Thin branches lashed against George’s face as he moved through the brush. His arms hung limp at his sides, unable to muster the will to defend him. And he could only look ahead for a second at a time before the puffs of ash and smoke forced his eyes shut.

“It’s not much longer. We can make it. Just keep moving. Please keep moving.” The voice blurred in George’s ears- scattered and soft.

A single ring of warmth kept him standing and moving. Lestra had her arm wrapped around George’s shoulders. He felt her forearm thump against his neck as she pushed forward.

“Here,” Lestra said. “It’s here.”

The ground sloped and sunk into a maw. It was of a welcoming size, the same as the entry point in the wooden platform, more than large enough to fit him and Lestra in. It appeared natural; Its perimeter melded with the surrounding ground in soft slumps. And with those slumps, it offered a glimpse of the dark, rich soil beneath the ash.

“Are you ready?” Lestra glanced to George. She could help him up to the maw, and even support him down the start of it. But to get to the bottom, he would have to fall.

George’s eyes limbered open in slits. And those starved slits craved for it, for the escape.

Lestra turned away, knowing her companion had the resolve to move forward.

They had taken no more than a step when a sharp whisk sounded, accompanied by a crackle as a bolt tore through the brush. George tried to turn his head to see where it came from, but before he could break out of the stiffness which bound his neck, Lestra pushed him down, flat on his stomach. She pressed her hand hard against his back, lying on the ground in the same manner. She couldn’t risk him trying to get back up.

Another whisk sounded. An arrow flew a few feet above them and lodged itself in the rim of the maw.

Lestra glanced to George again, her brows arched somberly this time.

They would have to keep down the rest of the way, and they would have to be fast. She couldn’t push him along as she had. He would have to crawl on his own. The hole was only a few feet away. Only a few feet he had to crawl. He could make it.

George nodded and the two scrambled forward. Adrenaline coursed through him as he moved any way he could. He kicked, and clawed through the ash laden ground, bursting through any sapling or twig in his way until he made it to the hole. He descended headfirst, down a steep slant.

The adrenaline carried through the fall. As soon as he hit the bottom, he scrambled up and propelled forward. He ran, and Lestra ran with him.

Roots jutted through the ceiling of the tunnel, arms reaching to drag them back up. The muscular tendrils loomed above their prey, stiff and callous. But the tunnel had its own hunger to feed. It led further down, and the roots thinned until none of them could reach any longer through the dirt and rock. The last whispers of the pale light behind George and Lestra faded.

George and Lestra stopped and pressed their backs to the walls. Dirt chipped and rained over the tears in George’s silk shirt, and over the wounds. The rain was warm.

Lestra held a short, pointed stick in her hand. It was the arrow that had shot above them when they were on the ground. She must have grabbed it when they descended. Those arrows had to have come from someone, and that someone had to have seen them. They needed to be sure they weren’t still being pursued.

They held their breath a minute after the last distorted grains slid off. Silence.

George was the first to exhale. He could no longer hold it. He gasped and held his knees. The aches had returned, made sorer still by the mad rush.

George turned his head side to side and saw nothing either way. Only their little chamber had the little red glow from Lestra’s pendant- the kine stone- to light it. And it did seem to be a chamber that they had made their way in. The walls curved to create a circular space. George let his hands slide off and dangle freely in the air for a second. Then, he sat back. Lestra followed suit and slumped down to her knees.

She held the arrow up to her face and examined it closely under the light of her pendant. She closed her eyes, shook her head slightly, then opened them. Her hand closed quick and tight, as if she were about to snap it. But before it would break, she eased her grip and stuck it in her quiver.

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“I’m sorry,” Lestra muttered. “I’m so sorry.” She tried desperately to keep her face composed, but her expression melted. The red glow sunk deep into her face. Her mouth broke open and she wailed. “I caused this. It’s my fault, all of it. If I hadn’t been so stupid, I would’ve never brought that box home. But I did. I brought it all. The destruction, the death- all those bodies, all that death.”

“It’s not your fault,” George weakly tried to console her, his voice a frail whisper.

It at least caused her to pause. She looked up, her eyes coated in tears. “Elven pride.” She gritted her teeth. “We brought it back for elven pride. Vaaliya, forger and guardian of a kine stone.” She clutched her pendant in a fist. The chamber darkened. She tried to make it darker, closing her fist as tight as possible, but rays of the red glow still escaped from the creases between her fingers.

“It was the nobles,” George said. He had overheard what her father said. It felt wrong to speak of the dead, but he had to get her to stop blaming herself. And they never did see their bodies. “They pushed your father to bring the stone back. They wanted it for the people- that’s what your father said- but… I don’t believe it, and I don’t think he believed he believed it either.” He raised his voice as solid as he could. “Lestra, they did it for their pride. It was their pride that did this.”

“As if I was any different,” Lestra spat. “I was just as prideful as the rest. Ours was the greatest land in Telora, and its people the greatest people. I had that mindset. I loved my home. I loved Vaaliya, and I loved its people and only them. I always thought that would make me a good leader one day. And that’s what they told me, and I never questioned it.” She sobbed. “But if I loved them so much, why wasn’t I there to cradle them as they died? Why did they die? I loved them!”

“Stop!” George said. “Lestra, there was nothing you could do,”

Lestra shook her head. “No, that’s wrong. I know now why my father sent me to Meriford, and it wasn’t just my father’s ghost. I couldn’t stand it. Being away from the one place deserving of my love, the place that I as a native Vaaliyan had a right to, I couldn’t take it. So, all I did was hide. But my father sent me there as a I cry for help. He wanted me to beg, do anything it took to make sure the guild was there when we needed them. I could never do that. Me, the princess of Vaaliya, demean myself to beg? I can do it now though. I can beg all I want because I have nothing. My home is gone.”

George sighed. It took a lot of energy to speak, and what he had said hadn’t done anything. But he couldn’t bear to see her weep like that. Each tremble of her words bore at his stomach. “Lestra,” he said. “I don’t have a home.” It came out suddenly. The thought that both of them were lost.

“W-what do you mean?”

“I-” George thought for a moment on what to say. He wanted to let her know she wasn’t alone in the world. But she had just witnessed her father die, her home burned to ashes. He couldn’t pretend to have gone through that same pain, nor did he want to. So, he was honest. “I’m not from here. When I told you that I had injured my head, that was a lie.” He gave a raspy chuckle and held his hand to his forehead, which was then fairly bruised. “I came to this world from a different one entirely. And I don’t know how to get back. My home, my family, I’m not sure what’s happened to them since I’ve been gone. For all I know, they could have followed me, and they could have come at night and- I try not to think about it. I try not to think about my home. I told myself I had plenty of time. But I’ve done nothing to get back so far, and I can’t be certain that I ever will.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If I had known, I would have-”

George shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough. You gave me a place to live. I don’t know where I would have been without you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what’s happened to you.”

They smiled at each other. It was a pleasant last image for both of them before they leaned back. They rested their teary eyes as their bodies hit the ground.

That night, George dreamt that he was back at the corner with the oak tree. He was walking past it, on his way to get picked up from school. He had his cap and gown. It wasn’t long before graduation. It was snowing. White layered on ashen white. If he could prevent it, stop himself from ever losing his phone- from ever coming to Telora- he would. He couldn’t. The general was there. And George was on the ground again, pinned by the general’s foot. He felt it. The sinking pressure over his stomach. But it was soft, weaker than he remembered, and he remembered it too well.

George woke up and arched his head up. The pressure was real. Something was on top of him. The large, yellow eyes of a graldor peered at him.

“Agror,” he whispered meekly.

But to the picture of the homunculus general he imagined, the figure over him was alien. It was shorter than George, and much scrawnier. A scavenger.

Its shoulders were bent back, with its arms behind its head. Something weighed heavy in its hands. Its child-like arms sunk, pulled down by whatever it carried. A rock. It held a hard, blunt rock. The joints of its shoulders rotated as it prepared to bludgeon George with the rock.

George pushed the scavenger and with ease wrestled it to the ground. The scavenger scratched and kicked at him, but the thrashes barely registered. George put his hands around its neck. The bones jutted against his grip as the scavenger strained to break free, but he kept his grasp firm and only tightened it. He kept tightening, kept pushing it until he couldn’t feel the struggles any longer. And he kept it there. He kept his hands around its neck for minutes after the last twitch of the scavenger’s body.

As he removed his grip, his fingers shivered.

He swung his head back to where Lestra lay and scrambled toward her. “Lestra,” he said.

She didn’t respond.

He moved closer but stopped himself a moment before shaking her. From the red glow, he could see her stomach move up and down. She was breathing.

He balled his hands together and rested his head on them, thanking whatever he could.

That red glow- the kine stone. No doubt Lestra hated it, and she had good reason. But it was what allowed him to see what figure sat on top of him, how small it was. He never would have risen to challenge it. That glow saved his life.