Chapter 6 - Kiringar

If you think about it, there are only so many ways of building something. And yet, through most of them, there was a kind of set pattern that was followed – if one were to be reductive.

You began with a foundation, rose the walls, and finished with a ceiling.

Simple, right? And although the description could very well give an architect a heart attack, Dominic still considered it correct. Especially when you began to understand the exceptions to the rule.

For example: take a large enough foundation – be it a square, a triangle, or any other regular shape – and use it as a base to ever so slowly ascend the building towards the sky, growing walls and leaning them towards the center of the base. With the constant inclination a peak would soon be formed, and all one would have to do is make the walls unite, forming –

– A pyramid. The easiest way to make an enormous building when all you had as technology was slave labor and way too much money and time. No wonder so many cultures back on Earth created the giant bastions of ancient engineering. Either making them hollow or whole, religious or mundane.

But that’s for the workings of kings and emperors – those important enough to cover bricks in gold and turn a pyramid into their coffin. The houses of those beneath them were, to a young Dominic willing to travel to distant places and learn other cultures, a much more interesting lesson.

In Mongolia, one could still find the huts used by their people way before Genghis Khan even thought of conquering all of Asia. In Africa, more than one ethnicity spread through the dozens of countries that made the continent found safety inside houses made of mud – perfect to stand the scorching heat of their home.

In South America, natives still built large communal buildings with wood and palm leaves – able to house entire groups and their hammocks used for sleeping. And all around the world, if one were to search deep enough, a traveler could still find the diasporic Romani people living in their camps and fighting for the survival of their culture.

Houses. Homes at times. But all of these were constructions made for someone to live in and relax – a place where they can sleep and eat and mingle with their counterparts. And yet, when Dominic walked past the walls of Kiringar and had his first glimpse at the constructions within, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

In his heart, the elderly man still hoped that whatever alien culture the Imps had, it would extend itself to their homes and architecture – instead, all Dominic got in return was something not so dissimilar from what he had seen in impoverished communities back on Earth.

Past the large gates, Dominic was greeted with a slim dirt road that slithered within the Imps’ territory – overgrown with odd green leaves at the sides, rising from bulbous growths from the ground. A couple of dozen meters in, the first buildings began to sprout beside the street, all made of wood and – if he were to be honest – quite simple in their making.

Still, the place was not without its quirks – and while Dominic followed both Elder Trakia and Kurian inside, he watched the village of Kiringar with eyes used to examining the foreign.

The windows appalled him at first. There was not a single wall within sight that didn’t have one of them – if not a proper, wooden one then at least a hole in the wall. Varying in size and shape, the windows could be easily used as markers to differentiate the common-looking houses.

More than that, the Imps' general size didn’t translate to the houses' general size. In fact, they were way taller than even most human ones – and when looking at the leathery wings growing on their hips, Dominic was fairly certain they were designed to be large enough to fly within.

Their doors, however… Well, Dominic might need to really stoop to get through any of them.

As they walked through Kiringar, other Imps began to show their faces and stare at the trio. Most were female, women carrying baby Imps or older men not fit for a fight – and to see their hopeful looks wane and turn into sobbing despair as they looked at him and Kurian made Dominic want to cry.

He walked a little quicker and positioned himself in front of the boy, shielding him and his wounds from the stares of the villagers. Kurian noticed the motion but maintained his eyes glued to the floor, unwilling to face their judgment.

Dominic looked back at the boy, wishing he could do more to bring him comfort, but nothing came to mind. At the very least, their pace was particularly quick.

Elder Trakia did not slow down. Regardless of how many Imps continued to ask her questions or try to bar their way, the older [Priestess] would plow through their blockade like a battering ram.

It was a disturbing sight. Her flaming gaze turned from villager to villager and all flinched under her stare. Even the boldest of them, those willing to shove others and try to touch her in their desperate demand for answers received nothing but her silence.

Nevertheless, her constant speed and unwillingness to stop for even a second during their walk were enough to soon reach where Elder Trakia seemed intent on bringing them – and no one seemed to dare to follow them inside the opening made of red cloth.

The cloth walls rose in a circle. Red as blood, the only thing staining them being the dirt at the hems of the walls, and even that seemed to only blacken the color, making it look like old, coagulated ichor.

The tent reminded Dominic of a circus one. A roof that rose in a conic shape, supported by wooden beams that allowed the structure to remain in place, and a central opening from where the sun’s scarlet rays could wash the interior with their radiance. In a circle, benches were spread in rows similar to a lamprey’s teeth, growing around the central altar and harboring something Dominic only saw from the corner of his eye.

And, if he knew, he would be thankful for that.

Nevertheless, they were alone, and despite the sky giving no indication of the night to come, the small lanterns inside the space – alongside the pole torches that rose beside the main walkway – were already lit with flames.

Now, Trakia sighed. And it was the reluctant kind of someone not willing to face the problems to come. The elderly Imp walked towards one of the benches at the right side and plopped down in exhaustion, her wrinkly face twisting into a snarl of discomfort before she raised her longer and hooved leg to rest on top of the bench in front of her.

The woman gestured, silently, for the both of them beside her – and only after softly guiding Kurian’s steps towards the seat did Dominic rest against the warm wooden bench.

With a low groan, the Elder Imp grabbed two small vials, wooden and corked, and a bota bag she offered to the duo.

“A healing potion and water. Drink up, both of you. You stink of blood and wounds.”

Trakia’s voice came softly, less snappy than when he had heard her talk to Akky, but still carrying all the demands of someone who didn’t appreciate being crossed. Or, perhaps, was simply too tired to deal with anyone annoying her with incompetence right now.

In silence, Dominic received the small wood vial and uncorked it, smelling the herbal scent of the potion. The [Death Doctor] let a drop of the potion fall onto his hand and only drank it after it gave him no reaction.

No need to repeat the pain he had endured while healing Kurian.

The smoothness was otherworldly. Entirely magical as it gave his body a relief that reformed his torn muscles and turned ripped skin back to perfection.

More importantly, it didn’t burn. Maybe Healing Potions aren’t Life Magic? Maybe it’s something else? Nature Magic? Would it even be different?

“Are they dead?”

His musings were cut short by Trakia’s whisper, nullifying his curiosity and reminding Dominic of the situation’s gravity.

Silence reigned within the temple – and despite his previous certainty and bravery, Kurian still couldn’t break the news. Dominic put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a questioning look after the boy raised his face to look at him, but Kurian… refused.

“Yes.”

It was a whisper, pained and waning, but it seemed to bring Kurian back to reality after the dozing walk through Kiringar.

“And the mage?”

Kurian bit his lip. He could still remember the smell of the fetid smoke and the screams of people he knew his entire life. His response came through gritted teeth.

“Unharmed.”

Dominic saw the woman shake in anger, her hands balled against the simple robe she wore over her pink skin. Trakia took a deep breath after a deep breath, calming down as the silence began to reign once more. The red in her eyes faded along.

“Your wounds. The Python did it?”

Kurian hissed twice. A short one followed by a long one.

“No. I was infected. Dominic cut them off before I died.”

“Dominic…? Oh, you.”

The elder nodded, serious. He extended a hand, but the woman just stared at it blankly.

“You must be Elder Trakia.”

“Hm. You speak our language then. What are you? Incubus? Some kind of Abbadonian?”

“No, Elder. We call ourselves humans.”

Trakia clicked her tongue and whispered under her breath. Dominic felt the air become heavier in his lungs, suffocating him as Trakia looked at him, before the pressure suddenly vanished, making him gasp for air.

“What was that?”

“A Skill. I’d say I’m pleased to meet–”

“Don’t do that again.”

Dominic cut her off, sudden anger turning his words into a snarl. Being subject to such power without his consent was violating. Trakia narrowed her eyes at him but gave in.

“So be it. Apologies for the… callous introduction. These past few days have been way too hectic.”

“That’s no excuse to do what you just did.”

Kiringar’s Elder sighed, shoulders slumping.

“... No. No, it isn’t.” Trakia raised a hand and began to knead her temples, fighting the headache she had. In the end, she sighed and began anew. “Let’s try this again. My name is Trakia, [Priestess] of Kiringar and active Elder of the council. You?”

Dominic looked at the silent Kurian, eyes far away from the conversation happening above him, before responding.

“Dominic Jones. Hm, a [Doctor], I guess?”

“A new class? No, it doesn’t matter. Kurian tells me you’ve saved his life and for that you have my gratitude.”

“It was nothing. Everyone would do the same.”

Dominic tried to wave her concern away, but Trakia’s face grew stony at his humbleness.

“No. They would not.”

The finality in Trakia’s voice echoed slightly inside the temple, her words hanging in the air like a corpse on the gallows. The tired Elder turned to Kurian and raised his head with a clawed finger so that he could stare at her through his single-seeing eye.

“Why don’t you go to bed, Kurian? You can use mine. I’ll probably get back to the infirmary soon enough.”

The boy recoiled at her suggestion, looking almost hurt.

“I… I have to tell the others. They need to know what happened.”

Dominic listened to the sudden, desperate plea in Kurian’s voice – but Trakia proved herself to be much blunter in her ways than he.

“They already know, Kurian. You returned by yourself and that told them enough. You don’t have to say anything else.”

“I… don’t? No, that’s – that’s wrong! They need to know how they fought! That we tried!”

The Elder bit her lips, and there was pain in her face. A sudden desolation that, now that she stopped and rested, spread like poison. Still, Dominic flinched at the way the emotion vanished so utterly from her face, being replaced by the blankness of someone that didn’t yet know what to feel or how to express it.

Hidden by the smoke of a burnt, wounded heart.

“Later, Kurian. You are tired and wounded. Put yourself first for a second – their deaths will not change if you go to sleep now. Let us help you tell the others… tomorrow, alright?”

Kurian paled. The boy scuttled back on the bench, fleeing from Trakia’s touch while hissing.

“No! I… I have to tell them. I was there! I… I ran.”

The [Priestess] squeezed her eyes shut, and Dominic heard the unshed liquid in her eyes hiss and vaporize, breaking the facade. Still, her face grew resolute as she came to a decision – and the elderly human could tell it wasn’t one he’d make.

Dominic reached for her, about to interfere, but power radiated from Trakia now. Hot waves that warmed the air as her pain and sadness turned into fuel.

“It’s alright, Kurian. Everything will be fine. Just [Sleep] for now.”

The spell reached Kurian like a blast, his eyes immediately rolling upwards as he was forcefully dragged into sleep. Dominic’s extended arms, about to stop Trakia, had to move quickly to catch the boy before he slipped from the bench.

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“You shouldn’t have–”

“Don’t. I know what I did. The boy needs rest and his… self-flagellation is of no help – the confirmation of their deaths is already a blow we might not recover. Not right now, at least.”

“There were other ways of convincing him, Trakia. Using… what? A spell? That’s not the best way of dealing with Kurian’s state.”

“And how would you do it? Nevermind. Forget about it.”

She rose abruptly, walking away from the discussion in a huff of hot air. Dominic soon followed after ensuring that Kurian was somewhat comfortable on the bench.

As he took his cane and proceeded to follow Trakia’s quick gait around the benches, his eyes unknowingly avoiding the shape in the middle of the temple. In return, he focused on other details.

The temple’s ground wasn't mere dirt, but a kind of scorched grass that turned into ashes every time Dominic stepped on top of one – and every time he turned around to check on the damage, the strands of grass had already regrown.

Was it a sibling species to the scarlet grass on the outside? Perhaps even some kind of evolved version? Would that even be possible?

He shook his head. That last question was proving itself to be quite useless. Dominic had yet to meet something impossible under the System’s aegis.

Still, the pathway led all of those entering through the main flap straight into the altar – and as Trakia kept going forward, his eyes no longer diverted to the ground in their irrational attempts to keep his sanity safe.

Unlike catholic altars, where marble and gold would make most of the decoration – with a clear space for a bible and, in some cases, even a pulpit close by for a priest to preach to the faithful. This altar? The one dedicated to the eldritch sun high above Dominic’s head?

This one was all blood.

The… thing congealed and flowed with no regard for shape or gravity, defying the air as it tried to rise in a spike or sprawled itself against the ground as a puddle – and through all its thousand shapes, it was unblemished. The blood flowed thick and alive, beating as it stretched and grew or thinned and thickened. It was dizzying, it was marvelous, it was a seductive dance made for him.

A Sun’s way of calling him. To take a look. To glimpse at its blessed radiance. It would cause no harm, as it sought to only scour his mind. All Dominic had to do was look–

The slap broke the Sun’s charm, Trakia’s claws stinging his cheek as blood bloomed in the thin cuts they made. Dominic gasped as the spell broke, averting his eyes to the floor and slowly counting the strands of grass made of embers.

When Trakia spoke, he did not raise his head.

“What are you? A child? Don’t stare at things you were not meant to comprehend.”

“What is that? Why is everything in this damned place cursed?”

The Imp looked funnily at him, raising a hairless brow as she scoffed.

“Hmph. Story of my kind – and do try to ignore the Hemoaestus. Or, please, look at it.”

Dominic Jones, who once ruled over an office with nothing but a dream and sarcasm, raised his head and showed Trakia a toothless smile.

“I think I’ll pass on the opportunity, thank you very much.”

She gave him a mirthless laugh and continued to walk, her uneven legs magically balanced. Dominic followed behind, eyes focused on the ground and ignoring the gurgling sound of the Hemoaestus. Now that he had seen it in its entirety, his perception seemed to bask on the sounds the blood produced.

So he filled the oppressing music of pulsing scarlet with conversation.

“Where are you going now?”

“None of your business.”

“... I’m certain I can be of help, you know.”

“You will definitely stand in my way – and that’s the only thing I’m certain of.”

“I can sew and cook and talk.”

“Hmph. That you definitely can.”

Dominic tried to walk faster, but he still had all the agility of a man in his sixties. His solution, then, was to raise his cane in a way of blocking Trakia’s eyes.

The fact she smacked the wood five meters away was best kept unsaid – but at least his trusted companion’s sacrifice served its purpose. The Elder of Kiringar stood still inside the temple, looking at Dominic as he turned, serious.

“I want to help, Trakia.”

She crossed her arms. Indignation rose in her face, twisting her features.

“Help with what? Huh? You don’t even know what to help with.”

“And yet I did my best with Kurian – I want to do my best for your kind too. For this place. You said you were going to an infirmary?”

Trakia’s incredulity wafted in waves as she stared at his serious face – and soon turned into a humorless laugh as she began to gesture in emphasis.

“Alright. Let me spell it out for you, since – despite your apparent age – you seem a little slow on the uptake. I don’t trust you. You come to my village, a complete unknown, right after we were attacked and, oh, just claim to want to help? No. Absolutely not. You’re lucky I didn’t let Akkiria shoot you down from the walls. That’s where my mercy ends.”

Now it was Dominic’s turn to cross his arms – though he had to lean heavily on one leg and pray that the posture wouldn’t make him fall.

“Then why did you let me in? Because of Kurian?”

And to that Trakia gave him the most savage of smiles yet, one that surpassed the viciousness of the White Stalker’s predatory grin. The elderly woman’s eyes shone as if liquid – black giving way to pure, burning red.

“No. It’s because I see you, [Death Doctor] Dominic Jones. And something tells me I could kill you in an instant if I wanted to. Unknown class or not.”

That… that made Dominic gulp. Something about the threat in her voice sent shivers down his spine – maybe the red, incredibly demonic eyes or the way smoke trailed out of her pores as if her blood had been boiling inside her veins, he couldn’t be certain – but he could tell, in that part of the human brain honed through millennia of hunting and gathering, that Trakia was a predator through and through.

And she would not hesitate to make her words come true.

Nevertheless, he was still Dominic Jones. Founder of the Astral Conglomerate, the Angel of Business, Savior of Employees, yada yada.

He had his own dealings with those that lived in the shadows – and though they’d pale in face of Trakia’s supernatural capabilities – it was enough of an experience to stiffen his spine and look her in the eyes.

“Then please let me prove myself. I don’t want to stand still while Kurian’s friends are suffering – and though I tried to help him, I still saw all of them die. I was there too, and if I can do anything to make him more comfortable – even if that’s helping others he cares about – then I’m gonna do it.”

“And why is that?”

Dominic thought over. This answer mattered, he could feel the way it would guide their entire interaction from now on – a skill many acquired when dealing with so many different people on a day-to-day basis.

So, to be honest or to give her a common answer? One would not work – Trakia would not believe him and she was right to do so, even if it frustrated him somewhat. The other… well, it was a bet. Telling her he had a Path about the Imps could very well end up badly – or sour their interactions even further.

No. Something whispered in his ear, pieces that slowly came together to make a larger picture. There was a way for him to be honest and have a successful chance of making Trakia accept his help. And he saw it.

All he had to properly manipulate was Fear’s renegade twin sister: Empathy.

Dominic bit his lower lip, the desire to spill a secret twisting his face into a purposeful mask. His eyes diverted from left to right, slowly examining details behind the Elder Imp – and then, for a longer second, it stopped on Kurian’s sleeping form – before returning to stare at Trakia.

He sighed, and the play began.

“There was more to Kurian’s condition than that… sickness used to kill the others. Cutting off the affected limbs helped him, yes, but – the blood loss had been too great, and I was too slow…”

Trakia furrowed her brows, unable to see where this was going – and Dominic served well as her guide.

“What do you mean?”

“He died. For a few seconds. Maybe a minute. His – well, hearts – stopped and I had none of the Skills or Spells to bring him back. But us humans? We work little with those – so I did something and used a wand to heal the wounds.”

The [Priestess] narrowed her eyes, watching him half-explain things and falling on the small verbal traps Dominic had cast. Creating doubt was always a great way of ensuring someone would talk.

“You brought him back? You? How did you do it?”

“Human techniques. Old ones. I was taught by a specialist of my kind – and it was enough to save him. Or, well, part of him.”

The fact he had performed Supernatural CPR using only the memories of a first-aid quick class he had during his college years was better kept hidden. Dominic paled from even thinking at the possible consequences of a badly performed rescue attempt of such a manner.

Trakia clicked her forked tongue, gesturing for him to hurry up. She had work to do – and even if Dominic’s tale was interesting – she was no stranger to ways of denying The Reaper's due. But there was more to it, and her curiosity had already been stoked.

“Get on with it already, for Sun’s sake. All this going around is making me lose time I could use doing something productive – like saving lives.”

Dominic wetted his lips as he took a somber tone, an almost reluctant one – for now came a secret, a hidden detail, a gossip.

“Kurian… he told me something after I saved him. I don’t think he even wanted to do it. Maybe it was the shock or my assistance. Maybe it was simply because I was there to listen. But when he woke from his wounds – the System had a message for him.”

Oh, how Dominic wished he could do the same as Kurian and show her the message – but the System refused to replay the prompt despite his silent attempts at cajoling the blue screens. Still, he half-remembered the details – and he felt certain they would be enough.

“His Class, the [Apprentice Artisan]. Kurian lost it…”

The words slammed onto Trakia’s mind, her skin paling and eyes widening. The sudden surprise on her face made even Dominic shut his mouth for a moment – and in that space, her whisper echoed loudly.

“He’s a [Survivor].”

Dominic nodded in affirmation, looking at the Elder Imp as she brought her nails to her mouth and began to chew on them. Her hand fell limply as silence extended itself, clear connections being formed behind her eyes as Trakia suddenly pinned Dominic with her scarlet gaze – and the anxiety in her large eyes felt like smoke.

“You – you saw his Skills, didn’t you? Which ones were it? Which ones, Dominic?”

Her touch reddened his skin, the temperature rising around Trakia as she spewed sparks with each word – red as blood and as hot as molten metal. The sudden necessity to remember the details and not get burned by the small flames made Dominic’s memory work in overdrive.

“There – there were three! Uh, [Unseen Presence] and – and [Heavy Blow], and… [Memory] something. That’s it Trakia! Stop doing that!”

Dominic thought against her grip, but there was no need – Trakia took a couple of steps back as if struck, hand rising to cover her snout as she hissed softly.

“Oh no! Oh no!”

The strength in her tone made the words blow like a gust, hot as a summer wind as Trakia almost flew from her place and back towards Kurian’s limp body – her goat leg performing a jump that would make athletes feel like stumbling fools – and despite the boy’s obvious unconsciousness, Dominic now noticed the boy was gripping the bench.

The [Death Doctor] limped back, suddenly apprehensive as Trakia stopped in her tracks and began to spew Skill after Skill, Spell after Spell – all of them enlaced in flames.

“...[Calm Emotions], [Calm Mind], [Dreamcall], [Blessing: Lullaby of the Hearth]!”

And then – music. Trakia’s voice sang the eerie melody, warm as a blanket on winter nights and as comforting as a sip of hot cocoa. It was so relaxing that Dominic felt his eyelids turn heavy almost instantly, his consciousness fleeting to the point he had to grip one of the benches to remain upright.

The only reason he did not topple in restful sleep was due to Trakia’s focus. The [Priestess] projected her voice straight into Kurian’s ears, singing and humming the wordless song as smoke coiled around her tongue and entered the boy’s mind. And yet, not for a moment did Trakia attempt to wake him up.

“What – what are you doing? Stop it! Trakia, you have to stop, you’re burning!”

Dominic fought against the constant yawns rising in his throat, desperate to warn the [Priestess] before she burned the temple to the ground. Her horns grew under the intensity of her focus, losing their brownish color for a reddish one.

And yet, she did not stop, even with Dominic’s pleas, her fire scorching the ground under her knees.

Trakia continued for a whole minute, shrouding Kurian with enough smoke to hide the boy completely. Only when the billowing cocoon was fully formed did the [Priestess] turn to Dominic.

Thankfully, her flames were not tall enough to reach the roof, but the fear they set in Dominic’s heart still made him shiver.

“It’s – It’s – It’s done. Sun ablaze, please let it be enough.”

“What is it? What did you do to him now?”

Dominic shook his head from the daze, Trakia’s black eyes falling on him with little of the previous hostility. The Imp took a deep breath and felt herself almost topple in exhaustion – she had been working for far too long.

“Kurian has a [Memory] Skill. You don’t know what those are?”

The human’s confused expression seemed to be enough of an answer for Trakia.

“You don’t. You actually don’t. Great.”

The [Priestess] sighed with such tiredness that Dominic pitied her as she brought a claw up to rub her aching temples.

“Listen, a [Memory] Skill is one of the burdens the Voice can give to someone – usually only some kinds of [Shamans] get them, or those classes closely related to death. It does what its name tells you – gives you someone’s memories. See the problem already?”

“Okay, I might not remember the Skill’s full name, but I’m certain it wasn’t a name… it was… it was – oh, hell.”

“What is it?”

Dominic licked his lip, looking at the cocoon made of smoke with hurt enough in his eyes to make Trakia reign in her more abrasive comments.

“It was [Memory: The Imps of Kiringar]. Does that mean…?”

Trakia’s mouth opened in shock, and even without her confirmation, Dominic knew his fears were right. When the Elder Imp, the [Priestess], the carer and nurturer of their community spoke, it sounded like a death sentence.

“He has all of them.”

***

Away from the sudden revelation shared by Dominic and Trakia, another suffered through the burdens of loss – though she did not have the Class or Skill or Title to prove to the world the enormity of her suffering.

Akkiria rested on her bed, knees curled to meet her chest as the [Ranger] sobbed into her hands. Her tears were warm and transparent, different from the other Imps living in Kiringar – but that was but one of the minor differences her heritage had given her.

The loss, the grief, the fear. She had endured through almost an entire day, protecting the walls of the village while her lover went on his fool’s errand.

He had promised. Promised her that he would return. And deep down, she didn’t trust his words.

Akkiria had been around when the [Plague Mage] first attacked the village, reaping from the seeds no one had seen him sow. Not even the Elders had considered the possibility of the Ashen Lungs' return.

But her lover was a brave man, foolish and kind. Nakir craved being a hero of stories as much as she craved hunting for the more harmless animals that once lived in the Fear-Full Woods.

He had always loved Junkio’s tales – the [Storyteller] telling stories of heroic tragedies and large massacres had been a fond part of her childhood. Nakir, silly and cowardly as a child, had always preferred the ones where heroes won with little to no effort, blessed by the Voice as if it could care for someone.

It mattered not. Those times had long since passed. Now… Well, now all Akkiria did was hunt Nightmares – waiting for the day they would hunt her instead. Though now she feared that heartbreak would take her first.

So the [Ranger] wept, and felt the bubbling apprehension within her heart clot like old blood, clogging her throat and leaving only room for her to sob.

But this was the Fear-Full Woods. And even if Trakia knew much about it, the Elder did not know all – or she might have done something before – but it was not meant to be.

As Akkiria cried and despaired and whimpered for the loss of the one she loved, the loss of the future she had imagined, the loss of her only ties to this community that – in some ways – she never felt like a part of, the fear grew.

It circulated. It festered. It crystallized. It dislodged itself from her back in a cancerous mass of black and white. And for the first time –

– it breathed.