Chapter 15 - Present, Past and Future (Part 1)

“It can still be solved, right? They are not impossible tasks.”

“Don’t be foolish, for Sun’s sake. The Voice put this ‘secret’ on the same level as stopping the entire Cult, Orieke!”

Saleko stared at the [Perfumer] in front of him with clear annoyance. He had been trying to make his point across for a moment now, a few minutes after the chaos that followed Dominic’s revelation died down – and the man was beginning to understand why the imps were acting so serious about this entire thing.

It was all about the parity of the tasks, the fact no Path had objectives with dissonant levels of difficulty, according to Biakis and Linkri – who had, quite kindly, taken him aside for a cup of water along with Kurian, Iaakis, and a red-eyed Vriako, the silent [Cobbler] choosing to not participate in the chaos that ensued and finally approaching the babies.

Dominic had kept an eye on his movements, wanting to talk to him and relay Celike’s final words, but he did not advance to engage in conversation. The man looked… ragged. Grief-stricken in ways he only recognized because he had seen that same face in the mirror.

But he still chose not to approach yet. It stung Dominic to actively do it. To see the man’s suffering and not step in to help – but for all he wished to pull up a chair and try to lessen the [Cobbler]’s burden, the [Death Doctor] prioritized other things.

So it was with a tight grip on his cane and a stiff neck that he listened to the two women’s explanations.

“I do agree with Saleko, you know? The old man would know better than most of us when it comes to Paths – and if he says it’s worrying then we really should trust him on his.”

“It’s not about trust, Biakis. I just don’t think focusing on this secret is more relevant than stopping whatever the Cult is scheming. If the Voice found it important enough to give a Path about it, then it is important – and it also explains why Sybillus hasn’t really struck back yet.”

“Didn’t he just attack us again? Sun above, Kurian was there–”

The [Witch] yelped as Linkri’s smooth claws pinched her arm. Biakis looked at the downcast [Survivor] and amended her thoughts, clearing her throat before speaking again.

“...Sorry.”

Linkri sighed, downing her cup of water. Her grip on the wooden vessel was tight, and Dominic could recognize the worry that shifted her features.

He expected her input, fidgeting in his place, but the [Seamstress] took a long time to think of what to say. She smiled at the [Witch] beside her, an arm over Kurian’s shoulder – always mindful of the sore stump. Iaakis stood at the side, head lowered.

“But it’s not all lost, right? A Path can be solved in multiple ways – and even if they sound dangerous, we’ll weather it.”

It surprised the [Death Doctor] how cheerful she sounded, but the hisses in affirmation that followed after a beat did alleviate the pressure in his heart. His hand closed around the metallic head of his cane, rubbing the almost spheric piece, and Dominic took a step forward.

It was about time he took some control of things.

“Then, should we begin planning? I’ve told Kurian I want to help – and I don’t wish to drop a bomb on your laps and leave.”

“I think that’s for the best.”

Linkri sighed before smiling at him, and those present returned to their seats – pulling the attention of Orieke and Saleko, who had stopped fighting and reverted to pouty mumbles like children. Dominic rested on the stool he had been given, a small sound coming from his throat as he sat.

“So. I think it is about time we actually talk about what to do. No offense, Orieke, but we’ve been here for a while now – and we haven’t got much done.”

His voice caught their attention successfully – though the first reaction was not one he wished to face.

“You will still try to help? After you saw what he could do?”

Dominic stared at Kurian. The boy seemed to have had enough time to gather his own emotions, the silence with which he had been contending with ever since Dominic revealed his Path now broken utterly by a voice that echoed with desperation.

The [Death Doctor]... wasn’t surprised. He had been hoping it would all burst out in a more private setting so that he could talk with the boy without revealing his plight – but he knew there was only so much stress a young mind could take, and Kurian had been dealing with an amount of tension that only grew by the second.

That’s why Dominic didn’t hurry. Or smile, as he answered. Purposefully, the old man kept his voice stable and face passive – honesty oozing until it was painful to see.

“Yes.”

A single word – half answer and half bait for the boy to latch on to. Kurian had begun to speak, eyes wide and fleeting, when the [Death Doctor] raised a placating hand to stop him from shattering all over.

“It’s not something I didn’t think about, Kurian. I admit I might not understand it all – but I was there to see the worst of it. And that scene… I don’t think I could ever forget that.”

Skin melting from bones like sludge, muscles turning into mush that fell onto the ground with dull plops – embalmed in liquid rot and fluids that should never see the light of day.

Dominic shuddered, but endured. He would fight for this second opportunity. There were people he wished to see again.

“I think… No, I know part of me wants nothing to do with this. But that would make me a coward, I think. If I have the means to help – if I can do this, and I lose nothing for it – if I can be a better person for just a single moment… then why not? Because it’s scary? Oh, it is – but fear does not rule us.”

It… wasn’t the most eloquent of his responses – but it was honest, clear in its intentions, and those that heard it felt it too. The Artisans listened to his words quietly, each with a silent reaction of their own – and a young [Bone Mender] snapped out of her dozing to listen to his words as well, perhaps sensing the mood.

Kurian, meanwhile, remembered how they had a conversation so similar to this one a little after knowing each other, a White Stalker’s body being the only company to hear the same emotion that Dominic had presented then.

The [Survivor] lowered his head once again. Not embarrassedly – but thoughtful. Pained, still. His hiss was a low thing, almost inaudible, but it was a single one.

Dominic breathed deeply, replacing the calmness of his expression with a small smile as he watched Kurian unwind. He adjusted his position on the backless seat, facing the small gathering much like he stared at his board of executives.

“So… let’s begin from the top. ‘Stop the Cult of Eternal Dark.’ – I’m led to believe that is the organization Sybillus is from, correct?”

“Uh… yes. That’s right. He is the strongest agent of them we know of.”

Orieke answered, first to recuperate from his thoughts. He was… more relaxed than at first, shoulders lowered and elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward.

“Okay. That’s good. Now, any idea on what exactly we are supposed to stop?”

“The attacks? Sybillus has struck us three times ever since that first night.”

Biakis gave her thoughts, her hat firm on her head as she looked at Dominic. Saleko, however, hissed in a negative. The old imp had calmed down further – and now he spoke with a lot more ease than when discussing with Orieke.

“That can’t be – if the attacks were the main focus, the Voice would have said so. It is… oddly specific with the tasks it presents. If it’s talking about the Cult, then that means fully stopping all their plans.”

Dominic hummed in his seat, understanding a little more. His eyes landed on another person, however. Iaakis had begun to bite her lips as soon as Saleko stopped talking, face hesitant.

“Iaakis. Any thoughts?”

The call almost made the [Bone Mender] jump – and she looked at her mother, too quick of a glance to see anything, before turning towards Dominic. She fidgeted in her seat, nervously tapping her claws on her robe before answering.

“I think… I think Uncle Saleko is half-right. Yes, the attacks might not be what the Voice expects you to stop – but if it wanted to halt all of their operations, it could have used another word for it. Stop implies that something is already afoot – something large enough to involve the entire Cult… instead of a few agents.”

Dominic nodded, watching as the girl curled once more in her seat. No one had been looking at her, he had noticed, but she still spoke as if almost… ashamed. Oh, Linkri had shot her a quick look, too fast to reveal anything to the earthly businessman, and Saleko had agreed with Iaakis assessment through a series of rumbles if Dominic’s ears were not deceiving him.

And he was inclined to agree with the [Bone Mender]. Her arguments made more sense than the other two in his mind, especially the bit about the language the System used – Dominic had already been suspecting that the few words the blue screens showed were incredibly meaningful, if not direct.

“So a large plan – something that would involve an entire Cult… Hm – How large is this Cult anyway?”

“Their congregation used to be large back when I passed by Sibilan. Maybe… a little smaller than Kiringar in population – though we… should be fairly matching now.”

“Sibilan is a city, then?”

Orieke hissed once. Dominic had no idea the man had lived outside of Kiringar, but the [Perfumer] had told him he used to be a [Mage] – so maybe he went to study? Was that how it worked?

“The closest one – and where the Cult is the most present. The [Lord] is a true believer. He used to be the one leading them.”

Politics and religion mixed. Dominic could feel the stink of corruption waft under his nose. Still, it did give him a lead. And a burning suspicion.

“Wait – that wouldn’t be one Sullivan Noir, would it?”

The [Perfumer] frowned at the name – in surprise at the mentioning, rather than ignorance.

“Uh… yes – That’s the [Lord]’s name. Why? You know him?”

“Ah, no, no. I saw his name on that road nearby – seemed like a pompous fella, not gonna lie.”

And now Dominic knew he might be a true goth. He was feeling just a little smug that his first assumption was likely correct. After all, someone that prays for the end of the sun and calls himself “Dark Eminence” has got to wear pale makeup and dress in all-black. Anything else and he would be very disappointed.

Dominic’s amusement died down as he noticed a little detail in Orieke’s explanation.

“You said he used to lead them? Not anymore?”

“Ah… well, there were rumors that he had stepped down from his position – but these were from before the merchants stopped coming – and we never got any official news.”

Orieke explained with a shrug. Dominic rubbed the handle of his cane, feeling the smooth metal as a small hum found a place in his throat – though he soon dismissed his unfocused thoughts.

Still, he was not yet done dealing with this first task.

“Can we say then that whatever’s going on will happen there?”

“That’s… the safest guess. It’s where we should begin, at least. Unless you are willing to search for the entire region, of course.”

Dominic smiled at Orieke’s response.

“I believe I’ll have to pass. Though there doesn’t seem to be a time limit on these tasks, it’s for the best that we deal with it all as soon as possible. Before – whatever is that they are planning happens.”

He allowed a moment for all to gather their thoughts, readying himself for another round of planning – or he would have done that, were it not for a low rumble that soon came from his stomach.

Dominic looked surprised at the sound before his smile stretched a little further. Old habits die hard – and his inattention to bodily needs while working had been an old problem and worry of his closest friends. They always said that for someone who lived through so much, he should be more careful with what he ate.

His face dropped a bit, the curl of his lips shrinking with the bout of nostalgia. Dominic’s eyes unfocused for a second, a stare that tried fruitlessly to see what was three Existences away, before he took a deep breath and found his focus on the warm metal in his hand.

“The next thing… is the ‘Secret of Imps’. Does anyone have any idea of what it means?”

“That one – that one might be the easiest or the hardest, but it should be related to the Cult of Eternal Darkness in some way still.”

“Right, because it’s the same Path.”

Saleko hissed in affirmation, the old man removing the blanket from his lap as a warm wind whistled through one of the windows, the smell of smoke coming with it. Dominic saw now, why the elderly man had not stood up.

His legs were gone. Saleko had two awfully rugged and wrinkly stumps, soft-looking appendages that hung asymmetrically. No scars, though. In fact, not a single detail indicated Saleko wasn’t simply born like that – but with Healing Magic involved, the scarless stump could be a birth defect or the product of a quick spell.

He wasn’t without means of moving, however. Saleko rested on an armchair that, now that Dominic paid attention, was carried by tiny faceless mannequins. Four wooden toys, genderless and without any great detail but for the way they stood – carrying the chair on their back in the same way Atlas carried the sky.

The [Toymaker] of Kiringar grunted, and Dominic saw a little more of the genius behind the facade.

“It’ll be related to the Ashen Lungs, most likely. The nasty plague probably has some explanation we don’t know. But that we could have if those pricks did anything right.”

His temper flared – but Linkri was quick to rest a hand on his shoulder, calming Saleko’s nerves.

“Don’t blame the records for this, old man. It’s not their fault they left little explanations. But, yes, Dominic – if I were to put some coin on it, then the answer probably lies in this outbreak. Though…”

Linkri stopped, words muddled as the [Seamstress] bit her lips. The others looked at her, but from his place in the center, only Saleko and Orieke seemed to understand the reason. They looked at her with the same sudden anguish, anxiety enveloped in grim resolution.

“Is something wrong?”

The [Death Doctor] couldn’t contain himself, but Linkri did not seem against explaining.

“Just… old secrets are always nasty ones. Some things – some things are better kept hidden. That’s all.”

Dominic listened, quietly, but he shook his head in denial. He knew the power and necessity of secrets – he damn well kept his fair share of them – but there was worth in sincerity. In honesty. Especially when the secret did no one a service, and the only thing stopping you from unveiling it, was fear.

“The truth shall set you free. Secrets are dead things, Linkri – in the way everything is. They can only harm us if we let them.”

He spoke, hopeful and conversational – as if he had not just chanted words that were millennia old. Speak what you will of Jesus Christ – but the man had been eloquent, and that’s undeniable.

His words found purchase in a few hearts, perhaps not understood fully, but leaving a mark. Still, there was no time to dwell on it for long – and Dominic needed to finish this at the very least, or he knew a hundred other things would happen and foil any opportunity he’d have to plan things ahead.

At least he lived by his words. If he had told Kurian to grab whatever opportunity came, it was because he was taught to do the same – though Theodor Jones took the meaning of words much more… literally.

He had understood, in the end. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?

“Well, we still have to find how to begin searching for it. Unless – Biakis, you are a [Witch], right?”

The woman hissed, eyes narrowed and her purple hat decorated with melted wax. Dominic looked at the sight, the little droplets of dark wax forever stuck in their raindrop shapes, and wondered what would happen if she spent too long beside a hearth.

“That and more. Why? You need something?”

“No… Well, maybe. Aren’t you able to do some kind of divination on this type of thing? Read the stars? Burn some herbs?”

The [Witch] rolled her eyes.

“I’m not a [Soothsayer], old man. Or one of those mumbling [Oracles]. And I’ve already tried to do a wax-reading on the plague. Nothing. And it wouldn’t work on this secret either – it’s too broad, too wide of a problem, for my candles to show me. Now, if you bring me something more to work with, it might be possible. But until then…”

Dominic understood, amending his assumptions. The tidbit about [Soothsayers] did throw him on a loop for a moment, the fact a Class could see the future was almost too impressive to be true, before the cold facts of Biakis’s witchcraft could be understood.

No easy way out of this, it seemed.

The [Death Doctor] breathed in, a raspy and calming inhale of air that relaxed his grip, and exhaled a plume of warm breath – sour with the taste of hunger and fear that still latched onto his teeth, incapable of being washed away by his quick shower. Dominic filed all the information he had, vowing to remember them with the same zeal as he could recite all names of those that worked in his office, and continued.

“The last one is the ‘Queen of Skeletons’. Again – ideas? Maybe one of those Nightmares?”

That seemed to be the last piece of the things he had already met – and even if the [Death Doctor] didn’t understand those dreadful things entirely, he was feeling certain they would have a role to play.

Meanwhile, Orieke tilted his head. The [Perfumer] had remained on his seat beside Kurian, sharing a divan with the [Witch] – both surrounding the boy.

“You don’t know her, Dominic?”

The [Death Doctor] gave him a confused stare back.

“Why would I?”

“Oh – just ‘cause you were the one to tell us about the Nightmare Seed. In…”

A moment for him to check over Dominic’s shoulder, and the elder turned to see Vriako’s silent vigil over the babies, back turned to them but softly caressing their sleeping forms. The [Cobbler]’s shoulders shook from time to time, but he made no sound.

In return, the [Perfumer]’s voice was a whisper.

“...Celike’s leg.”

The screeching, amorphous blob of sinew and bone – screaming with no mouth as the mother crushed it in her fist. Dominic shuddered at the memory – ignoring the way the other Artisans and the younger ones looked at him with more interest.

“That… was a different thing. And she was the one to find it, not me.”

He whispered the last part – so low even his ears struggled to hear it. Dominic would explain later. To do it now would derail this conversation entirely. The [Death Doctor] raised his head to Saleko’s grunt.

“That’s a Nightmare’s name if I’ve ever heard of one. That’s the only thing that would ever be called… that.”

Saleko spat the words, and Biakis dodged the droplets of saliva that came from the old man.

“Could be a Title, you know. Though we haven’t heard of any queen around these parts. Or [Queen] for that matter.”

Orieke said, and Dominic marveled at how odd it was to understand when someone spoke of a Class instead of a job or role. There was a certain infatuation with the words, a heavier pressure on the tongue whenever they talked of the System’s gift.

“If it is a Nightmare though – it will have to be a powerful one, won’t it? That sounds like a real name, something unique. Self-given, maybe?”

Linkri gave her idea from her seat, the [Seamstress]’s face furrowed in thought. The [Witch] was the one to talk next, her arms still crossed.

“That or someone else gave it – but that would be beyond foolish. Though with the name… well, maybe I could locate it with a spell. If it’s not that, then it will point in its direction at least.”

“Okay, that’s a good plan, Biakis. What would you need to do that?”

The [Witch] thought for a second, a drop of melting wax dripping from her hat – and Dominic noticed it wasn’t, in fact, solid. Just too thick.

“A map, first. A few candles – and if it is a Nightmare, something related to its Phobia would help. Though if it really is as powerful as we expect, I might need to push Kurian’s prosthetics back a little.”

“Oh. You… you should do it, Auntie. I can wait for – Ow!”

Biakis flicked the boy on his arm, and Kurian’s confusion became clear as he rubbed his skin.

“Hush, boy. I said I might have to – not that I need to. Sun Ablaze, I’m still the best [Witch] in Kiringar, am I not? I can bloody well do two things at once. Doubting me like that – tsk, tsk.”

Dominic smiled at the interaction – even if Biakis’s way of caring was a little more aggressive than his tastes dictated. Still, Kurian smiled, perhaps against his desires, but it was a true reflection of a soothed heart.

“And what is this… Phobia, you talk about? Something of the Nightmares?”

The elderly man asked, eager to learn, and Orieke came to answer – perhaps knowing more of the need to explain what, to him and the others, was obvious and well-known.

“It’s and it isn’t. Part of the Nightmares, I mean. They are… the fears that brought them to life – specific terrors that grow weaker the more distant from the Primordial Ones they are. Kurian told us you fought a White Stalker, right?”

Dominic nodded.

“Him and I, yes. So you’re saying he’s based on a… fear?”

“More like an incarnation. A… corporeal shape to the dread. Knowing what Phobia is related to a Nightmare is essential in learning how best to fight it – or hide from it. The White Stalker’s one, for example. Can you guess what it is?”

Stolen story; please report.

The [Death Doctor]’s brows furrowed, his glasses moving at the motion. Quietly, Dominic remembered the monster he had slayed hours prior – and it wasn’t difficult to see the lean, panther-like shape with his mind’s eye.

That sinister smile as it enjoyed seeing him despair before Kurian smote him with his spell. The way its limbs seemed to stretch and always find his flesh. Its name.

“The chase? Of being… hunted?”

From his seat, Dominic watched for the reactions. Kurian hissed, once in affirmation. Biakis and Saleko grinned, satisfied. Linkri’s lips pursed in disgust – while Iaakis nodded in assent, eyes a little shinier as she emulated Dominic’s response and allowed her messy mohawk to move with the bob of her head. Orieke, meanwhile, simply continued.

“Almost there. That’s a great fear, the one of being hunted. Of being prey. The White Stalkers are a piece of that, a particular terror within that one. It’s the embodiment of forever being at reach. That no matter how far you go, how hard you try to escape, something is always behind you – and they can catch you at will.”

“I… think I get it. So this ‘Queen of Skeletons’ would be, what? Fear of Death?”

“Unlikely. That’s a really great one – but it could be. Could also be the fear of rotting until only your bones are left. Or of being buried in soil so profound only your bones would ever remain. Nightmares can get… confusing in later stages. Their Phobias start to get more and more tangled up, closer to the True Fear.”

Orieke gestured wildly as he explained, hands moving like a [Conductor] instead of a [Perfumer] as his claws formed shapes and distinguished sizes. The imp’s teacher-like tone and odd excitement gained a few stray looks from those around him – especially from the other Artisans that snickered quietly.

He seemed to hear it still. Blushing, the man confined his excitement under the usual mask – and Dominic smiled at the sudden change, though the sight tasted a bit sour.

“Is there any way of knowing for sure, then? If Biakis can use the Phobia to better detect it, then we should look for it, right?”

“It isn’t as hard as it sounds, old man. Some of the [Rangers] have skills to better learn of their prey – and I do believe there was [Researcher] working with Cariken in learning about them. Both can better pinpoint what specific Phobia represents this so-called Queen of Skeletons. Though…”

“Is there a problem?”

“It’s just… I don’t know if they are alive. The Ashen Lungs – it’s hard to keep a toll on who’s breathing and who’s not at times.”

Silence ensued. Biakis’s statement resonated with many hearts, and Dominic couldn’t even begin to understand what it must feel like to believe someone’s still alive just for that to be a lie.

There was some hope, however, and it came in the form of almost shy words – a great disagreement with the picture of the speaker. Iaakis raised a hand like a student in class, eyes wide as she forced her shoulders down and blinked the sleep away.

“He – He’s still alive. Yewki… the, uh, [Researcher]. He didn’t fall sick.”

“You know him, Iaakis?”

Dominic asked conversationally, and the girl nodded like a human – which gained her a look from her mother, but did make the [Death Doctor]’s smile grow.

“We work together a lot. He helps in bringing me some… uh, specimens. And he’s pretty smart too. I can talk to him about it if you want, Auntie.”

“No need. I’ll go and chat with him myself. Or… ask him to come here – better to keep this all under wraps, right?”

The Imps’ all hissed in agreement. Dominic put his cane down, glasses adjusted in place, and looked at the Artisans and younglings. He hadn’t stood up yet, but the position felt fitting.

“It seems we have a plan, then. Biakis can be responsible for discovering a little more about the ‘Queen of Skeletons’ – and if Iaakis wishes to help, I’m sure she will be invaluable.”

The eager [Bone Mender] gave a mix of a hiss and a nod at the same time the [Witch] grunted an agreement.

“Meanwhile… is there somewhere I can read about the history of imps? If I am to discover this – secret – then that would be the best place, right?”

“I believe the [Archivist] would know how to help you – especially if you are going to search about the… disease, Dominic. The request will have to go through Xerkis, though. Hmm… I’ll get in contact with him. He owes me a favor or two.”

Linkri volunteered herself, a sly smile on her face as she spoke of this Xerkis. From Iaakis’s face of disgust, Dominic could imagine what the relationship between the two was.

“There’s someone else we could talk to.”

The silent [Toymaker]’s jaw was taught, the words spoken coming with effort. Saleko had crossed his arms on his chair, resolute.

“There is?”

“Yes. The [Priestess] would know more than the [Archivist] even, no doubt. The Temple keeps a lot to their chest – and Trakia learned from Helik herself. That woman took more secrets to the grave than most Imps learn of during their lifetime, no doubt.”

Saleko’s words made the air thicken with tension, the Artisans shifting uncomfortably on their seats while those too young or too ignorant to understand the depth of the problem looked around in confusion. Dominic’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you… certain? You know what she –”

Orieke spoke through gritted teeth, and a glare from the [Toymaker] made him almost swallow his tongue. Kurian looked between them, lips pressed tightly as he visibly held his questions to himself.

“I am well aware. She doesn’t have to know everything, but Dominic could easily ask a few… pointed questions. You understand, right?”

A nod from the [Death Doctor] sealed the case. Trying to lessen the tension in the air, Dominic cleared his throat.

“Then that just leaves Sibilan and the Cult. How would we learn about it from here, though?”

“There is someone that can help with that. The [Storyteller] tends to make his own rounds down the road – so he probably knows more of what’s going around. And I just bet he brought a lot of news from outside now that he’s back.”

“The [Storyteller]? Someone I should know of?”

Dominic asked, and received a hiss from the [Witch] in return.

“Probably. He’s the one that went out to see how the other settlements were doing. Junkio tends to travel around for a while – and he’s quick on the road – so the Council asked him to deliver the news and… maybe ask for help.”

The [Death Doctor] blew a breath, feeling the weight on the bottom of his stomach that flared every time someone reminded him of the gravity of the situation.

“Alright, then. Talk to Junkio. I can do that – though… can someone introduce me? It should make things easier considering I’m… not an imp.”

“I can do it!”

Kurian raised his arm, more eager than Dominic had ever seen the boy be. Saleko narrowed his eyes beside him.

“You have to really do it, Kurian. No using it as an excuse to listen to his stories, you hear me?”

The [Survivor] – no, the boy hissed in affirmation, his leg shaking in excitement.

“I will, I will. Don’t worry, Uncle. I promise.”

“Hmph. You better.”

Dominic’s smile took an edge of relief – his grin wide and full as the weight in his stomach… lessened, just a bit. The [Death Doctor] cast away the dark clouds that had threatened to cover his sight, Kurian’s childish anxiety serving as a well-timed balm to him that had seen so little joy since arriving in this place.

The elderly man had begun to speak again, ready to congratulate everyone for the end of this impromptu meeting when a new sound came from somewhere far. A dull thump, repeated several times and rising in intensity and speed.

A knock on the door.

All of those present looked down the corridor that led to the labyrinthine interior – the door being left open and allowing the sound to travel through the space. The [Seamstress], mistress of the house they were all in, narrowed her eyes.

“Have you called anyone else, Orieke?”

The [Perfumer] gave two quick hissed, forked tongue vibrating against his yellowed teeth at the same time he glared towards the door as if wanting to see through the gray stone walls.

“No. No one else… I’ll go check on it. You all stay here, alright?”

A few tsks came from the Artisans, but all remained seated as Orieke disappeared down the corridors. Dominic kept his eyes on the door, eyes only traveling for a moment to see Vriako’s silent vigil – though with his back turned, the [Cobbler] no longer gave any indication of emotion. For all that stared, they could even confound him with a statue – were it not for his solid grip on the baskets the twins still slept.

Sounds arrived far before anyone presented themselves. Hurried footsteps, some arguing that got lost in the distance of the corridors, and a breath – tired, spent, haggard as if someone had just run a marathon. Dominic prepared himself, the grip on the head of his cane tight as he for ready to stand up.

It didn’t sound good.

When it finally arrived, however, the sight surprised him so much that the [Death Doctor] lowered his guard. An imp appeared, his robes twisted and with deep creases, eyes wide and still holding clear buggers at the corners – open so wide Dominic could see the red, bulging veins where the pupil ended and the usually hidden sclera revealed itself.

He limped inside, focused on him before Orieke’s hand snapped toward his shoulder and held him in place. Merino fiddled with his bandoleer, eyes locked on Dominic as he recovered his breath after apparently sprinting down the corridors.

The [Apothecary] held a piece of paper in his hands, a page from a notebook with scribbles that looked faintly like words and enunciated his achievement with the same feverish, manic vigor Dominic imagined Moses announcing the holy testaments after getting down Mount Sinai.

“I have it! I know how to treat the Ashen Lungs!”

***

Somewhen else, The [Priestess] of Kiringar was hunting.

Not for the Nightmare Seeds themselves, but for an explanation of how such a thing could have grown here in Kiringar. Oh, she would go for the unborn incarnations of fear soon enough, but not right now.

It had only been a few moments ever since she left the sick and dying behind, and that meant night still ruled supreme above her head. She’d have to wait, then, until the pride of her God pushed the Chain of Dread once more – otherwise, her powers were… lackluster. Weak. And not even her [Fuming Soul] could bridge the gap.

No, if there was something she had learned through all her life living here in Kiringar – this little faraway nest in the middle of the Fear-full Woods, surrounded by corporeal dread – was that there could be no chances for fear to spread further.

Because that’s how it worked, you see. Fear spread like a plague into hearts, like mold growing on dark corners and slowly choking the life out of you as you breathed it in. And Nightmares worked by the same logic.

So the best way to deal with them was well known among the imps of Kiringar. There was no reason to negotiate – to approach with anything but utter might – and even if some claimed the Nightmares could be useful in their own way, much to her distaste, all agreed that when push comes to shove, there was only one solution.

You had to scorch the earth anew. Burn it all until those revolting masses of black sinew and white bone wailed under the pain of extermination. Cleanse an entire area with desolation incarnate, regardless of the means.

The [Priestess] still remembered her first time seeing such a scene, and that’s what she thought about while slowly approaching Kiringar’s houses with beating wings.

***

Trakia must have been fifteen when it happened. A fledgling [Acolyte], so new to her Class – though not to her faith – that she still hadn’t completed her Path. She had been following her teacher at the time, a stout imp woman named Helik – a [Priestess] of renown, though hers was a path of flames, opposed to Trakia’s smoke-clad fate.

They had left Kiringar’s walls for a day and a half by then, the [Priestess] claiming she had a lesson to teach her young apprentice if she were to continue in her worship, and had delved deep into the Fear-full Woods.

The girl walked with a spring in her step, an excitement that grew both for the opportunity to leave the village where she was born and the fact she would see the scourge of this Ground with her very own eyes. She had read books, of course – even stood back while some of the Rangers brought corpses to be harvested into the walls – but Trakia had never seen true extermination per what the scriptures dictated. And that made her only more excited.

Their destination, however, was not to the east, where House Noir ruled supreme over their sinful citizens. And her teacher was not insane enough to take them south after that large explosion – though a few [Scouts] had already been sent to investigate what happened.

No. The duo went straight to the west – so deep into the Woods that the Nightmares morphed from simple frights to their more primordial counterparts. And they would hunt one that day.

***

The [Priestess]’s feet landed softly on one of the rooftops as she reminisced, waiting for the dawn at the same time she searched for a clue.

Oh, she knew what must have happened – and that’s why she had, so pointedly, visited Celike’s house straight away.

Trakia kneeled on the rooftop, hidden under the shadows cast by the ikriat leaves that grew down below, and began to analyze this stretch of the Spiral.

The paint was hard to see, the rust color hidden by the night, but Trakia could easily trace the outline of the darker lines against the simple thatching – even if the straw had a dark shade of its own.

Slowly, the [Priestess] circulated the rooftop – sometimes rising onto the air for a second if she doubted the firmness of her footing – but it didn’t take her long to find the problem. There, on the right side of the roof, was an entirely flaked-away section of the ink.

They had not repainted the Spiral. Neither Eiko nor Celike… but how could they? Eiko had died months ago – and a pregnant Celike couldn’t possibly fly onto the roof and spend so long painting their arm of the spell.

She should have thought of it sooner. It was obvious in retrospect, as so many things were, and Trakia couldn’t help but scold herself for her stupidity, feeling her [Fuming Soul] pulse with emotion like an overstuffed abbadonian forge.

The [Priestess] simmered with rage, eyes alight like blazing embers. Trakia boiled and burned, her footsteps leaving deep imprints into the ceiling – one hooved, the other clawed – and the heat didn’t burn the entire house down simply due to her control. It took her longer than she would ever admit to finding reason among the haze of her skill, the feeling of her powers growing as she leaned further into anger being as intoxicating as it was revolting, but she held on.

With a slow beat of her wings, Trakia took flight once more. She could remember the other patients that had suddenly worsened, and it was her task to visit every single one of the houses. Part of her still wished for confirmation, even with the cause as clear as water.

And while she flew, wings beating and tasting the wind and ash and smoke, Trakia remembered.

***

It was a nasty thing, their prey.

It lived so far from the safer walls of her village that the Nightshadow Trees had slowly opened the way to shorter, more crooked specimens – their length twisted into almost spirals and the vines that hung from the branches making the entire area look like gallows, though the corpses were fat spiky fruits, colored red like the sun. It was difficult for her to see much, the veil of leafy ropes so thick she and her teacher had to keep an arm forward to push the vines away from their face, lest they want to get tangled up on the coarse natural ropes.

With the [Priestess] in front of her ordering silence, Trakia was reduced to her inner thoughts as she followed Helik step by step – taking her time to ensure her claws only touched where her teacher had trod.

Here was still the Fear-Full Woods, she knew. Wherever the Nightmares touched, the Woods extended – but there were regions within, each with their names, creatures, and even sovereigns in some.

Trakia recognized this one only because Cariken had lent her one of his notebooks, the [Scout]’s notes on his lessons from his father and other [Rangers] and Rangers, those that gave their lives to explore and cull the fear that festered between those trees.

The Choking Grove. That was its name. The [Acolyte] remembered the scarce description Cariken had written about it, and she found her friend’s words incredibly correct. The dark canopies of the trees, letting only the faintest sunlight through. The intertwined roots, hiding the deep holes on the ground like lips over a maw. The smell of the ripe fruits, piercing her nose with their sweetness and making her nose itch and her head hurt, all the while her eyes could barely see through the almost solid wall of vines.

The place was all-encompassing in all the ways, assaulting almost all of her senses – and leaving only the [Acolyte]’s ears clear from any distraction. After all, like every part of the Fear-Full Woods, the Nightmares that made residence here were as silent as the dread that crawled over one’s spine.

Still, the Choking Grove was one interesting place for more than that. Mostly because, unlike most regions within the Woods, the creature that ruled over this place was both product and maker of these sights – but that was not their prey.

It would need far more than her squeaky self and a temperamental [Priestess] to slay what lived at the center.

No, today their prey was a lesser thing. Helik had told her after a little prodding, that annoyed look always on her face as she explained.

And as they walked inwards, forever deep, teacher and student, the trees parted a little and the sickening smell of rotten fruit faded to give place to another scent.

That of stale water and bloated bodies.

***

Now she stood atop her Temple. Waiting.

Trakia had visited all the houses she remembered, even stopping at others to signal the grieving families of their duty as her high viewpoint allowed much for her to see, even through the darkness of night. Some houses, however, utterly bereft of life, she only marked for later – resigning herself to fix this as soon as possible.

She would send the [Acolytes] to repaint it all. Star Above, she would impose upon Cariken’s Rangers to do her bidding if necessary – but she would fix this new problem quickly and cleanly, and that Trakia swore.

That solution, however, would have to come in later. They would repaint the Spiral, but to do that the [Priestess] would clean the house first, so to speak. And that’s why she now flew lazily above her sacred space, wings beating only strong enough to keep her on air – which, for those that did not know the true intricacies of flight, might believe required little effort.

They would be wrong, of course. To go from one place to the other, guided by the natural wind that blew under one’s wings, was the easy part. Standing still, though? With nothing to hold oneself to? Now that requires might and skill.

Or skill – if you had it. And Trakia had completed her [Path of The Imp] decades ago, only to receive the most common of rewards.

[Strong Wings] was the most common dream of imp children. It was a simple skill, doing nothing but exactly what it said – it made those little limbs that grew from their waist, tiny leathery wings that by all accounts should not carry someone their size, strong enough to soar into the sky. Not fly, at least not so early, but it was a common tradition for parents to teach their children how to glide and maneuver in the air after they learned it.

A common skill, all things considered. A small one, when compared to the real might the Voice could grant. But its true power was not what it did, but in the potential it carried.

An uncountable number of skills could derive from it – such that it was difficult for a Class not to advance it or integrate the Path’s reward into itself, even with it growing more powerful with levels. And it was a welcome thing since an advancement usually meant true flight instead of the lesser cousin the base skill offered.

Her own Class did not deviate from the expected – taking that early gift and imbuing it with faith and meaning that resonated with her. Shifting the Skill into something that suited Trakia, Daughter of Mikalia.

Not an original one, though. Others had walked her same path. But that did little to lessen the importance of what she received.

The child of that collusion was a long-named ability. [Her Wings Touched The Sun]. A great skill, with more than one effect, but she mainly used to fly for hours on end. Even an entire day, now that she was so high-level.

Trakia was Level 49 in her Primary Class. Not a low achievement by any means, though she had been stuck at the bottleneck for years now. The only thing that lessened the blow of her slow leveling was her Secondary Class – the second one she ever had, now that they had merged once – but [Village Elder] did not appeal greatly to the [Priestess], though she was fairly committed to the path.

The [Priestess] sighed under the darkened sun, covered in chains. Long past were the days when she traveled through different villages and towns, singing hymns towards the Scarlet Star and spreading her prideful faith upon the lands. It had been an arduous job – tiresome on most days, but fulfilling in all of them.

She had journeyed a lot, hadn’t she? There were few regions of the Fear-Full Woods she had not stepped into, and for a few years, her travels had taken her even further away – beyond the Steppes, even. But those days were gone, and her duty was here.

So she waited – eyes shut tightly, for above her God wrestled against his confines, and below laid her precious altar. The Hemoaestus, that thing of blood and faith that allowed the [Priestess] to bask in the madness the Scarlet Sun could wreak more safely, opening the path for the faithful and prepared to receive his directions and orders.

She did not look down today. In the state she was in, her [Fuming Soul] running wildly to keep all those [Miracles] intact, Trakia feared her own [Lesser Madness Resistance] would not be enough. And though her God was powerful, he was not kind.

The Sun would laugh as he melted her sanity. And the surety of it brought some twisted comfort of its own.

And as she waited for dawn to arrive – feeling it through the mystical connection between her and the Sun itself – her memories continued.

***

From the shore of the still lake, hiding behind one of the twisted trunks along her teacher, Trakia watched the Deepcrawlers move their nightmarish bodies.

Roots from different trees invaded the fetid water like parasites, sucking in the moisture of the lake while competing arduously with the aquatic plants that covered the open expanse like a blanket. It was enough to turn the place into a deadly trap, where if the reeds at the bottom didn’t tangle your feet and drowned you, the Deepcrawlers would easily finish the job after noticing the surprised prey.

Greenish water, surrounded by a perimeter of mud and clay, all the while that strong smell of swamps and bogs acid enough to melt the skin off your bones drifted lazily into the air. And the smell of the Deepcrawlers, of course.

Old bodies turned blue and full of water in their lungs. Organs bursting as they overfilled with liquid – all of that mixed with the fading sourness of a defunct that had soiled themselves at the end.

Trakia held in the need to cough. Her breath hitched, choked on her throat as the awful scent made her want to break into a fit – but it was not the time to risk alerting the Nightmares before their hunt was over.

They had one opportunity. One chance, Helik had explained to her, to ensure that they would get every single one of the dreadful things – instead of allowing a few of them to reproduce into the depths of the lake where they usually resided.

All of that because the nasty things were as selfish as any other monster the [Acolyte] had met. Irrational things that could not work in a way that favored a community – and due to that, the Deepcrawlers prepared for the True Night to come individually. Large or small, male or female – though that difference was less biological and much more related to how they interacted with the undeveloped maggots of sin and dread – it didn’t matter.

Every single one of them was out on a hunt. The Nightmares dragged their legless corpses ashore, the half-amphibian, half-humanoid creatures using their elbows and claws to find purchase on the soft mud of the shore – and all of that because their cursed anatomy never thought of giving them legs.

It wasn’t a clean deformity, even. All that hung below their waist, making trenches on the clay as they moved, were ripped remnants of legs that should have been there. Different lengths of white bone and darkish sinew – though their skin was of a lighter tone than of usual Nightmares, more a shade of light gray than the despairing black. Their blood was still the same though, an awful oil that seeped from the tiny abrasions that came with their moving.

Trakia knew better than to pity the creatures for their awful state, though. After all, Deepcrawlers never had legs to begin with. Their appearance was, much like all other Nightmares, a garish reproduction of characteristics that would make one’s heart speed and their sweat turn cold.

Dread, however, was an emotion that became more than secondary in her heart. Trakia focused on her teacher, watching as the [Priestess] observed every movement of the hunting Nightmares like a predator.

Would she barge in and bring down righteous fury from their God, a harbinger clad in maddening flames? Would she scream for a scorched land and boil their disgusting bodies in the very waters that they called home? The [Acolyte] brought a closed fist to her chest, her hearts beating so fast Trakia could feel their thump-thump in her ears, and kept her excited grin and imagination tightly locked away from her face.

It would be glorious either way. The things had no idea what was coming for them – and the cleanliness of their extermination only made her more eager to see it unfold. There was a delirious type of anxiety that came with watching an ambush happen, and the [Acolyte] tasted that delicious feeling for the first time with glee.

Her eyes turned back towards the creatures, and Trakia decided to act as the perfect witness to what would unfold as she engraved every detail of what she saw in her memory.

The Nightmares were longer than her, even without any legs. Their slick body lacked the bone armor of most nightmares, with little protecting the gray skin that shone as if covered in oil. Their faces were a mix of fish and frog, bulging eyes located at the sides and three slits on their necks that seemed to act like gills – though they were shut tightly while they were on the surface, all the air they needed being absorbed by the two thin slits on their faces that worked as a nose.

More than that, the Deepcrawlers’ prey was another awful creature. With their curved claws, the amphibious Nightmares dug into the soft clay – removing wet clumps that they threw haphazardly, many a time hitting one of their brethren – and pulled a long, faceless brown body out of the ground.

Burial Worms. The lesser Nightmares, a mixture of the fear of being eaten alive and the inescapability of the earth, didn’t shriek or cry as the sharp claws dug onto their pliable dermis. Trakia didn’t think they could, in fact.

Their circular maws were not made for screaming. The [Acolyte] shuddered as the Deepcrawler opened its mouth, filled with needle-like teeth in dizzying rows, and bit onto the Burial Worm with the ease of an imp biting on a boiled ikriat. The stump remaining wiggled wildly even after half of it disappeared in the drowning gullet, but it also soon vanished as the Deepcrawler finished its meal and began to hunt for another.

The sight was as gruesome as she expected from the Nightmares. Brutal in ways she had never seen. Bestial, even. But it was only after another group of Deepcrawlers dragged their bodies out of the lake’s bottom that Trakia felt the rise of temperature from the [Priestess] beside her.

They were half a dozen only, and they looked no different from any other of the genderless creatures – except for what they carried on their backs. Orbs were made of some dark material, the texture allowing for some transparency and revealing what was housed within, sloshing around like fish on a bucket – their bent shapes not enough to hide the clear characteristics.

Trakia realized her mistake immediately. These were not simple orbs. These… were eggs.

Nightmare Seeds.

“It’s time.”

Helik’s whisper stole her attention, the [Priestess] looking at her apprentice with already burning eyes – and Trakia gulped at the power behind them. Gluing her own body to the trunk, the [Acolyte] felt her teacher move like a summer wind, sucking the moisture out of the air and bringing the driest of flames.

Leaves turned into shriveling husks, branches snapping as the water evaporated from within as the heat passed through their bark and turned their inner channels into pressurized pipes. All vines around the [Priestess] – that veil of plant matter that turned the world into a claustrophobic landscape – snapped as she passed.

The [Acolyte] knew what it was. Helik had shown it to her at another time, in a more peaceful situation and after much time spent asking for it.

[Aura of The Inferno]. An expansion of the [Priestess]’s soul that burned the world, sucking all life out of it and replacing it with heat.

The Deepcrawlers did not hear her approach, even with all the sound Helik’s passage produced, too engrossed on their mad hunt as they were – but some, those that crawled at the edge of the group, felt her coming like a dizzying summer wind. The temperature rose exponentially, removing the moisture from their skin and causing some to suffocate there and then. Still, Helik walked, a paladin clad in desolation, and before the Nightmares could flee back into the deep, the [Priestess] opened her mouth–

And sang.

***

The melody echoed within her head as dawn came with a snap, bringing Trakia back from down the memory tunnel she had dug for herself. The hymn sung by her late teacher had been all scorching heat and boiling blood – and the sight of the Deepcrawlers turning into dry husks and of the Seeds bursting like dreadful tumors, revealing the unformed Nightmares within, was something the now [Priestess] would never forget.

Neither did Trakia forget the satisfaction of seeing it all happen. An infection had been removed – a sickening growth excised from their realities with a burning edge.

Today she would do the same – though their methods differed greatly.

Helik had always been fire itself, insidious heat that wrinkled one’s skin and turned the air unbearable, chanting for their God with a zeal that sent shivers into the spines of all that heard it. When the late [Priestess] sung truly, it was always a hymn – a great gospel that the Voice heard and gave back – a [Hymn of Proud Flames].

Trakia, however, was different. Her greatest memories were of obliteration mixed in choking fits, a reality she had met time and time again – first with the Deepcrawlers drowning in dry land, a fitting end for the fear of having your lungs filled with water, and recently with the Ashen Lungs.

She was what came after the fire. When it had been time to truly understand her Class, that was how Trakia had defined herself. She would be a [Priestess] of what came after fire caught. An incendiary aftermath.

Due to that, when Trakia opened her mouth – high above her Temple and with the sun burning above her head – what she sang was not a hymn, but a melody fitting for the lonely – with only the billowing wind and rising temperatures as her orchestra.

An [Aria of Smoke and Ash].

Her voice was projected far, drawing the attention of many that were already awake with its depressing melody, but it never stopped – even when smoke began to rise from her throat and fall upon the streets of Kiringar like divine judgment. It curled and spread all over the village, finding purchase in crannies and nooks – entering through open windows and bringing within it a core of smoldering ash that traveled lazily, hidden amongst the gray.

Trakia’s mind divided itself, her song never stopping while her eyes saw more than she had ever seen. [Smoggy Insight] was an awareness skill that had been crucial many a time, and today was no different.

Wherever her smoke touched, she saw. Trakia almost buckled under the sheer amount of stimuli her brain received, but the song helped her keep the equilibrium even when her wings faltered – and slowly, the [Priestess] of Kiringar began her search.

Her perception stretched far and wide, covering sleepy imps in a light touch as Trakia looked for the same Nightmare Seeds she had found in Celike. More than one imp awoke during her quest, the smell of smoke bringing with it the fear of the flames, but the [Priestess] searched unabatedly.

Trakia sang for long, receiving many an expletive from below as the citizens began to understand what was happening, but her findings were few. Seven Seeds, all in all – little tumors that grew on the bodies of the sick and the healthy, sucking in their health and fear and whatever other emotion they fed upon, and every time that core of still-burning ash traveled after it and scorched it away.

Trakia would spend a long time explaining what she had done – but it was worth it, even if painful. So she barged through the screams and wails of pain.

Like her teacher, Trakia removed the infection from Kiringar, cleaning their flesh out of these parasites that… were so similar to each other.

So similar… that she took a moment to analyze a few of them. Their white carapace, their black interior…

The [Priestess] narrowed her eyes. No, not similar. Identical. Her mind flared with the memories of the Deepcrawlers carrying their eggs on their backs, all of those seeds that were so identical to each other and ready to produce more of those almost indistinguishable monsters.

Something larger was reproducing here. Trakia recognized the signs. These were not sudden, individual Nightmares developing out of fear in those places where the Spiral was incomplete. These… were clones.

The realization dawned within her, making the singing [Priestess] search for a new target with an anxiety that made the smoke spread further and further away –

But when her aria came to an end, her target was nowhere to be found.