I remain on the back of the not-snake, the train, for a good long while. So long that the warm spatial ripple gradually disappears.

Without knowing what exactly the energy is, or where it originates, its disappearance means nothing to me. I don’t know if it indicates I’ve moved to a different cavern, or if the origin simply ceases to exist, but none of the sapients either inside the train or along the earth we pass seem concerned; why should I? Well, there is the possibility that they cannot see the spatial ripple at all with their sight, but they’re the ones that have lived up here the longest; I’m sure they would have adapted to any dangers in the area. As long as I keep their reaction in mind, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.

After the earliest stretch of my ride on this artificially constructed snake, the tall nests grew scarce, and were replaced with oddly orderly plant-life and flocks of beasts bound by cut-up dead trees and tiny, yet infinitely long metal fibres. But despite the structure thrust upon the flora and the contained fauna, those that are most likely to have shaped the land this way, the sapients, are sparse. Compared to the built up nature of their previous nests, they barely even reside out here, and yet, their influence remains absolute.

For all of this to exist, it must mean their dominance is never — or at least rarely — questioned. They have no direct predators that thrive in this cavern. If even one of the beings I know from the depths rise, they will experience devastation to their entire ecosystem. It is unstable, fragile. The only safety they have is how difficult it is to reach this space. With such large prey so numerous, I doubt any of the predators that once challenged me would pass up such a place.

And that’s without considering Titans.

The plants themselves look almost sickly. They are similar enough to those that flourish around magma pools, but they droop as if unable to hold their own weight. The land cannot support them; without magma nearby, there is no heat for them to grow.

Eventually, the land returns to the more densely packed nests that stand in orderly lines, leaving space between them for the sapients to wander freely. Occasionally, I’ll spot a smaller version of the not-snake I ride upon; the trains hold a fraction of the number that the one beneath me can, but can curve through the tight spaces between stone and wooden structures.

It's quite a surprise when the nests grow more tightly packed than even when I landed on this train. And the longer I lay on top of it — my ventral scales digging into the rather soft metal — the more dense the swarm becomes.

I’d heard the species arguing amongst themselves back inside the train. Now that I think about it, the very fact that they can fight and disagree is surprising. They’re a swarm, and yet they they don’t have that one-minded unity of all other swarms I’ve seen. Agreement doesn’t come naturally. They don’t all follow one will.

It can only be because of the sapience they hold that they remain able to coexist. If not for my time with Scia, I wouldn’t have imagined any creature with its own individuality could ever cooperate with one of a different species. Even without the sapience I know, she was intelligent enough to force her way into a beneficial relationship. But to see a similar thing occur on such large scale is shocking.

The train tilts into an incline, the nests growing ever larger and more closely packed together. A cliff-face comes into view… or at least that what I assume it is until I notice the square shape of all the stone it consists of. As with everything else around here, the wall too is built by the sapients.

It spirals up from one side to the other, gradually rising along the slope. More nests sit atop it all the way to another wall that spirals even higher. My ride speeds through the dense hive; no other term could describe this place, what with how not a single patch of dirt or uncut stone remains.

So many sapients, all in one place. The fake-winged squirrels in the air, or atop the other races heads, and those other races weaving between themselves in a constant flow. It feels almost unfair that there are so many sapients here, amongst these weak species. Up here, the status is the norm, not an achievement. I’m not special for having this intelligence.

It is only when I feel the train finally starting to slow, do I spot the fissure splitting the hive. A massive gorge splitting everything from the earth to the stone walls. And this train I ride is barrelling straight towards it. With such limited deceleration, it is hardly going to stop in time.

I ready myself to dive off. Flit away from any pit back to the warped tunnels. They may have been my home for as long as I’ve lived, and I may wish to have the shroud of bends to hug me tight, but it will fall eventually. I cannot return.

Considering how deep the hole would have to be to reach my former territory, it’s unlikely this fissure will lead there — the column I climbed was strange enough itself — but I won’t tempt fate.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I prepare to spring off the moment I feel the train fall out beneath me, yet it never does. The not-snake passes over the massive crevice, unbothered.

Before I realise it, I’m on the other side without even the slightest of disturbances in its flow. But… how? Even I can’t fly without my bends at my disposal, and this not-snake hardly has any wings.

I slither to the rear of the train, and peer over the back ledge to the fissure. There, perfectly where we passed, is a narrow path bridging the gap. Large stone pillars spike out from the cliff faces to hold up the thin planks, origin clearly reminiscent of the ability some beasts wield.

So that’s how it didn’t fall? The train took such a narrow bridge despite its size. I’m surprised it didn’t even hesitate… which I shouldn’t be, considering its lack of life. Still, seeing something moving with such control and not being alive is strange.

My ride continues to slow, and peering ahead I spot another massive cluster of sapients standing around in the distance. It is likely going to stop now, and amongst such a highly populated section of the swarm’s nest, remaining unseen might well be impossible.

Fortunately, the area nearest the fissure appears almost uninhabited.

I leap off, threading through a couple bends to eliminate my momentum and touch down in the tight space between two quiet nests. As much as I hate slithering across surfaces, it has become obvious that weaving through the air with my bends attracts far too much attention. It still gnaws at me — being mistaken for a lesser creature — but I find such feeling is suppressed easily.

One of those apikull-like creatures clatters down the gap ahead of me, rushing to get somewhere. I blink inside the wall of the building I hug before I can be seen — taking a subdued interest in the smaller cavern I find myself — before blinking back out behind the creature.

In no time, I’ve reached the section of the hive without any sapient life at all. The ruins of their nests remain, albeit often cracked and semi destroyed, but there are none of the creators here to bother me.

Before I head deeper, I notice a few planks of bisected tree bound together and held upright. I almost miss it entirely; there’s so many other unfamiliar sights to see. But the slight indent in the wood halts me in my tracks.

Danger: Off Limits

Words. Actual words inscribed into the wood. I’d considered if such a thing was possible after hearing the conversations between the sapients, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.

Unlike the spoken word, these are permanent… or at least as permanent as the timber they’re inscribed. Speech is momentary. Fleeting. Great for transferring one’s thoughts and emotions, but this allows one to speak without even being there. A warning for any that can understand.

Unstable Ground

My idea had been closer to bending space slightly so the words would form that way… but such would be unlikely to allow communication between those without true-sight. From what I’ve seen so far, these sapients have worse spatial senses than most creatures I’ve come across. Though that might simply be a factor of their environment; why see distortions if you never have to experience them, after all.

The warning itself is curious. Unstable ground? They’ve clearly had nests constructed behind this sign, so did the sapients not actually create these nests? Are they simply inhabiting them after something else formed them?

I try inspecting the ground ahead, but it is far from the broken earth of the Other Side. Even the sections of that place that were somewhat stable appear like sand pits compared to this. Is it actually unstable?.

Maybe they’re worried the edge of the fissure will spread. If its just that, I don’t understand why they’re concerned. The sapients I fought when first arriving in this cavern had the strength to throw themselves many times their body lengths through the air; if they fell from a collapsing cliff-plate, then I’m sure they could throw themselves back up. It would only become a problem if there was no stable ground to throw themselves too, or the earth that fell beneath them was nothing but powder. As it is, I don’t see how the current landscape is a problem.

Despite the sign warning danger, I take it as an invitation and slither past.

I’m used to places without life, but the presence of these towering nests going completely unused, gives them a rather odd sense of emptiness that not even the lifeless caverns of my past could achieve.

While the sapients have abandoned this place, the same is not true for the critters and wild plants that have moved in with their absence. They all fill the space, and yet the sense of emptiness remains. Strange.

The further I slither through this ‘dangerous’ area, I find the nests grow more broken. Early on, there were some cracks, but nearer the fissure, it is far more common a sight for them to have crumbled walls, or having collapsed completely.

Considering the proximity to the sheared earth, I have to revise my thought that these nests are something the sapients moved into but didn’t build. No, it’s far more likely that they abandoned these because of disaster, rather than this having always been what the ground was like. Did the fissure tear open recently?

The soft echo of voices overlays the hive’s subtle hum.

Curious. I thought no sapients would come into this place. They had a sign specifically saying not to. Why would they ignore that? I didn’t, but that warning wasn’t meant for me.

“Come on, Kael. Don’t be a wimp.” The words finally become decipherable as I poke my head around the last corner. There, standing a few steps away from the ledge of the fissure, is a trio of those squid-like creatures.

“N-No. I’m good here.”

The three are smaller than most of their kind. Their species’ young. What are they doing here, where even the stronger, older, don’t come?

The third one who has yet to speak steps forward and snatches a stone from the tentacle of the other. With a twist of its body, it flings the stone clear across the fissure, where I hear it clatter somewhere along the other side.

“You’re not gonna beat us if you don’t take a step forward.”

Beat? Are they fighting?

Curious of what they’re so invested in, I slither forward.