I still feel that person is me, even after so many choices made, so many branches down the path of life. I don’t wonder what the me-that-was would think about the person I have become. I know.

--

One last time, Matt opened his eyes and looked up, at threads and lines swirling in clouds of meaning; filaments of colour reaching up towards the ceiling in lazy, questing movements. And there, etched into the surface above him, something strange and weird and magical. The ceiling was covered in a network of thin lines, lines that created patterns of symbols and shapes, lines that reached down in coloured strands towards the threads glowing in the air.

As his consciousness faded, his eyes traced the patterns in the ceiling, and as he did so, a spark ignited in his dying mind as he sensed the threads reach down from the ceiling. He felt the coloured pattern break through his muddled mind to fracture the calmness of death that was settling on his thoughts. Thin rivers of lucidity flowing towards him, rushing towards his head, towards his face, entering through his eyes and reaching further… And there! The threads found what they were looking for. Somewhere deep inside his mind, they made a connection, and slowly, they began to swirl as they shaped new patterns.

With an act he could not explain, he turned his attention inwards, following the river of silver and colour, watching the lines saturate his mind, bursting with colour and life, carving symbols of energy into his mind. Symbols like those in the pattern above, and with a sudden flash, the patterns inside and above began to vibrate in a violent harmony as they connected!

A scream of pain, as Mia yanked her hand away, and immediately he smelled the burned flesh. With a mind clear as crystal, he saw agony written across her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. The room was filled with her screams as she clutched her left hand tightly to her chest, and his mind blanched as he looked with horror at the ruined limb. Her skin was... Melting, charred and black and… the white of bones now appearing where her skin dripped like liquid.

“What the fuck?” Pete shouted, rushing towards Mia, pulling out a bottle of water and pouring it over what was left of her hand.

“I don’t…” Matt began, and forgot everything he was about to say. Something was wrong. The pain was gone. The pressure on his chest was gone. He could breathe! His body felt whole. He was alive! I’m alive!

He stumbled to his feet, swaying with confusion, and moved tentatively towards Mia. She backed away from him; her face contorted in pain as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he began, reaching out a faltering hand, not understanding what was going on. I did that? I didn’t do that!

And then something must have broken through Mia’s agony. Pain twisted her face into something unrecognisable, but she opened her eyes to look at him. Incomprehension battling agony in her features. “How are you…?” She stared at him, looked up and down. Her voice was raw and wispy. “How are you standing? The wasting…?” And then pain drove her to her knees, screaming again.

Matt stared back at her. I am alive!

–

The room was still ringing with the echoes of her screams.

“What did you do to her hand?” Pete swallowed and looked at Matt, holding Mia’s arm. Her face was white, and her eyes were rolled back in her head. They had laid her down on the floor and wrapped the hand in a wet bandage. Through her agony, she had guided them to fetch a small vial out of her pouch. The contents of the vial had taken the edge off both her pain and her consciousness.

“I don’t know.” Matt looked at her, emotions warring inside him. Immense relief at the sudden absence of pain, at being able to breathe again. Confusion and shame and a burning curiosity about what had just happened. Somewhere in the back of his head, a confusing sense of disappointment mixing with the smell of lavender. “I don’t know,” he said again, shaking his head slowly. He looked at Pete, at Mia. “I am so sorry. I don’t understand! I was dying. I was dead. I was looking at the ceiling, then…”

He looked back up at the ceiling, at the carved symbols filling the area with intricate complexity. And around him, the coloured threads were still there. More faint, just twinkles at the edge of his vision, filling the room with a shimmering glow just out of reach. “Can you guys see the strange threads? Reaching down from the ceiling?”

Confused faces looked back at him.

“Everywhere… There’s these glowing threads,” he began, and swallowed. The smell of burned flesh brought the horror back. Fear was added to the cauldron of emotion inside him, looking at Mia’s bandaged hand as he saw it etched in his memory; shrivelled, black, red, and ruined. He swallowed again, working to keep the bile down as the reality of what had happened - at what he had done - stared him in the face. That hand would never function again. Somehow, he had done that, and the awareness filled him with dread.

A wave of dizziness made him close his eyes. “I was looking up at the ceiling, at the patterns. And at the threads… They are all around. Can you guys really not see them?” Opening his eyes back up, the threads were lazily floating around the room, curling up in symbols and stretching out in flowing ribbons.

“I can see the patterns on the ceiling,” Vic said, broken arm held tightly against his chest. He was peering closely at Matt. “Nothing else. Nothing in the… uhm… in the air?”

“Maybe some after effects from the wasting disease and almost dying? Difficulty breathing can bring on strange sights.” Thor looked over towards Mia; one hand idly scratching his chin as he frowned.

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“They are there,” Matt insisted, pausing. “The threads. They are floating all around. And my breathing is fine now. They reached down. From the ceiling to my head. I could see a pattern inside my head, and then it–the pattern in my head–just… just connected to the ceiling. Suddenly! And Mia was holding my hand, and when it happened there was a flash, and…” He looked at her and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Something happened. Mia, I am so sorry. I don’t know what it was.”

“I wish there was something I could do,” he whispered to her prone shape.

“Maybe there is, later.” Thor said, still looking at Mia, and his jaw clenched. “With a sharp knife. I do not think the hand will survive, so we will need to remove it.” Something inside Matt squeezed hard, and he looked away to see Pete inspect something on the floor in a corner.

“What is this place? Look at the floor…” Pete was bent down, and drew his hand through the dust covering the floor, leaving a deep groove through the debris. “What kind of stone is this? And the slabs… They are huge. How can you even move something like this?”

Grasping at the chance to focus on something else than Mia’s ruined hand, Matt looked around. The glowing ceiling illuminated the room in a faint, otherworldly light, drawing soft shadows and showing them a room that was empty except for the statue in the centre. A thick layer of dust was covering the whole floor, only disturbed where they had moved around. How long does it take for a place to reach this state? A hundred years? A thousand?

More? This place doesn’t… doesn’t fit. It shouldn’t be here.

A shiver ran down Matt’s back as Thor echoed his thoughts, walking slowly through the room. “This place should not be here. It must be ancient, and I have never even heard a rumour about any construction inside the Dagger Mountains. Just look at the stonework, at the seams, at how it fits together. And the statue. I have seen nothing like it anywhere. The palace in Gamut is like a rickety shed compared to this. Who would even build inside a mountain?”

As the others were inspecting the room, Matt stayed by Mia’s side, his hand resting on her shoulder. Thor’s words made something in his mind click over into Matt-mode as his sister would call it. He looked up again at the ceiling, which was standing perhaps the height of three men above them and reaching down in an inverted dome. The surface was covered in deep silver grooves, carved out of the stone and filled with something to leave clear lines. The lines made up intricate symbols that connected together, flowing in repeating shapes to blend straight lines with curves and even small dots, filling the ceiling to create a pattern.

Heavy stone tiles on the floor extended up the walls, wrapping the room in a density strangely contrasted with the light and intricate patterns inscribed in the ceiling and the delicate statue. Vic was exploring the far side of the large rectangular room, eyes inspecting the stone wall. His movements were lithe and precise as he moved along the walls, hugging the shadows.

Below the centre of the ceiling, a statue of a woman was standing on a simple plinth, poised with one hand holding a short rod and the other extended, holding a smooth sphere. Her presence was both imposing and serene, with exquisite detailing capturing the weave of her robes and a subtle expression of determination. The stonework gleamed under the soft light, her curves and contours rendered with an ethereal skill that somehow made her seem alive, imbued with a life force of her own.

Thor walked around the statue in a slow circle, his hands reaching out to touch the stone before bending down to peer at something. Matt followed the direction of his inspection, seeing words inscribed on a small flat part of the plinth.

“Foci and Cultivation,” Matt was surprised to hear Thor mumble to himself. He didn’t know anyone who could read. He had heard about nobles reading and writing, but then; they had the years for it. For a farmer who had two decades of life; to grow up, to learn his craft, to find a wife and have children, to work the farm and then to die. Reading was a waste of time that was reserved for those few who were employed by the nobles.

Foci and cultivation? What does that mean? Matt wondered, looking at the statue. She is holding a sphere, almost like a ball. And the short rod… is that what it means? But does that really explain anything?

Mia stirred next to him, interrupting his thoughts, and Matt pulled his hand back from where it had been resting on her. He watched her eyes as they transitioned from half asleep to half awake and saw the exact moment when the pain became part of her consciousness again. He winced as a stab of intense shame filled him. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m–”

“Grmph,” Mia interrupted him as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, her face drawn and hair in disarray. “Water.” Matt held out a bottle, watching her swaying for a moment as she took the weight off the hand she had been using for support. She drank some and then cleared her mouth and spat out. “Shit. I don’t know what’s worse about nibelgrass essence. The way it knocks you out, the taste of vomit or the hangover.” She looked down at her hand before continuing. “Amazing how it takes the pain away, though.”

Slowly, she lifted the bandaged hand and looked down at the cloth, now stained red and yellow, before unwrapping it with care and precision. Once the bandage was off, she held the shrivelled and charred stump up for inspection.

“Well, that is well and truly fucked.” She winced as fear flashed in her eyes, gone before it had time to take root. “I was hoping… But no. There’s no saving it, and keeping it will just mean trouble later. I only have one more vial. Better do this quickly, before I change my mind.” Her voice shook as she fished a small bottle out of her pouch, holding it in a small hand. She looked over at Matt, with a strange expression. “Will you help?”

Despair churning in his guts, Matt forced himself to nod.

Thor had walked up to them; the torch in one hand and his dagger in the other, slowly twisting it in the flame. “Use this. I sharpened it yesterday.”

Mia gave a tight nod and looked at Matt, holding a clean bandage out to him. “You need to cut where the flesh is healthy. Not where it is damaged–that is very important. Then we just need to do it again. First, make a circle, cutting all the way through to the bone. Then, set the blade against the bone and use something hard to force it down. You have to punch through the bone in one, quick motion. Use the shaft of your spear, rest it against the blade, and force it through the bone. One sharp motion. Ok?”

Matt nodded weakly, his face grey, as Mia swallowed and held a string out to Thor. “First, tie this around my arm. Here,” she pointed just below her elbow. “As tight as you can, the tighter the better. Don’t worry about hurting me. If it’s not tight enough, I will bleed out.” Then she looked at the torch, and her body started to shake. “Then, after Matt is finished, burn the stump.”

Matt’s mouth filled with something rancid as he took a deep breath, watching Thor tighten the string around Mia’s arm until tears streamed down her face in pain. “Good,” she croaked through gritted teeth before tipping the vial of nibelgrass essence into her mouth, then replacing it with a bunched up bandage. She looked at Matt and gave a sharp nod, something wild in her eyes.

Matt gripped the dagger tightly, forcing his hands to be still, before setting it against her arm; just above the charred flesh.