no slanted roof like some of the other buildings, but a sharp drop inwards like the edges of a bowl, where the walls just ended.

At the door, a heavy wooden thing with hinges made of some dark metal, were two memorable guards. Male, if Kreacher had to judge by their armor. As the cat stared at the two silent men, their mind couldn’t help but return to the night Kreacher had first seen them. When they and Bel-Alis watched a ghost getting brutally beaten by similar figures.

The Crying Hounds stood attentive to their surroundings, their canine-shaped helmets hiding their faces so completely Kreacher doubted they could even breathe properly within all that metal.

The small kitten found a place on a windowsill, hiding between carefully tended potted flowers that probably belonged to the owner of the house… and waited, as immobile as a mushroom, for any movement from the church. In the end, even Kreacher had noticed one thing or two about the Faithful to the Mourning Damsel from their own observations and Bel-Alis warnings: her servants were never alone for long.

After all, misery loves company.

***

Deep beneath the Inner City of Crystalia, in a stretch of the sewers that lined up with one of the walls separating the richest part of the city from its outskirts, an unseen door hid the only other temple to the Unseen Eye in the capital — it’s surface counterpart at the outskirts abandoned and dwindling without the presence of its only Cardinal.

Hidden and impervious to the foul water and smells that permeated the outside tunnels, the open space housed four different animals trying to entertain themselves with whatever activity their collective mind managed to spring up. Testing their body’s capabilities while enjoying themselves, as they should.

Down the only corridor that connected the main area of the [Chapel] to the other rooms, a young woman sat in a crowded office she had built for herself and used her fledgling knowledge to bring safety to a new connection, the empty sockets of her eyes shining with swirling shadows every time a new rune was engraved on the leather in front of her.

The drow sat comfortably, crumbs on her shirt as she concluded her newest work and mentally patted her own back for it. It only lacked a few connecting runes and, if whatever array she had built didn’t explode, the Priestess of History could very well consider this one of her largest successes when working with enchantments.

And yet, they were far from the only ones living this deep below the Shining City.

One other creature stirred deep within the corridor – her room, the last one of them, was carved from the same stone that made everything around the [Chapel] but for the thin mattress she had been given to put over the rock frame of her bed. Unused leather binding still decorated the corners of her resting place, a grim reminder of how she met her new companions for the first time.

On a desk on the corner, a few bundles of paper and maps and books were the results and witnesses of her effort in trying to plan a safe trip down the Mausoleum of Gems – and take the next step towards her journey for a place beside her master. But as May opened her eyes, hugging her true body close to her chest and feeling the warm porcelain touch her new skin, they were not the focus of her addled mind.

No. As her drowsiness vanished, recollections of her meeting with the whispered voices in her head returned in flashes of burning memory, making May lurch from the bed and hit her head on the opposite wall for her effort.

The pain made some of the memories recede, their pouring tide slowing to a crawl that allowed her young consciousness to process what had happened – May could even feel the Gift assisting her, using the intrinsic power of Control to enable her mind to return to those drowsy memories.

A kind of lens, perhaps. A crude manipulation birthed by the forceful wish of someone that had no thread to weave.

Slowly, ever so slowly, May remembered.

The conversation. The dodging answers. The whispers and the mouths they came from. Her ringing words. Her transformation. A thousand chains binding the voices. How she broke one. How she lost!

May gritted her teeth. Her wounded pride pulsed like an open wound. Disgust welled inside her chest as she remembered the feeling of something other within her soul, a presence that disregarded her in the center of her powers.

And she couldn’t help but turn that anger onto the only target within reach. One that she was not done with.

The voices felt her anger surging. A thousand different whispers increased in volume as they came from the edge of the doll’s consciousness to the forefront.

Happy. Awake. Important. Rested?

A bubbling part of May wanted to scoff at the probing, but despite her surging aggression, she had other plans for the day. There were very precious moments she was willing to give to them when the opportunity of getting close to Hector loomed so close.

“What happened?”

The voices conveyed among themselves – stitching a sentence from the loose words it only seemed to be able to produce. May almost felt disturbed when instead of muddling her thoughts with their discussions, throwing words left and right while she could barely think for herself, the whispers dove into a corner of her mind to discuss.

It was new and weird. Not the fact they could move around and choose when to make May’s mind into a confusing soup of theirs and her thoughts, not knowing when one ended and the other began at times. No, she knew they could do this already.

It was the silence of their absence that made her fleshy skin crawl. The diminished presence as the whispers left the front of her mind and gave space for her to think. May had never realized how crowded her mind was until they left, the soft limits of her consciousness retracting with relief now that this foreign force wasn’t pushing its limits for accommodation.

May was about to press on again when they returned – but only a few. They must have felt her relax, because only a dozen voices were now her company. The others were still there, in that now packed corner, using a golden box as the central point for their new place of discussion.

Fight. Defense. Attack. Break. Chain.

“I fought against you. You refused to tell me what I wanted to know. You thought yourselves superior.”

The doll couldn’t see them. There was no connection like that time she had a vision of Hector. And May was unwilling to delve back into her Gift and truly see things. Plus, all that region felt… sore, as if she had cracked a part of her porcelain skin and now it was trying to mend itself. So May stared at the wall she had hit her head against and talked.

The voices spoke, carefully, into her mind. Words enunciated with a cadence that they were unused to now that they were so few talking.

Mistake. Error. Foolish. Apologies.

“Why? What would you gain by testing me? Trying my authority? You knew I would fight for it. Make you bleed for it. You know me.”

May couldn’t understand why the defiance, so she asked. Perhaps it was her young mind that allowed her to simply question a problem, or just a twisted kind of childish curiosity when faced with something she didn’t understand.

The whispers stopped, for a second – and May noticed they were listening to their counterparts. These were mouthpieces. Literally and… well, literally. Nevertheless, the whispers agreed honesty was for the best, even if it stung them.

Pride. Hubris. Bound. Unwilling. To. Show.

“That’s… it? You defied me for your own ego?”

Her thoughts came raspy, incredulous. May wasn’t used to confronting an ego other than her own. Oh, she knew she could be… prideful at times, but May always thought she wouldn’t let it be detrimental to her own actions, so the position the whispers had put themselves in felt foreign. The voices sighed weakly, almost embarrassed for having to explain so clearly.

Yes. Common. Justification. Get. Used.

May scoffed, and decided to get up from the floor she was still lying on. Nursing her wounded forehead and holding her true body close, she sat on the only chair in the room and began to organize the maps and notes and plans she had made once again. Maybe they would be difficult to check deep in the dungeon, but she was certainly going to bring it with her.

“Now what?”

We/I. Assist. As. Always.

“And how can I trust you? It seems quite stupid to simply listen to your advice once more. In fact, it is stupid. You guys wouldn’t even answer my questions properly.”

Bound. Tied. Limited.

They tried to explain, and the words came softly – tender, even. May scoffed.

“But you could have said something. Hinted, maybe. Perhaps, you could have simply not been so annoying!”

Raising the volume of one’s thoughts was always an odd action as it had to be done purposefully instead of simply fueled by growing rage, but May did it well enough. Groaning in discomfort, the whispers relented once more.

Apologies. Please. We/I. Help.

“You wanna help? Fine. Tell me what those chains were. Or maybe, you know, why are there ten of us walking around Asden.”

First. Can’t. Bound. Restricted.

May waited for a heartbeat, her fingers drumming on the stone table like she had seen Bel-Alis do at times.

“And the second?”

Easy. Number. Important. Nine. Plus. One.

“Why say that? Why not just say ten? Alis said the same thing about the Steps of her Path, that there were nine plus one.”

Important. Distinction. Yes. Ten. Unequal. Nine. Plus. One.

The voices listened for a moment, a single dozen serving as interpreters for the will of hundreds. And they continued.

But. Pressing. Matters. Chain. Remains.

“What?”

Broken. Link. Left. Behind.

“Hells. Is it doing something? I swear, if my fight against you causes even more damage I’m going to rip a few additional mouths apart.”

They remained silent for a moment, and May could tell they were looking. Staring at her soul and Gift with those unnerving mouths framed by night and stars. They didn’t rise to her bait, but they didn’t have to.

She just needed to see if they spoke the truth. An impromptu plan, perhaps a little risky. A small amount of deceit so that May could look at their intentions. After all, her soul was her own, and even if she couldn’t see it properly, May could still feel it.

And that chain felt foreign. An itch she couldn’t scratch. A worm that crawled within her very Gift.

Nothing. Still. No… Exploring?

“Exploring? Huh. Tell me if it does something else – actually, no. Forget about it. Let me try something.”

May paid no mind to the inquiry from the whispers and settled her focus on her own hands, eyes unfocusing but still watching the world around her. She wasn’t trying to see her Gift and the chain but attempting to do what she wanted without sight.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The itchy feeling of the chain was present somewhere in the middle of her chest – below the heart of the body she wore – and she hoped it was enough of a location for whatever she was trying to do to work. Mentally pinning the chain’s place, the doll focused on one of her Abilities. [Puppeteer’s Strings].

Her idea was to try and use the Ability within her Gift like she had done when trying to bind the whispers, but now without her actually being there to do it. A shot in the proverbial dark, guided by nothing but her ever-present awareness of her Gift.

At first, the Ability seemed to not budge at her attempts. It kept trying to grow out of her fingers, those black, serpentine threads that slithered over her table, only to be dismissed by a shake of her head. May tried a few more times and managed to make the threads grow inside her skin, twisting within the muscles of her fingers and coiling towards her elbow before disappearing as she stopped feeding mana to them.

May stopped after that, thinking. There was something lacking – a way of making sure that the Ability came and stayed within her Gift. An object capable of grounding it.

It dawned on her as she tried once more and saw where the thread came from her finger. Small, painless openings in the flesh that expelled string the more she invested mana into it. A place the Ability originated from.

And May had one inside her very soul.

She tried again, eager now that an idea burned within her. May didn’t need to try and make threads from pure air within her Gift. Not when the tapestry of the Ability already had them to spare her efforts. May just needed to move them.

Her mind turned back to the memory of the art piece. The doll, hanging from multiple dark threads, controlling his movements and binding it in place when unused. The loose thread around the entire tapestry, forming fringes out of the unraveling Ability.

And with that in mind, she twisted it. Or, for a better word, she bent it. Just a little bit. Putting more focus on the [Puppeteering] part of it, feeling her Control stirring as she picked a single thread, her open eyes unfocused as she imagined the single, harmless and fragile thread rise from among its siblings and slither along the floor.

Left and right it went, darting slowly from behind the chain beneath her heart, until it was too close to be stopped. May smiled, showing a little too many teeth, and ordered the string to advance.

The thread reached the chain and, as quickly as it was ordered to do, entered one of the loops and formed a tiny knot. A simple thing that would be easy to unmake if one had an opposite thumb, but that worked phenomenally for what May intended.

A binding, like it had tried to bind her. A manner of Control, insidious and small until the string tugged and you found yourself restrained. Or, if you were inside May’s mind, you knew she had another name for it.

A leash.

***

Bel-Alis watched as May fixed the leather armor around her chest, the thick material heavy on the young body – but still fitting. The Priestess had made sure it fit perfectly with a string of runes etched on the insides, along with all the engravings that made the array.

In fact, as she had seen May wear the armor with her claws already in hand, the leather didn’t even scratch despite the Sharpness runes on the blades.

“All set? If we go right now, we should be able to reach it by noon. It should be enough time to at least explore three of the floors – maybe even finish what we need for your Shard of Reality!”

Alis smiled at her and Kreacher, their three bodies already set in the main room of the [Chapel], waiting for the time to leave. Non-surprisingly, the frog was currently keeping a certain distance from May, but she seemed comfortable enough to have the iguana's body around her shoulders.

Although… the girl didn’t smile. Alis knew the conversations they had yesterday about their plans had set her on edge, but she had thought giving some time for everyone to cool their minds would return things to normal – and by that she meant that odd companionship they had formed after the Plaza incident – but no. In fact, May seemed… distracted. Thoughtful, even.

“Let’s go already! We’ve taken too long. Hopefully, someone sleeping until late morning won’t make it difficult to enter the dungeon.”

The Priestess had been adjusting her backpack and got the privileged view of May’s hazy eyes snapping at focus. She flicked the lizard’s snout and huffed, her usual prickly self seemingly back.

Bel-Alis chose to intervene before their argument derailed even further. Although… it did feel weird to be the diplomatic voice in their small group. For someone who had spent so much time with only books for company, it was a role that she didn’t expect to partake in – or even to be somewhat successful in.

Well, the Faithful to the Master in the Dark did have a certain reputation as conversationalists, but from what she remembered from Mei-Anara’s carved halls and main churches, it was more of an aloof type of interest. Kind of a distant, watchful, cold-researcher-like skill.

It suited them – she would admit that at least. And it was even quite appreciated in some places; the idea of a silent companion to whom you could tell your stories and be met with detached rationalization instead of the usual nitpicking and judgment-filled stares. Mostly in courts, yes, but also where there was no one else to listen to.

Like war fronts. Or brothels. Even other Faithful came to them at times.

Maybe that’s how the friendship between Cas-Inar and Madam Cecilia had first sparked. Alis didn’t really know the story behind their first meeting, nor had she bothered to ask during the time the Cardinal was still around, but she knew it had been a relationship filled with sympathy for each other.

That’s the impression she had had at least. And Bel-Alis didn’t think she was that far from the truth. When you were an informant of such prestige as Cecilia and part of your powers came from literal secrets, it isn’t that surprising that they would find each other’s presence… enjoyable.

“Everyone ready? May, I don’t think I have to tell you how important it is that you keep your doll body safe. And I see you decided to bring the maps without my prompting. Good. Do you have your notes as well?”

The girl nodded, hugging the porcelain doll close to her chest. May had a small bag on her back, a simple, cheap thing Alis had found lying around in her office. It wasn’t big enough to hold the other supplies that she would be carrying – and she already regretted that decision, because her foot was beginning to spasm and that was not a good sign – but it was enough to hold the notebook she had given to May and the neatly folded maps.

In perfect order. In fact, she had taken a glimpse at the girl organizing the bag and it was neat. Organized in a way that actually considered usability and easy access. The maps were stacked from top to bottom, following the descending order of the dungeon floors – and May had put the notebook vertically, forming a barrier that separated the space where the used maps would go into.

Bel-Alis had to admit. It was impressive. Maybe a little out of her expectations, if she was being honest – especially considering she had first met murder-doll May instead of orphanage-visiting-laundry-folding-child-appeasing May – but, well, they didn’t really know each other.

“And Kreacher, please stop trying to stick your tongue to May’s hair. You will tangle it and she will kick you. Again.”

The young girl turned in surprise, not even noticing the white appendage from the frog whipping towards her newly-made braid. She shot them a dark look and the iguana on her shoulders joined the pigeon’s laughter. Frog-Kreacher gave her the blankest of looks, its tongue hanging from the side of their mouth.

Bel-Alis thought she had seen some thread drifting around the floor in response, but chose to dismiss it from her mind. Better they deal with this themselves. She convinced herself she would intervene if necessary.

Probably.

With a wave of her hand, the hidden entrance to the sewers opened itself – stone sliding like water over the floor. Even the symbol at the entrance, the same one that could probably be seen outside and that marked most of her God’s iconography, seemed to flow for a moment. That purple shine was present ever so slightly, just enough for them to notice it was there.

“Let’s go then. Adventure awaits… or something. Actually, I hope not. I could really use some peace.”

Her voice waned by the end, and both doll and fungus looked at each other. Bel-Alis persevered, though, and faced the foul smells head-on.

She did ignore the way the frog was being dragged along the floor, however.

***

Their exit from the sewers was uneventful, and although May didn’t need to spend more time adjusting her small bag, Bel-Alis was not the same. The Priestess already had a hard time climbing the stairs without anything weighing her down, and their supplies did not help her stability.

This meant that by the time all of them had emerged in that tight alley, Alis was panting with effort – her cane trembling slightly as she put it down and gulped some air.

“You all right, Alis? I can carry some things if you need.”

The woman just waved a hand in dismissal, the scarf around her bald head darkening with the humidity of her sweat. For all their ability to plan the actual delving, none of them considered how hot it would be outside the humid tunnels. In fact, the high noon sun was dangerously baking them all and even May had begun to feel uncomfortable under the leather armor.

“It’s fine. I just – need some time. It’s not that heavy, I only need to find some proper balancing.”

Her smile looked weak, but neither May nor Kreacher chose to push further. Well, the pigeon did try to feed the woman some wrapped rations, but she denied it, opting for the metallic canteen with quickly-warming water.

Hearing Alis take a few gulps, May looked upwards and noticed how blue the sky was right now. Despite the constant summer rains, the sky was clear from any signs of possible thunderstorms and not a single cloud adorned the vast expanse she could see between the buildings.

Entranced, she walked forwards, out of the alley and into the open streets of Crystalia, and the oppressive heat became even more unbearable – now marked with the smell of sweat and that uncomfortable warmth one could only find within crowds. May didn’t last out there for too long before scampering back to the comfortable shadows of the alley.

She turned to the lizard on her shoulders, Kreacher clearly as agitated by the presence of different bodies as she was.

“Do you know where the dungeon is? Alis said it’s to the south, but the maps and books don’t give many details on what it actually looks like.”

“Hmm, it shouldn’t be hard to find it even without knowing those things. There’s one of the important statues, or whatever, right in front of it. And there are no buildings around it – so just search for an open area and you should be fine.”

May hummed for a second, letting Alis – now a little more stable, though she did seem to take a little time between steps – be their tidebreaker, piercing the loud crowds with her thin limbs and tall stature.

“What does it look like? Inside, I mean.”

“Ah, well, have you ever been to a cemetery, youngster? Not the Tearful Lady’s one – they are neat, but too simple. We’re talking about the fancy ones, here in the Inner City.”

“N-not really. Why?”

The iguana flicked their tongue outwards, but the pigeon was the one to respond as it landed on top of her head. A man gave a quizzical look to the scene as May passed by, but dismissed it after thinking for a moment.

Just some Gift-related bullshit, no doubt.

“You see, they’ve got these really pretty buildings in there. We were quite surprised, in fact. You know, we expected it to be all somber and, well, sad – but it was actually quite nice. Colorful, even. Not so different from these buildings if we’re being honest. Lots of… engravings and pictures.”

“So? Is it the same inside the dungeon?”

“Well… it’s similar. It’s very colorful as well, but try to replace all that paint and bricks with glowing crystals. You’ll see it when we get there. Other than that, it is a mausoleum. So there are actually dead people buried there – Alis told us that herself.”

They turned left, into one of the smaller arteries that were the streets of Crystalia – though it was still far wider than any of the alleys she had seen in the slums. The stones on the ground were the same, but May noticed that the people changed a bit. And the stores.

A few set tables and chairs over the sidewalk, decorated with white cloth and small flowers marked what seemed like a street made for restaurants. The buildings here weren’t smaller, per se, but slimmer – as if they had been engineered to fit in half of the space of a main-street building. The customers didn’t seem to mind, and the different ladies and sirs that chatted over cups filled with multi-colored juices and plates of different foods sat with perfect postures, under either shadowed tables or magical artifacts that kept the streets a little cooler.

May watched one of those objects with rapt attention. A couple of spinning helices balmed a few clients with colder wind, only for the entire artifact to float away after a while, hovering over another table before the customers could even begin to sweat. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how it all worked, but by the completely smitten look on Bel-Alis’ face, the enchantment must be as interesting as it seemed.

Other than that, the buzz of workers was what made the sight different from some kind of idyllic painting. And they were from all different races – humans, satyrs, sirens, some dryads with purely green skin and even a half-elf or two, though May only filed them as some odd-eared humans without a closer glimpse.

As they progressed forwards, following Bel-Alis as the Priestess chose whatever direction to proceed next, May turned back to the conversation with a sudden curiosity.

“Why would anyone want to be buried down there? Isn’t it – I don’t know – unsafe?”

“Maybe? Alis said few are actually entombed in the dungeon proper, but in the Safe Areas instead. Only adventurers would choose to dig their graves where creatures could eat their rotting bodies, but they are all pretty much insane, so there’s that.”

May hummed noncommittally, letting the conversation drift. She hadn’t had that much of an impression about adventurers yet, so it felt difficult to relate to Kreacher’s opinion. Oh, there were many that claimed to be adventurers at the slum, especially the ones maimed and wounded, but she didn’t trust them that much.

In the end, the trio made of five bodies kept to their walk in some silence, though May did manage to silently sneak some strings inside Bel-Alis’ backpack and grab some of the supplies when the woman finally stopped at a crossroads. The doll put them in her own bag with only Kreacher as a witness – both feeling satisfied at the slight straightening of Alis’s back – and watched the Priestess choose the last turn.

***

The Mausoleum of Gems was a complex as extravagant as the buildings May had seen for a while. The change had been gradual at first, the shops and restaurants of the Onyx Strip giving way to an arrangement of constructions that felt… weird.

It began when they reached the library. Or, well, The Library, according to Bel-Alis. It was a giant of a building, built in clean, pink marble and etched with drops of some red, liquid stone in the drawings so common to Crystalia’s architecture.

It was beautiful, that was undeniable, but the way the red shone in the walls, dripping in perfectly carved rivers and flowing into the golden steps made the floor feel magical. May wouldn’t be surprised if someone told her the color came from actually melted rubies.

Beyond that, the Library of Asden shone in May’s eyes due to something she would deeply appreciate. Practicality.

Five stories tall and – according to Alis – with three more guarded underground levels, the structure was a spawn of coordinated chaos. Hollow tubes of shiny glass connected the levels beside the central, circular stairs – which meant that from the third floor, one could slide down to the ones below or upwards to the ones above.

And passenger tubes weren’t the only ones. Thinner ones also connected the floors, carrying books and scrolls through them at the request of either employee or client. If the central building was a heart, then May could only compare the glass adornments to veins, winding over themselves in loops and twists and turns back into the organ.

Others, however, became passageways that went deeper south, into the district Alis called The Garnet Edge. With the Library as its central point, the ways could be used to travel above ground to many other buildings.

A theater spawned from a living tree, gifted by the Hive to the original architects and engineers of Crystalia. A compound for exercising which could be enjoyed by all citizens of the Inner City, complemented by a coliseum for competitions. Even a school could be selected as a destination, which was an institution May had never seen before.

It was mad. It was beautiful. It was a degree of Control underlying apparent chaos that May couldn’t help but sigh at the perfection with which it was all executed. A single broken tube, or a measly rune that ended up not well-maintained, and all these structures could very well collapse on top of the streets they now walked.

But the fact it didn’t, told May the sudden resonance she felt with the architecture – her Truth humming as the doll absorbed this new interpretation of it – was right.

The appreciation and understanding remained in her chest as they walked deeper into The Garnet Edge, but gave way to pure astonishment in the face of what lay right in front of the place the walls connected.

Right there, where the glass tubes dared not to block the sky from view, twisting sideways to form a perimeter, was a garden. A true beauty of multicolored flowers and abundant trees, many of them made entirely out of crystals. Rubys, sapphires, amber stones… all of those were mixed with organic life that followed the respective colors, forming a rainbow for all to touch and see.

Around the garden was a low fence made of pale-gray wood, and all over it a single plant. Well, at least it looked like a plant, but the fact it grew in single continuous strips that covered the entirety of the fence and walkable paths of the garden made May well aware that it wasn’t something ordinary. That and the eyes.

Fleshy growths that hung from some of the leaves like earrings, their deep red eyelids blinked slowly, hiding the whitest sclera May had ever seen – adorned only by a deep black circle in its middle that looked painted on.

She couldn’t help but notice that they had no eyelashes – and that somehow made them even more uncanny. Although the opposite possibility also made her feel a little disgusted just imagining it.

“What is that?”

“That would be Rupert. He’s the guardian of the place. And the doorkeeper. And the gardener. He’s really sweet, but… well, old.”

Bel-Alis approached the blocked arch made of vines from Rupert and waved at two of the eyes that hung from the top. These were larger, the size of apples, and they blinked slowly before their pupils focused on the Priestess.

May and Kreacher followed behind, two of their bodies on top of the young girl while his frog body was kept like a keychain tied to her belt with some self-produced string. Whatever Rupert was, it was scaring Kreacher in a way that drew May’s curiosity – and she could only tell that from the way their bodies kept trembling and digging deeper into her skin with their claws.

“Hi there, Rupert! Everything all right?!”

Alis shouted the words very slowly, hands cupping her mouth to try to amplify the sound. The alien eyes seemed to lose their lifelessness for a second, sparking with slow interest – or recognition, May wasn’t sure – and the vines shivered for a moment.

The young girl could see the Priestess smiling, and thought it seemed genuine. Bel-Alis pointed to her own backpack and began to take it off.

“I’ve brought you something! Do you mind letting us through?!”

The plant shivered once more and, from the floor in front of them, two roots rose, thick and green until their tips began to multiply and stretch. By the time it had become an actual concern to May, the many thin roots joined together in an embrace, entangling themselves to form a… bowl.

May took a step closer. She wanted to see what was going to happen, despite Kreacher’s hissing against her ears.

Alis kneeled on the floor and opened her backpack to reveal two objects. A book, leatherbound and with the title sewn on the cover: Asserian Fairytales – The Unspoken Stories of The Sandmen. On her other hand, some rolled-up papers with… drawn boxes?

They were tiny. Minuscule and forming some kind of grid that May couldn’t understand. On some of them, she could see cramped writing, but it was too far and too small for her to read.

The Priestess caressed the vines with tenderness and put book and papers on the bowl. The eyes above the arch gave little further reaction, but the uncountable vines did close the bowl and – disentangled, revealing nothing left.

Green appendages returned to their original configuration, the split points turning back into the thick vines they were and receding into the ground. Vanishing from sight.

“How do we know if it–”

May tried to begin the question, but the sight of both apple-sized eyes popping and then narrowing in bliss made her tongue still in her mouth. Kreacher hid his iguana head beneath her braid, and the pigeon covered their eyes with their wings, but Alis kept on smiling as if it was only natural.

By the time the eyes had stopped rolling on their red, fruity sockets, the vines around the garden had slithered their way to turn the central walk into a perfectly braided street. Even the small plaque that hung from one of the fence posts was not visible, displaying a name burned into the pale-gray wood.

The High Garden of Mystique.

May raised an eyebrow at the name.

“Well, that’s something.”

“Hmm? Oh, he cleaned the plaque. It’s been some time since I saw it, he must have enjoyed the book.”

“Yeah, what was that all about? I mean – he is a plant, isn’t he? Can he even read?”

Bel-Alis’ head bobbed for a second as she thought, putting the backpack back on and taking a minute to resettle her balance with her trusted cane.

“Rupert is a plant in the same way Kreacher is a mushroom. They’re less restricted from common biology. And he can read. It’s considered respectful to grant him a book from time to time, especially now that he’s so old.”

“Do adventurers do it? I thought they were the common visitors for the dungeon.”

“Well, some do. Few of them. They just… don’t bother that much. The Knights are the ones that usually entertain him, or some sympathetic student or apothecary that wants to study the garden. You know, they actually have some pretty interesting plants here.”

Bel-Alis took a step forward, her deformed foot resting easily on the comfortable path beneath her. Rupert had made his vines especially soft and even had one of them try to carry her supply for her. She agreed to the reprieve with a smile, though the Priestess knew he wouldn’t follow them down there.

“Alis is too kind. He’s mean, May. He tried to skewer us the first time we came here.”

“Oh, c’mon, Kreacher! You know he thought you were a rat. Rupert even apologized after.”

“Yes, after hunting us down for fifteen minutes. If he wasn’t senile we would be dead.”

May interjected before the pigeon messed her hair even further. They kept beating their wings when aggravated and it was starting to annoy her.

“I’ll… save my judgment, Kreacher. Although I must say, the eyes are a little freaky even for me. Also, you keep saying he is old Alis, but don’t plants die during winter?”

“Hmm? Of course not. How would trees go so large if they died every year? You don’t think they just grow that large during spring…”

Alis paused, turning around to face May. The doll couldn’t tell what face she had been making, but the embarrassment did make her stutter.

“O-oh. I just thought..”

The Priestess looked regretful, though May quickly averted her eyes to the floor as her cheeks grew darker with rushing blood. Kreacher’s tail brushed against May’s cheek and they shot Alis a dirty look.

“Hey, um, it’s fine, May – I mean, not everyone knows that, right? Haha. Ahem.”

She cleared her throat and fiddled with her cane, unsure. A few of Rupert’s eyes blinked slowly at her and Alis shot them an embarrassed look in return.

“Well, you see – you are not incorrect per se. Hmm, many plants die during winter, but others just lose their leaves or stop growing for a while. Rupert here, for example, must have gone through at least a couple thousand winters himself already.”

That was enough to bring even May out of her embarrassment. Eyes wide, the girl adjusted

the doll she was hugging and looked directly into one of the berry-sized pupils. They didn’t quite acknowledge her as they did with Bel-Alis.

“Two thousand… Wait, two thousand? That’s really old, isn’t it? How can it still be alive?”

“Ah, that’s the beauty of it. I don’t know how, but Rupert is as old as the Exodus itself at the very least. If I were to guess… maybe a combination of his biology and a high Grade? He’s still quite powerful.”

Kreacher’s pigeon body flew a little higher at that, hovering above them in a way it shouldn’t be possible for the original animal. Their frog body was the one to speak this time, the iguana one simply trying harder to make itself inconspicuous against May’s neck.

“C-crazy. You didn’t tell us he was so old, Alis!”

“I didn’t? Huh. I didn’t. Well, it must have left my mind at the time – plus, we did have quite the distracting company. And yes, Rupert is downright ancient. Cas-Inar showed me a few records that said he was already with Yugo when they were still at the Lirtian Islands.”

They’ve continued to walk forwards by now, deeper into the garden. The colorful flowers distracted May for a time, and the whispers in her head kept wooing every time they spotted a fake one amid the plants, carved or smithed from different precious stones and metals.

May had to stop at a rose bush for a time, watching a perfect flower rise amid its siblings with petals made of apatites and stems of old, green bronze. She had tried to touch it, but Rupert seemed to be against it, using a quick vine to whip her clawed hand lightly as a message.

And now that she knew how old he was? May cautiously decided not to try again.

“Was Yugo part of this e-xo-dus then?”

“Yeah, he was pretty important. Yugo, the Seer. That’s what he was called. Also, you read the passage about the Mausoleum, right? So you know it’s an Artificial Dungeon.”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, then you should know that Yugo was the one that built it.”

***

Deep into the High Garden of Mystique, there was a statue. It was an ornate thing, as tall as a human man, and it floated lazily over a dais made of gold and vines – woven together. Some of the appendages swayed as if trying to follow the statue’s lazy hovering, moving with the wind while dancing to a private melody.

The piece was framed by two tall ipês, their yellow leaves contrasting with the somber red the statue was made of. Two giant pieces of garnet hand-sculpted by The White Queen herself and put in their place so that they would last for eternity.

A young girl looked at the art and couldn’t help but reevaluate what her mind had conjured when Bel-Alis explained the Gemians. The Priestess had told her they were made of crystals or gems, and that part was correct, but May somehow expected them to look… human. Or humanoid, at least.

She didn’t know why that was the default for her – maybe because Hector was human and all should follow him – but now May saw how deeply wrong that idea was. Firstly, because Yugo, the Seer, was a man May couldn’t possibly have imagined.

What had given her the initial shock was the lack of limbs. In fact, the Gemian barely had any articulations at all. Yugo was literally only a head and a torso, both made entirely of a somewhat geometric red stone.

The torso was pointed downwards, loosely resembling an inverted pyramid if they had 9 different sides instead of the usual 4. The base wasn’t flat, however, but it rose in a contrary, shorter extension that connected itself to the head.

The head, or what seemed to serve the same purpose at least, was a little more regular. According to Alis, the shape was called an octahedron, and it was perfectly balanced on top of the torso by a single point where both carved stones met.

It had no features, no blemishes, nothing that would indicate it was anything but an unfinished piece – except for the fog. Or, well, the haze. A mist, maybe? May was having a hard time finding a word to explain properly what she was seeing.

In the All-Saints Square, especially in the Church of Eternal Frost, there were thick colored-glass windows that warped the light inside with their colors. May had seen them the first week after awakening, and the sensation of watching something twisted was the only comparison she could make.

It was a face. Better yet, it had the features of a face and it rose from the smoke inside the statue like some possessive spirit. May hadn’t even realized the statue was hollow until the serene smile surfaced from the fog and took her by surprise.

Although… it still wasn’t right. The smile was too thin and stretched too much, the eyes too large and the nose looked way too bulbous. Like an overripe mango.

Uncanny. Weird. Hollow. Empty. Fake.

The whispers told her, informing May of their impression. And the doll agreed.

“So that’s Yugo? He is… different.”

“No need to measure words, May. Gemians usually don’t even try that hard to shape their faces, or at least that’s what I read. But yeah, this is Yugo. The second of the White Queen’s Four Gems.”

Kreacher perked at that, listening. Their white tongue tasted the air for a second, eyes closed as if trying to remember something.

“Hold on, Alis. There’s Yugo, the siren woman, and the beetle in the Onyx Strip. We have never seen a fourth.”

“And you wouldn’t. Blaze Graywing’s statue is in the Tower of the Order of Amethyst. Only the nobility and the knights get to see it. Believe me, I tried.”

May didn’t dare touch it, but she did feel some kinship with Yugo. Maybe it was the rigidity of their skin – porcelain and garnet – or their continuous attempts to look more like real people, but whatever it was, she could understand why this ancient man had put in the effort.

“Who are they? The Gems, I mean. Were they the White Queen’s servants?”

“Oh, not necessarily. She was their queen, yes, but they were friends. All five of them. That’s what the records say at least and I find it hard to disagree. I mean, you don’t carve such massive statues of people unless you really like them.”

“Friends. That sounds… nice.”

The words came so instinctively that even Kreacher looked astonished. Alis didn’t face May’s expression, but she looked from the corner of her eyes and what she saw was… wishful. Expectant.

Dreamy.

The girl snapped back after Alis cleared her throat, shaking her head and putting back on that neutral look she commonly wore. May’s finger tightened around her porcelain body, but she proceeded onwards. Kreacher and Alis followed in silence.

Beyond the ipês and the statue, finally laid the entrance to the Mausoleum of Gems. It was a small building compared to the others in The Garnet Edge, tall as a two stories one but undivided so that it only had a tall ceiling. The gable roof looked simple, were it not for the fact that it dripped at the edges.

No, it looked like it was dripping, but that was just how it was designed. And that was only possible because it was made of crystals. In fact, the entire Mausoleum was crystalline.

Thousands upon thousands of incredibly thin pieces, attached to each other by sheer balance and magic in what was the perfect example of a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. The walls were thin and decorated with hanging pots filled with shiny flowers – iridescent and, more importantly, alive.

May didn’t have the knowledge to know what the Mausoleum really resembled, but Bel-Alis had made the comparison from the first day she had seen the structure.

Far, far to the northern parts of Ethios, beyond even the Great Hunt, lies a place of snow and ice. There, the citizens created a way to harvest food even with the harsh climate: buildings made of glass and metal that got themselves warm enough for life to sprout. Small sanctuaries where plants could grow distant from the piercing cold of the Frozen Court.

Greenhouses. A model of architecture old enough that Alis wouldn’t be surprised if it served as inspiration for Yugo’s architectural ventures.

Still, it was an odd design for a mausoleum. But for it to fit the word, someone only needed to turn the building into the eternal resting place of someone – and this initial floor housed only a single body.

Others had been buried far deeper below the ground. So much so that Alis thought it wouldn’t be odd if they ended up forming a connection to her own patron, but she knew that where powerful Gifted rested, Gods usually didn’t interfere.

And yet, this place of thin crystal wall housed a small coffin. Not because the one inside was less important, no – but because they sought to continue their job even after death.

May entered through the crystal doors and felt the different colors of the refracted light showering over her skin. Warm rays of sunlight turned her brown skin into different mosaics depending on where she stood.

The doll kept her eyes forwards, and as the one leading their group, she was the first to see the stairs. Two tall poles were lit with purple fire, framing the open entrance that went downwards into the unseen depths of the dungeon. Crystal flowers floated in their vases all around the building, using the tall ceiling to move in all directions as they seemingly chose which light color they wished to savor with their petals.

And beyond that, in direct opposition to the doors, was the coffin. It rose from the floor on a small elevated platform, only two steps higher than the soft, earthy ground – Rupert didn’t follow them to soften the floor with his vines.

The structure was wooden and rustic. Light gray bark peeling at places to reveal a purplish core. No adornments were engraved in it, and the only thing that seemed to have received any close attention from its maker was the coffin itself.

And it was… odd. May might not have seen that many coffins during her lifetime, but she knew they followed a certain pattern: boxy wooden structures made to house a body. But this one was different because there was nothing boxy about it. In fact, from the place she stood, it looked fairly cylindrical.

Walking upwards to it, May realized it was made from the same wood as the dais, an entire log from whatever tree it had been taken from. The lower half was left untouched, the light gray bark present for all to see, but the top one was different. Outer layers had been peeled to reveal the purplish interior and then carefully hand-carved to form the shape of a bed of tulips – flowers so life-like she half expected them to move with the light draft inside the mausoleum.

And the mana… the thick presence in the air that permeated the coffin. Prickly and austere and lilac, rising from the dais and making May want to jump forward and hone herself to perfection. No, this was more than simple mana – she could tell after being so close to the strong aura of both Yugo and Captain Serena’s statues.

This sensation was closer to the one she felt inside her own chest. That slight compulsion to understand and enact upon a part of creation that resonated deeply with her very soul, comfortable in finding its other half. Whoever it was that rested inside the coffin, their Truth was still leaking into the air. Slowly shaping the world even after death.

May took a step backward, stirring her very own Truth in an attempt to counter the influence. The iguana around her shoulder and the frog hanging from her belt remained silent, spinning their own Truth as Alis and Kreacher’s last body approached.

“This is… This is their Truth, isn’t it? Whoever is inside it, their Truth is still here.”

“Hmm, indeed. Can you tell me how it feels, May? I’m afraid my Path won’t let me sense it as precisely as you and Kreacher.”

The Priestess fixed the bag around her shoulders, standing with her cane at the side. May found herself having difficulty putting it into words, but she did try.

“It’s… serious. Orderly. Improvement through constant practice. That’s how I’d put it.”

“There’s still an edge to it as well, Alis. Feels militaristic. A line of soldiers drilled with thousands of exercises, joyful to know their effort made them defeat their enemies.”

May and Kreacher’s description were poetic, entranced even – words just coming to their minds as the foreign Truth exerted its presence – but without explicitly knowing what the Truth was, it became difficult to convey what they felt without the use of such metaphors. At least the look they gave each other made sure they both agreed to the descriptions.

The young girl walked sideways a little, trying to examine the other side of the coffin, and she found something. A small carving in the lower bark; words written to inform the living of who rested here in this mausoleum. An epitaph. May read it aloud, slowly.

“Here lies Blaze Graywing. Grandmaster of The Order of Amethyst, The Queen’s Needle, Protector of Asden, and Trusted Friend. May he soar higher skies. He is… one of those ‘Gems’ right?”

“Yes. The first one. But come, May – it’s late already.”

The girl walked back to the dungeon’s entrance, the steps made of stone lightly illuminated by the purple fire that flickered around the entrance. May couldn’t see any other light in the deep.

“All right. How do we do this? We just… grab a Shard of Reality and go to the Altar?”

“Oh, no. You see, we have to make the Shard. And to do that, well… we have to hunt.”

May nodded, smiling viciously in excitement while Kreacher did the same from her shoulders.

It was about time May had the opportunity to engage in a good old chase. She was getting a little hungry.