“In the beginning, there was a boy.”

The cavern smelled of stone, dirt and dust. A damp musk overlayed by specks shed over millennia of existence. An ancient place mindless of its age, and mindless of the people gathered within it.

“A rascal; prone to mischief.”

They sat or knelt or stood between stalagmites or beside the thin trickle of water winding deeper into the earth’s veins. Some sheltered from the cold beneath fur blankets or thick coats while others stubbornly wore short sleeves and curled their lips towards the more warmly clothed among them. All gazed towards the front of the cavern, where shadows cast from behind a screen and a low, rhythmic voice curled its way around a Divinity. Sometimes, their eyes would creep towards the back as well.

“A boy with a family that loved him; a boy who collected shiny stones and discarded baubles; a boy who made grand promises his skills could not back; a boy who teased and was teased in turn; a boy quick with a laugh. In most ways, a boy you could find anywhere.”

Sturdy shadows stood starkly against the candlelight illuminating the back of the screen: cut from bark through hours of dedication from a man rarely sedentary enough to work with anything more than a Face. But there was time. There would always be more time, now.

“Yet in one, single aspect, this boy was unlike any other. For unbeknownst to those around him, the boy’s blood ran black. And his mother was the one tasked with ensuring it never ran again.”

The shadows slid smoothly from action to action: the small boy peeking from the skeleton of some immense thing as his mother shifted back and forth, halberd in hand. The bones crumbled into buildings and the boy slid between its streets as his mother – bereft of her halberd – swept her shadow-arms through a kitchen.

“So the boy kept his secret. But nothing can be kept forever.”

Something about the cavern shifted. The story and the cut-outs moved forward at the same pace. Borne by the momentum of the tale, it all still trundled forward. No one seemed to notice that a part of the world had snagged on the words that had fallen a few heartbeats back. None but Blake, who looked up at some thing at the back of the room, brows bowed in concern.

“His mother died for him, knowing what he was. But living is always harder than dying. And with the corpse of the one who raised him at his feet, the boy understood the kind of beast he would live as."

The air felt rough. Coarse. Like the blunt edge of a stone scraping against burnt skin. The boy held the corpse of his mother, but it hadn’t happened like that, had it? Nothing nearly so elegant. But how could Bhan have known otherwise? Amongst all of the people who stood on that roof, only one still breathed at the end of it.

“The boy ran far away and hid himself from the world. Yet the world did not hide from him, and try as he might, the boy could not stop himself from looking at it. So it was that when a dynasty fell the boy was there to catch what little remained of it. And in exchange for protection from the wind that threatened to extinguish it, that small ember promised what he wanted most.”

The words were harsh; beating themselves against the walls of the cavern and leaping away before they could be caught. They seemed to titter to one another; sharing some hidden joke laced with mockery. The shadows ran and Blake squinted upwards. His frown deepened.

“An end to what lurked in his veins.”

The young man’s strangely pock-marked face twisted as he swore quietly. Then his form began to grow smaller as he twisted his way towards the front of the cavern. During his weaving between the muscular individuals watching the Divinity, his path was silent except for a few protests from those who had their visions obstructed and a handful of muttered apologies from Blake.

“The boy killed for that promise.”

The story was too fast; fire melting ice to the tune of pounding blood. In the middle of the room, Blake squatted at the base of a stalagmite and muttered several words to Sash and Kit. The former swordswoman glanced backwards and the world shivered as a face that should not be distinct twisted in frustration. Her dark form awkwardly pushed itself upwards then limped out of the cavern. Sash’s thumbs twiddled as she stared at Blake, but with a swallow and a nod she began moving towards where he began his journey.

“The only reward for his service would be death. For no one can live with empty veins. So the boy chose an end.”

The story continued, yet the small body of Sash had managed to dance its way backwards. Not so small, any more. She was nearly fourteen. The baby fat had left her frame; spent to fuel her upwards growth and the season spent beneath the earth to leave her tall and lean and far, far too old. The girl shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, then began quietly speaking.

“The end did not find him.”

But Blake had reached the screen as well, and though his words were distant whispers they seemed louder than any other in the room.

“Hey Bhan,” the young man hissed. “You gotta stop.”

“Face Bhan,” came the stern reply. “He having trouble?”

“Yeah.” From behind the screen, the bob of his head seemed the dipping of an eclipsed sun. “Orvs is- “

Despite being almost inaudible, the name sounded like the crack of a whip. Or a shock of lightning spearing through clouded skies.

“Blake,” Bhan snapped. “No names.”

“But he’s- “

“You know it go bad,” the Face insisted.

“He has a name, Bhan.”

“That the problem,” the older man snapped. “He got too many.”

The finality of his words allowed no reply.

The Face waited a beat before straightening. A chorus of pops creaked from his stiffened body as he stepped from behind the screen. The bark patterns in his hand were quickly slipped into pouches on his belt. A single, overly long squeeze of the eyelids was the only allowance the man made for his fatigue.

“Apologies, Seeds,” the man began, a plaintive smile on his face. His voice was hollowed of his usual accent, as it always was when performing a Divinity. “Our tale must end here, for today.”

Most of the audience accepted the news gracefully, excepting a single groan from a younger man who was instantly punched in the arms by everyone around him.

The Face met the interruption with a wry smile. “Fret not! The story of the new god will continue tomorrow. And there are other things to keep you occupied- “

“Countin’ rations!” one man drawled in a Heartlander accent.

Emboldened, a young woman squeaked: “Weapon forms!” Her voice was distinctive to the nomads.

The man who had groaned grinned and exclaimed in a precise, clipped manner: “Gambling!”

He was pelted with another set of punches from those around him, yet they only served to embolden him. “Of course,” he said, “that is only if our Vulture allows!”

Several eyes darted towards the back of the cavern.

“Shut up, Herod,” someone spat.

Bhan’s smile tightened slightly. “This time tomorrow, yes?”

A chorus of agreements followed as the warriors who had chosen to attend rose to their feet, shook the torpor from their limbs, and most began milling towards the tunnels exiting the cavern. Several were faster – hurriedly jogging from the area with glances thrown over their shoulders. One hairy man was frantically attempting to quiet a child on the verge of tears.

Sash was still speaking. “…a little spot in the deep caves that Dash and I found, and though it is quite deep there is a beam of sunlight that travels down much like the centre shaft – I believe there is a stone like a mirror or something reflecting it – and we took Pat there and he slept and I believe it helped him a lot, because he hasn’t limped in days…”

She didn’t seem aware of what she was saying. Just that she was filling the empty space.

When the cavern had emptied of Shrikebloods, Blake and the Face approached Sash.

“How he doing?” Bhan asked.

“Good,” Sash replied, then twisted a finger through her hair and turned her gaze towards the ground. “…I think.”

Blake gave a wide smile belying the tightness of his eyes. “He looks better. No more weird, uh…” He gestured vaguely around his face. “He’s lookin’ almost as good as me.”

Sash paused to process that, then giggled lightly.

The young man’s expression loosened. “I bet we’ll have him lippin’ so much it’ll take a rope ‘round in the mouth to shut him up.”

The girl nodded, eyes downcast. “…Okay.”

A short silence followed. It was broken by Bhan clearing his throat.

“Where your brother? With the dog?”

“Mhm.”

“See if he need help, eh?”

Her eyes flicked upwards. “…You do not need me?”

The Face gently shook his head. “You done plenty. Ugly and I have it.”

“Oi,” Blake stated flatly.

“Apologies. Pimply and I have it.”

The younger man scoffed a chuckle. “Watch it, old man. ‘Les you want us to be known as Gimpy and Pimply.”

“My skin perfect,” Bhan retorted without looking at Blake.

“That’s not what I- “

He waved a hand. “Off you go, Sash.”

After a moment of hesitation, the girl dipped her head and scurried from the cavern. When she had disappeared, Bhan slumped against a stalagmite and sighed. Blake squatted beside him. While the Face’s gaze remained levelly against the back of the room, the tanned young man’s faced the empty air.

Time stretched. Bhan’s piercing gaze did not shift, but eventually Blake produced a small wooden flask from the pocket of his coat. When he waved it invitingly under the Face’s nose, the older man scowled.

“Not here,” he snapped.

“What’s he gonna do? Get drunk off the fumes?” Blake snorted. “If it was so easy t’get a god sloshed, I reckon we’d have a much easier time killin’ the one beneath us.”

“Blake.”

“He’s fine; he never had a problem with it back in the Foot, anyway.”

Bhan shifted to look the other man in the eyes. “This look like Foot to you?”

A scowl crawled across Blake’s face. “You- “

“Kit taking some time, eh? Why not go see her?”

Blake released a long breath. “We’re not meant t’be alone with- ”

“You make a poor, old man do it?” The corners of Bhan’s mouth quirked. “Shame, Blake; shame.”

Blake sighed, then began levering himself upright. “Bloody Faces,” he muttered, before exiting the cavern.

His footsteps echoed long after he left. As did the voices blending indistinctly together as they filtered from outside: borne of the dozens of Shrikebloods that mingled throughout one of the many cave systems the Seeds had burrowed their way into. Five times their number could easily fit within the tunnels they had made their home, but they seemed more concerned with stealth than concentrating military might.

Bhan’s eyes traced the cavern. Several discordant cracks in the rock hinted at the quakes – likely caused by past Achings, given the Heartland’s proximity – that fractured its image. Smears of dirt where warriors had tracked mud in from the constant storms rumbling outside further despoiled it. Yet despite it all, it remained a beautiful space, where colours swirled together in a mimicry of the river that had flowed over the many-hued stone for as long as gods had walked. Chance had preserved it, and-

“We miss you,” Bhan said.

The cave system stretched farther than any maps or mortals knew. Yet none of the Shrikebloods that spent their days beneath the ground needed to know its full extent; the Seeds’ encampment was huddled around a central shaft that bled into various other tunnels. Most of the Shrikebloods who had departed dragged their feet towards it through a thin crack chipped wide enough to walk through by weeks of chiselling. Their sluggish gait was uncharacteristic of their ilk, but weeks underground had a way of either sapping one’s energy or increasing it to unmanageable levels at unpredictable intervals.

The trail towards the central shaft was cool to the touch. Stalactites hanging from the ceiling forced the taller walkers to dip their head downwards and the sheer narrowness of the space meant that all present needed to walk in single-file. Their heads tilted; their wide eyes watched. They flinched away.

“Apology!” Bhan called from the back. “Make way!”

With a few muttered swears the Seeds pressed themselves against the side of the tunnel, allowing Bhan’s significantly thinner form to barely slide between their bodies and the rock beside them. The Face’s breath came harshly as his eyes darted between the stone walls that threatened to crush him.

“Wait!” he yelled.

Then the tunnel creaked open into an interminable ceiling: slate climbing to pale shale to crumbling dirt riddled with roots and then into nothing at all as the ground ended and the sky began. Rain fell from that hole to the sky – spat from the crackling clouds looming above – and the distance it fell made each fat droplet seem unhurried in their path to the ground. Until they broke on the heads of the dozen or so people beneath, who held their arms over their heads as they hurried away. Or they broke on the rock, or slid down the walls. Or fell into the open branches of the immense tree that stood at the centre of the shaft.

Bhan finally pushed his way out from one of the many tunnels that connected to the shaft and bent over at the knees. His attempts to slow his breathing were tremulous, but eventually succeeded. When he was done, he looked up.

“Pretty tree, eh?”

It was a pale, ghostly thing. White as death. Yet unlike the insubstantial forms that occasionally flickered through the capillaries of the cave system, it was solid. A touch would leave the ripples and furrows of its bark naked to the mind. Its branches were thin and fragile, but specks of auburn leaves remained. Despite lacking nutrients and sunlight except for the few parts of the day when the sun was directly above, it lived.

“Old thing in old hole,” Face Bhan mused. “Gods above old, too. Tree make no sound – hurt no one – but it old too.”

The voices came from nowhere, bleeding over one another incomprehensibly.

“Gods ain’t that different from trees, are they?”

“Maybe it did hurt someone. Maybe that’s how it became old.”

“It’s a lonely place for it.”

Bhan’s head jerked sideways. His expression was open. Yet when a beat had passed, it crumpled like dry leaves. He bit his cheek and squeezed his eyes shut.

His hand felt small. Then he withdrew it, sucked in a breath and smoothed his face into something just shy of normalcy.

“Y’alright old man?” came a low drawl.

Limping around the other side of the tree was… Kit? Kit. She was over there. Her scowl deepened every time her weight was placed on her bad leg. A sheathed sword in her off-hand doubled as a makeshift crutch. The other could hold nothing. She paused for a moment before drawing closer. Nevertheless, she stopped directly beside him.

“Eyah, Kit. Where you been?” Bhan asked.

“Runnin’.” She spat onto the floor. “Godsdamned lady’s like a...” Her teeth ground together. “What’s th’ word…”

“Tyrant?”

“Blood’s that mean? An’ no. Like a… Like a…”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Mm. You see Blake?”

She nodded. “He’s arguin’ with Gaia an’ Maddie – a damn shame I couldn’t pull her away – an’ Erin.” Her teeth ground together. “Little rat deserves it. Had t’get out o’ there ‘fore I slapped the mouth off her face.”

Bhan frowned. “Erin?”

Her only response was another wad of spittle onto the floor.

“Eyah.”

The rain dripped down their faces. Kit’s nostrils flared as she idly fingered the bandage wrapped around her stump.

“Before you left Spire,” Bhan began, “you and apprentice get in trouble? Kill people? In Spiral?”

The former swordswoman’s brows lowered. “I…”

“What happen there?”

“We killed some people.”

“Before.”

“I…” She snapped her hand repeatedly. “Come on.” Her lips peeled backwards. “I should know this…”

Bhan raised his hands. “If remembering hard- “

“Why don’t you shut up, you old piece o’ dirt?” The young woman shifted to jab a finger into the Face’s chest, but lost her balance and stumbled to the side. “Ox’s balls,” Kit hissed. “Bloody… See what you made me do?”

Bhan simply stared at her.

“Raven’s bones!” Her five fingers curled impotently.

She growled. She stilled.

She rubbed her eyes and walked away. Limped across the shaft. Another offshoot swallowed her. Gone.

Each droplet of rain was cold. As if they were ice instead of water.

“Better leave before wet,” Bhan muttered.

The man left the sky and the tree. Both of his boots tapped against the floor of a wider tunnel. Unlike the room he’d performed his Divinity in, everburning lanterns lit the passage in an otherworldly blue light. The surplus of Godsblood walking through the caves kept them lit at all hours. Yet beyond the lights lining the side of the path, all that adorned its walls were shadows.

From ahead, voices echoed. “…he’s not a bloody toy, Erin!”

“Well, at least one of us has figured that out.”

Their tones lowered into a dull rattling that crawled along the walls. Beat by beat, Bhan’s legs brought him into a small chamber. Cozy, were it not for who were seated within.

Around a feeble table that barely seemed sturdy enough to support the hills of wax tablets rolling atop it sat Gaia, Erin, and Head Maleen, whose concussion had long since given way to her characteristic acuity. It was unusual to see them alone – Gaia was most often advised by several older individuals. But while the rank-and-file had little to do other than train, the Seed’s leadership roiled in preparation. Like beetles preparing to besiege an anthill. That left only three remaining to undergo quieter preparations.

Blake spat down at them.

“…absolutely wild! If he’s a god, how d’you think using him so much’s gonna go?” He raised his eyebrows. “Huh? Why do they even need him anyway?”

“We need to prove she’s on our side,” the young Head said quietly, eyes turned downwards. “Without a firm demonstration, none of them will care.”

Gaia nodded towards the girl.

Erin cocked an eyebrow. “He? She? It is a god.”

“Go stick your head down Enn’s throat, Erin,” Blake snapped, “maybe you’ll find a bit of tact down there.”

“Blake…” The young Shrikeblood rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We’re getting off topic. There’s no other way.”

“Alright.” He released a breath. “Alright. Say we table that. What about the, the… the big piss-off weapon? Why’s he gotta fuel that?”

Gaia answered this time. “We need something more potent than what mere Blooded can offer.”

“Well…” He ran a hand through his head. “Isn’t there some other way into the castle? I mean, you dug some of these tunnels.”

“We widened them.”

“It’s not like we don’t have time.”

A sudden clearing of the throat drew all eyes to Bhan. “Maybe. But he might not.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed. “…What d’you mean?”

“He a god- “

“He’s your friend- “

The protest was shattered. “And a god. A god.”

Those within the room shifted as Blake’s eyes flickered between them. A snort erupted from his nostrils.

Infinitesimally, Gaia’s jaw tightened. “Most gods are constant. Their conditions do not alter in any meaningful way.” She steepled her fingers. “But there are two exceptions, and they are the deities we have concerned ourselves with. Your friend is going to change. And we have no idea whether those changes will leave it seeping through our fingers or not.”

Blake’s lips tightened. Then he scoffed.

“Come back to reality, Blake.” Erin’s tone was coloured by a sharp rebuke. “We’re not playing, here.”

“No, you are bloody well playin’,” he snapped back. “You’re playin’ with Orvi’s life.”

The cavern was small. The people within carried bags beneath their eyes. They were tiny. Missives spilled over the table’s rim in frantic disorder. The space was cramped. Maleen’s fingers were stained with ink. She looked exhausted. The cavern was small. Miniscule.

“…”

Whites of their eyes huge.

“…”

Bhan was saying something.

“…at in bag? Show me what in your bag.”

The bag.

The bag was formed by roughly-spun fibre bound together by a single cord. Bereft of straps as it was, the term ‘sack’ might better describe it. But the others called it a bag so a bag it was.

There were several objects within it.

A pebble found underneath a river of water, perfectly smooth beyond a subtle rivet bisecting its skin. One broken wing. A dozen carvings – some from heartwood or speartree, and others from stone – of things that would not exist in a century. Whip’s modified crossbow. A necklace offered by a woman who couldn’t stop shaking. Bells taken from the bodies of the dead. A piece of rock shaped like the bones of an ancient deity, dead since time began and uprooted from the deep caves. And one midnight blade; wrapped in a scabbard wrapped in rolls of muffling cloth, so its presence might be quiet, if only for a moment.

They were in the bag.

“Good stone,” said Bhan. “I hold?”

The stone stayed in the bag.

“Eyah.”

Blake gave a weak smile. “Kit told you. There was some trouble, earlier.”

Erin – who had stood – lowered herself back into her chair. “Trouble.” She paused. “Right.”

Gaia unclenched her knuckles. “…Do you think the Shrikeblood conversion stones can be finished today?”

Head Maleen released a breath she had been holding. “She likes it,” she said, “right?”

“I hope so.” The old Shrikeblood shifted slightly, then her eyes narrowed slightly as she sucked a sharp breath.

Only Erin perceived the woman’s wince. “Are you alright, leader?”

Gaia waved a hand. “Fine.” Her throat sounded tight.

The younger Shrikeblood gave a sceptical frown. “You sure?”

“I’ll have it looked at later.” Her eyes trailed towards the Face. “Bhan – you’ll look after it?”

“We see, hm?”

Suddenly, her tone grew harsh. “We have five days.” Strained capillaries wound around the edges of her eye. “I understand it’s difficult, but we cannot stay like this. We must be better. Yes?”

Her eyes panned around towards those present. “Yes?”

Bhan did not give a denial. He did not give anything at all.

----------------------------------------

The tunnel back was quiet. The rain amidst the branches a constant patter. The Face sat hunched underneath an outcropping of stone, brown eyes staring upwards. Every wrinkle on his face seemed to smoothen, as if his countless days beneath the sun had been stripped from him. His hands hung limply beneath his lap.

Out of one of the many tunnels converging in that space spat Ronnie, their sheer size partially obscuring Taja and the old dog hobbling behind them. The giant walked with a slight limp -- a remnant of the tendon damage accrued in Fort Vane -- but nothing as pronounced as Kit's. The two humans stood slightly apart, accompanied by neither gesture nor words. They wandered around the edges of that space; their forms orphaned by its sheer size. When their wandering gaze fell on the slumped Face, they briefly froze. Then they approached. Yowler’s hackles bristled.

Bhan’s gaze dragged itself upwards. “Eyah Ronnie. Eyah Taja.”

Ronnie flushed, then gave a wave, which left the old runeslate attached to their arm quivering. The giant couldn’t make use of it – in fact, the mere sight of it likely caused headaches – but they had wanted it all the same.

Taja only shot a quick nod.

“What you doing?”

Taja glanced at Ronnie, who produced a small box entirely covered in runes (heat, light, recursive array; force, activation array; force…) placed there by countless hours of labour. The Strain pressed a divot on in its side.

“WA,” it said.

Another press.

“NN.”

Another.

“DU,” it began, then fizzled into a sound like a hive of angry bees.

“Not meant to do that,” the Face theorised.

Ronnie’s already pink cheeks grew redder. They nodded.

“You meant wander?”

The Strain bobbed their head.

“Find anything?”

Ronnie raised a meaty finger towards the box, then their shoulders slumped and they looked towards Taja.

“Old carvings,” the youth explained. “Very old.”

Bhan hummed. “You think people live here?”

Taja narrowed his eyes in thought. Ronnie shoved the box back in a pocket in favour of using both hands to sign, though their fingers were less dextrous than normal.

“I am certain. There are too many art pieces for any other explanation.”

“Definitely. I don’t see how there could be so much art otherwise.”

“Yeah, mostly ‘cause there’re paintings practically smeared across some caves.”

Those gathered flinched at the translations. Ronnie glanced upwards. After a few moments, their thick legs shuffled slightly closer and presented the malfunctioning voice-box.

Its problem was obvious. A dent – from a careless fall, most likely – had warped the bloodtech’s material and distorted some of its runes as a result. Fortunately, its arrays were independent from one another, meaning local damage did not affect the entire device. Fixing it required only careful application of force and a touch-up to some of the more heavily marred sigils.

While the repairs were being completed, Bhan made small-talk about their travels in the deeper caves – answered by Taja with some prompting from Ronnie. Besides Erin and Head Maleen, most of those who had ended up at Fort Vane had little to occupy themselves with on their off-days. To fill the space, the teenager had taken to spelunking and, after a few weeks, Ronnie and their dog had joined him.

From what they’d said, the cave system had definitive ends in some directions – it didn’t extend near the Albright’s castle, for example – yet others swum beneath the earth ceaselessly. They’d found a few auxiliary tunnels towards the surface and several signs of ancient human habitation in certain areas – nothing that could be dated, but certainly older than the three centuries of recorded history. They’d even accidentally stumbled into another Seed encampment further out, which had led to them being imprisoned for several days until Gaia managed to sort it out.

Eventually, the repairs were finished. Ronnie signed ‘Gratitude’, and those present shuffled their feet and twiddled their thumbs for a few moments.

Bhan’s voice split the air. “We seeing twins. You come and escort?”

The lines on Taja’s face grew slightly deeper, and when Ronnie shakily nodded, he released a weary sigh.

“Problem?” the Face asked.

“It is just…” A surly note entered his voice. “I’m on duty three days from now.”

“…Three days long time, Taja.”

The teenager gave a light snort. “Not long enough.”

In response, Ronnie whacked him on the back of the head.

They were immediately hit by a glare as the youth whirled. “Do you believe my presence will make any sort of difference?” He continued without waiting for a response. “If he wants to do something, he will do it. There is nothing any of us can do to stop it.”

His eyes were dark. Lined. The rain fell. Whatever fat he might have possessed had long been burned away. Maybe even before his sibling’s death. The tree cast a distended shadow. Its branches and twigs became knives in the black.

No one seemed to notice. They were too busy.

The giant mismatched hands tumbled through a series of gestures.

“We’re here to stop his wants.”

“Our presence will prevent him from going so far.”

“You think we’re here for nothin’?”

Once more, the voices dove through the air like wraiths; merging and diverging discordantly.

Despite that, Taja seemed to understand enough. “He barely liked me, anyway.”

Ronnie shook their head vigorously. But Taja simply stared out into the rain pattering from above, teeth clenched.

When the moment stretched, Bhan sighed. “Not force you,” he acceded. “We go alone.”

Before they left, Ronnie attempted to convince Yowler to stay with Taja. The dog made a ponderous three-point-turn to eye the boy sceptically, but after the teenager offered him several pieces of jerky he begrudgingly acquiesced. With that settled, Taja dragged Yowler towards the tunnel to the barracks, which swallowed the pair whole.

The middle-aged man gazed at where their forms had vanished for a moment, then turned to the Strain beside him. “Where twins, anyway?”

The giant shrugged.

----------------------------------------

It took over an hour to find them.

Neither the Shrikebloods engaged in games of Web in the barracks nor those sparring in the training hall adjacent had seen Sash. One thought she had sighted Dash and Pat reading some of the books given to the Seeds as a gift, but when they asked Erin – who was charged with the care of the disparate sets of books and artworks they possessed – she claimed to have not seen him since that morning.

It was one of the warriors tasked with guarding the choke-points into their encampment that yielded useable information: he’d seen both the twins carrying their dog upwards, towards the surface, mere moments before they had arrived.

The central passage to the surface was treacherous – especially as damp as it was – and entirely unlit. Gaia had categorically refused Shrikebloods adding any kind of permanent illumination or handhold outside their encampment, for fear it could give away their location. Yet the passage posed far less of a threat to two wiry adolescents than it did to a man ungracefully entering middle-age and a Strain with an arm so underdeveloped it could scarcely hold a cup of water without trembling. Both needed significant amounts of help.

One damp portion saw Bhan slipping on one boot with enough centrifugal momentum to shatter his skull had he not been caught in time. He took more care afterwards, but the fatigue of the ascent soon turned him clumsy once more. The light of the everburning lantern held above proved too dim for him to sight most hazards. In the end, he demanded constant attention. There were several ledges that Ronnie was physically incapable of pulling their weight onto, which necessitated a push from the bottom and a pull from the top to shove them up without injury. Though the Strain was far fitter than Bhan, their additional mass also led to one dramatic roll that might’ve tumbled them into a sheer drop had their momentum not been arrested in time.

By the time the trek was nearly done, both were shame-faced and apologising almost constantly for the slightest mistakes. The pair quietened when the light of the everburning lantern they carried began to be overcome by grey chiaroscuro sharpening the lines of the cavern around them. Shortly afterwards, the dull whispers of two familiar voices permeated the air.

“…could go outside for only a moment?”

A sigh. “No means no, Sash.”

“You want to go outside, too!”

“Sh!”

The pair finally rounded a corner, where an immense contraption squatted. Though its form was concealed beneath a mottled grey tarp, enough days had been spent around it that its image seemed obvious despite the layer around it. Its arms and mechanisms (force, activation array; force, recursive array; force…) resembled that of a dreidel, yet with a nose crafted using a spiral pattern that swirled outwards until it terminated at the point of the machine. It dominated the tunnel; so large that moving it upwards or downwards would necessitate dismantling some of the endless components of the device.

By far the most eye-catching of these were two iron prongs hanging from its side. They led into a metal canister with an elaborate series of runes (bond; recursive array…) that had become commonplace due to Neelam’s research. Wooden tubes would circulate the container’s contents throughout the device, powering its overwhelmingly demanding runes. Even beneath the covering, the prongs leered at everything within the cavern.

Sash and Dash sat beneath its nose, next to the tunnel-opening – its light speckled with shadow by the shrubbery concealing the hole to the surface. Their hound, Pat, dozed between them, his body occasionally wracked by shivers despite the blanket wrapped around him.

Bhan managed to draw enough air into his heaving chest to speak. “We going out, then?”

The twins’ eyes turned to the pair and both immediately startled. Sash audibly yelled, before raising a hand to her chest and exclaiming, “How did you three sneak so well?”

“More spry than I seem, hm?” the Face mused.

Behind him, Ronnie shook their head while using their fingers to mime a person faceplanting.

Sash snickered, causing Bhan to whip his head back around and squint towards the Strain, who in turn cast their gaze towards a spot on the ceiling.

Dash kept his face turned towards the entrance.

Eventually, the man turned back to the adolescents. “What you do here?”

“Stuff,” said Dash.

Sash was eager to elucidate her brother’s lacking explanation. “I wanted to go outside, because I do not like it in here. All the walls and the caves and the blue light is just…”

Bhan supplied the words. “Mm. Stifles.”

“I suppose that's right. And I understand we are not meant to go outside- “

“Which is why we’re not going outside,” Dash interjected.

“ -but I thought since it is thundering no one would notice or care, and Pat would probably like it too. He has not had the shakes since we got up here.”

Her brother’s jaw tightened. “Sash…”

The dog had been having seizures, the past few weeks. Age was finally catching up to him.

Bhan’s lips thinned. “I see. I- “

He was interrupted.

“Did you two carry him up?”

“Was the passage dangerous?”

“Are you two alright?”

The boy swallowed. “We’re fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Chin up, kid.”

Dash rubbed his eyes. “We are fine, Orvi.” His jaw trembled. “You can stop asking.”

The Face’s gaze darted upwards. “We not use name- “

“Well, what am I supposed to call…” While still staring away, he gestured sideways. “That. He’s not bloody… He’s not.”

Sash touched her twin’s arm. “It’s okay, Dash- “

“It’s not okay.” His lips trembled. “Pat’s not okay; Orvi’s not okay; we’re not okay; it’s not okay.”

What was in there? In Dash’s head. In Sash’s. In the moments where they thought the other wasn’t watching. When they thought no one was. When they stifled sobs and shaking shoulders but wept still.

His sister’s eyes were growing damp as well. “It might be better if you let us go outside!”

He threw up his hands. “How would that be better?!”

“Maybe it would make you less of an frustrating fleck of dirt!” she yelled, matching his voice with her own.

For a moment, Dash was taken aback, but he quickly found his feet. “Well, maybe if you had anything normal in that head of yours, you would know you’re… you’re wrong. Orvi would- ”

“‘You’re wrong?’ That sounds like… Like... Something a six-year-old would say.”

Dash punched her in the arm. Sash grabbed the front of his coat and rolled him to the ground. He scratched her cheek. She slapped his. Pat roused and loosed a strangled bark. Ronnie moved forward. Bhan followed.

The sounds of their struggle disappeared behind.

Darkness covered the tunnel back. A lack of light so solid even divinity could not pierce it. Damp stone. Curved floor. Feet slipping. Droplets falling repeatedly.

“Drip.”

“Drip.”

“Drip.”

The innate stillness of all had long since dripped away. Caves twisted themselves into knots. Patches of moss shivered beneath feet. Voices echoed from far away. Deep underground, the world moved.

“Gh.”

“Nuh.”

“Stop.”

The shadows no longer slept. They soared. Swooped. Pecked. Raked. The absence of light took indistinct shape.

A place once loved and the thing marring it. Bells unsounded. Raised palms. A crumbling tower. A hole without end. The grime that buried it. A halberd, a sword, a fist; the sound of breaking bodies. Ice. But the ice melted.

The caverns blurred together. Every cave in truth one cave. In truth a thousand caves.

Time remained interminable. Moments were asymmetrical. Some flew like wind. Others hung sluggishly. Like great fat worms. All screeched past with the sound of nails against sandstone.

Each step was resurrected from the memory of a thousand others. Brought frothing from a sea of onyx to gulp half a breath. Then to be pushed down into that sluggish liquid. Light felt like a dream half-remembered.

Until it was not, and the ceiling soared upwards to reveal the tree at the centre of the shaft. The sun had departed its midday respite and could no longer light the space. But the rain still dribbled downwards from the Tempest sky above.

At the space’s centre was Bhan. He had descended. Some time ago. He was speaking. To Maddie and Sash and Taja and Ronnie and Dash and Blake and Kit and Erin and Gaia and the Shrikebloods. Likely had been for some time.

There were forty-five people in the cave. Many people. Too many people. A man was walking towards Bhan. One mentioned they had seen the god earlier. A man was walking towards Bhan. The bone-white tree hung over us. A man was walking towards Bhan.

Reality seemed projected on a sphere of glass suspended in the depths of some great body of water. It spun by the power of the feet within and the images changed as it rolled. But never once did it move.

Until it did.

The thing that was me surged forward and seized the man – made guilty by the eight eyes whirling across its body – that moved towards its Face to fling him across the space, where his bones shattered against the trunk of the haunted tree with enough force to strip a layer of wood away, but though the man lay groaning he was a threat, for the man’s chest moved and all that could move could change, and all that could change could steal.

“Control your god, damn it!” shouted Gaia, but the thing sprinted towards the man – dozens of different gaits spiralling through its form – where it gripped the insensate Shrikeblood to slam him against the dead tree and send tendrils burrowing through him and into the trunk behind in the shape of carving knives, swords, chisels, teeth, halberds, quarrels, arrows, folded hands, and tongues while the people behind it screamed or ran towards it.

“Every.”

“One.”

“Of.”

“You.”

“Needs.”

“To.”

“Get.”

“Away.”

But though eight mouths moved, the words ran over one another and no one could understand.

They all pawed its clammy flesh as the tree groaned, crackled, and died alongside the man whose organs had been destroyed by the force of a god, and the hands pulling or daggers punching or chisels piercing its body could not stop it.

Though quieter than the other cries, one voice slithered through with a deafening bite. “The boy I knew still there, beneath all that blood?” Bhan pleaded among the others.

The man died and the ancient tree broke and shivers and nausea finally wracked its body and it was done.

Countless fibres of wood split away from one another as the gouge torn through the base of that great plant widened. A young woman shrieked, “Herod!”. Her attempts to save the empty body were stifled by three other Shrikebloods, who managed to pull her into the stream of people fleeing from the tree’s widening shadow. Eventually, its main body met the walls and slid precariously around the space, shedding splintering branches as it did so, which spun wildly through the air.

The tree’s impact was great, but not great enough to prevent it from being halted by divine limbs where it was: caught between the walls of the shaft in a precarious lean. But it was already dead. Centuries of life broken in a handful of moments. Like the man beneath it; chest made a shower of gore. His blood spilled over the earth. Trickled away. Never to return. Unless…

“You get away!” Erin screamed over the body of the man, javelin raised in reckless defiance. “Don’t touch him!”

The blood departed. The tree's lifeforce – faint and disparate as all plants were – flickered. Its death would be long and irrevocable.

They stood of the edges of the space. They watched.

“He in there,” Bhan whispered. “…Isn’t he?”

But there was no boy. There was never any boy. There was only the blood, and the things that had been buried within it.

A walking mound of corpses.