The approach towards the edge of the tumult had been terrifying for Kurt. Emerging from the ruined streets, he had made the mistake of looking up. This had revealed that the dust that had come from the ruination of the square was not sinking back down to the ground as he knew it should. It was ascending, stretching up and twisting its way towards the clouds. Kurt could not draw his eyes away as he watched it rising, and widening, until Janus tugged him violently with the rope around his waist. This forced his eyes back to the ground, and the billowing wall of debris that pulsed like some kind of living fog.

“What the fuck is that noise?” Kurt heard Janus yell. The runner had picked up the pace, practically jogging towards the cloud, and it took everything Kurt had to keep up with him. “Bauer, can’t you hear that?”

“Hear what, Janus?” Kurt hollered. He could only hear what sounded like the wind as it made the carved dust and debris into some terrible limb.

“The buzzing, Bauer! The fucking buzzing!”

Kurt had no idea what the runner was talking about. Janus shook his head violently, slowing as he clawed at his ears for a moment. It obviously didn’t help, for he cursed and returned to the lope he’d been moving at before their brief pause. As they neared the wall of dust, the runner drew his axe and knife. Kurt could only do his best to keep up, puffing and panting already, his clothes sticking to him from the sweat that drenched him. The roiling column of dust towered above, swelled to cover the horizon as they rushed to meet it. There was no time for doubt. Janus vanished into it first, dragging a hesitant Kurt with him.

It was like stepping into the centre of a storm. Dust snapped at him, washing over his face so suddenly that dirt filled his eyes and nose. Kurt had to cover his face with his arms as the world turned black for a few terrifying moments. He wanted to stop, but he staggered on, nearly tripping on objects he could not see as Janus dragged him onwards.

“Stop, Janus! I can’t see!”

The runner swore viciously and Kurt felt another sharp tug dragging him forward.

“There’s no time, Bauer! Do what you can to get it out of your eyes. I’ll warn you if anything big might trip you up, now come on!”

Kurt could only follow after, cursing quietly under his breath between the coughing as he managed to rub some of the dust out of his tearing eyes. Janus was barely a thrashing shape just ahead of him. The ground below was chaotic, covered in chunks of rock and discarded objects. The runner called out a warning just before Kurt nearly toppled down into the sudden ditch that appeared out of nowhere before them. Solid rock became loose dirt and scattered rubble. Kurt did his best to keep his eyes focused on the friend that was guiding him after something that looked too much like half of a human head buried in the dirt nearly tripped him up.

Don’t think about. Don’t think about it.

They’d nearly reached the far side of the ditch when Janus paused suddenly. As Kurt caught up with him, the runner turned left, pulling so hard on the rope that he nearly knocked the bigger man off balance.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt grunted, fighting to keep his feet. He looked sharply after Janus as the runner nearly disappeared in the new direction he had taken.

“We’re going this way now, Bauer,” Janus answered, head and ears low. “Come on. Keep your eyes on me.”

“Why?” Kurt asked. He looked back, trying to see what Janus might have out there in the swirling dust. There was a large shape out there, rounded, like a small hill…

A violent tug nearly pulled Kurt off of his feet. He staggered sideways and was only able to right himself with luck. In the dusty dimness he saw Janus’ enraged face, his sharp fangs bared as he snarled.

“Don’t argue with me, human! Keep your eyes on me!”

They staggered on. Kurt did his best to keep up, unable to stop the odd fit of coughing, or becoming half blind once more from the dust. It was astounding that Janus seemed to be immune to all of this. The only visible sign of discomfort when it came to the runner was a constant flicking of his ears that Kurt could just see when he was able to get close enough.

Another shape eventually loomed before them. This one did not appear to alarm Janus as much. Instead, Kurt heard the runner laugh in triumph as the runner led the man towards what appeared to be a half wall, made of discarded rubble. Kurt recognised it at once. They were at the edge of the Temple!

“Come on!” Janus called.

Together, the two scrambled over the rubble wall. Kurt felt his fraying nerves easing at the sudden sign of their progress. The ground before them became even more hazardous, thanks to the litter of hundreds of lives that had dwelt here over the centuries. They had to weave through stones too big to haul off and use as missiles, and carefully step around blackened and dying fires.

“We’re nearly there, Bauer! I can see it! Just a few more paces! You can do it!”

Kurt wanted to hold onto the rising confidence they both felt, but as they drew new the entrance, the doubts and the fear began to return. This all seemed too easy, as if they were being lured into some elaborate trap. Bauer looked around at the dust storm that shook the air and covered the ground. Volkard was in this somewhere. He had made this, of that Kurt had no doubt. What was he doing out there, in the obscure hellscape he had created? It only occurred to Kurt then, now that he really began to pay attention to what little of their surroundings that he could appreciate, that apart from the snapping of the wind and a steady thrumming in the air, he could hear no noises at all that he might associate with a battle. There had been sudden, sharps screams once or twice during their run whose origins Kurt was at a loss to guess. He had even, at one point thought he had heard another person running some other way. But there was none of that now. The realisation made the man feel intensely alone, and afraid. If Volkard was done out here, didn’t that mean he would be coming back to the Temple?

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Janus pulled him along. A black, angular maw appeared and widened before their feet as they approached it. They hurried down into the remains of the Elven temple.

The ground was filthy and thick with dirt. The darkness was barely held back by braziers here and there along the walls that burned weakly, leading off into the first underground floor. The stench here was almost unbearable.

“There are dead down here,” Janus whispered, undoing the rope around his waist and then untying Kurt. His ears were low, and he clutched his weapons tightly after securing the rope at his waist again. “Grab one of the lights, Bauer. You stay behind me at all times.”

Kurt nodded and obeyed. He pulled one of the nearest burning torches off of its place, keeping his woodcutter’s axe in his other hand. They began to explore.

The darkness seemed far more oppressive than the first time Kurt had come down here. Somehow, that seemed like a lifetime ago. The roaring storm outside echoed after them, creating strange sounds that worried further at the man’s rapidly fraying nerves. There were rooms here and there, their presence announced by sudden openings in the walls. Kurt swore he had never seen them before but of course that was impossible. They were just obscured by the horde of heretics that had made this place their home, and which had become their tomb. They checked the openings as they went. The third doorway was full of corpses, limbs splayed erratically from where they had landed after being tossed in here. They were stacked nearly six high.

Janus looked away. Kurt retched, and then sobbed. He wanted to flee, or at least take a moment and sit somewhere to collect his thoughts. It was the farm all over again. He needed a second, but Janus grabbed his arm and silently dragged him deeper into the dark hell Volkard had made of this place. There was no time.

“How many people do you think he’s killed?” Kurt coughed. They had reached the ramp leading down to the next floor.

“Enough that even if he surrenders to the hunters out there now, he’s not going to be taken alive to the Sanctum,” Janus answered. They descended.

The roar of the storm grew dimmer. The light of their weak torch carried farther down here. Instinctively, the pair began to hug the wall to their left. After a moment, Kurt began to question whether or not it was really dark down here, or if the walls and ceiling were just perfectly black. He knew where all the rooms on this floor were. He could see the ramp that led to the last floor. He told himself it was because he just remembered this place better, now that he was here again and his mind was recalling details it registered without him noticing the first time. Braziers lined the walls, unlit, but the one he held, the one that burned, was necessary to see. It was. It had to be.

Janus paused at one point, after they had finished checking the fifth room of this floor. They were clean, empty.

“I can’t smell anything,” the runner said then with a shiver. “Kurt, can you smell anything?”

The question struck Kurt as insane given the situation. Startled, he could only shrug, and take a deep breath in through his nostrils. It was indeed strange. Had he just gotten used to the smell of filth and death down here? Before he could ask Janus what this might mean, the runner did something very curious. Holding out the hand which held his knife, the wolf man twirled it about, so that its polished blade glittered in the light. The runner’s face as he did was contorted into a mask of almost absurd concentration, his eyes narrowed and his ears perked up. Kurt followed the strange display as best he could. He was about to ask his companion why he was wasting time on doing this, when the runner stopped spinning the weapon, and very deliberately let it drop from his hand, so that it fell to the ground.

It landed, bounced briefly and came to rest on the smooth black stone. It took the human man a long hesitant second to understand that what he had just witnessed had occurred in perfect silence.

Fear gripped Kurt, unlike any he had ever felt before or could even have imagined. How could one be afraid of silence, of a lack of shadows, of knowing the layout of a place without a map or prior knowledge? Kurt was a simple farmer, and he could not understand why the walls and ceiling and the floor of this place repelled and horrified him. It was a sensation he could not put into words, for it came from something deep within himself that was little more than instinct. Those instincts told him – insisted at him, screamed at him - that everything in this place was wrong. It should not be. It could not be, and yet it was.

“Janus…”

“Think about your boy, Kurt. Think about Martin. We’re nearly there.”

“What’s happening?” the man asked then.

The wolf-man bent down and retrieved his knife. He was swaying as he stood, as if drunk. Tears were flooding down his face.

“It’s alive,” Janus said then, with what looked like enormous effort. He turned and began to walk directly towards the last ramp. Mechanically, Kurt followed.

Think about Martin.

He remembered the cut and broken walls. He remembered the ragged, unevenly cut stone floor of this last level. The Temple did not.

Think about Martin.

Kurt remembered just a handful of rooms. The Temple remembered more. He remembered the crudely carved grotesques that lined the walls. The Temple remembered them differently. To it, they were vibrant and alive. They watched. They said nothing. He must not understand.

Think about Martin.

Janus crumpled to his knees, sobbing violenty, shaking his head. Kurt squeezed his shoulder as he passed.

Think about Martin.

The farmer with his torch and woodcutter’s axe entered the room they had found prince Siegfried in on their first visit. It was something so much more now, so far beyond what should have occupied this space. Kurt could not remember seeing so many stars. His feet touched something as he walked deeper within, and he did not think about how there was no floor. His body was numb, and in his mind there was only one thought, one world he clung to.

He passed by men who hugged themselves as they swayed back and forth, or who stood transfixed, eyes and mouths wide. Kurt could not think about them. There was a light that drew him. One among many: the light of all light.

Martin blazed. He burned brighter than the sun as he hung among his sibling stars. Kurt drew closer. When he reached out and touched his son, the man remembered what warmth and love were. The fire died and Martin slipped soundlessly into his father’s grateful arms as he plucked him from the sky.

“I love you,” Kurt whispered to his son as the light fled from them, replaced by growing darkness.

Janus could not stand on his own. Kurt would have died before he left him behind. The runner clung to him, howling and yammering like a pup as the man led him back up the ramp. The Temple quivered about them. Something terrible seeped into the air. Kurt wondered if this was how rage smelt to the runners.

By the time they reached the first floor, Kurt was exhausted. He could not support Martin and his own weight any more. It was only then that he noticed Janus was no longer crying. The runner still held onto him as if he were the one lone bit of debris in on the sea. His eyes were open, and he was leaning heavily against Kurt. Were they propping each other up?

Light of a sort poured down into the opening of the Temple, illuminating the ramp and the natural earth that covered it. Kurt knew they were all tired, but they could not rest here. They needed to get out of the city.

The air outside snapped at them, dust swirling and hissing against the stonework as the storm outside roared. Kurt was ready for it. He carried his sleeping son and his trembling friend out into the chaos.

Behind him, in the dark that wasn’t, the Temple breathed fury.