‘Quiet now, little thing,’ Lore said to the depth raider, squeaking in its cage as he carried it away from the camp, using the cover of darkness to stop any of the other Slayers from seeing.

Abstract images appeared in his mind’s eye—an array of locations, the rest of the team fading away, the strange glossy tint to them that Lore had eventually realised meant the creature was asking a question.

‘Away from them, little guy,’ Lore answered. ‘They won’t understand this next bit.’

The depth raider squeaked, and Lore cast a glance back over his shoulder. But the team didn’t stir from their sleep, only Styk moving, and only to put an arm around Val. The barbarian continued on, away from the road, wishing there were still trees around to hide behind.

Lore wished he was asleep too, if only to get one more night to interpret the messages he’d been receiving.

All of the Slayers had complained of strange, lifelike dreams over the past couple of weeks, but none of them had made the connection. Only Lore, the only member of the team who’d spent real time with the creature, could see that there was magicks at play, and that the depth raider was responsible for them. He’d resisted the dreams too, at first, discounting them as coming about because of stress or the like, but only once he’d embraced them did he see that there was more meaning to them.

His own depth raider-induced dreams had so often been about the Malae, and for that reason, he’d thought they were just nightmares. He’d never told the rest of his friends about his own previous encounter with those creatures—the only ones he didn’t think deserved to live. He’d kept it all to himself. For a moment, he’d thought these dreams were punishing him for that.

But over time, when he’d stopped resisting the dreams, he’d realised that they weren’t nightmare but warnings. He dreamt of Malae, yes, but he also dreamt of old friends, and towering devices like those they’d seen in the witchfinder village. The images were erratic, and abstract, but that was just how the depth raider spoke—it couldn’t help that. All Lore could do was try to interpret these warnings, and tell his friends once he understood them. But until then… he kept his dreams to himself. Until then, they might just think he was mad.

With enough distance between himself and his friends, Lore placed the depth raider cage down on the ground. He moved his hand to its latch, and then… hesitated, the creature’s deep black eyes staring up at him.

‘I’ve got to,’ Lore said, and it was as much for his own benefit as the depth raider’s. He flicked open the latch, expecting the creature to jump out, seizing its newfound freedom. Instead, it just continued to stare up at him with those big eyes, and squeaked a confused noise.

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‘I’ve got to let you go, little guy. I’ve got to. Where we’re headed… There’s a Player there. And there won’t be Duchess Yua and her soldiers around to watch you while we meet her. You’re a lovely little guy now, but… what happens when you’re around that much power? We’ve heard the stories. You, your type, you’re world-enders. I can’t risk you hurting anyone. Whether you mean to or not.’

The depth raider hopped out of its cage, then turned and looked up at him once more.

More images flashed through Lore’s mind. He saw Coldharbour. He saw the Player that betrayed them. He saw Plyas’s face, turning to dust. He saw the tieflings he’d grown up among, mourning. He saw his journey across the Coldwater, in search of new horizons. He saw Corminar, and Arzak, and Tokas, and Val. He saw the first Player they’d killed, and he saw his friends smile. He saw Seld, and Styk, and, finally, he saw the sheep he cared so deeply for. It was these last—the animals—that the depth raider asked about.

‘I’ll find another way,’ Lore said. ‘I’ll get them back. But I can’t risk anyone else getting hurt in the process. Elandor seemed like a decent guy really. Maybe he’ll listen to reason. Maybe we’ll find some other way to repay him, and get the sheep back from his pocket world. Styk says he’s got a new ability that could help if Elandor doesn’t cooperate—we can do some kind of portal dimension heist? I don’t really understand it, but Val seemed very excited about the possibility.’

Lore caught himself. He was rambling. This wasn’t like him, but he was distressed. It was like saying goodbye to an old friend. He drew in a deep breath, and then waved the depth raider away. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Go, now. Not before I change my mind, because I won’t. I’ve thought about this a lot. This is what I have to do.’

The barbarian reached down to the creature’s tiny neck, took the witchfinder’s clasp in his big, clumsy fingers, and undid the clasp. It fell to the ground at the depth raider’s side, and it blinked down at it.

Only then did the creature seemed to understand what Lore intended.

Mental images, more erratic and vibrant than any that the depth raider had pushed Lore’s way before, filled his head. They flashed before him, growing faster and faster and faster, causing his head to erupt in searing pain. He clutched at it, trying to process the images, trying to understand what the depth raider was trying to communicate. He pushed himself to focus despite the pain, and—

It stopped.

The depth raider stared up at Lore for one last moment, and then turned away. It hopped across the undergrowth, stopping to twitch its mouse-like nose up in the air, like it had caught a scent, and then it… popped out of existence.

‘You can teleport?’ Lore exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you just do that all along?’

He shook his head to himself, then regretted it, because the pain from the flashing images hadn’t quite faded.

The images—beautiful, horrifying.

Try as he might, Lore could only interpret the depth raider’s final message in one way:

I will see you before the world is born.