Chapter 24 - Chipping Away

The scent of wood chips filled the air in a corner of the cabinet that served as the Shy’s prison. A handful of captives huddled around the slowly enlarging hole their improvised tools—a mix of nails, screws, and random bits of sharpened metal— had managed to painstakingly whittle out of the wooden base. Each sliver of wood carved away was a small victory, a splinter closer to freedom. The fragments were carefully gathered, hidden away in the nooks and crannies of their cramped sanctuary. The smaller chips would eventually be surreptitiously fed to the workshop fireplace and candles, while the longer, thicker splinters were repurposed into something useful such as handles for tools and weapons.

With her hands, Sela measured the hole’s increasing depth and diameter. “You’ve got a knack for getting everyone moving,” she remarked to Sylven as she appreciated the extent of their progress.

“It’s more desperation than knack. I just want to breathe fresh air again,” Sylven replied.

But it wasn’t just the longing for his own freedom that drove him. It was the sight of the younger Shy, their eyes wide with curiosity and hope as they were told of a world beyond these walls. They hadn’t known life outside the cabinet and workshop. They deserved to see the sun and feel the wind on their faces. He would do whatever it took to give them that chance. He resolved to share more of what freedom had felt like, even if only through stories for now.

Later that evening, Sylven found himself at the center of a circle of eager young faces. The older children lounged on the pillows and rugs the Shy had fashioned from cloth and cotton scraps, while the smallest ones sat in their laps. Their bright eyes were all fixed on him, hungry for tales of a wide-open world they could barely imagine.

“Is it really as big as they say?” asked Lysa, barely four years old and already the chattiest Shy girl.

“Bigger,” Sylven replied, spreading his arms wide. “Imagine a place with no walls, no ceiling—just open space. The grass stretches in every direction, as far as you can see. The sky is so big it feels like you could fall into it.”

“And the sun?” chimed in Wembo, a curly-haired boy of five. “What’s it like?”

Sylven’s voice softened. “It’s warm on your skin, bright enough to make your eyes water if you look at it too long. Its light touches everything, bringing colors to life and making the plants grow. In the caldera, you always know where you are by just looking at the sun.”

“Like how?” Lysa pressed. Her braids splayed over her shoulders, adorned with twists of rags that would have been fresh wildflowers out in the caldera.

Sylven reached down, tracing patterns in the dust that had settled on the cabinet floor. “When the sun rises, it’s in the east. When it sets, it’s in the west. During the day, you can watch its position in the sky to tell the time it is or where you’re heading.”

The children stared at him, captivated. “Does it stay up all the time?” Wembo asked, tilting his head.

“No,” Sylven chuckled. “At night, it goes down, and the moon and stars take its place. They’re not as bright or as warm. The sun is what keeps everything alive—plants, animals, even us.”

The children exchanged glances, their small faces alight with curiosity.

“So that’s why we’re called Sunshy, because we live out in the open, under the sun,” Sylven continued. “Your parents are Sunshy too. Not like the Middleshy or Deepshy.” He nodded toward Veyran, who was hunched over a project in the corner, his pale skin stark against the warm glow of the lantern.

“What makes us different?” Lysa asked, her brow furrowing.

“Well,” Sylven began, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sunshy like me have bronzed skin, tanned from being out in the sun all the time. Middleshy are more… medium, I guess. They come up to the surface too but they mostly live and stay in their settlements, in the shade. And Deepshy, like Veyran, are really pale because they all live underground where the sun doesn’t shine.”

The children turned to look at each other, then back at Sylven.

“But we’re pale,” Lysa pointed out, holding up her arm next to his. The stark contrast was undeniable.

Sylven froze, his eyes shifting from the children to Veyran, then back to the children. They were right—despite their Sunshy heritage, their skin was as pale as Veyran’s. The realization hit him in the chest like a stone from a fully-stretched slingshot.

The children had never felt the sun. They’d never run on bare soil or climbed trees or rocks. The distinctions he’d always taken for granted— between Sunshy, Middleshy, and Deepshy—meant nothing here.

The only thing that mattered was that they were all Shy, trying to survive under the thumb of captors who had rendered them powerless, who could torment or even slaughter them all on a whim.

Sylven swallowed hard and forced a smile. “You’re right,” he said, his voice soft. “You’re pale like Veyran. But you’re still Sunshy in here.” He tapped his chest. “The sun’s spirit is in you, even if you haven’t seen it yet.”

Lysa’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“I swear on the sun,” Sylven said, ruffling her braids. “And one day, we’ll all see it together.”

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After the children were ushered back to the creche or their parents’ sections of the cabinet, Sylven found Brynnal sitting alone in a nook where they’d piled up the wood scraped from the hole. The older Shy hunched over, his broad shoulders slumped. He held a splinter, turning it absently in his fingers.

“You’ve been quiet,” Sylven said, sitting beside him.

Brynnal didn’t look up. “There’s a lot I’ve kept quiet about,” he grunted.

Sylven leaned forward. “There must have been a good reason for your silence.”

Brynnal sighed, his voice heavy. “Jerrik trusted me. He believed I could take over, set up an escape for all of us, if anything happened to him. He told me what he had planned—the whole thing.

“What happened?” Sylven asked gently.

Brynnal ran a hand over his face. The dim light fell on his weathered features, deepening the lines of regret etched into his face. “He wasn’t just trying to escape for himself. He wanted to find help, bring this place down, and get us all back to the caldera. But he knew it was risky. That’s why… he left me a… a guide for what I should do if he didn’t make it…”

Sylven frowned, unsure how to respond. “I think we need to know the whole story now.”

Brynnal hesitated, his gaze fixed on the splinter in his hands as though it held all the answers he’d failed to find. Finally, he sighed and began. “I knew what I should’ve done. But when the time came for me to step up… I froze. Jerrik trusted me, and I let him down…”

Sylven broke the silence. “Brynnal…”

“Jerrik had a signal—a way to communicate with Garret, the human guard,” the Sunbrave continued. “Two sharp squeaks, like a rat’s call. He even made a rat cloak—a disguise—out of mouse skins.”

Sylven gasped in disbelief. “So that’s how he got through the door!?”

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Brynnal nodded. “He was clever. He thought he could slip through unnoticed, with Garret’s help. On that day, I helped keep a lookout while he set his plan in motion. I heard them use their signals. Jerrik squeaked twice, then Garret answered back with a cough. That was the cue for Jerrik to squeeze through.”

By this point, Mara, Sela and some of the other Shy had gathered around their conversation.

“But soon after he got out, there was shouting and fighting.” Brynnal continued. “Then silence. Jerrik never came back. Neither did Garret. Griff freaked out, trashed the workshop, and the other humans made him leave. Then they locked us down even harder.”

Sylven glanced around at the other Shy, many of whom had stopped their tasks to listen.

Brynnal’s voice broke. “I… I didn’t know what to do. I froze. The thought of trying again—of risking everyone—it felt impossible. I was too afraid.”

Mara placed a reassuring hand on Brynnal’s shoulder. The room was heavy with his confession.

“You didn’t fail him, Brynnal,” Mara affirmed. “None of us could’ve done any better back then. But now, we have a chance to finish what he started.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sela agreed. “Even if the rest of us knew, we couldn’t come up with a new plan just like that.”

Brynnal shook his head. “I should’ve shared what I knew sooner.”

Alvon spoke up. “You were in shock. You lost your friend. We all did. And no one can blame you for being afraid, after everything that the humans put us through.”

Sylven leaned forward. “Well, you’re sharing now. That matters. Jerrik’s plan—what more can you remember?”

Brynnal nodded, his expression resolute. “The signal, the timing, the routes he figured out were safest. The human words he learned to communicate with Garret. It’s all still here.” He tapped his temple. “But things have changed. The mouseholes are all sealed up. Wyatt’s taken over, and we don’t even know if Garret told him anything about helping us.”

Sylven exchanged a glance with Mara, who looked equally uncertain. “Wyatt’s hard to read,” she said. “He’s kinder than the others, sure, and he’s eager to communicate. But why did the humans bring him in? They don’t seem to suspect what his father was up to. Would he also have the courage to work against the other humans?”

Ilkin sighed. “That’s the question, isn’t it? If we’re going to involve him, we need to be sure he’s on our side. And that he can be trusted.”

Sylven tilted his head, thinking. “Has anyone ever talked to him about Garret and Jerrik?”

“No,” Mara said. “We’ve been cautious. If he doesn’t know anything, bringing it up could spook him—or worse, make him reveal our plans to the others.”

“Then we start small,” Sylven said, determination hardening his voice. “We build trust. Show him we’re not a threat. And when the time comes, we talk to him about helping us.”

Brynnal’s gaze met Sylven’s, his eyes shining with something that hadn’t been there in years—hope. “I’ll talk to him, tell him about what his father did for us. Maybe that’ll convince him. Jerrik believed in me once. Maybe it’s time I started believing in myself again.”

“And we’ll be with you,” Mara added firmly. “None of us are doing this alone.”

Brynnal shared one more detail. “Jerrik’s rat cloak… I found it wedged into the door jamb after he disappeared. I’ve kept it hidden away, but it’s still in one piece.”

Sylven nodded. “Hold on to it, every little thing could be useful.”

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As the Shy rallied around the evolving escape plan, a new sense of determination took hold over the diminutive community.

Sylven reached out through his bond with Uiska, seeking more information from the pika about the rest of the compound and how the humans were keeping him. The response came in scattered images and sensations: a crackling hearth, lying on soft pillows, walking on thick carpet, being carried around in a warm pair of hands while another set of fingers fed him fresh fruit and vegetables. Sylevn recognized the smaller hands as Wyatt’s, making the boy’s participation even more essential. Uiska shared a particularly valuable memory of him gazing out a window, looking down at the buildings that apparently housed the Shy workshop and the kobolds’ Brood Barn. Sylven pieced all these clues together to infer that the pika was in the human overseer’s parlor, which appeared to be situated on the higher floor of a large house. There was one other detail that stood out—a faint glimmer of an arclith shard that remained embedded in Uiska’s harness, unnoticed by the humans.

Sylven’s pulse quickened. “Hold onto that, Uiska,” he urged. “It might be our way out.”

The shard gave Sylven an idea. Determined to make progress, that night, he approached Veyran, finding him near the makeshift pantry. “Veyran, it’s important that we talk about this, for all our sakes. I really need to know something,” Sylven began.

Veyran’s brow arched. “Do you now?”

“Come clean with me. Are you hiding an arclith shard?” Sylven asked directly.

The Deepshy studied him in silence for a long moment before sighing. “You know, I’ve been watching you,” he admitted. “At first, I thought you’d end up like Jerrik and quickly get yourself killed. But you seem different. You listen and think. You consult other people instead of just pushing your own ideas. I can work with someone like that.”

Veyran started reaching into his sleeve, then paused and straightened his tunic. “Yes, I held on to a shard. But I won’t risk using it until I know we have a plan that won’t fail.”

Sylven’s heart leaped at Veyran’s admission. “No guarantees for now but I think we have the makings of one that could work.”

As the Deepshy was about to scoff, Sylven hit him with the clincher. “I also know where to get another shard we can use—the humans missed the one on my pika’s harness.”

Veyran’s eyes lit up. “Two shards? That changes things.”

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By the end of the day, the Shy were abuzz with activity. Mara and Brynnal took on the task of building trust with Wyatt, the human boy. Sylven and Veyran agreed to focus on refining their escape plan.

The glow of the candle stub flickered against the cabinet walls as Sylven leaned closer to Veyran. The Deepshy sat cross-legged in the corner, his pale hands resting on his knees, his expression as unreadable as ever. They had been discussing the intricacies and logistics of the break-out, weighing risks and possibilities, when Sylven decided to broach the topic of Veyran’s past.

“You’ve been vague about your story,” Sylven said carefully. “But if we’re going to make this work, I need to trust you, know what you’re up to. How did you end up here? And why are you so cautious about that shard?”

For a moment, it seemed as if Veyran might brush him off with a half-answer, as he usually did. But then, he exhaled softly, his silvery eyes catching the dim light.

“Caution is a habit you develop when you grow up with little margin for error.” Veyran smiled wanly. “In the Deep, everyone knows their place—every task, every life, serves the whole. The Deepguard keep us safe. The crafters and miners sustain us. My family… we weren’t exactly at the bottom of the Deep, but we weren’t far from it either. Not enough arclith to waste on frivolities. Every fragment, every charge had to count.”

Sylven listened, sensing this wasn’t a story Veyran had ever shared.

“Even as a young Shy, I dreamed of the surface,” Veyran admitted, his lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d pester my elders with questions about it—the colors of the open sky, how the sun and wind felt on your skin. Questions they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer. Most Deepshy have no interest in the surface, you see. It’s dangerous, unpredictable, unnecessary. Life in the Deep is orderly, structured, safe. Most of us live and die without ever thinking of leaving.”

Sylven raised an eyebrow. “But you wanted more than that.”

Veyran nodded. “But wanting isn’t enough. Going anywhere takes arclith, charged and ready, and lots of it. Without access to that, you’re as good as trapped. You could get out with the right connections and influence, or something to trade. Maybe snag a delegation spot, or an envoy posting—any reason to ascend to the surface with the council’s support. My family had none of those things, and even if they had, I doubt they would’ve supported me. To them, my fascination with the surface was a foolish dream. A waste of resources.”

“I could have maybe joined the Deepguard, my brother already did, and he was encouraging me to,” Veyran explained. “But they rarely get sent up, and even when they do, they have no freedom to explore on their own.”

“I wanted to be truly unencumbered by responsibility. So, every shard had to come out of my own pocket.” Veyran smiled ruefully. “I worked and scrounged for every little bit of arclith. When I finally had enough saved, I bought my way up. A one-way trip to the surface.”

“You didn’t want to go back?” Sylven asked.

“To spend so much on a journey without guaranteeing a way back was… reckless, even selfish,” Veyran continued. “If you can’t afford the return, best to stay where you belong. But I didn’t care. I wanted to see the surface, no matter the cost. I thought I’d find a way back eventually, if I even would want to go back. I believed that the surface would give me the kind of life I could never find below.”

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “It was everything I’d hoped for and more. The air, the light, the endless horizons—I was finally free of the stone and shadows. I felt alive for the first time. But I wasn’t prepared for how quickly it could all turn against me. The other Deepshy were right after all. The surface is… unpredictable.”

Sylven leaned forward. “What happened?”

Veyran’s expression hardened, his guard going back up. “Let’s just say I overestimated my skills and knowledge. When the humans captured me, I realized how little I knew.”

He gestured vaguely around the cabinet. “My grand adventure, reduced to this.”

There was a moment of silence as Sylven absorbed the weight of Veyran’s words. Then, cautiously, he asked, “Do you regret it?”

Veyran hesitated, his pale fingers tracing the edge of his tunic. “Regret? No. I saw the sun. I felt the wind. For that alone, it was worth it. But I do regret…” He trailed off, his voice thick with something unspoken. “I regret not sending word, getting in touch with my family, before it was too late. My brother… he probably thinks I’m dead. Or that I completely turned my back on them.”

Sylven frowned. “You don’t think he’d try to find out what happened to you?”

Veyran’s laugh was quiet, almost self-deprecating. “He’s a Deepguard. Duty is everything to him. And I abandoned the Deep. If he knew where I am now… he’d probably see it as more proof of my foolishness.”

He paused, his voice dropping. “And now, I’m neither in the Deep nor on the surface. Just… stuck in a cabinet.”

The weight of Veyran’s words hung in the air. Sylven stared at him, sensing there was more to the Deepshy’s story that he wasn’t ready to share.

“You’re not stuck,” Sylven said firmly. “We’re all getting out of here. And maybe we’ll all find our way back to where we’re meant to be.”