HIS HEART FLOATED IN THE SKY, vanishing by degrees.

"It's always doing that," the scarecrow joked to himself.

Swishy levitated in place, a stunning picture of health. An unmarred gourd, a gold wing, a black wing, and his trusty rake. His straw skin reflected the perfection of autumn, its array of vibrance and vigor. And in his chest—the beginning of his fourth heart. But his gloom was an invisible factor in all this. His inner levels of straw curled his hurt into blackwheat. He'd accepted this process, the way his body reduced the brunt of pain by storing it as a resource. But none of it felt good. None of it was acceptable.

Not when faced with the dangerous reality of the situation: Ruby had traded his one heart for something momentous while the next of his hearts, The High Chasm hostage, was being passed up through the tree-borne civilization. Every curse, every scarecrow, every snitch that touched his first heart was something that he felt with more intensity.

The phantom heartbeat grew fainter as the pressure of strange touches became more real, more immediate and disgusting.

It's not over! The High Chasm heart said. Keep going!

But it certainly felt over. And it was difficult to keep going, especially after so much. And then—

Pain. A snitchtalon had dug into the heart with its claws, sensing the stubbornness. Swishy winced from the injury, the unbreakable link between his spirit and his physical parts.

Cawing laughter issued from all around.

The boy knew that the rough handling would continue.

Scratch, poke, stab, drag.

It all was something that Swishy shook off, turning each injury into strands of blackwheat. Who knew that the dark straw would become his best friend? He rubbed his shoulders, soothing himself while thanking his body.

You sure know what's best, even when I know nothing…

The standoff continued as Ruby floated atop her broom. She sat with crossed legs, bowed head, and closed eyes. Ruby took her petitioning of the Cearth with its due severity. Ruby's energy went from one of menace and domination to a pious vibe. Her faraway outline had a bowed head. Her lips rapidly moved as she petitioned the Cearth for its favor. Her hands were clasped, knuckles paling from an intense grip.

"She's holding something…" Swishy said.

"A rosary? Her? No way." Trey said, carried by the Sling-ravens, beasts who also shook their head at the notion of a worshipful Ruby.

Swishy didn't know what a rosary was but picked up on the sarcasm. He focused on Ruby's hands, ensnared by the mysterious pressure that she could barely hold onto. And that same sense was found in the ring of dark stone that orbited her.

"Whatever it is, it's heavy. The spirits are going crazy." Swishy reached out, as if to feel the aura from afar. He could, actually, detecting a presence that he’d felt before.

"I think I see a rock—rocks, plural."

Myst, shadow giantess, lowered her face to eye level with the boys. Her slight smile never left, but by now they were familiar with the precursor to dark insights and knew that a disturbing next sentence was coming.

"It's my home."

"The altar?"

"Part of what's left, I believe. Ruby told me she put it together again, that I could move back in. I suppose she wanted a souvenir. Maybe she misses me," Myst joked.

The sober realization left the boys reeling. Stolen hearts, stolen homes.

"Eyes on the prize," Swishy coached himself. "Even if the birdcage comes first…"

Znitchy hovered up and down, his birdy version of a nod.

Trey sighed. "You never lie, that's for sure."

Together, the crew watched Ruby's misappropriation of wish fuel and power.

It started simply.

Ruby prayed and the world answered.

She prayed and prayed while the altar stones spun with increasing speed around her body.

"I wish for Heaven."

A strange wish, an odd wish, but the skies thrummed with power. The words that Ruby uttered—while vague—were anything but directionless.

This was how Ruby operated: she liked to roll the dice. She had complete faith in her wildcard relationship with Cearthen altars. But this time she'd made her intentions clear enough. Hadn't she just told Swishy she wanted Heaven? The boy was curious about the word. He was certain he'd heard Trey mention it on occasion. Heaven, God, salvation—these weren't uncommon concepts in the everyday speech of the city folks.

The idea of Heaven was, to Swishy, the pinnacle of goodness.

But…there was always a but. Always a hesitation when it came to Straw City and its unhinged concept of blessings.

The altar rubble hastened, spinning like a cyclone around Ruby.

Air rippled as Ruby’s wish brewed. Then came darkened waves and ringlets, a shadowed output that began to transform.

Overhead, like a North Star, the floating heart dispersed into a black running sand. After the dark first layer shed from the Swish heart, the other layers then joined the grain fall, the oranges and yellows and browns and gold. Layer after layer sloughed from the core as Ruby whispered her wishes, the paid cost responding to her.

More of the heart was reduced as ingredients in a shadowy broth, the grains turning into an ooze, then a vapor. Black steam plumed outward. Phantom birds shaped from the smoke. And then came the letters, plucked from the smoke, H-E-A-V-E-N, a word that swam along the area and left a dark glimmer in its wake.

The heaven-touched space metamorphosed quickly.

Nimbuses formed and created pathways. The clouds darkened to stone textures. And these materials spiraled upward in a helix, towering over them.

The altar rocks around Ruby’s body then shot off on their own, each individual piece attracting the black, transformative fumes.

Islands. Many. They reminded Swishy of asteroids.

As Swishy's heart disappeared into thin air, more of Ruby's heaven maneuvered into existence. There was smoke, one that curled and thickened and changed into the shapes of familiar, banal life. Everything started as silhouettes first, featureless shadows of buildings and trees and gardens and plains. A picket fence here and a birdhouse there. Fountains, creeks, small ponds. There were dark flowers.

Anything he could call normal was established on these lands. Each island reclaimed the shattered altar, taking Myst's home and rebuilding it for others.

Black, though, nothing but black. Ruby’s world, so far, remained inside out.

The arachnid spun web, trying to stay calm, to not make a hasty move while Cearth was called.

Cearth continued its birthing process, its reaches extending skyward.

"I know what you're all thinking," Ruby said as she stood on her floating broom. "I know your resilience. Your strength of…everything, I suppose. But I'm not stopping here. Never. I'll use Swishy’s first heart. I'll use Myst's heart. I'll use everything within reach. Everything."

"What confidence," giant Myst laughed.

"But you're looking up at me. Because there's more to prop me up. I am above and you are below. And you'll now learn why."

Myst's grin never wavered.

The nerves, though, they were there—in Myst, in Swishy, in everyone.

Znitchy grew in irritation. It buzzed. Its spirit particles released from its body as the darkness tried to close in on it. But it went fast-fast-fast.

The boy took off, too.

"Hey wait!" Trey said.

But there was no waiting for Trey or anybody. Swishy flew—and Znitchy a hair ahead of him.

Enough of this bitch, Znitchy piped up. Let's GO!

Swishy and Znitchy were synced, a wrathful bird runt and its rake-wielding emissary.

Swishy came upon the sights, fast and clear. There was no motion blur. He saw everything, took in everything, and decided that The High Chasm that he was harvested for was indeed a full world.

The townships' constant lack was nonsense, especially now that he'd ascended three-quarters up the tree settlement.

What Swishy saw as he delved through the trees, the buildings, and fields of straw was a civilization akin to the original Straw City. There were paths, pavement, and even wooden signposts with street names. Scarecrows convened around every corner. The drone of their groaning conversation was audible from their homes and workstations. The figures of scarecrows silently conversing with animated head bobs and shoulder shrugs were all around as they filled wicker baskets of wheat. Others were alone, picking black everyfruit from the everytrees, while the truly lucky marveled over the wishfruits gathered from the glowing wishwillows.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The lives of Straw City citizens had returned to normal, at least for those who'd found mundane roles during the ongoing battle. The drone of war wasn't engaging enough for them. These were uncomplicated, unbothered folks.

Suburban dreams had been fulfilled. No Stormcellar winds. No whining peeves.

But the outskirts, the very edges of Swishy's peripherals, populated with banes. New dark scarecrows that continued to grow from the surfaces, born without guidance, summoned without a place to be. They knew nothing but their instinctual HUNGER. It was a curse from Ruby, their only inheritance from their leader. The root-staked scarecrows clung to it and hated it all the same.

The world was full of gifts—and again, it wasn't enough.

(…)

HEAVEN—as far as Swishy could tell—was a dark place.

It endlessly moaned and writhed.

Ruby monopolized the comfort. It was all for her, only ever for her.

Cearth made that clear as those islands created on her behalf began to rise and rise and rise. The world left her supporters, her abandoned wraiths. Even the wishwillows and gold-straw that her birds and wrathravens were ferrying skyward had released from their talons. As the birds gradually ceased their grip, feeling the magical pull around their items, they then watched the shadows of Cearth buoy the surface gains on their behalf.

The gold glimmers drifted as if they were in a celestial realm.

Straw City was a thing of the past, thoroughly transcended as the gains were harvested by the sky itself—and The High Chasm's growth was also spurred along with it, continuously growing.

Because in this case, HEAVEN was rendered in the disturbing blackness that tinged the much harsher words of DEATH-TYRANNY-ENVY. Everything Ruby touched turned to a bane, something that she couldn't help, that even she expressed worry about.

Ruby looked around. Her spirit projected her overwhelming personality everywhere, producing an inescapable echo.

"This world out here sure is beautiful. You could've collaborated with me all along."

"You mean I did. I handed you my heart. You could at least give me credit for that, for all this."

“I told you my stance on that. I birthed you. I created the city. The Cearth granted me all of this. It granted me you. And it was I who paid the cost..far more than you know."

She waved her hand over the old parts of the city. Swishy knew that he and Ruby saw different worlds. It was clear by the disgust on her face as she regarded the red-orange-honeys. There were rising orbs of spirit coasting through the air like pollen, like morning dew. There were fruits, there were scarecrows, there were bugs and birds and mammalian beasts, and there were buildings and businesses and fountains for everyone to congregate.

These things now rose, one section of proper autumn at a time.

From afar, Swishy saw other scarecrow shapes, big ones, small ones, kid-crow-sized ones. Straw Village…Ruby’s wish was taking that with her.

“No!”

“Don’t resist.”

“I set them up, you can’t do this!”

“I didn’t do it. Cearth decided that it was heavenly. You did well. You’ve been acknowledged.”

Ruby sneered through her words, the ENVY flaring.

The boy saw the truth in his fake mother, every dimension of her ambition was laid bare. He knew that no matter what she gained, Ruby could only see everything she lost. Ruin was something she couldn’t escape. Trauma was in her bones. Vindictiveness was in her heart of hearts.

The woman was bad—and the woman, too, was someone Swishy deeply understood.

Swishy deciphered Ruby's visions of the destroyed blimp, of the great fire that tore through the fountain plaza, of the birds that died at his little scarecrow hands. There was disrespect that she felt. There was ungratefulness. Everything that didn't go Ruby's way became an insult. The boy struggled to reconcile the risk-taker that Ruby was—playing with the darkness like a toy—with the spoiled parts of her, that aspect of Ruby that wanted exactly what she wanted and nothing else.

A haze of darkness past before her eyes as she watched the beauty of her anti-gravity harvest.

Once more, the gifts drifted toward her, moving toward the conjured sky islands. Petals and feathers and leaves flew through the air, riding the dark curls of wind that danced beneath them. The constant winds were the most obvious sign that this was Ruby's fantasy. There was more zephyr than storm, more calm than calamity.

For all the wildness that Ruby had plunged into the dark arts with, her truest wishes begat a stunning amount of permanence.

"You keep talking like you go with the flow, but you're so demanding. You're a lot less fun than you think you are."

"And you're less human than you think you are."

"That'd hurt me more if my hearts weren't all around. I can feel each one. Four beats and counting. And all of them are mine. None are yours."

"But the wish is mine. And this world…it's for me."

"I hate you."

"Unfortunate. But is that true? Please Swishy, look at all you've done for me. Sometimes, you can be a wonderful, wonderful boy."

Her sickening smile came into his mind. He'd never forget it, living with him always.

As the boy flew after Znitchy, the dark islands rose with equal speed.

Swishy couldn’t help noticing the one factor above all that grew at the most accelerated rate: tremendous straw stalks that swayed from the wind. Swishy hoped they weren't just blackwheat. He wished with his whole being that once color bloomed through the conjured world, there'd be red-orange-honey, there'd be gold, there'd be anything other than the joyless dark.

Once Swishy saw the straw, he was reminded of his investment. He couldn't avoid thinking about himself. Inside, the sourness coursed through him like a strange blood. He felt tainted. He knew those feelings were sowing blackwheat within.

The boy stared at the stalks, awaiting their fated colors. They all did: Trey, the Sling-ravens, Myst, and even all the gazes Swishy detected in the soulscape. All eyes faced heaven, especially for those down on the Cearth's true surface. Everyone had known that heaven was far away. But now it was close enough to see, something that gave them more pain than hope.

Swishy's straw was stressed by the city's collective anxiety. The murmured anguish of the rootcrows and peeves was almost too much to bear. Even the snitchtalons found themselves pressured by the tremendous gloom. Down below, the darkness surged, blotting out the red-orange-honeys of the surface.

[Midnight] was coming for heaven.

But the form of heaven, its colors, its items, were in flux, something that added to Swishy's anxiety and blackwheat.

"Please let this be more me than her…"

Don't worry about that! Znitchy chimed in. You're everything. It's all you. Don't overthink.

"But I'm not overthinking. I'm over-feeling."

Look scarecrow. We don't have time for word games. Of course, this world is more you! It's YOUR heart! Znitchy was outraged, flapping wildly, though even it was careful to not gaze straight at the broom-riding Ruby. There was a limit to its audacity, it seemed.

"Thank you for the kind words," Swishy said.

Kind? Please. I just want her to die.

"Okay." Swishy twisted his hands over his rake.

That's what I like to see!

Znitchy took off—and Swishy right after him.

Trey and the Sling-ravens were nearby, too, patrolling the area, guard duty for the scarecrow and the angry little bird.

Myst, too, spun dark webs over the settlements. Gradually, she turned The High Chasm into a cage, though its inhabitants either didn't know or care.

The world as Swishy saw it was far too normal up here. Wretchedness sank while divinity rose.

For every island that conjured in the air, there were hundreds of wraiths. How many souls did Ruby summon to the city? And how many souls did she already have at her disposal?

Znitchy kept focused. Are you really going to let Ruby have all this for free?

"No, I'm not."

Then hurry it up.

"Okay…"

Both Znitchy and Swishy punched through the pitch, navigating the spaces between the worlds, and the screams of wraiths as they contended with their horrific HUNGER. For everything that the sugar wraiths earned, they received double the stock of hunger. Maybe even more—as Trey and the Sling-ravens remained behind them, using [Zzt] to twist the blade on their starvation.

"Isn't that making it worse?" Swishy called out.

"Light reveals."

"Philosophical, yes, but can we not make them so mad?"

"To haters, being mad is a natural state. I'm giving them a good distraction, see?"

Swishy did see—even if Trey was just messing with him. Instead of the scarecrow vines and silhouette hands reaching for him and Znitchy, they were pressed into their own abdomens, a self-soothing, self-pitying freakshow.

"It's up to them to move past it! You know that the best, don't you?"

Swishy knew what Trey meant. Even now, his stress seeped into his straw. Blackwheat grew. But blackwheat didn't control. It didn't drive. It simply was.

"Wow, I really am the best."

Smiles from the crew all around—except for the simmering Znitchy, who sped into overdrive.

Now! Znitchy demanded—though Swsihy still had no idea what was expected of him.

The little bird was raw spirit, always going off his knee-jerk reactions.

Swishy then decided to do the same. He delved back into his first day of Cearth. What did he do? When presented with ‘now’ what exactly moved him? Images of shadowclaws, of the sun and moon, and of the open plains strobed across his mind. But there was something that came before all these things.

The boy reached out with his hand and grazed a black island that he flew past.

Flora, fauna, and wheat. An explosion of life burst from Swishy's touch. The entire asteroid was positively abuzz with nature. Swishy's original spell had no name. His miracle growth was something that nobody needed to teach him.

Red-orange-honeys flared in his peripheral vision as the scarecrow flew by successive sky islands, blessing them with his touch.

And he was given an assist in taking over Ruby's worlds. Myst tethered the islands with immense strings of black web, pulling them close to Swishy's ascending path. He transformed several islands, then a dozen, and then ramped things up as Znitchy led him down the most efficient route.

Enemies started to stretch from the islands, an array of phantom hands reaching for Swishy as he played his game of celestial tag. In Ruby’s Heaven, wraiths were still the predominant species.

“Sad,” Swishy said.

I guess, shrugged his bird companion.

Everywhere Znitchy went had breached the defenses of scarecrows and snitches and wrathravens, always perfectly out of reach of each fingertip, each cursed breath that wailed in their direction.

But the defenses shored its gaps with higher altitudes. The skies were rich with portals, the enemy transport of choice. Snitches surrounded Swishy in an instant, 360 degrees of entrapment.

[Swish Cyclone]—he twisted around with a golden aura, wildly unleashing his massive rake. The area was cleared of enemies but more of them came in place, sudden portals sending in the reinforcements.

When the next cyclone came, then the dark feathers dissolved, those shadows repurposed as Ruby's nail clouds.

Hurry! Znitchy said.

“Yes!”

And so they were off, out-speeding the nail spray.

The attacks were endless—but Swishy's mobility options extended far beyond just him.

[Zlide]—Trey appeared behind Swishy and dragged him into a portal. Instead of riding the warp current, a Sling-raven picked him up by the shoulders and escorted him back into the world.

As soon as they reentered the true Cearth, the Sling-raven had an [Ultimatum] prepared for the ambushing snitchtalons. DEATH or HELL. Two bad choices, but the snitches had chosen their fall from grace, hoping that Ruby would save them from Hell. The birds plunged from the new world, staring upward longingly.

No! Let us back! We want to see Heaven! Please, please, don't do this to us.

But the other two Sling-ravens burst through the [Zlide] exit with ultimatums of their own. Snitchtalons everywhere were cast to the surface. Meanwhile, the wraiths of the sky islands retracted their limbs, clinging to the surface as proper shadows. They gripped the physical foundation with everything they had, refusing an exile from Ruby’s HEAVEN.

Everyone knew that once gone, there was no return.

Progression was the way. Progression, too, was the most linear thing there was—and the most unforgiving should one fail to achieve it.

But Swishy knew the truth about progress. He knew that suffering, setbacks, and the onset of darkness were all part of the process. Blackwheat dominated his insides. He could deny its influence no longer as he’d spent so much of its balancing agents, his gold and autumn hues, on changing the sky islands.

He was losing heart, losing spirit, at a steady rate.

But Swishy wouldn't freak out. He had to keep going. He flew onward, planting himself over and over and over again.

Then…he went full dark.

His every sense of spirit and light fell away. Darkness drowned his kernel of a heart while the abyss returned. Swishy's chasm burst forth in laughs, knowing their turn had arrived.

Black shadows flared from his hands, covering his straw skin.

From head to toe, he was shadow-touched.

Even the golden Timbs went curse black.

Then his one gold wing began to shed, its feathers falling away from him.

[Adieu]—a portal opened beneath him, no larger than a saucer, but its vacuuming effect drew in the golden feathers that he'd once called a wing.

“Wait!" He reached out—but the portal closed.

Swishy searched for the exit and found it quickly. Ruby, of course, was doing sky donuts on her broom. The exit gate opened above her, raining the gold feathers over her.

"Thank you for the offering," she giggled. "What have I done for you to treat me so well?"

A [Zlide] opened above him, Trey and the Sling-ravens dropping wheat over his body—which he took in again. His chasm—which was loud, so loud—instantly dampened as his wheat body began to reconstruct again.

Reds, oranges, honeyed tones. And a controlled blackness within.

The boy checked his feet—the Timbs were gold again.

“Yes!” He said.

Znitchy pecked him in the head—for some reason he could feel it.

The bitch is right there!

Swishy flew off, tightening his fist around the rake, and this time Znitchy was the one to follow.