Chapter 39

Marrowsven rejoined Pyre and the others by pulling herself up from the gap, her clawed hands finding purchase first, then her shoulders, then the rest of her body flowing over the edge in a smooth, practiced motion.

“This is all I found,” she told Sura as she removed a pair of amulets from around her neck. “I don’t think they’re from the First Realm, but I figured I’d show you anyway.”

“No, they are not,” Sura said after taking the amulets and examining them. They were made of leather wrapped around polished sandstone, worn smooth by time and handling. “But they are pretty, nonetheless. Were you planning to keep them?”

“No. I don’t collect things,” Marrowsven told her.

“And it just so turns out I do. As to their origins, they originate from whatever culture lived in this realm before it was destroyed. Likely the same that built structures with black brick.”

“I would have continued, but the gap tapers off,” Marrowsven said. “It looked like it was caused more recently than not.”

“Not a bad assumption,” Sura said as she tucked the amulets into an inner vest pocket. “These pieces of former realms—they are often struck by the collapse of new landmasses, like siege stones hurled from opposing walls. I’ve been on one of the Deep Nether islands before when this happened. It’s not pleasant.” She turned toward the tracks and gestured with two fingers. “We will have company soon.”

“Mirthbeasts are in the area,” Balefor told Marrowsven. “But if they’re anything like wolves, then we’re in luck. By the pantheons have I slain my fair share. I don’t want to say it was a daily occurrence on some of the expeditions, but it is something I have grown accustomed to.”

“Wolves exist in your realm?” Pyre asked Balefor as they began moving again.

“They do. Both animals, great big ones and ones like me that are partially human. They were especially difficult to slay. I’m not surprised I haven’t seen any in Aevum. Eh, I suppose the Wolven were all cowards in the end. Either way, this is going to be fun. And it will be something I exceed in, which makes it fun for me.”

“We should keep the chatter down,” Sura reminded them. “We’d rather spring the trap on them than have it the other way around.”

“In that case,” Balefor said with a toothy grin, “I will reminisce internally.”

They moved on, Sura at the front, the floating lantern hovering behind her like a restrained sun. One hand remained tucked casually into her vest pocket, fingers resting against her watch, yet Pyre could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her steps never quite repeated the same rhythm.

Not the way I’d sneak up on a pack of wolves, Pyre thought. Then again, I’ve never had to do something like this before.

Pyre’s Sigil remained in his hand now, the flames subdued but present, flickering faintly toward the Anima lantern. He noticed Balefor slow, the lion-man’s nostrils flaring as he tested the air. He made a low grunt. Sura paused immediately, a small, knowing smile forming.

“Yes, perhaps you should lead the way,” she told him quietly.

“With pleasure.” Balefor stepped forward past the lantern. As he did, Pyre noticed a faint spark of energy pass between the lantern and Balefor’s translucent axe, similar to the way it reacted to Pyre’s own sword.

They advanced with Balefor in front now, his expression shifting constantly—upper lip curling, nose wrinkling, jaw tightening—as if the scent refused to resolve into something familiar.

“What is it?” Sura asked.

“Something’s not right,” Balefor said quietly. “There’s carrion here, the kind you’d expect from a wolves’ den—but nothing else. No fur. No spoor. None of the living stink that comes with a pack that moves, feeds, and nests.” His nostrils flared. “What I’m saying is something’s been around. And whatever it was, it didn’t linger.”

“Let’s stop here,” Sura said.

The four paused in the shadow cast by the great spine of stone that rose from the landmass’s center. While Sura asked Balefor to describe the scent again in greater detail, Pyre knelt and examined the ground.

“More tracks,” he said, looking up to Marrowsven. “No mud here, but there’s enough dust and debris for these to be covered by now if they were old.”

Marrowsven’s lips pursed slightly as she considered it. Pyre noticed the red circle on her forehead seemed brighter near the lantern. His gaze lingered for a moment, and she caught it before he looked away.

“This is the mark of my clan,” she said, touching it. “The people of Kylindros are branded in their youth. If you see someone with one like this, know that they were once an assassin.”

Pyre stood, gaze lingering on the mark. “Wouldn’t that give you away?”

“Only outside my realm,” she said. “Inside it, not having a mark was what gave you away.” She turned back to Balefor and Sura just as they finished their exchange.

“…We’ll have to see,” Sura told him. “That would be unusual.”

“It would be unusual if I were wrong about it,” Balefor said as he started forward again, nostrils flaring wide again. “But you’re right, we shall see.”

They continued cautiously, Balefor leading, the Anima lantern hovering just behind him. The trail wound between jagged stone and collapsed formations, narrowing until it forced them into a single file that spilled out onto a rocky outcrop. The stone ahead bore signs of disturbance, scuffed and gouged as if something heavy had been dragged across it.

“What happened?” Pyre asked, tensing, his Sigil at the ready.

The bodies of the mirthbeasts were strewn across it, torn apart and scattered. Fur had been stripped clean from their flesh, leaving pale muscle exposed. The ground was slick in places, darkened by blood that had already begun to soak into the dust.

Balefor’s greataxe vanished. He placed his hands on his hips and turned to Sura. “Told you they were dead.”

“What did this?” Marrowsven asked as she crouched beside one of the bodies that had been shaved clean. The creature wheezed weakly. She pressed back, then drove her bone sword down into it, ending it quickly.

“Some are still alive,” Sura told Pyre and Balefor. “Put them out of their misery and be ready for anything.”

Pyre killed one of the lingering mirthbeasts, the creature with a single bloodshot eye that tracked his movement until the end. “Was it the scavels?” he asked Sura.

“Not any scavel I’ve ever seen,” she said as she continued looking around. “But something like this could attract them.”

Balefor dispatched another, the lion-man cleaving its head off with his greataxe. “At least it explains what I was smelling.”

“We should continue on,” Sura said, her composure thinning. “If we stay on this path, we’ll either meet Ronark and the others or reach a dead end. But this isn’t what I expected.” She murmured something to herself, too low to catch. “I don’t know. Just keep moving.”

Cautious as ever, the four continued until the path narrowed into an alcove. Massive stone fragments lay scattered there, not collapsed but arranged, their edges too deliberate, their spacing too precise to be natural.

What first appeared to be a natural recess had been carved deeper, shaped to frame what remained of a religious site. Weather had reduced the statues within to suggestion rather than form, their faces worn smooth, limbs eroded into ridges and grooves.

“Also odd,” Sura said as she took in the place. “First the dead mirthbeasts, then this.” She nervously clutched her pocket watch again. “An odd day.”

Marrowsven approached one of the reliefs alongside Pyre, her movements slower now, careful. “There has to be a door,” she said as she examined it.

“What makes you think—oh,” Pyre said as he saw it. The outline was faint, barely more than a difference in texture, but it was there, an oval shape worked into the stone behind one of the statues, distorted by erosion yet unmistakable once noticed.

“It’s a sealed chamber.” Marrowsven leaned in closer. “And there’s dried blood here.”

“We’ve found something,” Pyre called to Sura.

She joined them, eyes narrowing as she studied the wall and the dried blood.

“I might have found something too,” Balefor called from the other side of the alcove. “Yeah, definitely something.”

“Be right there and don’t touch anything,” Sura told him as she continued to examine the wall. “The stone is definitely blocking a passageway.”

“Do you think it’s from the First Realm?” Pyre asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But let’s figure out a way to open it.” Sura stepped forward, and the rock beneath her feet clicked.

Before Pyre could react, the wall shuddered and sank straight down into the ground, smooth and nearly soundless. Dust drifted up around Sura’s boots as she stood there, frozen for a moment. “I’m standing on the switch,” she said.

“Let’s see what happens if you step off it,” Marrowsven suggested, poised to move. “Careful.”

Sura stepped off, and the stone wall remained where it was, fully lowered, no traps or anything to indicate there was danger.

“If stepping on it lowers the door, does it raise it as well?” She stepped back onto the spot, and the passageway began to rise again. Sura immediately shifted her weight, stopping it mid-motion, then guided it back down.

“And what about the blood?” Pyre asked Sura.

“We need to send the signal up.”

“I can look inside first,” Pyre offered.

“There’s something you’ll want to see here, Sura,” Balefor called over to them. He was now positioned near a stone recess that offered partial cover.

Sura joined him and picked up something from the ground.

A mask? Pyre thought as she examined it.

The off-white mask curved into a narrow beak, expertly made. Beneath the eyes, thin channels were carved to resemble tears, fixed and unending. Something about it unsettled Pyre, especially when something akin to fear traced across Sura’s face.

She turned back toward Pyre and Marrowsven, carefully set the mask on a flat stone, then took out the hourglass that Veylan had given her. Cracking it caused a spiraling flare of magic to shoot upward, bright and unmistakable.

“Is the mask a relic?” Balefor asked Sura.

“No, the mask belongs to one of the Synod of Yore. And that’s bad. That’s really, really bad for us. We will have to see what the Shepherd says when he gets here. Until then, don’t let your guard down.”