Chapter 6

It was dark, even under the moonlight shining down onto the blue sand plains, lighting up the seabed in an eerie glow. Vrraet felt rather disconcerted, having seldom left the caves. The seemingly infinite distance around him unnerved him to no end.

The Saighgair held no such thoughts. The Hunter caste, lithe and quick in their movement, they swam silently along the sand floor, leaving barely a ripple on the fine grains. In comparison, Vrraet’s own actions were lethargic, a pang of jealousy going through his chest.

Different Caste, he forcibly reminded himself, Our purposes are different, so our bodies are different.

The water flowed through a specialized runed collar around his gills before being breathed in, something he cobbled together with the time that he had. As Bygails couldn’t breathe without moving, having to spend their days within the Sanctuary just to stay alive, Vrraet had made these collars that seemed ironically similar to manacles. Having been the inventor of these items, making one in a short while was a simple task.

It wasn’t at all comfortable, though the collar does channel water through theoretically forever and the ability to function beyond the Sanctuary was well worth the strangely sterile taste.

The words of the Vahisk, the War Leader, stayed in his mind despite Vrraet’s effort to not panic.

True enough, there had been trouble outside of the Sanctuary, the Sacred Vessels being attacked. Some monstrous entity, or entities, had broken through the defences, the wards set down by the Stjernmah, the trained sharks — as if they weren’t there at all.

All that was left of the scene was a vast amount of dirt and mud, like some kind of mountain had been upturned into the water. With that in mind, the Sacred Vessels themselves were missing — or destroyed.

Whilst the Saighgair in charge of the investigation were still searching for clues, the discussion held at the Council two tides ago had been rather rudimentary. Despite the lack of information, however, Vrraet had been very sure that in some way or form, magic had been involved in this incident.

While he couldn’t believe that the land-striders had anything sea-worthy enough to break through the wards and simultaneously be able to actually find the birth site, he wouldn’t rule out the possibility that this was a ploy by them. To strike directly at their young right after a complete decimation of the Hunters in their previous raid, he found it to be too coincidental to as it is — a coincidence. After all, as a researcher on magic, he was rather sure that magic entities or phenomenon should not appear out of the blue.

That being said, it potentially meant that whatever that had destroyed the Sacred Vessels were still wandering about, setting his nerves on edge. The last time his life had been genuinely in danger was nearly ten seasons ago, and suddenly being out in the open sea with a terrible being about was not something he relished doing.

Vrraet clutched his package closer to himself, feeling safer within its presence. When all else fail, he could always trust his own crafts — and as of now, he held a weapon of destruction within his hands.

With that, he was fairly certain that he could blast a hole to fit himself through with the trident in his webbed hands. I am armed and very dangerous, he reminded himself, and I am surrounded by half the Saighgair hunters. I am safe.

With the self-induced mental therapy, he forced himself to relax a little bit.

The Saighgair nearby tosses him several odd looks, unused to having a Bygail within their midst. Luckily for both parties, they weren’t particularly in a hurry, so Vrraet could match up with the athleticism of the hunters.

Eventually, after almost half a day of travelling, they had finally traversed the sandy dunes, allowing the currents to speed them along. The objective of the hunt this time was of the large, tough-shelled Great-Shells, usually found drifting along the seafloor searching for crustaceans to snatch up with their long boneless arms.

In most cases, the Saighgair wouldn’t go for these floating disks of bones since actually killing one was extremely difficult and time-consuming. With Vrraet’s invention, however, they may a chance to shatter the hard crusted shell of the Great-Shells directly, making it easier to slay them.

Vahisk trilled for the hunters to slow down as they finally reached their destination, allowing the company of two dozen a brief moment of rest, of which Vrraet was rather thankful for. He hadn’t stretched his muscles for years and such a long excursion had made his fins and tail ached like nobody’s business, feeling as if they would fall off soon after.

Well trained, five hunters went off to search for tracks, through either taste or sight. Trails of Great-Shells were not difficult to find, seeing that they would use their arms to pluck shells from under the sand, leaving deep holes within the sand in a haphazard trail. Even as unskilled as he was, Vrraet could also see the tracks left behind by the giant cephalopods.

Given a moment of reprieve, Vahisk came by and said, “Elder kept up well, for an ancient Bygail,”

Vrraet sent back an unamused wiggle with his tentacles, too tired to give a proper retort.

Continuing on, seemingly not noticing the Bygail’s silent condemnation, Vahisk said, “The hunters shall round up the Great-Shells, tying them down with nets. With the targets tied down, Elder should have no issue with testing the weapon’s prowess.”

Thankfully, it seemed that Vahisk had returned back to his prompt manner. Vrraet waved a hand, tiredly answering, “Do what you think is best. I doubt that my ability to hunt is any better than yours...”

Vahisk gave a non-committal response, waving at the other Saighgairs to continue on with the hunt. Gesturing at two others to stay, he said, “Then this one suppose that Elder shall stay with my squad. It tends to be safer.”

“So be it. I would hate to die from being slapped by a cuttlefish.”

Vahisk trilled at that, “That would indeed be a terrible way for an Elder to die, this one agree.”

Suddenly, the Saighgair turned his head to the side, as if listening for something. Whatever it was, it was something that Vrraet couldn’t listen at all. Responding to the unheard word, Vahisk transmitted something back, the water allowing the voice to travel far.

It was then Vrraet realized that he was witnessing another feature of being a Saighgair — capable of making sounds that were ridiculously high on the frequency scale, high enough that the fellow Iasgaireans couldn’t hear it at all.

After a few seconds, Vahisk seemed to have received something satisfactory. Staring off at a distance, he said in a matter of fact manner, “Wanting .”

Vrraet readjusted the collar around his neck, “Herding them up? ”

The Hunters had located a school along in that direction, as apparently as it was. It seemed like Vahisk had somehow forgotten about the fact that Vrraet couldn’t actually hear the conversation between them, giving the Bygail a quizzing look.

Vrraet tapped the side of his head at where the ears were.

Enlightened, and perhaps slightly apologetic, he said, “Ah, it was just the Hunters had located the Great-Shells over there. However, some of them seemed to have found some kind of trouble along the way.”

“Then…?”

“Not good enough, simply put,” Vahisk said, “The preys are meek and slow, easily surrounded. How they could find trouble with that was beyond me. Most importantly, this is an indication they are not experienced enough to take on tougher preys, such as the land striders.”

“Are you sure that it is not because of other predators? Not Wutwyrms or the like?”

“Yes,”

“...?”

“No large predators hunt here, honoured elder. It is highly unlikely that a predator would venture here, being this close to the surface at night in a plain of sand where nothing grows. The only prey with enough meat to sustain a dangerous enough predators would be the Great-Shells, and those were hardy enough that only the largest beings would waste their time on them.”

Alarmed, Vrraet inquired, “Then why would we venture here?!”

“Too shallow,” Vahisk patiently said, “When the tide goes out, this stretch of sand would be once more exposed to air, leaving any large enough beasts to be stranded. Besides, nothing that large would dare approach the territories of the Iasgairean…”

“Is that so…” Vrraet muttered, suddenly aware that he, in fact, knew surprisingly little about the behaviour of his species — or the environment, for that matter. Whilst he was a master of his craft, he found himself to be woefully ignorant in the matters of life, having lived a sheltered existence inside the sanctity of Sanctuary.

Vahisk did not reply.

Well… Vrraet thought, looking about nervously, waiting numbly as the Saighgair did his work. What the other Iasgairean was doing, he had absolutely no idea, but he assumed it to be rather important.

Time passed slowly as a whole lot of nothing happened from his perspective, trickly by with the pace of a sea slug.

While the idleness would have been a good time for his mind to wander upon ideas, he found himself to be uncharacteristically scattered even whilst outdoors, standing about with only nerve-wracking thoughts in his mind.

Truth be told, he was rather worried about the current state of his colony. As hundreds of Sacred Vessels went missing and the Saighgair hunters depleted after the disastrous raid, the Iasgairean faces a serious shortage of capable members to prepare for the winter — and just as importantly, to be able to feed Sgnirmah.

With a lower replenishing rate due to the mysterious attackers, the Iasgairean would face several years of crisis, not to mention that several centuries of cultivated bloodlines were lost or destroyed, which also require more resources to restore.

Resources, that as it was, rare and ever more dangerous to obtain.

This entire scenario could only benefit the land-striders, or worse, a foreign colony. If so, how did they locate the birthing site? Would that mean that they could attack us at any time?

With that troubling thought, he realized that he somehow lost focused anyway, mind wandering while he was in danger.

Snapping back to focus, his mind went back to the present — nothing changed. Vahisk still stood resolute, the Saighgair vanguard motionless next to the two.

Vrraet trailed a webbed finger down the side of the neck piece, calming himself down.

You are an elder. Behave like one, he told himself.

“The hunters had successfully herded a school of Great-Shells together,” Vahisk’s sudden words startled him slightly, “We can approach now. Follow this one.”

Jolted out of his pondering, he mutely followed behind the War Leader, paddling awkwardly to keep up a good pace.

As he did so, he unwrapped the weapon held in his hands, carefully revealing the golden lustre of the metal, his nerves starting up again despite his confidence in his work.

He, as a person, was not somehow who doubts. However, he was rather worried that the weapon he held within his hands would somehow fail his expectations. If he could somehow demonstrate that the weapon could indeed do what he promised, it would change the way the hunters function forever, giving them an edge once more against the strange metallic contraptions of the land-striders.

Gradually, the trapped Great-Shells came into viewing distances. Even in relatively clear water and silvery moonlight, it was a chore to see long distances, though he had no doubts that the surrounding Saighgair could see much farther than he could.

With nets of woven fibres, the Great-Shells were restrained, pressed against the sandy floors to prevent escape. They would make distressed honking sounds as they strained to escape the ropes, pointlessly wriggling about and lashing out with their arms. For all their trouble’s worth, the Saighgair responded with stabs from their tridents, driving the limbs back with ease.

As it went, while Vrraet had eaten the flesh of one of these massive shelled beasts before, he had never actually seen one with his own eyes. They for one were bigger than he thought, seemingly daunting even whilst restrained, their shells bigger than some of the land-strider’s smallest vessels.

It was horribly ironic, he thought, that their reliance on their shells only served against them.

Vahisk made a gesture with his hands, and the warriors responded languidly. The water shook somewhat violently after that, and it was only a few moments afterwards that Vrraet realized the War Leader had made some kind of angry sound beyond his hearing range.

At that, the Saighgair snapped to attention. With some clever manoeuvring that escaped his sight, the warriors had somehow separated a single Great-Shells away from its school, snared and secured within a net.

Dragging along the poor creature, the Saighgair isolated it to side. Realizing that it was his time to speak, Vrraet spoke loudly, “Secure the target to the sands and stand back!”

He was summarily ignored.

Mildly scandalized, the Bygail looked towards the War Leader, who gave a hapless motion with is tentacles. Waving an arm, Vahisk spoke something once again too high-pitched to hear, and the soldiers blurred into action.

Stakes were produced from somewhere unknown, securing the massive kelp ropes to the sandy floor. Bound in the middle plains, the Great-Shells was a perfectly vulnerable target to test the weapon on.

“Is this satisfactory?”

“Yes.”

As the Saighgair retreated away from the lone creature, Vrraet spent his time unwrapping the kelp-bound weapon on his back. Lovingly peeling away the green layers, the shining glint of a golden trident was revealed to the world.

Grabbing the cultivated coral hilt, he slowly ran the length of his finger down the metallic spines, tracing the runes to the glimmering stone embedded within.

In his mind, he ran by the list of things that he must observe, energy bearing, the rate of discharge, damage scaling, the rate of recharge…

So many things to consider! He said to himself, But it would be well worth it.

Hoisting up the trident to his hips and lining up with the struggling creature, he began the preliminary step of attuning the magical weapon to himself. With its ( unapologetically amazing, if he could so say ) intuitive design, the life-sensing lines allow those even without any magical inclinations at all to use it, responding to touch and grip.

In fact, referring the weapon to be alive would not be terribly untrue!

At his touch, he felt a tingle travelling down from the corral grip. The water noticeably grew warmer as the magic within the stone readied itself to discharge, like a serpent coiling. Satisfied with that, he continued to the second step of the preliminary preparations.

Taking a few seconds to centre himself, he reached down to gather a handful of sand, careful to avoid the unbroken seashells hidden within. As his own ancestors had taught him, the memories and procedures well situated within his bloodline, he threw the sand into the water, allowing them to drift pass his lidded eyes.

A familiar well of power within him responded to the gesture, reaching out with its electric tendrils and into his head, icy cold in their path. The movement was swift, sure and purposeful — as if Vrraet had done it thousands of times rather than the odd dozens he had.

Or maybe he had. His ancestors certainly did, as far as his memories could carry his thoughts back, cycling through the lifetimes of experiences. The same gestures, the same technique.

And naturally, the same effect.

When the sand eventually settled back down and the film across his eyes dissipates, it revealed a world quite different from the one he had been in moments ago.

The ground was still there, the currents following the same paths as before. No, he is in the same place as before. Yet somehow, the world had shifted just so ever slightly, as if everything had abruptly become more as he immersed himself into the Sight.

The moonlight streaming down had somehow turned even more silvery, shining like liquid metal. The sand glowed darkly as if they were somehow absorbing the light from above.

The Saighgairs, however, were incandescent all on their own.

There were different shades of blue, red, yellow — all swirling around them like an aura, pulsing along with each heartbeat. Wisps of light danced from their scales and fins in ethereal forms, linking with each other like bridges made out of soul.

Every time he witnesses this, he was once again struck with a sense of familiarity, reminded of the fact that he had seen them before. Each and every one of these warriors, their inner glow…Not in this lifetime, perhaps.

Vahisk, off to the side, positively radiated like a star, and Vrraet knew that his own aura would be much like the Saighgair as well.

Potent. Old souls reborn and reborn again.

Some ancient memories threatened to overcome him again, but he shook it off with a thought. No, this is not the time for reminiscence.

Shifting his head to the side in order to better align the trident’s aim, he spoke out loud, his voice warbling through the water, “Weapon test begins in five seconds!”

Vahisk, outside of his vision, gave warbling call. The Saighair immediately lowered themselves to the sand, bracing against the floor.

There was a strange, electric feeling running up the webbings between his fingers as power courses through the metal, lighting up the area around it with a queer golden glow, both physically and in his Sight. Then, a sudden lurching sensation seemed to erupt through him as a massive force blasted him —

PHOOM!

The next thing he knew, Vrraet found himself on his back, groggy as sand settled around him. There was a sensation of aching pain and the world spun for a few seconds before he shrugged that off. Mutedly, he began analysing what exactly occurred just now.

Hoisting himself up, he found that he had been blasted back and had carved a small trench into the sandy ground, displacing them into the water. Nothing felt broken, there was no blood or scales scraped off, and that was exceedingly fortunate as an old Bygail such as himself would find it rather difficult to heal from even the most superficial injuries. His fingers, however, were intensively sore as whatever it was holding ripped its way out of them.

His weapon, meanwhile, had found its way somewhere to his left, sticking out of a small crater prong first, errant energy arcing out of it and striking the ground in fizzles. The captured Great-Shells, however, was still quite perfectly intact and shackled.

Relieved that his work had still been in one piece but also rather disappointed at the failure, he found his mind already thinking about the problems that had just occurred. Had the weapon misfire? No, the weapon activated, the energy was released in the correct orientation. If it had released its energy rampantly or had directly impacted me, I would most likely have been obliterated.

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“Elder!”

Suddenly reminded that he was no alone, or safely inside his laboratory, he saw that Vahisk was rushing towards him. The Saighgair radiated worry but was also extremely relieved that his charge had survived, seemingly not too worse for wear.

Waving his hands to demonstrate he was not injured, Vrraet rasped out, “I am not harmed.” Well, not significantly. There might always be magical ailments as side effects, though there are none that I could reasonably predict.

“This one believes elder should be more careful,” Vahisk said, dusting the Bygail off.

“Bah! That had nothing to do with caution!”

Indeed, even while running the simulations in his head, he couldn’t recognise any problems that might have occurred as a result of shoddy preparation. Everything — the alloy, the stone, the design, they were all aligned perfectly.

There had been no inconsistencies with his theories. The trident was to release the energy in a single direction, so why would —

Oh.

“It seemed that my design had some… inconvenient flaws that must be remedied,” he continued on, picking himself up, mind racing. No, the blast had definitely occurred. The problem was that the recoil was too large. Judging by the force it excluded on the weapon, the blast must have formed an explosion of sorts at the tip as it came into contact with the latent energy in the water, thus releasing the energy too early. To compensate for that, I will need to create a system to carry the energy further…?

Vahisk wiggled his facial tentacles, glancing at the golden shaft that was sticking out of the sand and said, “While this one would not envy the Elder’s predicament, this one must say that the weapon would be quite… devastating in the right circumstances.”

That was a nice way of saying that it was a failure, Vrraet thought as he paddled over to the trident. Fortunately, the bead itself was intact, but the energy that was released into the weapon had warped and bend the prongs into coral-like formations, curling up as if it was turned into liquid for a split second, some small metal fragments floating about in the water. At this point, he was quite glad that the energy had been imparted into the weapon itself, rather than at everything in the vicinity.

He hadn’t quite anticipated that the weapon itself could conceivably shatter, even with the amount of magic it released. Especially, the bead itself should have had reinforced the weapon, bestowing it with a ridiculous degree of fortitude — not even a genuine Wutwyrm would be able to damage it.

Yet, somehow, the blast had morphed the weapon into something quite horrific to look at.

Perhaps there is ought else here, he mused to himself as he studied the wreck, feeling as if he had suddenly stumbled into something quite amazing. Something had caused the magic to… apply some kind of spell to the material.

Suddenly, he was broken out of his reverie by a loud and harsh trill. Glancing away, Vahisk already had a trident in hand and the spines rustling, a barrage of strange emotions playing across his figure as his aura turned red. Immediately, Vrraet knew something quite dangerous had just occurred.

Alarmed at the sudden change in attitude, the old Bygail questioned hastily, “What is happening? What was that?”

“We are under attack!” Vahisk hissed as he barked something Vrraet couldn’t quite comprehend to his underlings.

“Under attack!? Where —”

“Unknown. Sentries unresponsive.”

“Then —” Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself to be abruptly hoisted up into open waters and away from the plains, two Saighgairs with their limbs dragging him along, “Vahisk, what is the meaning of this?!”

The Saighgair War Leader did not deign to respond to that and instead made some kind of gesture. Immediately, the warriors assembled into a sphere-like formation around them, tridents wielded in such a way that they resembled a flying sea urchin.

Vrraet glanced down. There was a cloud of purplish-blue off in the distance, tinged in writhing black, bubbling in odd, grotesque ways that made his eyes hurt to look at. Is that blood? And that… There was a great looming something there, at the place where he was very sure a warrior had briefly occupied.

For a moment, he couldn’t quite tell what he was looking at. There was a Saighgair warrior, a trident in hand. Then, there was a serpentine body, irradiant scale-covered coils rippling in the fractured moonlight like ice. And its maw — a giant abyss of darkness, filled with things that made his head hurt.

But while his eyes could see the form of a snake, his mind was screaming at him, great images of things flooding his psyche. Strange creatures, feathers, limbs rocks jaws mouths blooddeathmindmemories —

Then, just as suddenly, the serpentine figure vanished as if it wasn’t there at all, a trail of fuzziness following behind.

Vrraet paused.

Why were we —?

Before that line of thought even finished, found himself stopping it. Wait, there was certainly something. I had just forgotten something, no, not forgetting.

And that immediately set off all the alarms in his mind. He felt his veins flushed cold and his limbs stiffened at that.

“It's some kind of foreign magic!” he blurted out, “It’s some form of cloaking that is preventing us from seeing it!”

Whatever that was there, from the brief glimpse of that he had, he could determine it was definitely not something not entirely physical. He felt something stinging at his gills, and when he turned to look he could see a small trail of blue leaking out from him.

Blood, he belatedly noted.

Vahisk growled as a response to that piece of knowledge, trilling something to urge the Saighgair to do something. Now that he had recognised it, he suddenly felt as if the water around had grown colder, chillier somehow. The Great-Shells were still shackled to the sand, abandoned, the trident —

Oh, curses! He swore to himself. He had left the trident! How could I even think of leaving this experiment without it?

“Vahisk! The weapon! —”

The Saighgair snarled back, “No! We are not heading back. I know not how many warriors we had lost to this beast —”

At that, Vrraet’s mind churned, tripped and stirred, an almost blinding pain arcing through his brain as his thoughts once again derailed like sand in the currents. How had I…? No, I had forgotten again.

No, in fact, how many times had I forgotten? How many times had the realization set in?

Looking around, he could see two dozens Saighgair, all swimming.

And now he couldn’t quite remember how many there were at the beginning of the Hunt. Definitely more than two dozens.

“Can you see it?” Vrraet yelled as he was forcefully pulled away. Through his Sight, the spot that they had just been in seemed to have been… removed. A great, dark blotch of nothingness taking over the sands, his own eyes uncomprehending as if the information of what where why who was consumed before it could even reach him.

We must not be caught, his mind told him. Some unknown, slumbering part of his mind screamed, his fins numb and cold. He couldn’t quite identify it, but all of his instincts knew that if the thing caught them, there will be nothing.

No afterlife, no rebirth. Not even death.

“No!” Vahisk hissed back, the troupe still speeding away, seemingly having completely given up on any kind of offence. Below them, the dunes sped away at blistering speed, blurring as corals, kelps and fishes frosted over. A green-toned panic leaked a trail behind them, shining in a ghastly glow.

What manner of creature is that? Why did it show up? Did the experiment draw it here? He racked his brains, all his collective lifetimes, memories — and he couldn’t remember. There was no wisdom from the past to help him. His ancestors lie silent during his peril.

It was something that he had never known. Not a Wutwyrm. No, he decided, its something other. Something much more threatening. Something that can’t defend against now.

His scales chilled once again as a mysterious cold seemed to lap against his flesh. Looking back, he couldn’t see his...

My what? I was doing an experiment, but on what? Oh no.

“Vahisk- The thing, the serpent!—” Vrraet babbled out, his muscles locked up and was unresponsive as he held on for dear life, stomach heaving, “It-it’s coming for us. It’s catching us! It's hunting us! We need to go back to Sanctuary!”

“We know —”

“You do not! The thing, it is not something we can fight. We need wards, we need the —”

Then, suddenly, he found himself falling. The grasp around his limbs loosened, disappearing as he plummeted. The Saighgair scattered, thrown like trash in the water as bodies tumbled. It was only moments later did he register the booming sound that had occurred.

BOOMshhshh —

The next thing he knew, he found himself colliding with a coral. Something broke with a crack as it impacted, lances of white-cold pain spearing through his skull.

He had hit his head. Blood clouded his vision as it leaked in pulses around him, discarded scales falling apart onto the dirt and sand below.

Scrambling up despite his state and very probable concussion, he gasped “V-Vahisk?”

Nothing. No response.

Brushing the bloodied water away, he saw that he had plunged into the side of a reef, toppling down into a valley below. Looking up, he could see that the water surface under a cloud of disturbed bubbles, the moonlight barely making through.

Something exploded. No. No, I had to get back to the group.

He had absolutely no idea where he was. Down in the valley, a soft layer of sand covered the bottom, now quickly frosting over. The walls that formed the pit, once simply trivial to swim over, now daunting obstacles for his tail was injured.

The collar around his neck was intact, which he was immensely thankful for otherwise, he would be facing a much more immediate problem. He had skinned his right shoulder where he had impacted the reef, the arm hurting too much to even move, the muscles turning into mulch.

Broken bones. Infection.

Seeing that, he knew that even if he had immediate medical treatment, the limb would still need to be amputated. There was no saving it.

He moved to climb up the side of the corals, relying on his three other limbs to clamber up as best as possible — and he stopped. No, that would be a terrible idea. The thing is still about, it would be better to hide. If it could catch the Saighgairs, then what chance do you have?

None.

There was then a whooshing sensation as something passed atop the valley, causing him to freeze. A moment passes before he slowly lowered himself back down, plodding into the sand.

Then it was all quiet.

His heart raced, beating frantically within his frail old body. His vision felt blurry as blood continuously leaked out of his grievous wounds before the broken flesh began swelled up eventually to staunch the bleeding.

Looking around again, he could see two paths stretching out from either side. Randomly choosing one in a hurry, he ducked down and made his way around. His tail ached just as well, both from earlier in the night and the frantic flight from the serpent.

One step ahead of another in the ice-frozen sand. The reefs were empty — or as empty as it could be. The fishes that should be there were absent, the critters all hidden away and even the seaweed seemed to have still in the almost tangible terror.

His own instincts told him that such a sign meant trouble. Two beings that should not meet now exists in the area, you and something that hopefully remains a mystery.

Occasionally, he hates his memory for providing the most useless knowledge.

No matter, I would have to move, he told himself. Thus, he laid one foot before him, as all Iasgaireans would.

Then another.

And another.

He knew not how long he had been in the trench, slowly walking along the bottom. Every once in a while, he swore that he could remember hearing something before the very idea floated out of range — and judging from what he could barely remember about the thing, it had gotten to another victim.

It wasn’t before long before he came across a body.

He did not recognise the body — or what seemed to be a body-shaped hole in reality. Missing memories, associations.

Someone that he knew he once knew had been taken away, right here and then. In his Sight, he could see the very frays and tears in reality. It was as if something had torn a piece of the world away, leaving behind a wound that seemed to squirm.

Even as he watched, the hole got smaller and smaller before it too entirely disappeared, with no one left to even remember it had existed. Not even Vrraet, who had seen the gap close up could quite remember what had existed just then.

For a moment, he simply stared at the spot, knowing that something had once occupied it, now gone.

To where? What was I looking at?

But no matter how he tried to remember, he simply couldn’t recall. A small trickle of blood once again leaked out from his gills and a fuzziness over took his mind for a second.

When he recovered, he had already moved on.

One step ahead of another.

There was another body.

Was.

How did everything go wrong so quickly?

It was hard to believe that this all happened in the same night. Since sunset to now, only hours had passed. It was the same moonlight, the same water, the same people.

What use is ambition now? For all your knowledge, none of that would save you. Useless.

And now, scarcely moments later it became easily the worst experience he ever had in his lives. It had been so absurdly sudden, no premonitions — he was merely testing… something that he had forgotten about — and then.

Thing.

They all knew something was lurking out in the plains, they all heard about the destruction of the Sacred Vessels, but nothing could have prepared them for what that thing was.

No words he had known could describe what he had just seen. It looked like a segmented serpent with spines and tentacles, but his Sight told him that it was anything but. It was some form conglomeration of creatures, legs, fins, plants and things that should not remotely exist on a living being. And the worms.

Oh, so many worms.

All filled to bursting, this impossibly bloated being had single-handedly destroyed the entire Hunt. It took the Saighgairs, one by one. From them, it took their lives, their memories, their everything. Even their places in the world.

How many were there? He could not remember. Five? Six? It could not be.

But it was all that he could recall.

No one knew of its existence before it was far too late.

What if it made it through the wards, into the Sanctuary? He thought to himself, trudging along. A loyal Bygail would have placed that at the top of his priorities.

And what exactly could I do? I could hardly make it back in this condition. Now that he felt that he wasn’t in immediate danger and the adrenaline wore off, he could acutely feel every bit of hurt on his body. The arm — it stung.

His mind, worse. He found himself stopping midstep, somehow forgetting what he was doing as the foggy numbness crawled up his spine. He could almost fall asleep, to just lie down.

Go to rest.

But he did not.

I must not.

Who was still alive? He wondered. He hadn’t known many Saighgairs — they had all taken different names in each life.

Vahisk, he remembered, Vahisk is still alive.

Could Vahisk make it back to the Sanctuary?

Maybe.

Could they even fight off such a beast? How could you destroy a monster that you couldn’t even remember?

The Sgnirmah? Maybe. Maybe with its power of rebirth? He couldn’t be sure. The powers of the great matron are as much of a mystery as the serpent itself.

As for the others? No way.

No way, no way no way!

He shuddered to even think what a monster like that serpent could do to unprotected warriors.

Legions upon legions of soldiers, Saighgair and Bygails alike, throwing themselves onto the abyssal serpent all because it was what they were taught to. It would be a massacre, that no one could remember.

Step after step. Bodies after bodies. The number in his head lowered, from seven to six, then to five, until he wasn't even sure there was anyone to begin with.

He blinked.

He had made it out of the valley somehow in his haunted reverie. He hadn’t realized.

And before him was a clearing — as much as a clearing could be when it was strictly a mere divot in the terrain. Surrounded by coral walls and towering kelps, it formed a sand pit where nothing but short grass grows. Around the clearing were structures — stone-made, old ruins that belong far in the past, beyond even his furthest memories.

In the middle, amidst the debris, was Vahisk, a single blade in hand.

For a moment he couldn’t quite believe his eyes as the Saighgair turned and saw him as well.

“A-Are you there? Is that you, Vahisk?” Vrraet croaked out as he found himself moving closer.

“I-I am.”

“T-the other warriors —”

“I know. I could not remember, but I know.”

The words caught in his throat, and he choked them out, “Then- you need to move! The Sgnirmah must know what happened here! She needs to know...”

Vahisk simply shook his head, the hand clenched white around the handle of the blade.

“Then move! You have the highest chance of escaping!” Vrraet yelled back, infuriated, not understanding. Why is he standing there? Does he not realize that we couldn’t just stay?

“It’s here,” Vahisk said, gesturing upwards in an almost lazy fashion, “We are far too late now.”

Rigidly, the Bygail traced the finger to where it pointed at.

Far above, descending slowly in a cloak of silver, a serpentine figure loomed. The great full moon glared down from above it, casting a deep shadow before it as if it was some missionary from a god. The two Iasgairean stayed silent as they watched it coiled and uncoiled in its grotesque way, drifting ever so slowly downwards.

Vrraet couldn’t look away. His limbs felt frozen, too stiff and unresponsive to even take a single step backwards. They waited, standing there in the sand as the thing softly landed before them.

The beast heaved and contracted, the mockery of flesh stretching under the scales.

Vahisk spoke again, seemingly without fear, “Its over.”

The bravery of ignorance, Vrraet belatedly realized, The Saighgair couldn’t see its true form at all. Could the Saighgair even see it?

Regardless, its pressence was known by the way that the water had rapidly chilled. Small spikes of ice even began to form on the sand, blossoming.

What could we do? What —

Shink.

Vrraet stared in horror as the Vahisk plunged his own blade into his belly, dragging it out sideways. The clear water was swamped with luminescent blue as the Saighgair eviscerated himself, entrails spilling out in a tangled mess.

“Y-you will not take me, creature.”

Then, with a triumphant snarl on his face, he proceeded to jam the blade into the side of his head. A slow second passed as the body spasmed and curled over into the ground, jerking a few times.

And as quickly as it started it stuttered to a stop.

Dead. Vahisk is dead, Vrraet stared numbly at the body.

Then, in a split second, he had realized what Vahisk had just done.

In his Sight, he could see that which was once Vahisk whisked away. Away from here, away from the serpent.

Vahisk just killed himself on his own terms. Of course! Our souls, bound to the great Sgnirmah, would always return back to Her. To be reborn.

Vahisk is safe. The Iasgairean could be warned.

Then, with a flash of white-reD-BluEgReEN, a tendril shot out.

There was a sense of loss that suddenly struck Vrraet — as if a great something had just disappeared in front of him. A sense of despair.

Whatever that he had planned, it failed.

The serpent cocked its head with a tendril held midair, stilled where it had so deftly removed the last hope as if considering something. Then, inexorably, it turned to look at Vrraet.

Was it mocking me? Was it simply playing with us?

Despite everything, Vrraet found himself laughing — out of disbelief, out of despair. There was no getting out of this nightmare. He couldn’t even remember who’s shadow it was, the new dark recess in reality. He could not recognise the body in the water.

And he kept on laughing even as he slumped into the sands, watching the serpent paddling lazily towards him. There was a snapping sound as the arm broke but he was too far gone to even care.

What point was there? What worth were grand dreams? Ambitions? I’m going to die here. No rebirth. No second chances.

The sands were silent. No fishes, no kelp. Only bitterly cold ice to witness him.

Pausing before Vrraet for a moment, the serpent stared down at him.

Vrraet stared back, shivering in the sands.

The tendril in his chest pulsed. He hadn’t even noticed its existence until then. It wasn’t as unpleasant or painful as he expected, considering what would then happen to him.

I am sorry, he thought even as he fractured.

I failed.

Failed.

FaiLEd—

Fa-le—

-al…

...

He abruptly found himself back together again. He was lying down on a layer of soft sand. Up above, the water surface glittered back down at him, golden rays of light shining down.

Sunlight, he noted.

Slowly hoisting himself up, he felt the warm waters washing into his gills, tasting of fresh sea salt. With a jolt, he realized he wasn’t in the Sanctuary.

Right! I was doing… something. An experiment outside of the Sanctuary. Odd, disjointed memories returned as he sat there rubbing his head, but for his life’s sake he couldn’t quite pin down what he had been doing. After staring up at the golden water for a while, he gave up on that endeavour.

Around him were sand, kelp, corals and ancient stone pillars, extending upwards from the pit he was in. He was alone with the fishes that didn’t even spare a glance at him.

Alone? No, that couldn't be.

It was clear something extremely unusual had just occurred, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Whatever it was, it had brought him out to the plains.

Whatever it was, I would not find answers here, he decided, as all Iasgairean would.

Thus, he began to make his way back. Back to Sanctuary.

And he never noticed that in his hand was a golden trident, along with the small crackle of energy that ran down its spine.

Or that at some point, his heart had ceased beating.