Chapter 9 - To the Edge

“What do you mean!?” Vikka hissed, her voice frantic.

Sylven blinked at her, wide-eyed, “I wasn’t sure exactly what would happen. I don’t know what this means.”

Vikka’s claws drummed against the wet ground. “Great,” she groaned, her ears flattening against her horns, “now I get to hear your annoying little voice in my head.”

Sylven opened his mouth, then shut it again, clearly unsure of how to respond. The silence stretched for a moment before he finally said, “It’s not like I planned this. Magic doesn’t always work the way you think it will.”

Vikka snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s easy to say for the one who uses magic.”

Sylven ignored her tone, running a hand through his soaked hair. “Look,” he said, his voice more even now. “This… bond thing? It’s already done. We might as well try to make sense of what’s going on and make the best of it.”

Vikka’s rubbed her eyes with one claw, and the tip of her tail where the snare had caught with the other. This is really happening, she mused as the reality of their situation hit her.

“We really need to move,” Sylven said, breaking the silence. He got back on Whisker and pointed to a larger thicket half a hill away from the caverns.

“Why?” Vikka snapped, but didn’t argue, her tail flicking irritably.

“I don’t know what’s up with that egg, but if your patrols see me anywhere close to it then I’m in big trouble,” Sylven explained. “But if they see you talking to me, I don’t know how you’ll explain what’s going on...”

“I’ll figure something out,” Vikka interrupted. But even as she said it, doubt crept into her voice. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the shadow of a kobold guard emerging from around the slope.

“Then what’s the plan for now?” Sylven pressed.

“Fine. Let’s get away from here,” Vikka yielded. “I can’t believe I’m being pushed around by a pest!”

The unlikely duo did their best to obscure their tracks, hoping the rain would do the rest. It had eased into a steady drizzle, but the ground remained slick and treacherous, forcing them to tread carefully. Vikka kept the basket close, her claws gripping its edge as if the egg might leap out on its own. Sylven rode a few paces ahead on Whisker, his eyes scanning the uneven ground for any signs of patrols or hidden dangers.

“Go left,” Sylven called out, his voice carrying over the light wind. He pointed toward a narrow path winding around a rocky outcropping. “Kobolds don’t usually check that way.”

Vikka shot him a glare but followed his lead. “How would you know?” she pressed.

Sylven smirked. “Because I’ve seen how lazy your guards are. They only patrol what’s easy to climb. That slope would take effort.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. The scouts and guards often grumbled about avoiding the trickier paths unless explicitly ordered.

As they rounded the outcropping and furtively made their way towards the better concealed hiding spot, Sylven leaned low in Whisker’s saddle, trying his best to keep the nervous mount calm. To focus on the pika, in his mind he had to push the connection between him and Vikka to the side. It kept pulsing faintly with undercurrents of guilt and unease. Despite his best efforts, he continued to pick up flashes of a whole range of emotions from the kobold—frustration, determination, and a gnawing uncertainty that matched his own.

“You’re quiet,” Sylven noted, trying to break the tension as they settled into the thicket. “Planning to get rid of me already?”

“If only I could right now,” Vikka muttered, her tail flicking behind her. “But I can’t go back. Not with this.”

“About that,” Sylven interjected. “Mind telling me what’s going on with you?”

After a long pause, Vikka exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Why don’t we start with you instead. Why were you creeping around our caverns?”

Sylven raised an eyebrow, “Don’t I deserve an explanation after watching out for us? You’re the one trying to bury an egg in the middle of a storm.”

Vikka bristled but didn’t look away. “It’s not that simple,” she muttered.

Sylven huffed, folding his arms. “It never is.”

That small jab earned him a glare, but after another pause, Vikka sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Fine. I’ll answer your questions, pest.”

Sylven glanced down at the egg, then back at Vikka. He still wasn’t sure what to make of her—this massive, smooth-scaled creature who spoke with such bitterness.

“Alright,” he said cautiously. “You obviously don’t want to keep the egg. But why bury it out here? Why not just… I don’t know, deal with it back in your cavern?”

Vikka scoffed, the sound harsh. “And let everyone see? Let them know I laid an egg and tried to get rid of it?” She shook her head, her claws flexing against the muddy ground. “No. That egg can’t stay in the nest. If the nest mothers don’t figure it out, the queen will.”

Sylven’s brow furrowed. “And that’ll get you in trouble?”

“You don’t know the half of it, pest,” Vikka snapped, but her words lacked the venom of before.

Sylven sat back, crossing his arms as his gaze lingered on the egg. “So, what happens if I take it?”

Vikka shrugged, though her tail twitched nervously. “Then it’s yours. I don’t care what you do with it. Just don’t let any other kobolds know you got it from me. And don’t bring it back to the nest.”

Sylven frowned and shook his head. “I’m not taking it. That’s not how the Daring Rite works.”

Vikka rolled her eyes and scratched her horns in frustration. “What!? Your pesky little traditions are the least of my concerns.” She jabbed a claw towards the egg. “It’s yours if you want it, pest. If not, I’ll keep walking and figure out where I can get rid of it.”

Before Sylven could respond, Vikka stood and strode toward a cluster of jagged rocks. She crouched beside them, her claws drumming against the edge of her basket as if she couldn’t decide whether to stay or flee.

Sylven followed, keeping his distance but unwilling to let the strange moment end without some answers.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“You can’t keep lugging that thing around, hiding it in a basket forever,” he piped up. "And you can’t just bury it around here, someone or something will just dig it up.”

Vikka’s jaw tightened. She knew he was right, but the idea of agreeing with the Shy grated against her. “I’ll… I’ll find somewhere,” she said weakly.

“I thought you kobolds believe eggs are sacred,” Sylven retorted. “So why are you so desperate to get rid of yours?”

Vikka shot him a glare, her tail lashing behind her. “Because once they know I’ve laid an egg,” she sighed, her voice tightening into a whisper, “then I can’t live my own life anymore.”

Sylven blinked, caught off guard by the bitterness in her tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vikka hesitated, her claws curling into fists as if grappling with her thoughts. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less tense. “The queen decides who gets to mate, whose eggs get fertilized. It’s all controlled. All perfect.” Her gaze dropped to the egg, her tone hardening. “But I don’t want to be forced to be a part of all that. I hate it. I hate having an egg!”

Sylven frowned, tilting his head. “Too bad. It looks fine to me.”

“That’s the problem,” Vikka snapped, her voice rising. “It is fine. If anyone finds out, they’ll be so relieved that I can finally be a happy little nest mother like the rest of them.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I won’t give them that satisfaction. It’s better if it’s just… gone.”

Sylven was silent for a moment, his eyes flicking between Vikka and the egg. “So that’s what you want me to do?” he asked finally. “Get rid of it for you?”

Vikka nodded vigorously. “Yes, please!”

Sylven sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “I can’t, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Vikka shot him a skeptical look. “But aren’t you an egg thief like the others? Isn’t this what you do?”

Sylven’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “It’s not that simple. The Daring Rite—it’s about proving yourself. Stealing an egg from a guarded nest, outsmarting the kobolds, escaping with your life. It’s about the fight, the risk. Not just… picking up something someone left lying around.”

“So you’re saying you’re too proud to take it?” Vikka asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

“It’s not about pride,” Sylven insisted. “It’s about meaning and honor. Proving you can face danger, outwit your enemies, no matter how much bigger they are. What you want us to do…” He gestured to the egg. “...is the opposite of that.”

Vikka’s lips curled in a sneer, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of understanding. “Fine,” she said, her voice low. “If I can’t give it to you, do you have any other ideas how I can get rid of it?”

Sylven hesitated, the bond between them pulsing faintly with Vikka's frustration. After seeing the genuine desperation in the kobold's eyes, he decided that what he was about to say was actually quite daring. “

You know what, I do. But we’re doing it my way.”

Vikka raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that?”

“We’ve made such a big mess already, we have to think even bigger to get out of it,” Sylven smiled. He pointed toward the distant peaks of the caldera’s rim, their jagged edges sharp against the grey sky. “The edge of the caldera,” he said simply. “We take the egg there and throw it over.”

Vikka’s gaze followed his finger, her expression darkening. “The edge?” she repeated, her voice tinged with both disbelief and curiosity. “Won’t that be hard and dangerous?”

Sylven shrugged, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s the point. No one would follow. No kobold at least.”

Vikka blinked, her expression unreadable.

“You’ve heard of the caldera’s edge, right?” Sylven asked.

“Not really,” Vikka admitted. “The queen forbids us from going too far. She says it’s dangerous.”

“It is,” Sylven agreed. “But it’s also perfect. No one will look for the egg there, and once it’s over the edge, it’ll be out of your hands for good. Absolutely no trace.”

Vikka stared at him, her mind racing. The edge of the caldera was a place of mystery, a boundary few kobolds dared to approach. But the more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

“And what about you?” she asked, her voice sharp. “Why would you want to go there?”

Sylven shrugged, though his posture betrayed a hint of excitement. “Call it curiosity. There’s more to the world than just the Shylands and the Ember Foothills. Who knows what we might find out there? Maybe something better than even a kobold egg.”

“You mean what you might find,” Vikka muttered. But her tone lacked its usual bite.

Sylven looked straight up at the kobold, his eyes meeting hers. “Look, you don’t have to trust me, but right now, you need me. I know the caldera better than you. I can get us there and back. This is what I do.”

Vikka hesitated, she hated the idea of relying on the Shy for anything, but she couldn’t deny that his plan was the best option she had.

“Fine,” she relented. “But once it’s done, we go our separate ways.”

“Deal,” Sylven nodded.

Vikka rose to her feet, her tail swishing behind her. “Lead the way, pest,” she hissed, though the epithet lacked its earlier venom.

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

When they had crossed the outer perimeter of kobold territory, Sylven called for a break to get their bearings. He crouched by a cluster of damp rocks and used a stick to trace lines in the mud. Vikka loomed over him, trying to make sense of the crude map he was drawing.

“The caldera’s shaped like a bowl,” Sylven began, his tone patient. “We’re here, just past your Cradle Caverns. From this point, the edge is maybe half a day’s ride for a Shy on a pika, but with your help, we could probably go faster.”

Vikka snorted. “As long as you can keep up.”

Sylven ignored the jab. “The terrain gets rougher and wilder the closer we get to the edge. Lots of big rocks, ravines, and dense jungle. There are some predators—wildcats or worse, we'll still need to avoid, even with your size. Plus, we’ll have to dodge kobold scouts.”

Vikka’s eyes narrowed. “I can handle them.”

“Good. Then you can tell me when they’re coming,” Sylven said with a smirk. “We’ll avoid the main paths and stick to the overgrowth. That should keep us out of sight.”

Vikka frowned, her claws tapping against her basket. “And the edge? What’s it like?”

Sylven hesitated. “The air is shimmery,” he said finally. “Like heat haze. You can’t see through it, but you can feel it—it’s heavy, like walking through a storm without the rain. The Sunshy say it’s been there forever.”

“And what’s on the other side?” Vikka asked, her voice quiet.

Sylven shrugged. “Nobody really dares to find out. The very few Shy who've crossed and come back say it's full of even worse dangers than anything in the caldera. But that’s not our problem. We’re just getting the egg there and throwing it out.”

Vikka nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Then let’s go.”

Sylven urged Whisker onwards and gestured for Vikka to follow. “Stay close,” he said. “And try not to step on me.”

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

Though her stride was almost double what Whisker could cover with a single bound, Vikka was a total newcomer to hiking and navigating the outdoors. So Sylven had to guide her as to which paths to take and when to lie low and let danger pass. To make up for it, Vikka would carry her smaller companions across ravines too wide for them to hop over, or up cliffs too high for them to clamber up easily. Her mere presence also handily drove away most other animals of her size or smaller who would have enjoyed a meal of fresh pika with Shyren on the side.

“You sure no one’s going to miss you back there?” Sylven asked as they rested and foraged for a snack of berries at a grove halfway between the Cradle Caverns and the caldera’s rim. “I would think your nestmates might notice if one of their own disappears for too long.”

The question cut sharper than Vikka expected. “They won’t,” she said curtly, but her thoughts betrayed her. They might.

Ryrik’s sharp voice echoed in her head: If you get stuck out there, don’t expect me to come looking for you. Vikka’s tail thumped the ground, her lips curling into a smirk. Good. Let her stew for once. Let her imagine the worst—Vikka lost, hurt, or worse, all while working for the good of the nest. Wouldn’t that be a fitting punishment for Ryrik’s constant hovering?

But her smugness faded as quickly as it came. She had been gone far longer than any errand justified, and she knew that questions would pile up with every moment she delayed returning. The nest mothers would mark her absence soon enough, despite Ryrik’s admonition.

Her claws tapped against the basket, her gaze flicking to the vivid red patches of firemoss clinging to the shaded side of a nearby boulder. The colony always needed it, especially during the cold seasons. If she returned without so much as a handful, her excuses would crumble like old eggshells.

Vikka crouched down and peeled at the moss, the damp fibers releasing a faint, woody aroma as she packed the clumps into her basket, packing them in with the egg.

“What are you doing?” Sylven asked, watching her with curiosity.

“Gathering firemoss,” she replied tersely, claws scraping the fibers off the boulder. “The nest uses it to keep the eggs warm. Being out harvesting is a good enough excuse.”

“For sneaking out?” Sylven tilted his head, his skepticism plain.

“For being gone so long.” Vikka’s tone was sharper than she intended. She straightened, brushing dirt off her scales. “I don’t need them wondering why I took so much time. Or why I’m carrying an empty basket.”

Sylven frowned, his small brow furrowed as he glanced at the basket. “Not exactly empty, is it?”

Vikka’s jaw tightened. “It will be,” she swore, turning her gaze toward the horizon. The edge of the caldera still felt impossibly far, yet she already dreaded the nest’s looming scrutiny.