The pillar is the same as the one dug free from my favourite resting spot. From the energy flowing off it, to the way bends don’t affect it, this endless pillar is the same.

Is this why the abyss exists? Has the Titan come along here to tear the pillar from its stone encasing as it did with the one back in my home?

For a long time, I linger in the air simply watching the pillar. It isn’t made of stone, nor any other material I’m familiar with, but there are lines all along its surface. Lines that weave and loop and end in ways that my mind refuses to follow. The pillar is perfect; there isn’t a scratch or blemish anywhere along its surface, no matter how far my eyes follow it.

I remember the comforting feeling of the energy flowing through my body any time I lay on my resting spot. Only now do I know it was because of this pillar, but I don’t dare approach. The Titan may not be anywhere nearby, but these pillars are important to it, so unless I want to tempt my original fortune, I’ll keep my distance.

Scia is lost in a thoughtless dance, her head swaying from side to side, simply enjoying the song, but for me, the silence is overwhelming. Each moment I linger, it feels like the impossible arms of the Titan are reaching out from the emptiness to grasp at me.

Chills prick at my scales; a feeling I’m unfamiliar with. It makes me want to flee. To slide through the nearest rift and push as much space between myself and this void as possible. Despite the empty air that seems to cling at my scales like a physical presence, I don’t leave. I need to know where the pillar leads.

I need to know why the Titan destroyed my home.

From the way Scia’s ears tilt down to the depths below, I have a good idea of where that sound originates. And I have no intention of going down to meet it. Scia may enjoy it, but anything that is likely to have taken up residence in a space like this will be deadly. Of that, I have no doubt. Even if it weren’t trying to bait her down with some inaudible melody, I wouldn’t let her go.

So instead, I focus my attention upward, slithering through bends in opposition to gravity. The pillar extends far. Despite the frequency of holes in the area, it still takes time to follow.

The rock encased tunnels we came from are long gone now. Only the pillar remains to fill the abyss. The world remaining so empty is disconcerting. Especially considering the sheer distance I’ve already crossed as I pierce the air around the pillar.

Unlike the last time I climbed such an open void, the distortions grow stronger, rather than the reverse. Each bend grows so close together that gravity warps and becomes less distinct. It is still there of course, but my body is pulled in so many ways it is difficult to tell which is down.

At least, it would have been without the pillar.

The strange, unblemished column remains straight regardless of the twisting space around it. Where normal rock walls would find themselves bending and morphing with the air, this endless length is undisturbed.

Soon, the amber barrier falls into view. Where before, I’ve had no way to tell exactly which direction the wall lay, the pillar shatters the gravity obfuscation of such high density distortion. It lies above, then? Does it share a border with the Labyrinthine Passages? That seems impossible though; twisting space grows far weaker near the labyrinth, it couldn’t be close to the amber barrier where they are strongest.

I consider turning back; diving down into the depths at the other end of the pillar to find what border lies that way… but Scia is still dumbly swaying to the silent song. She may not be wise enough to realise the unsettling nature of it, but I feel an instinctual part of me screaming to keep away. This, surprisingly, is not a part of my newfound emotions and considerations, but a primal part of me. Even a hundred hunts ago, I would act the same.

Despite being unable to see anything — hear anything — when I peer down into the abyss, I get that same feeling of wrongness as I did witnessing the Titan. I don’t like it, and I don’t plan to go down there looking for whatever might be causing this instinct to flare.

Now close enough to see where the pillar reaches the amber barrier, I’m surprised to see the length that remained consistent and unchanging bloom into a thousand symmetrical arches that spin around before clinging to the barrier. The offshoots spread farther than my full length. It’s like the branches of a tree, or closer to the roots, stretching away from the trunk to dig into the amber barrier.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Despite appearances, the pillar never disrupts the continuity of the wall — or ceiling — that glows in my sight unlike anything else. Both the amber barrier and pillar are immune to spatial distortion, but it is the pillar that ends at their contact. It clings to the wall with countless branching arms, and yet it remains inferior.

Now that we’ve come to the end of its length, I have to wonder if the pillar is the same as the one I spent so long unknowingly resting upon. If not, how many are there? Do they all connect to the amber barrier? Where do they lead?

The invasive feeling of curiosity creeps its way back into my mind. It tickles my interest, whispering encouragement to dive into the depths and discover what truly lies below. But the curiosity cannot last. The instinctual terror that sweeps me any time I even so much as look that way wipes any interest from my mind.

There is a small part of me that finds the idea of backing down to some instinct repulsive. But that arrogance, that pride, is no different; both attempt to influence my actions. I want none of either, but between the two, I trust my instinct more. It has been a part of me for long enough that I know there is a reason for this fear. Pride may want me to uphold my strength, but I am far too familiar with my weaknesses in the face of Titanic beasts.

I snap off. Scia and I slither away from the pillar, following the barrier close, but not so close that the rapid reforming of space interferes with my motions. With the more frequent holes, we quickly find ourselves surrounded by rock again. I am relieved to once more have walls around me that I can see. The endless void is an unsettling sensation.

Scia, of course, squeaks in disappointment at losing the soundless melody. She scampers up my head until she’s right before my eyes and chirps, pointing her head behind me.

I hiss. Not loudly, nor aggressively, but enough to get my answer across.

No.

We will not be returning to the chasm for you to fall prey to some beast’s tempting melody. You may think me cruel for denying you your enjoyment, but I shall not continue to allow you to place yourself in danger.

That’s right; Scia has already proven to be an imbecile when it comes to her own safety. She can’t determine what is a danger to herself, so I must do it in her stead.

Surprisingly, Scia doesn’t complain. She slumps a little, but her head bobs and she returns to laying right behind my head. Even as her ears tilt backward, she allows me to continue slithering further away. Eventually, we’ve travelled along the border far enough that her ears stop flicking back, but she never shows a moment of hesitation at losing the song.

Not something I would have expected from a creature transfixed on the lure of a beast. An aggressive resistance would have been more appropriate. But I won’t complain about things going well.

As I slither along the amber barrier — continually reminding myself that it is above me, and not any other orientation — I realise that of anywhere, here is where I’m more likely to find a path beyond those borders. Sure, it’s impossible to pass beyond the amber barrier itself when it blocks any form of spatial distortion, but given the intense frequency of distant rifts and rends near the wall, there’s a good chance one of them will reach far enough to take us beyond.

It’s, admittedly, not the greatest plan; the only likely place those distant rends will appear is right besides the wall itself. That close, they’ll only last a few moments. Not to mention the difficulty of threading through the eternally changing space without getting myself or Scia torn up…

Well, I shouldn’t be so pessimistic. With enough time, we might get lucky and find a stable rend outside the danger zone. Considering my not insignificant time around the amber barrier in all my life without having found a distortion beyond the borders, I can’t imagine we’ll be here for a short period, but it beats challenging the Magma Ocean or Pressurised Depths with Scia.

As I slither through the next hundred bends, Scia begins to hum. She sways her head as if still able to hear the music while her ears don’t so much as flick backward. The melody is simple, a series of highs and highers with Scia’s squeaky tone that repeat after a dozen moments.

Even from the little bat’s mouth the song is enrapturing.

No!

The Beyond startles me at its sudden exclamation.

Shut. Her. Up.

It’s words are far more direct than I’ve ever heard from it. Very rarely does the Beyond speak without prompting.

I halt my motions and hiss lightly for Scia to stop. She does, and gazes at me with curiosity, but I’m not so sure why the Beyond had me stop her. For a few moments, I wait for the Beyond to elaborate. Why does it not like her singing? I hardly thought it was unpleasant. But the Beyond doesn’t speak.

Why can’t she sing, I prompt more directly. Yet the esoteric existence holds its silence.

The Beyond’s lack of response isn’t anything unusual, but for it to determine what we can or cannot do without even the slightest explanation… it’s frustrating. I trust the Beyond, but sometimes it can be so incredibly aggravating.

Scia chirps, confused.

I turn my attention back to her, and incline my head, doing my best to express my apology. While I find no issue in her singing, the Beyond must have a reason.

Scia is slightly disheartened, slumping slightly, and I find myself regretting the choice. But before I can succumb to my doubts, the world shatters.

The loudest sound of crystal fracturing rips over us, blowing past with a physical wave. Nothing literally shatters, but it damn near feels like it. The sound worse than any thunderous crack I’ve heard.

I freeze as something far worse hits me along with the shatter. It is only an instant, but the presence of something beyond any comprehension hits me, locking my spine and instinctively halting my movements. Not even the Titan emit such an overwhelming pressure. As short a burst as it is, it sends my heart beating and muscles convulsing.

I wrestle back control over my body, and snap my head toward the abyss we just came from. There is no doubt in my mind that’s where it came from. Just what is down there?