We find ourselves far from any border we could reasonably reach. There are paths that lead through rifts and holes to those borders, but they are rare. With the infrequency, we’re likely at the midpoint between all; a place where all sorts of creatures converge. Why did Scia want to come here?

Despite how few rifts there are toward the edges of the warped tunnels, there are always some that connect to the amber barrier. That isn’t strange. With how dense the spatial distortions are around there, it is difficult to find anywhere that doesn’t connect to it.

It’s nice to be back within the tight, comforting grip of these confined distortions. Hard to say whether I would stay at my full size if it were feasible. While the mighty feeling of strength and power is not something I like giving up, there are simply too many downsides of remaining at size.

The number of bends large enough to support my maximum width are low. Too low to allow me to swim through the air as I love doing. All the little creatures could spin circles around me, without my being able to do anything. Can’t have that.

Another thing is that while my scales are proportionately stronger, any scratches I happen to get in my larger form absolutely ruin my appearance at smaller sizes. Thankfully, there’s not much that is hard enough to inflict such damage, but it is still a concern.

Also… well, it’s simply impossible to move around when most tunnels and caverns are half your height. Really makes me appreciate my capability to shift sizes. If I was limited to my true mass, life would be miserable; I’d have to dig through the earth like a worm.

Scia chirps, her ears guiding us forward. I’m not sure where exactly she’s leading us, but I’m sure she hears something I cannot. Maybe it isn’t the wisest idea to follow the directions of one who would fall for a worm ambush, and has a terrible reputation of placing her own survival as secondary in many situations… well, it certainly isn’t intelligent to let her lead, but I’m curious of what has her so enraptured.

She is focused. Her neck and ears strain to hear what must be barely audible even for her. With each bend and hole, we somehow seem to get further from the borders than we already are.

Soon enough, Scia’s steering leads right through the territory of an apikull troop. Despite the icy air and snap-frozen waterfalls all around us, she barely seems to regard them. Too focused on whatever lies beyond, Scia shows no care for the dangers she might be placing herself in.

I suppress my hiss of amusement. If I weren’t here, she’d just throw herself back in danger again, wouldn’t she?

Scia is strange, even for her own kind. The longer I’m around her, the more clear that becomes. She is too curious, too trusting. If left alone, she will only find herself in trouble. Really, I should have known that she wouldn’t leave me. Not when all her kin were so stagnant in their little home.

The family of apes notice us as soon as we’re in their chamber. A dozen frozen pillars of water fill the space between us, and I slither toward the other end of the chamber Scia is points toward. The little bat hasn’t even registered their existence, transfixed on whatever she hears.

I’m starting to be concerned that she’s being baited by something again.

While I try to ignore them, the apes don’t reciprocate. The large pair between the dozen fling themselves through the air toward us. With a hiss of annoyance, I turn to deal with them, but the sight behind them makes me pause.

The larger ones are rushing to fight, but mid-sized ones hold the smallest, pulling them away from any bend that leads near me. I look back to Scia, who only now realises something is wrong, what with my halted movement and the apikulls’ screeching.

They are protecting the smaller of their kind. I didn’t understand it last time, but the apes attacked me last time knowing full well they had no chance. The apikulls died because they wanted their kin to live.

Even now, it isn’t death they search for, it is the survival of those they care for. I couldn’t understand it back then, especially in the state I’d been in, but now? Now is different. These apikulls aren’t the only ones with a creature they don’t want hurt.

Still, while I only care about Scia, I can’t help my gaze falling on how the mid size apes hold their young. They flinch back and hold them close whenever I gaze their way, screeching with bared teeth.

These creatures are lesser — there’s no denying that — but there’s no reason to kill them.

As the larger duo close the distance, swinging through the air with hands clenched through bends, I feel the temperature rapidly dropping. Maybe I didn’t need to kill them last time, but if I let them get close, Scia will succumb to that frost. She is weak, and while these apes aren’t all that threatening to me, they might very well be for her.

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I hiss. The sound shears through the chamber, empowered by my presence. All apikull freeze. The two larger ones tumble to the ground, one of which shatters through one of the ice pillars with the gained momentum. The rest at the back are hit by my pressure as well, despite not having been the target.

I spin in place, daring them to rise, but while they struggle more than most, the apikull cannot fight my overwhelming superiority. It would take no more than an instant to kill them. They wouldn’t be able to threaten my small partner with their spines severed.

…but I hold myself back.

I turn away, and slither through the hole Scia was originally staring toward. Maybe they dared attack me, but I can understand. While they threatened Scia, do they deserve death because they wanted to protect their own?

I don’t know.

I’ve never needed to consider this all before. It was simple; kill those you wanted, and ignore any others. Any foolish enough to dare take me on never come out alive. So why do I feel differently now?

In my moment of unfiltered rage and frustration in the aftermath of the Titan destroying my home, I’d killed the larger apikull, then slaughtered their young. The ape sacrificed its life to stop me, but that hadn’t mattered to me. I wanted to kill, and they were there. That’s all there was to it.

But… maybe I should have held back from butchering the focus of their protective efforts. Those deaths didn’t help me in the slightest.

We slither away, leaving the petrified apikulls behind to reflect on their near deaths. Next time, they might not be so lucky as to challenge such a forgiving predator as myself.

A chirp reminds me that Scia was directing us somewhere, but when I look, she’s watching me curiously.

What? It’s not like I eat everything I come across. I didn’t eat you did I?

My thoughts grind to a halt when I realise just how aggressive I’ve been acting lately. After having the Titan destroy everything, I’d been incredibly agitated. Creatures that I would have ignored, or simply scared off, have received the full brunt of my presence, if not death in my jaws.

My mind has been in turmoil lately, but I shouldn’t let myself veer too far from who I was. The very thought that these emotions might be changing who I am at my core is more concerning than I’d like to admit. Sparing the apikulls like that? Never would I have accepted such aggression without a response.

That centipede that chomped on Scia’s wing… my former self would never have intervened. It would have just ignored the course of nature and left the lesser creatures to hunt as they wished.

But I did intervene. And even after doing so, I didn’t try to get rid of her.

Of course, I made some attempts, but none ever pushed the point of harming the bat. If I was to look back over my actions, it was as if I already cared for her long before she actually grew on me. Was that just because of the uniqueness of the little bat, or was there something more?

Did the sight of Scia in the clutches of that many legged creature remind me of the terror I’d felt at the mercy of the Titan? Even from the start, I was already considering Scia as comparable to myself, despite the clear disparity in our position on the food-chain.

Maybe it isn’t a surprise that I came to enjoy her company.

I bring my tail around to pat her head, assuring her there isn’t an issue. She leans into my scales, rubbing against them to get as much contact as she can. Scia obviously enjoys the touch, and I find it surprisingly pleasing to watch her enjoy it.

Unfortunately, it’s too difficult to rub her head while moving, so I have to stop as we slither through the next hole. Scia snaps back to her role as guide. The sound she’s following still enough for her to follow.

As we pass through the next few bends, I ponder what the sound might be. It’s something that has Scia enraptured, but is loud enough that it carries this far through space — even if I cannot hear it. Without hearing it myself, I can only guess… and I have no guesses.

At least we’re in familiar territory this time, so anything that might try to ambush the little bat on my head shouldn’t be anything I don’t know how to deal with.

The moment I realise where she’s leading me, I immediately doubt that declaration. My gaze flicks around, worried that the tunnels around are too familiar, but no, they’re not any more memorable than any of the million other tunnels I’ve passed through. No, I am not near my former territory.

The abyss ahead is not the remnant of my home.

But it is still an abyss. No matter how far my sight threads through bends in space, I cannot find the bottom. This may not be my home, but it is a hole of sheared rock as vast as what my territory was subject to.

A sliver of terror grips at me, but I keep moving. Keep following Scia. The way rock just cuts off into an endless abyss is too similar to the damage inflicted by the Titan to be anything else. It isn’t my home, but the same disaster that hit my home hit here. Despite recalling the Titan’s overwhelming presence, I cannot turn back. I need to see this.

Scia never notices the nervousness that floods my veins as we move closer, but she does become all the more animated. She sways her head, as if enjoying whatever sound that remains beyond my hearing.

The closer we get, the more worried I get; the abyss extends in all direction beyond the limits of my sight. Nothing about it is natural. The sheer volume of rock that is just… missing is beyond reasonable. It makes me uncomfortable not knowing where the world continues anywhere other than directly behind me.

As we creep closer, Scia only grows more excited. At one point, while I was distracted by the endlessness of every direction, she started swaying. She dances to some unheard rhythm that only intensifies as I slither over the edge.

The space is still dense with bends, which is relieving because there is no ground any longer. Not below, above, or anywhere than directly behind us.

Scia is no longer leading me, lost in whatever soundless song has enraptured her, and yet I slither out into the abyss. She can hear and enjoy the music, but to me, I am pushing further into empty space. Both in material, and the ethereal. There is nothing.

At least, not until a perfectly uniform pillar appears from the dark.