Telero stared at the sketches, masterpieces of childhood and adolescent artworks, that he and Halari had carved into stone in this divot years ago. She hadn’t visited this spot in a while, but he found it a place to go when things went awry.

Shaft collapsed? Bring a meal here and unwind.

Rachella breaking it off with him? Dangle his feet over the edge and watch the day fade away.

The Visionary’s greatest fear freed? He thought, tracing his fingers over one of child-Halari’s barely decipherable chalk drawings of some beast she’d imagined. Come admire some art.

He had to give the Betrayer some credit; the monster did work fast. Barely even a day out of his prison and already he was weaving his influence into his sister while simultaneously bringing his mentor Kelot to heel in terror. Telero had went to him in an effort to persuade the Sect to strike while the Storm Devil was still weak, but only succeeded in prompting the man to find a chance to grovel.

“Cowards all,” he whispered. “The Visionary preaches to conquer fear in the name of Melokon, but what do they do?”

Quiet steps sounded behind him, approaching warily. Halari was soft-footed, but the stone gave away her arrival. Not many creatures could move across the ground completely silent, but when she was trying, his sister was one with the lands around them, undetectable and immersed. She wasn't trying now of course, so her boots clomped on the stone as she moved closer.

He turned to her, face stony to hide his worry. The Tyrant’s hooks floated around her, closing in with every passing second that demon was free and breathing. How long would it take to for all of them to dig into his sweet sister?

“Hey, Tel,” Halari greeted. Her eyes held a dying ember of anger in them, having not quite forgiven him for his deception of the arrangement with the gildgrown, but that indignation was shrouded with a thin layer of familial concern. “I know we’ve got a lot to talk about, but are you ok?”

He raised brow at her. “Jomen the Guide’s only terror is out and about, trading words with my family, and cowing the priests, so no.”

“He doesn’t seem to be a threat,” Halari said, coming to stand beside him at the divot. She looked at the drawings they’d made together and grinned. “I remember these.”

“But you don’t remember the Words of Jomen at all, do you?” Telero asked, crossing his arms. The relevant verses came to mind immediately, as well they should, seeing as how he spent most of his off time studying them, contemplating their meanings. “Fall of the Chosen King, section three: ‘He was perfect. The perfect ruler. He came to his people as their salvation, gathered them with warm words and warmer eyes, turned sour hearts sweet and burned away their fears. The Tyrant’s iron grip dripped with honey.’ Hala, nobody suspected a thing until it was far, far too late.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“It’s all bull, Tel,” Halari said. “All of it, Callan told me the truth.”

“What truth does the Deceiver speak?” Telero asked.

“They’re not. Coming. Back,” Halari said, turning to face him now. That was one hook already latched on, deep enough it couldn’t be removed. He saw that she believed it, even more since he knew she wanted to believe it. She'd never had the faith. “They never were coming back.”

“He told you exactly what you wanted to hear," Telero said. “I bet his tears really sold it, huh?” Halari cocked her head with a confused expression. “Yeah, we caught his little display on the cameras.

“In any case,” he continued, “that demon is going to ruin everything, and it will look like he’s here to help at first. His salvation will be our doom.”

Halari set her jaw much like he did; she didn’t appreciate how much they were alike, even in smaller ways.

“So what?” she hissed, jamming a finger at his chest. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in a bit of a mess right. We need something, anything right now, so maybe I don’t care if the hand holding us together is made of iron. Maybe we need that.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. The gildgrown taking their food were a danger, and a big one, but they could be dealt with. Reasoned with. “The outsiders can be kept at bay,” he tried.

“Until we run out of food,” Halari said, shaking her head. They went quiet for a moment, trying to find some solace before the art of their childhood. “How come you haven’t told the town about Callan? If the Storm Devil is what you believe, why aren’t you warning everybody?”

“His actual power will grow the more people revere him,” Telero said, recalling more passages of the Book of Jomens, “so I will hold back the tide for as long as I can. You will not be the only who falls for his lies."

“Tel…” Halari looked at him, her anger replaced with genuine worry for his burden. He loved her for it, it was why he was going to dig those hooks out of her, no matter the cost. She was his sister, and it was his one true job to protect her. “What if you’re wrong?”

“Then, I’ll let the Visionary judge me,” he said, making the gesture of reverence over his eyes, “when he and his kin come back home.”

“Then, I’ll do the same,” Halari said, “after I use whatever I can, whoever I can, to save our home.” Intentions declared, she drifted off as the sun glare passed its zenith, shining at angle that fully lit up their little hole in the wall.

Telero watched her go, then turned back to the stone canvas. He grabbed a little piece of chalk from the old box they kept in the divot and found an empty spot, then placed the chalk against it.

In one smooth motion, he drew a new picture: a single, curved line with its arc facing the ground.

A hook.

Dig them out, Telero commanded himself. Dig them all out.