The chill of the air hardly registers through the numb haze of my thoughts.

I lay motionless on the frost enveloped rocky ground. The feeling of my scales pressing into the jagged edges of sharp stone is unnaturally comforting. My body continues its gradual, unhurried reduction toward a more convenient size, but even as it drops to a girth thin enough to enter the spatial loop before me, I remain unmoving.

My body can continue endlessly, but somehow, I am exhausted.

Self-inflicted scratched up scales, along with a mess of blood covering both myself and much of the surrounding cavern, might lead a creature to believe I am injured. Some opportunistic predator — or those cowardly scavengers — would jump at the chance to take a bite out of me.

They wouldn’t live long, of course, but they might make the attempt.

I should push myself into an endless curve so that I don’t have to deal with such creatures’ annoying attempts, but I don’t have the energy to lift even a single scale off the hard ground.

It is not normal for me to be outside the twisting clutches of space for this long, and while I am uncomfortable, I simply cannot will myself to move.

I have experienced both physical and mental exhaustion before, but this is neither. Many, many hunts have passed since I’ve felt the aches in my spine and muscles from overexerting myself. The pounding migraines caused by observing space and prolonged path mapping still occur on occasion, but are manageable.

This new lethargy locking me to the cold stone is more of an emptiness. A hollow, numbing feeling that thankfully overwhelms all the intense emotions the Titan and the destruction of my home spawned within me.

Now that I can actually think without the immature emotions infecting my consciousness, I have to hiss at my foolishness. It is the way of life; the strong do as they wish, and the weak keep out of their way. There are exceptions, but most creatures follow this single rule if they intend to live another day.

So, why did I abandon such a basic principle?

Regardless of my pride, greed, hate, or any other in the writhing turmoil that was these parasitic emotions, never should I have abandoned my core understanding of the way things are. The Titan may be the enemy of the world, but it is stronger than me, so it can do whatever it wishes.

Even if those wishes involve killing my entertainment and destroying my home.

The hollow feeling spreads through my being, suffocating any desire to move. It would be preferable not to even think. Never did I think petty fondness would leave me with anguish.

I cast my sight through the cavern my hunt has led me to. Innumerable vines fall from the ceiling, weaving in and amongst themselves with the help of spatial bends. Each is so heavily permeated by frost they appear like long glass spikes.

Despite the cold, there are many rodents and critters that clamber along their lengths. None of the little creatures can observe spatial distortions, but they only need to follow the vines to traverse what must be a complicated mess to their senses.

As my gaze lowers to the ground — and some sections of wall — the remains of my slaughter becomes undeniable. Scattered limbs, organs and blood freeze the earth. The creeping frost of Apikulls’ bodies remains long after their deaths, permeating a deep chill through my body resting amongst their corpses.

It is unlike me to act so aggressively. As much as I enjoy a good hunt, doing so on a full stomach removes the entire purpose of it. These creatures calmed neither my raging heart nor any hunger. Even now, the scattered limbs have no purpose. I can’t eat them, they are already dead.

The creatures were simply not fast enough to follow the single rule. I wished to rage, and they didn’t get out of my way.

I have enough awareness to realise the difficulty of that task; considering it was me they had to flee from, following the sole principle might as well have been impossible. But ultimately, lesser beings shall not question the will of the strong, even if it means their death.

Between the uncomfortable cold and the spineless scavengers gradually sneaking closer, I should move. A hiss would run them off, but I’ve rested in this frozen carrion long enough. My mind is numb and I have no desire to do anything, but I hate how filthy my scales are.

My body flexes and I worm my way into a spatial bend right in front of my fangs. The motion is more of a limp fall rather than a slither, but as small as I am right now, it hardly matters. At my tiniest, there are so many spatial curves available that I can twist my length ever so slightly to pull me forward.

Scanning through several holes in space, I find a path towards a small lake.

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

As I begin my sluggish tumble toward the hole and the water hidden within, my sight falls on my scales reflected through a few bends. Beneath flaking ice and blood, they have lost the gleam that required so much effort to achieve.

The loss is… galling. It’s insignificant to all else that has happened, but to have the reminder staring me in the face at all times only tempts my agitation. The feeling dies before it can flare; hollowness in my chest remaining ever consuming to all the emotion that tries to overwhelm me.

I cast my gaze back to the remains of the Apikulls that failed to survive against an apex predator’s foul mood. The scavengers too cowardly to fight for a meal of their own creeping ever closer now that I have moved away.

Right before my body passes through the spatial hole and I’m taken far away, I let out a long, echoing hiss laced with as much of my presence as I can apply. The sound rings deep into each of the creature’s souls. A harrowing fear tenses their muscles on the spot and they all collapse, unmoving. Some even fall out of the twisting space that obscured their movements.

Not taking another look back, I slither through the hole and arrive in a cavern only a few bends and curves away from the lake.

A few spatial curves within the water lift the liquid near the ceiling, creating many waterfalls and keep the lake constantly in motion. The hole in space at the bottom of the lake creates a whirlpool, spinning all the liquid even as it passes through the innumerable bends permeating the pool.

Of all environments, bodies of water like lakes and seas encourage growth of the least spatially inclined creatures. The visible effect space has on liquid makes them the only place those without true sight — or any weaker sub-variant — can flourish.

With the exception of the Pressurised Depths, of course.

My body dives into the lake without delay. The heavy currents attempt to pull me down through the hole, but a flick of my tail sends me to a calm orbit at the far edge of the whirlpool.

Within these tunnels I call home, the world is constantly changing. The appearance of a single spatial rend or hole could invite flooding from a large body of water and transform a formerly dry chamber to a sea of its own. Even without water, earthquakes commonly collapse tunnels and chambers only for the gradual carving of the earth by the many thousand forming curves and bends to create new paths.

Some rends gush out so much water, I can only imagine the depths it leads to. Distortions like that are impossible to slither through. No matter how much momentum I gain, the intense flow is like a barrier. Whether for better or worse, those rifts don’t remain open for long. If they did, I can’t imagine there being any dry caverns left.

I have been to some vast depths in my life, and have learnt it best to avoid.

Water inhibits my movement. Rather than allow gravity to carry me, liquid forces me to move with physical motions. An annoying limitation that makes hunting in seas painful.

Right now, I’m not hunting. I don’t need to move my body through bends that confuse prey or twist myself through the best paths. The flowing water simply carries my body along, always subtly tugging me closer to the drainage hole below.

Blood and frost peels off my scales in the rapids. The water gets rid of most of the filth, but there is still blood caught between my scales that refuses to clean off, no matter how much I twist and flex. I’m only now regretting my rest amongst those Apikull corpses. The self inflicted scratches don’t help.

Moulting might be the only way to return them to their pristine state, but that isn’t likely to happen for many more hunts.

If this lake had a bed of sand or powdered stone, cleaning myself would be much easier, but it doesn’t, so I have to settle with the flow of water, and hope the constricting of my body is enough to dislodge all the dried blood.

❖❖❖

Once satisfied — but nowhere near happy — with my appearance, I allow my body to be carried down with the flow and through the spatial hole beneath the lake.

There is a short fall on the other side, but I allow the water to carry me. First, into a small pool, then through a narrow tunnel. Curves in space take me along a smooth passage carved away by the water’s speed.

This river is only barely wide enough at some sections to allow even my miniaturised form to slide through. Occasionally, a bend opens the possibility to escape the water and drop out into a semi-flooded pocket in rock, but I never take them. Without a destination, this flow will decide where I should go.

My home is gone. Where else can I go?

The only answer that comes to mind is not overly impressive, but it is all I can do without lying down to brumate for eternity. I simply need to keep moving until I find another energy dense resting spot like the one I’ve spent so many of my sleeps.

Finding one might be hard. It might be impossible. And wasn’t the Titan searching for the cause of that energy in the first place? Would it really be wise to place myself where I will come across it again?

Then, if I abandon the idea of regaining such a comforting resting place, do I just choose somewhere new and create a new territory for myself, or do I listen to the threats of the Titan and flee these tunnels?

The words spoken still leave me with so many questions. Ideas and concepts shared through sound — rather than thought as with the Beyond — is novel, now that I don’t have to experience the terrible fear associated with the being’s heavy words. Is it possible to share my thoughts with other creatures the same way?

I know words because of the Beyond’s teachings, but converting those words into audible sound is not something I’d ever considered attempting. Sound is unreliable, after all. That’s what I’ve always believed. Maybe speech is the only thing it is good for besides scaring off small creatures?

A hiss escapes my lips, but bubbles along with the muffled sound that dies out after only a moment remind me of where I am. I’ll have to leave the water before I speak.

Now, with a goal besides letting myself be carried along by the current, I flick my body out into a pocket of water. A few turns and a looping spatial tunnel are all it takes to escape the river.

The cavern I find myself in is bare of life. Good; no impulsive creatures will interrupt me under the mistaken premise that my small size means I am prey.

My mouth opens to speak a word, any word, but only a hiss resounds.

Hmm, maybe a more solid image of what I want to say is required. A quick glance over myself gives me something basic to say.

Scales. The word sticks to the forefront of my mind as I breath out. Surely this will work. I’m not exactly sure how, but the Beyond says it’s possible, and it is always right.

Again, a hiss echoes. Not even the slightest improvement.

This… is going to be a harder than I thought.