Oh, the gap looks much larger now that I’m standing here. I swallowed, took a step back, and pretended to adjust my boots. You know, when was the last time I actually jumped a gap this large? … Not any time recent.
I took a deep breath in, then slowly let it out.
My anxiety barely waned. It hadn’t settled once since we began making the climb towards the roof, and now that I was standing here, it felt as if it had doubled. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.
Below me, on the opposite ledge, I could see Clara’s exasperation, her shoulder’s deflating as she sighed. Beside her, clothed in much the same nondescript clothing, Arthur mouthed reassurances to me, beckoning me across.
Like you’re some kind of scared animal. I sighed, making no effort to stomp out the sentiment. It was true— I was literally standing on the edge between two buildings because I was too afraid to actually try to jump.
You’ve jumped off a cliff with no safety, repeatedly.
Not that I was at all afraid of the fall, mind you— it was just… I’d preferred not to contemplate the consequences of hitting the ground from… what was that— sixty feet up? It seemed, distressingly enough, that voluntarily jumping from a cliff had done depressingly little to actually alleviate my my apprehension towards drops.
Across the gap, Clara tugged down her scarf, far enough so that I could read her lips: Stop stalling, Laurent.
Besides her, Arthur held up two thumbs-up.
I let out another long breath, clicked my tongue and mentally chided myself for being so fearful. I retreated a generous distance from the ledge, and sprinted towards it. I leapt, holding my breath as I sailed through open air, and a heartbeat later I landed across the gap and rolled to my feet. I let out the breath. See, wasn’t so bad. You weren’t even in the air long enough for you to really feel the fear.
“Took you long enough, Laurent.” Clara immediately turned away, heading towards the door at the end of the roof. Arthur and I trailed after her.
Arthur piped up, “Don’t be mean, Clara, it’s okay to be afraid.”
“It’s fine, Arthur. It shouldn’t have taken me that long.” I assured as we reached the door. Clara tried the handle— it rattled, but otherwise didn’t move. I stepped beside her. “Eigenlicht, let me.”
“… No— don’t.” She fished a thin set of picks from her pocket. “Save your magic.”
I nodded, stepping away as she knelt beside the lock. Half a minute later, the door clicked and swung open silently. We quietly crossed into the stairwell beyond, gently letting the door shut behind us. I hoped it didn’t lock behind us, and made after Clara down the steps, ignoring my pounding heart all the while.
The steps quickly descended into a set of musty old hallways. Dim lights hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, exposed and humming loudly in the silence. Grime climbed the walls and caked the corners, mold and stains I wanted little to do with hiding beneath shards and cracks in the tiled floor. We avoided the loose tiles, keeping our footfalls light.
Clara’s steps were particularly light, barely more than a slight creasing of leather, and she practically sped through the halls. More than once, she’d be perched at a corner, peeking around, while waiting the extra seconds it took for Arthur and I to catch up to her. Our footsteps were comparatively louder, quiet enough to sneak around, yes, but mainly bolstered by the fact Clara more than once led us the long way around employee and guards alike.
It was at this point I felt as if I didn’t take Professor Talon’s lectures seriously enough— of course, I worked on the important things, footwork, gauging distance, evaluating your opponent. I will confess that I took his instructions on sneaking around with less sincerity than it deserved. After all, I lived in a city, how often was I going to sneak around?
Distressingly often, the answer seemed.
After the first several turns, I had a rough idea of where we were headed, but after the fifth turn out of order— where Clara peeked around a corner, only to shuffle us in the opposite direction, and then make two more turns in quick succession I wasn’t familiar with— I gave up on trying to orientate myself through the hallways. Eventually, we came to stop by a door, where Clara motioned us to stay quiet. She nudged open the door, peeked a head in, before creeping in.
The locker room was more akin to a janitorial closet than a room. Brooms and mops sat bundled haphazardly in a musty corner, while pipes running the length of the wall peeked out from behind rows of dingy, off-green lockers. It was small, cramped, and a tiny strip of rusted metal made up what I assumed to be a bench. A clothesline hung at the back, sagging beneath the weight of many, many bright yellow vests. Without a word, Clara marched over, picked through the cloth, before throwing a bundle to myself and Arthur.
The garment was simple: a large woolen vest with long sleeves with thick, cheap buttons on the front, and a large hood on the back. The entire thing was dyed a bright yellow. It trailed down to my knees, and I had to hike up the sleeves for my hands. Mysterious stains dotting the fabric made me wrinkle my nose, but I shoved away the discomfort.
Concerningly enough, it didn’t have pockets, I wasn’t certain whether that was intentional to prevent any kind of thievery, or simply a way to cut down on stitching costs, but it slipped over my current clothes, which saved me the trouble of having to stow anything in the lockers.
Not like you could fit anything in there— they don’t even have locks.
I doubted I could even fit my boots in there, if I were so inclined. Fortunately, I’d left everything at the briefing location, after Clara had tossed me a sleeveless tunic and pants with fraying ends, and then insisted that I ditched everything. Something about how it would stand out too much. I wasn’t too certain— I’d been much too disgruntled at how she’d immediately tossed a bucketful of dirt at my chest after letting me change into the clothing.
Which, the logical part noted, you know, makes sense, considering the fact that you have to look the part too. Better a little dirt than being caught because your pants are too clean, or whatever.
I steadied my nerves, a large part of me despised the vulnerability that came with not having my Focuses.
I glanced at Clara, already dressed, who wordlessly tossed me a hat before gesturing towards my hair. I nodded, bound my hair up, and covered as much of it with the hat as I could. The hat smelled faintly of mold, but I held my tongue. I caught myself looking around for a mirror, and only found Clara’s disapproving glance from the door. Arthur gave me a reassuring smile, and I reined in my sigh before wordlessly following them back out into the hallway.
This time, we didn’t sneak around, roughly following Clara as she led us down another step of stairs. More than once we caught a glimpse of a guard slowly milling through the hallways, off their guard, paid us nothing more than a passing glance. There were a couple others we saw in similar bright yellow jackets, but many of them kept their gazes averted. Eventually, the hallway opened up into what I could only assume to be the loading bay.
The loading bay was gargantuan, almost cavern like, long and rectangular with high ceilings and empty, paint-smeared pallets dotting the open space. Above us, catwalks ran the perimeter, supporting figures with sheathed weapons watching over us. I tried not to return their looks. The wall opposite of the hallway we’d entered from was a series of large, open gates, and the concrete floor extended past them, out into open air. Scaffolding dotted the wide bridges, presumably for the pulleys piling near the gates. Carts sat unoccupied nearby, pulleys and ropes stuffed into them.
At the end of the bay, a large room sat overlooking the pallets.
I looked over it all with a passive gaze, I’d been expecting it. What I wasn’t prepared for, though, was the extensive number of people that were here.
Near the center of where the floorspace opened up, were a large group of people dressed in similar bright-colored vests and thick gloves. As we made to join them, keeping our gazes low, none of them paid us much mind. None of them really spoke, and I could only catch distant mutterings from small pockets of people farther away. Nothing enough to piece anything together significant. Though, what primarily stuck out was the range of ages— there were people with their vests trailing the floor, baby-faced and barely taller than some of the carts. Then, there were others with wrinkled faced and graying hairs, who wouldn’t have looked out of a place in a nursing home. All of them looked to the open gates, their expressions passive.
In the distance, I could see the bow of a large ship slowly breaking the clouds, slowly ascending towards the outermost docks. A group of people milled about out there too, but with an ease that suggested they were regular employees here. They broke apart when the airship got closer, shouting something to the people that were on it.
A low rumble shook the ground as the ship slowed, before subsiding a moment later. Ropes were thrown over board, and the people on the dock began looping them around the scaffolding and posts set up. A rough voice from overhead barked: “Ai! Lads! Times to work for your pay! Get a move on!”
In moments, large planks of metal were laid down, bridging the gap between dock and ship, and the tide of people began to move. With a small look towards Clara and Arthur, we followed.
The work itself wasn’t too difficult. While much of the cargo was heavy and nearly too large to lift on my own, and my anxiety would spike each time I crossed the gangway, it proved to be mostly doable. It helped that each of the containers had been painted, and after briefly scanning how everyone else seemed to be working, I stacked my boxes where they seemed to belong.
All the while, I was keeping a subtle eye out for any chance to slip away, and occasionally searching for Clara and Arthur in the crowd. The guards on the catwalk seemed to mostly cover a majority of the blind spots, and I moved too slowly holding crates to properly easily slip away. There was also the danger that another worker could happen upon me while I was digging into a crate, and the issue of how I would open the crate without drawing attention to myself. The latter could be handled by a simple Transmutation spell, but I wasn’t sure whether I could or should have risked it.
An hour slowly passed, and the only thing that had changed was the ache growing in my limbs, and sweat beading along my back and forehead.
Eventually, the cargo got too heavy for a single person to lift, and the pulleys were brought out and slung over the scaffolding, and the larger boxes were loaded into carts to be dragged away by multiple people. It was while I was pushing a cart, that I saw him: A thin, worn spear across his back, a heavy, stained and fraying coat sitting atop leather and chainmail. A wiry, tall frame and innumerable hair-like scars crisscrossing his tired, half-burnt face. Scabs— the man who had chased us off that cliff those weeks ago.
I would’ve flinched and stumbled, had the cart I was pushing not threatened to crush my foot if I stopped moving.
Scabs. He looks… I lowered my gaze when his head began to turn, and forced myself to continue moving even when his eyes settled on me. A heartbeat later, his scrutiny passed, hopefully lumping me in beside the catalog of faceless workers. Tired.
You killed his friend. Of course he’s tired. I dug my nails into my palm.
Stop— I know I killed him. Getting upset now changes nothing. Besides, Clara was right— I have to choose what I’m willing to fight for.
‘What you’re fighting for,’ the voice scoffed. Let’s not pretend you and Clara are the same, alright? Yours is a purely self—
Before I tear my attention away myself, a crash and a cry of pain did it for me.
A distance away, a cart had overturned, seemingly having been stacked too high, resulting in a plethora of crates toppling atop the man who was pushing it. The crates themselves were undamaged, but I was torn between backing away and watching the man moaning out in pain. He sounded eerily like Patches.
I shoved the memory down, flinching as Scabs barked over the crowd, gesturing: “Oi— lads! ‘elp him up!”
As guards began cutting through the stunned crowd I took a half-step back, my gaze wandering to the other workers reactions. Many others were also backing away, bearing expressions of pity or discomfort. A couple others openly looked on in distress, but made no movement towards the man. I couldn’t spot Arthur through the crowd, but Clara watched passively, her eyes fixed on something farther away.
Then, from across the room, Clara caught my eye, motioning briefly, before quickly slipping behind a corner. I frowned, and scanned the direction she was staring in. I spotted Arthur moments later, a pained expression on his face as he started slowly moved towards the edge of the crowd. Meanwhile, many of the guards were occupied moving the crates off the man. One tried pulling, and the man screamed louder. Many of the other workers were still looking on, a couple others had begun their work, gazes averted. Unfortunately, Scabs still overlooked the situation— his gaze swinging across the room.
I held my breath, and as silently as I could, slipped behind a pallet of crates the moment Scabs began looking away. From there, I didn’t risk peeking around the singular pallet of crates separating me from the guards, I moved behind a second, then a third, putting as many crates between him and I as I could. Eventually, no matter where I walked, I couldn’t spot the main loading area, and began making my way toward where I last saw Clara.
I found the two of the behind another wall of crates, a distance away. Clara looked impatient, but perked up as I rounded the corner. She nodded, before gesturing for Arthur and beginning to walk. Arthur caught my eye, a troubled look on his face. He muttered: “I wish we could’ve helped that guy.”
“… He’ll be alright, Arthur,” I reassured.
“Were either of you two able to peak inside the crates?” Clara asked.
“Nope,” Arthur said.
“I couldn’t find the chance to slip away— but we can check now, if you wish.”
Clara clicked her tongue. “… You can get it open?”
I nodded, stepping beside a crate without anything else stacked atop and laying a hand on it. I breathed out, my breath frosting. Slowly, quietly, the wood flowed and folded away, almost as if it were melting into itself, revealing that the crate held—
Nothing. There’s nothing out of the ordinary in here. I blinked, frowning. It was filled with glass flasks, like those typically used in alchemy. They were currently nestled neatly beside one another, stuffed and separated by brown wrapping paper.
“Anything, Laurent?”
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“Maybe not in this one.” I stepped away to give the other two a look. Clara, without warning, retrieved a flask from the stacks, before digging her finger into the opening. She took out the brown packing paper, before dumping out a small, pale sachet into her hand. She shook it lightly, and I could hear the movement of something sand-like within.
“What is that?” Arthur asked.
“Don’t know.” Clara pocketed the sachet, replaced the flask, and motioned for me. “Open another one.”
“… Right.” I let out a slow breath, before touching the side of another crate. This time, however, the crate was split in half, the top filled with the same flasks we’d just seen, and the bottom filled with large fangs, or claws. Arthur inhaled sharply, and my frown grew. I didn’t recognize what they originated from, but if anything, it seemed Arthur did. We all shared a look. After.
Clara let out a slow breath, she echoed me. “Right. Close it.”
I lay a hand atop, and before long, both the lid and the side had become the way we found it. Behind me, Clara muttered something to herself, eyes briefly locked to the numbers running the length of the container before stalking off. Arthur and I rushed to follow her through the maze of shipping crates.
Before long, we were at the base of the thin-metallic stairs that led up to the office, and Clara held out an arm. She shrugged out of her bright vest. She spoke, voice low as her eyes scanned the catwalks. “Chances are there’s a person inside, if there is, I need one of you to quietly shut the door behind us, and another to tie them while I incapacitate them.”
As she spoke, I watched Arthur’s expression slowly grow more and more uncomfortable. I cleared my throat quietly. “I’ll tie them, do you have rope?”
Clara nodded, handing me a loop of nearly translucent wire as she fished a pack of picks from her pocket. “Ditch the vests, too.”
Right, visibility. I quickly shrugged out of the vest, laying it atop where Clara left hers. Arthur joined us a moment later, and we went up towards the door. When we reached the top, Clara lay a hand on the knob, twisting and slightly pushing to see if it were locked. It wasn’t, and she held up three fingers before wordlessly counting down.
Then, she pushed open the door, and turned into a blur. I rushed after her, doing my best to spring silently off the metal steps as Arthur clicked the door shut behind us. By the time I made it to Clara’s side, she already had her arms around the mans neck. He struggled briefly, and I winced as the man toppled from the chair, his feet kicking out and knocking it over. Clara grunted as the two of them fell backwards, and the man struggled briefly before falling limp. She shot me an urgent look, and I shook myself free of the brief shock, moving to tie the wire tightly around his hands.
By the end, I looped it several times, before giving it a couple of experimental tugs. Clara slowly let up on the pressure, and wiped the dust from her clothes as she stood. Slowly, we watched the man for a reaction. He was still breathing, but didn’t show any signs of struggling, currently. The two of us let out a breath, and I caught Arthur’s horrified look. “You— you didn’t—“
“No,” Clara hissed, grabbing the unconscious man from under his arms. “No, I didn’t kill him. He’ll be up in a minute or earlier.”
Clara began dragging him towards a corner, before carrying the chair over. She retrieved a second set of thin wire from her pocket, before beginning to tie the man to the chair. She was finished in seconds, then gently let the chair rest on its side, faced away from us. I watched her rip a strip of cloth from the man’s shirt, before stuffing it into his mouth. It was a little unnerving, how practiced Clara seemed to be.
I took a cautious look around, Professor Talon’s instruction resurfacing. Don’t let your guard down.
The office was both unlike and like the one I’d previously visited. It was clearly meant for clerical purposes— if the extensive desks piled with neatly stacked papers and lined with ink wells were any indication. A large window sat looking out in the loading bay. There were no crates here like the Virgulta’s alchemical factory, but instead rows of filing cabinets sat along the back wall.
Clara marched over to the filing cabinets, sparing a glance to the paper atop the desk, before pulling out folders and tossing them onto the floor beneath the desk. Her voice brooked no argument: “We’re looking for shipping label UKWI-9027. It should be recent, but start searching.”
We set to work, digging through files of messily scrawled ink on our knees.
I barely stifled the flinch when the man tied to a chair in the corner began to move, bucking the chair and letting out a muffled scream. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arthur flinch, and I put a steadying hand on his arm. He returned a shaky smile, and slowly returned to digging through the paper.
Much of it was standard, mind-numbing bookkeeping. Dates, shipment labels, producers, courier names, previous and future locations— neatly tabulated into a table and pleasant to look at, but all of it was mostly horribly boring to page through. It helped little that I only recognized a couple of the names that showed up— mainly from my regular visits to the Diyaflos Markets.
Occasionally, I’d send a wary look to the door, half-expecting someone to burst in within the several seconds I was looking, but it never seemed to happen. Eventually, even the initial wave of adrenaline slowly ebbed and gave way back to the undertone of anxiety that underpinned this entire endeavor, and anywhere between several minutes to a half hour could’ve passed before I began losing hope. I hadn’t found anything remotely close to the label we were searching for, and the notation of the manifests didn’t seem to have any kind of organization I could decipher.
It was Arthur that found the label we were looking for. Scrawled down in messy ink, nearly a week back and shipped by a ‘
Telisno Logistics and Shipping’, of which the components were manufactured by a—
Lehndel Alchemical Suppliers? I recognized the name— they supplied a multitude of apothecaries in the Diyaflos District, as well as having their own supply store for people who needed the materials. I often visited them for my fauna-based supplies, as they were usually incredibly consistent.
Clara muttered to herself, memorizing the names, before beginning to collect the scattered documents. “Alright. We can get out of here now—“
The door slammed open, and all of us froze.
Standing in the doorway, a look of rage slowly spreading through his face, was Scabs. His spear tightened in his grasp, and he growled out: “Knew I recognized ye.”
My breath caught in my throat, dry and tattered memories flooding my vision before I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. Now wasn’t the time.
He came after you last time, all of you— you want that dream to become reality? My ether flooded my veins as easily as breathing, and the spell came like a frigid gale. Don’t hesitate, he was planning to hurt all of you.
A heartbeat later, aligned with my intent, a boulder of ice slammed into Scabs— too large to block, too fast to avoid— and sent him tumbling out of the doorway and down the stairs. I heard the ice shatter as it fell to the ground. The heady chill faded— and I stumbled, dry coughing as a spike of heat lanced through me. Did I just…
Clara’s voice rung out, harsh and brooking no debate. The papers were all but forgotten. “We need to move— now.”
She dashed forward, Arthur grabbing my arm to steady me, as we made after her. She glanced down the stairs, before vaulting over the railing and dropping to the ground below. Before I could doubt myself, I took a breath and followed Arthur as he climbed over the railing. I winced as I hit the ground, but was otherwise fine. Clara caught my gaze, and nodded. A moment later, the three of us split up.
Lower visibility and identifiability, instruction rattled through my head as my feet pounded against the floor. My mind raced through the paths I could take. There’s only a single set of stairs in and out of the—
As soon as I finished the thought, a bell began ringing rapidly. Scabs’ voice laden with static echoed through the bay: “Guards! Rats movin’ towards the stairs! No vests!”
Right— focus. I swallowed the bubbling anxiety, letting a cold breath settle into my veins. The pounding of my boots against the floor fell into background noise, as did the alarm shrieking through the air. I let my consideration fall to the wayside, and focused on outright running towards the direction of the stairs— I whipped around a corner, sparing half a glance behind me. I caught the glint of a spear’s point and a shaky armored silhouette. I stopped stealing glances, and focused on running with all my might.
Okay— Scabs is chasing you, can you throw him off? Unlikely, given the fact the man could Shroud, and easily beat me the last time I tried. Not to mention the fact he had a weapon with a significantly longer reach than before. I spared half a thought towards twisting the ever-familiar Transmutation spell I used into shape— narrowing the scope to the concrete flooring.
Far ahead a fork began to open up, and a shaky glance down either made neither more appealing than the other.
Take a right. A smiling feminine voice whispered into my ear, her voice cold, distressingly familiar, and clear as a bell despite the shrieking alarm. Then left after the light.
Oh yes, Estelle, rationale briefly snarked as I steered right. Follow the myste—
Shut up! I thought between breaths, slowly, painstakingly twisting a spell into shape as I took the right path. I have no better options! Guards will be moving towards the exits— rendezvous at the safe house, or at the briefing apartment below. I caught a glance between the crates at the gates leading out to the docks and open air— they were being shut, slammed and locked by fearful looking workers. Overhead, I heard the overseer yelling something, but I twisted left as I passed beneath the light.
From there, the ‘hallway’ created by the crates fell away, opening up to the main area that we’d just been working in. Farther away, the left path opened up to a larger group of people dispersed among the open area, mostly fidgeting and shooting nervous gazes about. The path I’d ran down had led to the same group, but near the outskirts of the area. It still contained people, but few enough for me to easily slip past them. Scabs would have to be careful with his spear on the way through, and I saw the opening to the hallway up ahead. Guards were beginning to gather, their weapons drawn as one spotted me. I bit my lip as I ran, finalizing the exact parameters of the spell as Clara and Arthur broke from behind a set of crates. The guards began to ready their weapons, splitting their attention between the three of us as I let the spell go.
The cold in my bones left me the moment it took effect— and I briefly regretted that I hadn’t even attempted to slip my false philosopher’s stone through, else I wouldn’t have promptly staggered and nearly tipped into a crate from the sudden hot nausea spiking through my head.
In the same instant, a hole opened beneath each of the guard’s foot, while a pillar of concrete shot up beneath their other foot, throwing them promptly to the floor. I gathered a breath that tasted like embers, ran and leapt over them, Clara and Arthur joining me moments later.
Decent marks for effectiveness, but no points for efficiency— I ignored the assessment, ignoring the shouts ringing out behind us as we sprinted down the hallway. The pipes and cracked tiling slid by in a blur, Clara took up the lead of our desperate flight, winding past corners and handily dispatching people right as they came around the corner. Footsteps pounded behind us, close, but not getting closer.
The hallway opened up ahead, and we stumbled to a halt as another set of armed guards appeared, cutting us off the roof. Clara stumbled to a halt, and the footsteps got louder as her gaze flickered behind us. I steeled my resolve, my senses plunged into ice—
That familiar womans voice again, calm in a storm: Left.
— and pivoted left, down the stairs. A moment later, I heard Clara and Arthur’s footfalls closely behind. We rushed down the stairs, Clara and Arthur jumped straight down to the next flight, and I barely kept myself from tripping as I hopped down them four at a time.
The base floor looked more or less the same as the actual warehouse area itself— the only real difference being the abundance of smaller crates, pulleys and pallets laying about. The crates were numerous enough to still provide coverage from our pursuers, and without really thinking, the three of us immediately ran into the thick of it.
Moments after we broke sight lines, a rough order to fan out called out behind us. Clara led us through a maze of ceiling high crates and painted boxes, until we reached a door. Presumably a way out, if the way Clara was trying and failing to tug at the chains locking the door was anything to go by. She caught my gaze, and a moment of nausea later, I threw the padlock to the floor. Clara tore the chain away, and tried the door. They didn’t budge. She cursed beneath her breath, before shooting me another near-harsh look.
I braced myself against a wall of crates beginning to regret not exercising as regularly as I should’ve— my lungs were burning, so were my legs, and it felt like a small fire had begun at the back of my eyes. My throat felt dry. Rushed casting really did horrors on my ether efficiency. I barely shook my head before she clicked her tongue and fished out her lock picks.
“Approaching,” Arthur muttered, voice tight.
Clara spared half a glance back, her expression tightening. Standing a distance away was a figure with a sword, hand on a whistle as they blew on it. We turned and began running. Footsteps immediately began to make their way towards us, and I did my best to ignore the burning, sharp pain in my abdomen. We ran alongside what I gathered to be the exterior wall.
“La—“ Clara cut herself off. “Can you transmute us a way out?”
“Not while being chased,” I bit out between breaths, sparing a faltering glance to see distress on Clara’s face. “Plan?”
“I’m thinking!”
Transmutation was ultimately a slow art, it wasn’t terribly purposed towards combat, and relatively unorthodox when it came to manipulating a mass of separate materials. The only reason it was still taught was mostly for pre-battle preparation. It was, however, excellent at manipulating materials down to a fine point if one lacked the tools. Not that that particular quality would help us here— we’d have to get through multiple crates, pipes, and mortar to access the brick, and Transmutation did not lend itself well to manipulating multiple materials simultaneously. It could be done, yes, but given the lack of time we had, whatever solution I came up with would most likely boil down to brute force, and a monstrous amount of wasted ether. Not to mention I wasn’t particularly flush with ether at the moment— sprinting and fighting the exhaustion to hastily weave together spells without either my Focuses had sent me spiraling into Burnout significantly faster than normal.
There’s a second set of stairs on the eastern side, the voice whispered, voice a port in the storm, it leads down into a passage that will lead out. It’s an old mineshaft they accidentally mined into.
The sound of stomping boots were beginning to surround us— and desperation glimmered in Clara’s eyes. Arthur had a tense, exhausted look. Sooner or later, if we didn’t figure something out, we were going to be penned in. I bit my lip, that familiar voice hadn’t led me astray quite yet, disregarding the fall at Clarion Isthmus, but it was a harrowing idea to bet on it’s information. But it didn’t look like either of my two teammates had better ideas, so I spoke barely above the noise: “There’s a way out— east side, I think!”
Neither Clara nor Arthur paused to question me, simply taking the next turn that would lead us towards the eastern wall.
Again we dipped into the crate-maze, our pace slower than our initial flight as we kept an eye out for the stairwell that should’ve been there. Between walls of crates, I caught the stairwell, dimly lit and tucked out of the way. I shouted for Arthur and Clara and backpedaled before plunging towards it— and down into the dimly lit stairs.
It descended sharply, and before long the ringing alarm felt distant, and in its absence we slowly began to lighten our pace. Our ragged breaths broke the silence, and none of us exchanged words as we walked quickly down the stairs. I couldn’t find the energy to be quiet as our boots slapped against the metal, echoing above us. I faintly hoped that the alarm drowned it all out.
As we descended deeper, a scent like warm mold and damp cloth left out too long made me wrinkle my nose. The steps seemed to stretch on below us, even through the gaps in the metal I couldn’t see where it ended. Dimmer lights hummed at more distant intervals, leaving every other landing entrenched in shadows. There was no railing, and the steps were narrow enough that I would’ve tripped if not for Arthur occasionally steadying me.
I silently thanked the helpful, unknown voice in my head. It seemed her instruction had held true so far. Though, a small part of me still felt apprehensive— her advice before had been correct, but it had led me to having to jump off a cliff.
That’s not necessarily fair, Estelle, my thoughts noted. You didn’t have any other choice, and you had escaped at the end of the d—
A heavy, metallic thud echoed down to us and we froze. Clara shot an uncertain look upwards, but between the dim lights and the tangle of stairs above us, I couldn’t make out anything. A heartbeat later Scabs’ voice rung out from above, warbled and unable for me to properly make out the words, but a moment later a multitude of hurried footsteps echoed from above, quickly getting louder.
Immediately, we gave up any pretense of stealth, rushing down the steps as fast as we could. A moment later, innumerable footfalls crashed down, sounding like an endless tide of metal drums. Moments later, we reached the bottom and we froze, both out of a shock and out of fear.
The stairs shortly terminated, morphing from rusting metal to stone, then opening up into a deep chasm, a single, long strip of pockmarked metal bridging the gap to the other side.
The ‘catwalk’ itself was thin, no railings, and rattled and shook as Arthur jumped onto it. There was hardly light down here, and I had no way to balance myself on— the cords suspending it to the stone ceiling above were spaced too far apart. It also sat overlooking the entirety of the Underhollow, which looked like an ocean of amber, flickering lights from up here. Clara’s panicked yell from behind me brought me back to the present: “Come on! Run!”
I dropped onto the suspended catwalk, only to brace myself as Clara landed onto it a moment later. It wobbled, groaning as I tentatively stood and ran as fast as I could. Our footfalls rung like metallic drums, and I didn’t spare a glance behind me. Up ahead, I could see where the metal ended and stone began once more, Arthur had reached it, his faced twisted in exertion as he checked behind himself for us. Clara was on my heels, and the bridge was too thin to support us running side by side.
A sound like thunder ripped through the noise, temporarily deafening me. I stole a glance backwards to see Scabs— at the edge of where the stone began, holding a small, thin object in his hand. An almost imperceptible trail of smoke rose from its front. Closer to me, Clara was half-turned, her eyes widening in surprise as her legs gave out from under her. In half a moment, she stumbled and twisted to try to correct her fall, but it wasn’t enough. She lost her balance and fell off the catwalk.