Petyr put his helmet back on and took the lead as they walked to the stairs. There was no telling what desperate trick their foe would resort to, and he was the best defended of the trio. Neither of the women objected. He seemed to recall some witty line about him being a shield on legs, but the identity of the speaker wasn’t quite back to him.

He drew his sword as they went up the stairs and did his best to expect the unexpected, however one was actually supposed to accomplish that. He held his empty hand over the door handle for a second, glancing back to be sure that the other two were similarly on their toes, then pressed down.

The door opened by about half an inch. Something within was blocking entrance, and a quick push with a lot of strength behind it had minimal effect. Petyr was getting ready to slam himself into the door with more force, but Myra put herself in position.

“Allow me,” she said and lifted her arm.

He hurried out of her way and a moment later she shot a blast. The door was splintered with a great boom, throwing sparks, smoke and splinters every which way. Petyr took the lead again and waved away the worst of the smoke. The way was clear and the table lodged before the door was history.

“I just really wanted to,” Myra admitted as she and Ana followed him inside.

Aside from the damage done by Myra’s blast and some earlier disturbance, the station looked as it ever had. The borderline double-effect he’d experienced in High Town wasn’t really present here. He left the potential explanations for another time and strode on into the main floor. A creak of furniture led to all of them whipping around to face the direction of it.

“Hello?” Petyr said.

“Hello?” Myra said as well. “It’s me, Myra. Step on out.”

Rapid, frightened breathing preceded a greying head as it poked out from behind a desk. Petyr relaxed a bit, then a bit more as Myra took a few steps towards the woman. She was one of the civilian workers.

“What is... what is going on?” the woman asked in a high, breathy voice. “Is... is it a riot? The music... my head feels...”

“Just head outside,” Myra said. “You’ll be fine. But first: Where’s the chief?”

“He... he left. Once all that fighting started outside he went through that window that the Green Bomber destroyed earlier. He’s gone.”

“And the Bomber?” Petyr asked.

“They dragged him down into one of the basement cells.”

The three of them all looked at each other. Petyr wasn’t sure what they saw in his eyes, or what he was seeing in theirs.

“Alright,” Myra said. “Go.”

“What in the world are you three wearing?”

“It’ll come back to you.”

“Basement cells?” Ana asked as the woman hesitantly made her way to the front door.

“This way,” Myra said.

She now took the lead and walked them past the break room and the file room, until, near the end of the open desk space, they came to stairs leading down.

“The proper cells are that way,” she said and pointed. “The ones in the cellar are never really used. They’re just there in case of capacity problems. Or... well, that’s the story, anyway.”

“We are caught in a lie,” Ana said under her breath.

They walked down, into cool, slightly unappealing air with a hint of dampness. Past the first landing Petyr started hearing a soft, continuous noise. Myra found the light switch as they reached the bottom. At one end of the hallway was a small exercise space with a punching bag, in front of them was a closed door, and to the left was one that stood slightly ajar. Myra headed for that last one, and as she swung it open with a loud creak the ongoing noise turned into muttering.

“Where is it... where is it... darkness... cast in darkness... the bell... the bell...”

Myra felt around until she found another light switch, and three dim bulbs lit up the ceiling, while two others did not. The cells they walked past seemed smaller than would be usual, with rusted bars and bare metal cots.

The muttering ceased to have meaning and simply became groans as they walked the final few steps. There in the last cell, on one of those bare cots, sat the Green Bomber. He’d been stripped of his coat, scarf, and shoes, and a basic effort had been made to bandage his wounds. The bandages were more crimson than white and he’d taken quite a beating. But behind the blood and bruises Petyr got the strongest feeling that he knew this man.

“Oh,” the man croaked. The mad passion that had accompanied everything out of his mouth before was gone, replaced with exhaustion. “Am I dreaming again? You... all of you... you are as you should be.”

“W-we’re waking up,” Petyr replied. “The whole city is waking up.”

The Bomber’s dull stare did not change, but he did fall silent for a few seconds.

“I thought I heard a song,” he then said. “Not with my ears, not down here, but with my soul.”

“You’ve known all along, somehow,” Myra said, and Petyr saw in her face his own struggle to recognise the man.

“My gift, my curse,” the man replied. “Always was. Was in the before. I... I...”

“Never mind all that,” Ana said and pointed at the cell lock. “Petyr?”

His sword sliced right through the plain iron and Ana swung the door open and got inside. She put one hand on the man’s battered face and another on his chest, and then she sang. It was a lay of healing, carried through pure sound and power rather than anything as crude as words.

A bit of colour returned to the Bomber’s face, and the pained clench left his jaw and the corner of his eyes. As Ana finished and took a step back he let out an exhale of relief.

“You are real,” he said, staring at the woman. “And your song... your blessed song... has it truly caused an awakening?”

“I left the city,” she explained. “And I reached the edge of this trap, this lie. It woke me. At least enough to get this started.”

“But it’s... it’s not enough,” the Bomber said.

“Look, who are you?” Petyr asked.

“Who are you?” he asked in return.

“My name is Petyr. We’ve met. If you mean that in some deeper way-”

“Not Petyr,” the man insisted. “It’s not... it’s...”

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He clutched his head and groaned with pent-up frustration.

“So hard to think. This veil...”

Petyr reached into a leather bag hanging from his sword belt.

“Try this,” he said, and squeezed an arm past Ana.

The man’s eyes fixed on the perfect peach in Petyr’s hand. He sat frozen for a breath, then he blinked his way out of the stupor.

“The tree?” he breathed. “You found the tree?”

“I did. Now what-”

The Bomber snatched the fruit and bit down on it like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. It was a decidedly odd experience to witness the process that followed in another person, and if asked to describe the subtle plays on his face and in his eyes Petyr would have been left stumped.

He, Ana and Myra kept utterly quiet. After a few moments Petyr realised he was holding his breath, and he suspected the others were doing the same

He saw the Bomber’s awareness emerge. The addled confusion parted, like a curtain being pulled very slowly.

“The war,” he finally said, with an air of revelation. “That gave him his chance. While our eyes and our strength were fixed elsewhere.”

He looked up at Petyr.

“You rode forth, to meet them head-on.”

“Yes,” Petyr said. “I...”

He found another gap in the puzzle and it silenced him for the moment.

“The Unborn Legions,” the Bomber reminded him.

“They issued forth from the Dark Rift,” Petyr said and his eyes widened. Those previously meaningless names from that book suddenly had form and memory attached to them.

“That’s who I was fighting!” Petyr said. “That was who the war was against! I... I remember the banners flying in the air. The songs.”

“I sang you on your way as you passed out through the gate,” Ana said, wide-eyed herself.

“The Deceiver,” the Bomber went on. “After all his failures, all the hate they had manifested within him... he concocted his masterstroke.”

“I remember,” Myra said with hissing passion and clenched teeth. “I remember the darkness falling. He laughed, as my mind fell into it. As we all... ah...”

“His great vengeance,” the Bomber went on. “The bidding of his master. To cast us all, the entire city, into darkness and misery.”

He raised a hand and pointed at Petyr. He seemed to hesitate, then found his certainty.

“Petyko,” he said. “That is your name, your true self. Brave and skilled, you were crippled and made to face evils you could not fight.”

He turned to Ana, even as his words were still shaking Petyr’s soul.

“Analia. True artist, and heart full of love. Cast down into filth, limited in your music, and overwhelmed with misery you were powerless to cure.”

Finally he turned to Myra.

“Myrina. So dutiful and just. You were placed in a corrupt and cruel hierarchy, forced to stand to the side as true ills did far more harm than mere criminals could.”

Petyko.

Petyr... Petyko... mouthed the word, tasting it in his mind. The truth of it was simply undeniable. My name is Petyko.

“You are champions of the city,” the Bomber said, “which itself is a champion of all of mankind’s greatest attributes. A bulwark against evil.”

“And you...” Now Petyko pointed at the man in turn. “You are as well. You are one of us. You... you always had the sight to pierce veils and lies. And your name is... Jonelik.”

“Ye-yes,” the man said with an air of an immense weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Jonelik. My sight was all but suffocated. I remembered the truth only as confused fragments. Like memories of a dream. My mind was half in the lie and half in a reality I couldn’t perceive anymore.”

“You were trying to awaken people,” Analia said.

“In... fumbling, mad way,” he admitted. “My only clear thought was to strike at the lie. To scream the truth. All else was... a jumble.”

“The killings...” Myrina said slowly.

“Were there killings?” Analia asked meaningfully. “Most of the people in this vast, cold, lonely city... they were figments, meant to lend credence to the lie. No more real than the faces the shadow beasts wore.”

“I struck at the lie,” Jonelik said. “Always the lie.”

He looked at Petyko and Myrina.

“Until I saw you two. My comrades in arms, even more lost than I. In my confusion...”

He lowered his gaze.

“I am sorry. It was all like a dream. Like a nightmare.”

“Well...” Petyko said. “You always were half-mad anyway.” He smiled a little. “Too preoccupied with that sight of yours.”

After a moment’s hesitation Jonelik smiled back.

“We cannot all focus on looking-”

“-good on horseback,” Myrina finished. “I remember these conversations.”

She pressed her hands over her face and exhaled sharply.

“Dreams. They make perfect sense at the time, but once you wake up...”

“Let’s wake up all the way,” Jonelik said. “Where is the Deceiver?”

“He fled the station as we defeated his force outside,” Petyko told him. “I would guess he’s gone to rally-”

The floor, walls and ceiling all shook to the tune of a very disconcerting rumble.

“What was that?!” Analia exclaimed.

“The Deceiver’s backup plan, I think,” Petyko said. “Let’s go for a better view.”

He broke into a run. His three comrades followed. The rumbling continued, waxing and waning with the movements of a tremendous force. Petyko rushed up to the first landing, then the ground floor, and over to the nearest large window. Nothing seemed to be happening outside the station, save for people’s reaction to these stirrings, and so he ran over to the opposite wall and another window.

It gave a decent view of the river and of High Town, and as the others joined him it emerged.

Out of the ground over in High Town sprang an enormous head, sending rock and concrete flying out like droplets. A serpentine body followed it out of the underworld, rising vertically up into the air, higher and higher, until the head stood higher than most of the buildings.

The beast roared, and even from across the river the glass in the windows rattled.

“The Great Serpent,” Analia said grimly. “The Deceiver let him loose.”

The beast flopped down onto the street and began crawling in between buildings.

“We need to deal with this, and fast,” Petyko said. “Ideas?”

“It’s almost all back to me,” Analia said. “There was a protective arch on one end of the bridge...”

“Everything is twisted around,” Petyko interrupted. “As nightmares will do. The arch is all the way over in Elm Park. The Serpent can cross the bridge.”

“So we are in even more of a hurry,” Myrina said.

“The bell,” Jonelik said.

Petyko and the women turned to look at him.

“We ring the bell.”

“ ‘... at the very centre stood the great tower,’ “ Analia said, quoting the book they’d found. “ ‘There hung the blessed bell, whose chimes rang every morning, driving all evil away.’ “

“Of course!” Petyko said, feeling like a fool for not thinking of it first.

“The Deceiver will either have gone to rally his minions for another assault, or to guard the bell to keep it from being used,” Myrina theorised.

“I would guess the latter,” Petyko replied.

“It IS the latter,” Jonelik said, his eyes looking distant as they always did when he was oddly right about something.

“And the Serpent is his guardian,” Myrina said.

They caught only glimpses of the colossal beast as it slithered about, but it seemed to be heading in the general direction of Sentinel Tower. That was where the bell hung, and that was why Petyko had kept thinking about the enormous structure, he now realised.

Myrina did a very quick jog in place.

“But as obstacles go... come now, haven’t we faced worse?”

“I’ll go and engage the Serpent itself,” Petyko said. “I’ll keep it busy and focused on me. That should leave the route clear to the tower.”

“I should stay and watch over the people,” Analia said. “In case of an assault. And the wounded need tending.”

“Yes,” Myrina said. She turned to Jonelik. “So it’s us, then. Us up the tower.”

He nodded.

She brought the familiar black rod out of a pocket on her coat.

“Brown had this on him. Or rather, it was left behind after nothing was left of him. Just stop aiming at me.”

Jonelik took the terrible weapon he’d been entrusted with years before and beheld it with a certain reverence.

“Let us end this,” he said. “Let us free our city.”