T-Y-R-A-N-N-Y crept across The High Chasm, the Ruby special in full effect.

The dismay of the village—displayed by trembling and prayers and words of encouragement— was also significant.

And so too was Swishy’s guardianship. He glared at the activity throughout the landscape, poised to defend it. His gold-straw production hadn’t restored yet. Trey helped him grow a few sprigs, but nothing that’d construct his trademark rake. The blackwheat, though…there was plenty. He considered the possibility of going down that cursed route again, but that was a last resort—especially after his recent brush with the wrathravens and the ensuing emptiness. But the gathering threats weighed on him. He feared his hand would soon be forced.

The birds zipped over the treetops. The curses near and far cried for the missing snitchtalons. A dark current tore beneath the pink flakes as a new [Postcard] constructed itself.

Screeches of SEARCH and THREATEN scraped through the snitchtalons’ throats. The sentient shadows were also upset, grieving for the birds they no longer sensed. Swishy couldn’t sense them either—they hadn’t returned from the [Zlide] realm, or rather, there was nothing of them left to return. They were dead for real, something that Swishy blamed on Bristles and not Trey.

The cacophonous anguish gashed the air like a serrated blade. The disturbance was so vicious that Swishy could almost see the sound. As the vibrations traveled toward them, [Nest] activated, shielding the village.

Sling held her hand in the general direction of the birds, erecting a force field. The volume of the cries lowered. And lowered. And lowered still. Everything negative was selectively muted. But the wind whispered. The subterranean movements of the curses gurgled like plumbing.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Swishy said.

“Yeah, Sling, what do you call this one?” A wide smile broke across Trey’s face, impressed. “Protect your peace? Shut the hell up? I’m gonna need to steal this one.”

Sling giggled. “I’m sure you’re talented enough. This is just something my transformation gave me. I’m cursed in some ways, blessed in others.”

“So basically anyone that’s gone through the dark would have an easier time of molding it?” Trey was deep in thought. He gazed out at the curses, the scarecrows, the snitchtalons. The changes were fast, the allies uncertain, so Swishy appreciated his friend for looking out. “What a scary world…”

“Once you make an altar wish,” Sling gestured with her finely sculpted hand, “We were all changed. We all became aware of shadows. We could touch them, mold them, create abilities with them. The same goes for you, correct? Your body’s abuzz with several things. I’m jealous.”

Trey flinched and closed his jacket. But he collected himself once he realized how dumb that was—she was seeing through him, into him.

“I can relate,” Swishy nodded.

Trey stared at his own hands and summoned up smoky tendrils of shadow. “Perhaps I can too…”

Swishy patted his friend’s lower back. “It’s okay. We’ll make it back to normal.”

“Yeah, bro…that’s the hope.”

Sling’s spell continued. The energy poured from her stretched fingers, directing her force field. Strips of bandages shot from Sling’s shoulders and neck, rising in the air as talismans. The paper slabs floated around the perimeter of Straw Village as enchanted soundproofing. Once the cries reached the village, the air rippled right where the bandaged talismans filtered their entry, morphing the noise into pleasant birdsong. The snitchtalon mouths flung in anguish but their cries were translated into muted chirps and whistling breezes.

Nine letters appeared in a calligraphy font upon the spell paper: SANCTUARY. Sling, truly, was a homemaker at her core.

“Does this only make the cacaw rage quiet?” Swishy asked.

“No, that’s only one effect. They can’t hear or see us either. Our sounds and appearances will blend in with nature. They won’t find a target or a village here. They won’t even feel the barrier, they’ll just fly around it.

“That’s very pretty,” Swishy said.

“I like to think so, my sweet little straw. It’s just my way of belonging, you could say. I like to become the atmosphere. If nobody sees me, I can just live.” The wrathraven birdies poked their heads through her shoulders, chirping in approval—more for her gentle cadence than anything.

Swishy’s mood dampened—because he agreed, because she’d described the existence he was pulled from, and because they’d just recreated that lifestyle in Straw Village. “So you think you can copy my abilities, then? So you don’t get chased off anymore?”

“Perhaps you should go easy on us. A beginner’s course.” Her grin tore at the bandages around her cheeks.

“Beginner, she says.” Trey gestured at the rippling, life-filtering air. “This doesn’t seem like beginner to me.”

“No, beginner,” Sling confirmed, nodding toward the villagers who stared at the sky in terror and awe. The adult scarecrows trembled—but forced smiles, unwilling to scare the kids.

“Point taken,” Trey said. “Let’s get this show popping.”

“Agreed. The [Santuary] barrier won’t last forever. A half hour, perhaps, but I believe they’d find us first.” Sling remained calm but her silky-smooth tone edged on desperation.

“Okay, Slingy,” Swishy nodded, ever the good boy.

“Thanks, little straw. Now let me attend to the others.” Sling went toward the villagers: one step, two steps—and she was already there. The scarecrows gazed at her, awaiting directions. She didn’t even speak. She pointed with both her hands—and several of her bandages that wriggled in the air like tentacles. The straw-bound scattered, rushing throughout the settlement. They packed the structures like one would pack a bag. Through [Weave] intent, everything was collapsible, no matter the size.

“That’s amazing,” Trey said. “Everyone is getting good at this magic thing.”

“Makes me nervous but also a relief.”

“Because it’s not all on you?”

“I just like that it makes me feel normal.”

“Valid.”

The pair strolled along the perimeter of the [Sanctuary], glancing at the mummy-wrap talismans and disturbed wavelets of air. The boys were alone and Swishy was thankful for that. Just him and Trey. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this until it happened. He took a deep breath and Trey did, too. The clarity of solitude was rare these days.

They were in a safe zone of sorts—but they weren’t blind. While Trey studied the magic aura emitted by Sling’s ability, Swishy couldn’t help obsessing over the realm’s atmosphere. He worried over Ruby’s new [Postcard]. Swishy sensed that this time the changes wouldn’t be purely aesthetic.

Darkness closed upon them as world-ending visions tore across his mind.

The pink skies crumbled into snowflakes, the vibrant skyfall, a harbinger of troubles to come.

(…)

POSTCARD—Ruby had done it again.

A night theme came into effect as the old [Postcard]’s twilight disintegrated in sheets of papery pinks. The coral snow of the deactivated sky swept through the woods, the beach area, and the village. Piles of colorful scraps collected between the ridges of the STRAW VILLAGE sign, decorating its lettering. The world had gained a new wallpaper, a nighttime one that was established in sharpening focus.

Deep night was the theme, a 2 AM brand of darkness that Swishy enjoyed during his late outings with Trey in the old city. The replacement sky was a mix of blue and slate, a scattering of silvery stars, and a crescent chrome-colored moon. The woods were altered as well—the trees had become a mass of gurgling shadow. The plant life lost its rigidity and assumed the texture of free-standing ink. But the colors and realistic qualities of the woods soon returned. The woods…were wood. The plants were plants. Only different. The berries were lush purple. The fruits in the trees were bananas and mangos and coconuts—but they shared the same tree. Ruby’s playful nature created that fantasy.

Swishy even knew the name: everytree. Everything she’d normally eat, she’d pick from any tree.

And some of those trees grew inside the [Sanctuary], infringing upon Swishy’s fragile peace. Ruby had presented another stunning backdrop—and yet another reason to fear her.

As the world changed, Swishy detected the subtle shift of the curses underneath them. The shadows traveled in rivers toward The High Chasm’s direction. They whooshed and gurgled with activity. Unfortunately, the [Sanctuary] couldn’t block everything, especially when it came to mthe extra soul-sensitive Swishy.

Swishy seethed inside, the blackwheat lengthening then retracting.

“You okay, Swish?”

“No.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to be in this insanity.” Trey scratched his chin, thinking a moment. “You know what I hate?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“That you see the curses just like me?”

“Exactly…Granted, I couldn’t see them until learning [Soul] tricks. But even I know that curses belong in altars—not outside of them, flying around, infecting nature, serving dark masters like Ruby.”

“So the peeves are never outside? They’re always home?” Maybe the dark dwellers in other places weren’t so pained and agonized. Maybe they were more like him…just comfortable. This he hoped, this he prayed—though him, being a worshipped boy, didn’t know who he was praying to.

“Yes. That’s my suspicion at least. But Straw City is on some other shit.”

“Honestly, Trey, that’s such a relief. The shadows are home…that’s great.” Home. The idea bothered Swishy. Guilt for the damaged city, the felled trees, the defeated birds…the totality of his destruction came to collect their due of remorse.

“Yeah, it is…” Trey observed the crumbling sky, pink flakes dotting his lashes. Swishy wondered if he were thinking of Heaven or home or both.

“I have to change things. Ruby made a big world but won’t let anyone have any of it.”

“That’s because she thinks she’s more giving than she is.”

“She gave me life, I guess.”

“No, Swishy, you already had one…”

“Yeah…” Swishy gazed across the land, resentful that he could see the land’s cursed network, the engineering of the dark domain. Now that Swishy had seen the [Postcard] spell for the second time, he understood how it worked.

There were three ingredients to this mad machine: Swishy’s first heart, Ruby’s [Midnight] spell, and the witch’s expressive ingenuity.

The High Chasm, containing Swishy’s first heart, produced powerful beats. The emptiness in Swishy made him more sensitive to his lost hearts—along with his proximity to said hearts. He felt every beat through a phantom connection, the thumps hammering away, releasing magic. Each heartbeat released a single pulse of magic that ebbed outward in waves. The radiating energy circulated throughout the land, food for the curses. Now that Ruby had summoned the [Midnight] curses, baiting them with heart energy and the promise of a home, she’d secured an enormous dark reservoir from which to draw.

She made an arcane engine to reliably and predictably farm her acreage. One: heartbeats to release magic. Two: souls to feed off that magic. Three: and a land to feed off the souls—sending energy to the heart.

It was a sick factory—one without an altar. Ruby’s prior gifts had set her up for life.

Trey picked a black fruit from an everytree, turned it experimentally in his hands.

“That’s…a banana?” Swishy asked.

“Supposedly…” Trey peeled the shadowy banana, took a bite, and spat it out.

“Yeah, that looked gross.”

“Actually, this was the best banana I’ve had in my life—but I ain’t eating that, no way.”

They stared at the spat-out banana and watched it dissolve into an oily puddle before sinking beneath the surface. Cearth took its shadows back with haste, recycling at its finest.

The boys trembled, worried-worried-worried.

“How are we going to help them, Trey? This is crazy.”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t look like we’re gonna have to do it alone.” He pointed the half-eaten black-nana toward the village.

“Oh, wow,” Swishy said.

(…)

The straw-bound were now composed. They’d gone inside their tents and huts and yurts, calmly packing.

The palpable terror reduced within the [Sanctuary] that Sling enforced. While the cacophony of snitchtalons and stray curses were drowned out by Sling’s spell, the general magic of the village calmed everyone as well. Slivers of [Nest] slid over and around everything the scarecrows had created. [Nest] was a wonderful spell, a splendid force derived from the straw-bound’s culture of NURTURE that now drove their lives.

Sling relaxed off to the side—something she seemed fond of doing. The mummy-scarecrow stared upward and stretched her branch-like arms as if she could embrace the entirety of the fallen sky. Pinks collected atop her head and shoulders and in between her bandages in scrappy slips.

“I wish we could sell a postcard of this, Trey. Our people. Not this crazy world.”

“Yeah, boy, you’re not wrong on that. This is a stunner.” Meanwhile, Trey chewed on the banana peel—licorice black—and spat that out too. “Ambrosia! Straight-up godlike flavor!”

Swishy laughed at the dark experimentation. He knew they were in a bind but this moment with Trey was a treasure. The scarecrow sighed, indulging in the luxury of the moment. His vision triggered the glow of his gifted [Heart Armor]. He was so blessed to know exactly how they could be.

Trey knowingly grinned, brandishing a black mango he’d just picked. “That’s right, little Swishy. That’s what stability feels like. When your world supports you every day. Bad day or good day, you have a baseline, a foundation.”

“Like in the dark before my summoning. Or in this rebuild now, using [Weave] and [Nest] and [Nurture]. Everybody wins. Everybody eats—maybe not these shadow treats, but that’s stability, right?”

“It absolutely is. You make a place. You live in the place. And you protect it forever.”

A closed-lip smile cracked across Swishy’s gourd. The coziness climbed his torso—perhaps gold-straw. The hug-like feeling was immaculate.

“I have a new word for you,” Trey said. “Let’s try something new since I don’t have Ruby’s cards anymore.”

“It’s okay, try me.”

“Sharing stability. Sharing a place. Can you picture it? Read the people, their energy.”

Swishy gazed across the way toward the straw-bound.

The pinks were still snowing, drifting everywhere, and the scarecrows paused their work to observe the skyfall. There was silent nodding. There was ooh-ing and aah-ing. There was cuddling, too, as the parents woke the kid-crows up and joined them in the beds and hammocks. And there were prayer hands, lots of them. They were always at the mercy of one force or another. Swishy didn’t blame him. Even himself, empowered as he was, was subject to the same uncertainty.

In every gesture, [Nest] was identified. Their desire for stability was that strong.

The bright snow stuck to the scarecrows’ faces and bodies. They eased from their relaxation to pack the settlement up, carrying their pinks with them. They wished it weren’t the collapse of their sky but were happy to take the memories with them. They’d lost it all and made a home. And for the moment, that pride sustained them.

Swishy indulged in the life that could’ve been. He knew the good life when he saw it—that was his talent. He stood with his brother Trey. The bonds of Straw Village breezed in the atmosphere. The foundation was strong. He could stay here forever. He wanted to. His heart within his [Heart Armor] yearned for that outcome.

The soothing presence of a special word blended with his being.

CONTENTMENT…that was the stay forever feeling, the cozy sweet spot where needs were met and ambitions were at best recreational. The feeling sizzled within the confines of Swishy’s [Heart Armor]. Meanwhile a second word appeared within his gourd, a two-for-one special that shaped his gourd blues into a lively smoke. The vapors escaped his eyes and flowed above his head like a thought bubble.

The real answer to Trey’s request: CIVILIZATION.

“I’m going to make that? A civilization?”

“I hate to put that on you, but that’s where we’re at now. More importantly, that feeling came from you.”

“I make it. I live with it. I protect it. That’s like a heart, Trey.”

“Hey, let me show you something.” Trey lifted his hand five-fingers wide. “You know how you make hearts?”

“I’m me, so yes.”

“Me, I can make my soul…”

Trey offered his hand and Swishy nudged his gourd into the palm, flesh to rind, accepting the invitation into his friend’s mind.

(…)

Memories. The most recent ones. They pulsed into Swishy in a smooth burst.

Everything dark. Everything quiet. Sound and movement were hushed in what must’ve been the [Zlide] realm.

No snitchtalons. No Bristles. Trey had survived the fight and had the domain all to himself.

As a soul—a tiny, drained soul—Trey drifted along. The letters Z-L-U-M-B-E-R spiraled around Trey from head to toe. His friend was resting, his soul replenishing in what Swishy imagined as similar to the scarecrow cast.

Swishy closed his eyes during this journey within his friend’s mind, feeling what the past Trey had felt.

The vibrations of the realm thrummed through him. The [Zlide] foundation was shredding, expelling all its inhabitants. But Trey rested, experiencing none of it. His dreams began. And those dreams were of more darkness. With little soul to comprise his body, he didn’t even have the energy to urge his brain to form an imaginary world.

The emptiness felt good, though, restorative and pleasing.

The darkness didn’t move toward him, devoid of the crush of vile intents. In fact, there were no intents to speak of at all. None negative. None positive. Trey experienced existence and existence alone. Within the empty pitch, Trey entertained a few thoughts. Was this the darkness that Swishy lived in? This feels like watching myself sleep. It’s wonderful, actually. I could use more of this…

Relief, precious relief. Solitude in the self-made dark was the perfect way to be.

He stretched his arms back, a boy floating along the dark currents as if this were any other day at the pool.

Nothing could get him. Nothing could harm him.

His particles of self flowed toward him. He watched blue specks appear in the dark, glowing wonderfully, orbiting his body like fireflies. The further he drifted, the more the blue atoms appeared. He progressed into a luminous sea of soul. The dark parted as if he’d entered a blue room. The thousands and hundreds-of-thousands and millions of blue dots cycled above and below him, forming a cylindrical tunnel. Their presence emitted a warmth. The heat came from within and he found his body steadily increasing in size. The tunnel of healing cultivated a soul, an ethereal body.

Trey was no longer a gnat. The young man was a mosquito, then a bee. He achieved forest-sprite size, then a fairy, and he hoped soon that he’d acquire the thickness of his original thumb. As the Z-L-U-M-B-E-R letters passed around him, he absorbed more ingredients into his soul. Even though Trey was unconscious, an innate joy buzzed within his phantom body. Everything that made his life worthy now lined the atmosphere of the dissipating [Zlide] domain. Free of strife, free of his battle, he collected his hard-earned growth.

Yes, yes, bring me back, bring me back!

(…)

Swishy backed away from Trey’s hand. His blue eyes whorled with inspiration.

“I’m ready to help!” Swishy called toward the village.

But Sling wasn’t listening. The lady was hypnotized with her outstretched arms, collecting all the sky she could.

“I’m ready now! I can give you spells. This’ll be easy!” Swishy cried out—to Sling, to the world, to himself.

“There, there.” Trey patted the boy’s shoulder. “You always do.”

Sling peered toward the boys, took two steps, and was now upon them. She gazed down lovingly at Swishy and nodded. Three heads emerged from her collarbone—the wrathraven babies she covertly housed.

They gestured strongly at Swishy, displeased perhaps, but all Swishy heard were their high-pitched, songbird squeaks.

Swishy patted their heads—as a rough little bully—and insolently grinned. “Yes, tiny wrathlings, let’s teach your mommy’s friends some spe—”

Black feathers, black feet, black interruption. Swishy’s words were stolen by the sudden reappearance of snitchtalons atop the force field. Dozens of bird claws rippled on the [Sanctuary]. The snitchtalons glided around the village, dragging their feet across the barrier. Their eyes narrowed in curiosity and suspicion. We can’t fly in that direction…but we’re trying. Weird. Maybe that’s where our kin went…

The birds investigated, testing the boundaries of Sling’s spell.

One bird pecked and the air curled around their beak, failing to block it. Several more birds gathered around, inspecting the area. Magic welled inside them.

“Wait, this can’t be…” Trey said.

“I think they are…” Swishy groaned.

D-E-T-E-C-T bloomed above their heads. Their pupils narrowed and filled with soul. Magic welled through their whole bodies as [Detect] honed their observations. The birds instantly found the anomaly in the air. Every head turned toward Sling’s floating bandages, the no-longer-invisible talismans. They craned their necks, insulted by the trick inflicted upon them. They shook the pink flakes from their plumage. Perfect dark was their armor of choice.

“Birds with spells is a problem, isn’t it?” Swishy reared his gourd back in frustration.

Trey nodded. Sling nodded. And the straw-bound simply cowered.