Stumbling around the darkness, the young Norn of the Future, Aster, was trying to find something special that she picked up not long ago. She sometimes had the poor habit of collecting small knick knacks from every world she visited in some form or another. When she got back home, those trinkets would often get lost in the abode of her “closet”, soon to be forgotten until they were found again.

The awkward thing about her “closet” however was that it wasn’t your average hole in the wall. It was a literal void in the pocket of their space time home. It looked like a black hovel in a unassuming corner and despite how much she’d tossed in there over the years, the void stayed the same and never seemed to grow any larger. The only issue however, was any magic that she possess was rendered useless in that space.

With a grumble, Aster stumbled over… something? She couldn’t really tell what it was aside from being some kind of blob. It was an impulsive move, but the young Norn wandered into the void without a mechanical light. Since her magic was useless, she could not produce a magical light in this space, much to her regret. A huff escaped Aster as she dug through a nearby dark blob. Her eyes had naturally adjusted to the darkness somewhat, but seeing finer details was still difficult. Feeling around she tossed aside what might have been a ball, followed by a rock?

As the pattering of tossed items echoed in the darkness, a small “Aha!” erupted in the void. Moving her hands along the item, she flicked on a switch and yelped when the light temporarily blinded her. Crying and squinting from the self inflicted blindness, Aster eventual laid her watery eyes upon a softly glowing mushroom shaped light. She wasn’t sure where she picked this up, but remembered picking in up from a shop after seeing the light flicker in a store window. The Norn quietly sat down and gazed fondly at her glowing prize.

The small tiger like creature languished as she laid, watching a lone dry leaf slowly fall to the ground. The leaf landed near her with a gentle crunch and the tiger huffed at it. Tiegra had some time to herself and found herself to be bored out of her mind. She was normally attached to the hip with her sister Wolvera, but their partner had taken them out specifically for a check up.

With another bored sigh, the tiger awkwardly rolled to her other side.

The silence was sometimes welcome. Wolvera was much more chattier than she ever could be. But the quiet fall could be overbearing in silence in its own way. “When was everyone coming home?” she couldn’t help but think to herself.

With another grumble, Tiegra rolled back to her other side, face facing the sky. Much to her surprise, her face was greeted by an unexpected snowflake. Blinking from surprise, the tiger calmly watched as snow began to fall and cover the ground with a light dusting of frost and snow.

Gleefully, the young tiger eventually got up and found herself bounding around the yard. Maybe quiet fall days weren’t that bad.

They appear on street-corners, just in sight of passersby. Adults are always so busy, always with a place to be, and often ignore them. Children, though… children are curious. Children are rebellious. ‘Don’t talk to strangers,’ becomes a dare rather than a warning. The visage of a punk teen, all affected boredom and careless invitation, could hardly be a danger. An anglerfish’s lure-light for disaffected youth.

They bring the group of them to the shrine grounds. Where the guardian statue once stood proud and vital, great cracks mar the face and one leg is utterly pulverized. Form reflecting function. One teen whispers, “awesome.”

Turned away, they smile with too many teeth.

Carousing begins, the children sweeping their cheerful, ignorant desecration across the shrine. They tag buildings, knock over the collection box. Ropes swing freely as they clear space to show off tricks and flips. Through it all, they watch, popping their gum and egging them on from the sidelines.

Drinking in the joy and laughter. Crushing it down into the core of misanthropy that sustains them.

If the children tire out more quickly than usual, are a little more quick to snap at each other near the end, well, the winter months are approaching. The encroaching dark brings with it early exhaustion, doesn’t everyone know that? If they pass out in their dinners later at home, why should they care? They’ve been fed well, no one the wiser. Ready to play the part again next time their hunger grows.

As for those who don’t leave before dark… That leaves them sated for much longer.

Evenings in Skyreach were meant to be quiet affairs. It wasn’t common that anyone was in the halls this late– most people had retired to their rooms by now, or if they wanted to be rowdy they could file into the Great Hall and drink and rabble-rouse until the morning hours. The hall to the sleeping quarters was meant to be uninhabited, and therefore silent.

However, tonight was not like most nights. Falcon clung to his book, trying to focus his eyes on the pages as best he could, but the rhythmic sound– the thump-thump outside his door– was glazing over his eyes and making it impossible to follow one word to the next. Curse his perceptive ears! His vulpin mother must’ve had it even worse, since Hector was as deaf as a mole. Everyone knew to stay quiet in the hall, so who was making the racket and why did they have to be doing it at one in the morning?

After the third time the sound reached him, he slammed his book shut, shoved his light into his pocket, and pushed himself up while clenching his fists once– twice– three times to try and relax himself before he headed to the door. He still felt rather livid, but he had been trying to learn to channel his frustrations into breathing exercises and stretching rather than harsh words. It didn’t always work.

He opened the door a crack and peeked through, trying to determine the situation. What he earned in return was a bright light directly in his face, causing his eyes to scrunch and his ears to twist back against his head. A moment later the light disappeared, replaced by Bumble’s blue nose pushed up toward his face.

“Fal!” Bumble exclaimed, far too loudly for the time. “Good morning!”

“Good morning,” Falcon grumbled in response, reaching one hand up to rub his eyes while using the other to ruffle the fur between Bumble’s ears. “What on earth are you doing at this hour?”

“Ghost hunting!” The griffin was bouncing from paw to paw, his tail lashing excitedly in the dark. It was then Falcon noticed Growl behind him, looking rather apologetic while he held the light aimed toward the floor.

“Sorry… did we wake you up?” Growl said, far more concerned than Bumble was about Falcon’s disgruntled expression. “We didn’t mean to, we just thought we saw–”

“No, no, you didn’t wake me up. You don’t have to apologize,” Falcon sighed, running his hand down his face as he opened the door a bit wider. “I forgot it’s All Hallows, of course you guys would be running around.”

“HOW COULD YOU FORGET ABOUT THE BEST HOLIDAY EVER?” Bumble exclaimed, dropping his enormous paws on Falcon’s feet as if to scold him. Of course, it didn’t hurt, because the young griffin wouldn’t dare use his claws. A small smile eased onto Falcon’s face.

“Well, I– I suppose you got me there. We haven’t really had cause to celebrate it much, so I…” His eyes drifted over the two. Bumble was wrapped in some sheets of cloth, attempting to look like… a zombie? A draugr, maybe? It was hard to tell. Growl, on the other hand, had stolen one of Gio’s hats, and was trying to play as some sort of adventurer. “I usually just go to bed early. Are you two still wearing your outfits?”

Growl glanced down at himself, and then smiled sheepishly. “Part of it. Bumble insisted on sleeping in his, so I thought I’d match the enthusiasm,”

“Got it…” Falcon had found his frustration vanishing almost instantly– it was hard to be angry when presented with Bumble’s excited eyes. “So, ghost hunting then? Have you guys caught anything?”

“Not yet. But we will!” Bumble bounced on his paws, his wings flapping in his joy. “We were doing the ritual!”

“The ritual?” Falcon tilted his head, his ears twitching. What on earth were these boys talking about?

Now Growl seemed to have dropped all pretenses of being apologetic, his eyes lighting up. “Yes! Velcro told us all about it. He said that if you knock on empty doors in the sleeping halls at night, sometimes other people answer. Not people the rooms belong to now, but…”

“The people they used to belong to?” Falcon finished the thought. Growl nodded sagely, as if they now shared some big secret. Only… Falcon had lived at Skyreach far longer than Velcro, and hadn’t heard of a single story like this even in childhood. It was certainly a good way to annoy those trying to sleep, if anything. Typical Velcro. However, both Growl and Bumble were looking at him so expectantly now, he felt a twinge deep in his stomach. Far be it for him to ruin their fantasy now, right?

“Well, Velcro got it wrong,” Their faces dropped, but then Falcon reached into his pocket and produced the flashlight he had been using to read in the dark. “You don’t knock on doors in the sleeping hall. You go knock on doors in the cemetery,”

Rain suited the Pearl District. The grim tones of the sky matched the stained cobblestone and brick, and piles of metal junk swam in puddles of oily iridescence on the edges of every street. To anyone outside of the district it might seem fitting that the junkyard of the city would disappear under the grey, but beneath the desolate fog the district still swam with activity. Couriers hurried back and forth bundled heavily against the cold of the rain, delicate machinery wrapped in wax paper tucked safely in their arms. Others even idled outside in the rain, huddled together under canopies and umbrellas to escape the worst of the downpour. No one seemed to be bothered much by the weather, or maybe the refreshing smell of rain washed away the grime and grease of the machine workshops tacked onto every building.

Almost no building in the Pearl District was just a store or a house, built with heavy consideration for their metal-minded residents, but even those who hadn’t been built with a workshop of some kind had some room retrofitted to the purpose. Repair shops for vehicles, extra parts for robots and androids, even restoration shops dedicated to taking apart and studying old technology lined every street. You didn’t really end up in the Pearl District unless your brain was full of gears and metal, or unless you needed such a gearhead for a project of your own. And even then such visitors didn’t linger long, not wanting to get lost among the labyrinth of abandoned parts left out in heaps on the street corners.

Umbra didn’t exactly consider himself a gearhead, but he had wound up here all the same, like a stray dog picked up from a cardboard box. Olivia’s bright eyes were enough to make him stay, the joy in her smile intense enough to cause second hand excitement the moment her tinkering sparked life in an old machine part. Maybe he wasn’t a mechanical genius, but she certainly belonged in the Pearl District, and he belonged wherever she did.

The one problem with the rain, Umbra noted as he shuttered the enormous garage door to the shop, was that it muffled the sounds. All that could be heard was the pattering of rain on metal, and an involuntary sigh ran through him. He didn’t like to sigh– his mom had always said that sighing let out your happiness– but he couldn’t help it. Even with his ears turned toward the street, he couldn’t hear any of the usual buzz that normally filled their corner. Maybe it was the evening hour, or the heaviness of the rain, but for those who lived in the constant noise of the district the quiet was deafening.

“It’ll go back to normal as soon as the rain stops,” A cold voice murmured beside him. Kyou was standing there, his fingers tucked halfway into his pocket as he leaned against the brick of Ulrik’s shop. “Everyone’s just probably getting dinner,”

“Still not used to whenever it gets quiet. It feels like… a calm before a storm,” Umbra flicked an ear in response.

Kyou lifted his gaze upward, tracing patterns of grey in the clouds. “It’s already storming, man,” Then, after a beat of silence. “Do you have a light?”

Umbra patted his pants, quickly producing the small lighter he kept tucked safely in an internal pocket. Offering the flame to Kyou, Umbra watched as the sea dragon lit the end of a cigarette and leaned back against the wall. It was hard to imagine why someone would smoke such a thing, though Umbra supposed his sensitive nose hated the fragment smell more than most. As if to reflect his thoughts, an enormous raindrop dripped down from the roof directly onto the end of the cigarette, extinguishing the glowing embers. Kyou glared down the end of it for a brief moment, but then seemed to return to his casual attitude and discarded the thing in the tray outside the shop. He didn’t pick up another one, seemingly giving up on the action entirely. Umbra snorted just as Olivia came out the side door, her big brown eyes shifting quickly between the two outside.

“You guys getting wet out here just for fun, or are you waiting for something?” She commented, half joking, though clearly driven by some curiosity..

“Honey’s picking up dinner,” Kyou sat up slightly, as if just the mention of his girlfriend shifted something inside him. He cast his gaze down both ends of the street, then seemed to melt back against the wall when there wasn’t any sign of her. “I just hope she’s not getting completely soaked,”

“Well did she bring a jacket?” Olivia asked, at the same moment taking Umbra’s hands in her own. He blinked at her, wondering if she was asking for something, but she seemed to just want to hold his fingers in her own, even giving them a small affectionate squeeze despite her eyes still being on Kyou.

“I gave her mine, but who knows if she’ll wear it,” Kyou shrugged. “She’s sure rebellious– she doesn’t even take genuine help when it’s offered,”

“But that’s why you love her,” Olivia teased, a grin twisting up her lips. A small chuckle ran through Kyou, his head dipping.
“That is why I love her, I guess,”

Olivia’s eyes finally turned toward Umbra, and against his will his tail began to sway back and forth. She pretended not to notice as she squeezed his hands once again. “Are you ready to grab some food?”

“Always. Is Ulrik not coming with us? I thought he wanted me to close up the shop so we could all go?” The question was punctuated by a tilt of Umbra’s head, another involuntary response he had a hard time shaking.

Olivia shook her head, casting a concerned glance back toward the door she had just exited through. “Apparently Ein’s having some malfunction in her left arm. He wants to fix it right away, especially before she goes out in the rain,”

“Oh…” That made sense, unfortunately. Ein may have been a state-of-the-art castaway from a much richer part of the city, but she still needed maintenance from time to time. Still, it was a little disappointing that they couldn’t all spend the day together. Rainy days were always better spent in the company of friends. Umbra thought for a moment. “Let’s bring them something back, then,”

Olivia’s eyes brightened immediately. “I think they’d both really appreciate that! You know Ein is crazy for burgers,”
“You think it’s the grease?” Umbra offered, his joke punctuated by a small grin.

“I think it’s the pickles. Girl would chug vinegar if you let her in the kitchen,” Olivia giggled, the sound making Umbra’s stomach fill with butterflies. Without thinking he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, which elicited a small squeak from her.

Beside them, Kyou laughed. He had watched the exchange through the corner of his eye, a knowing smile on his face. However Umbra couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed, and gently tugged Olivia closer with one arm while shooting a quick glare in Kyou’s direction. Before either of them could comment, a loud voice cut through the patter of rain.

“KYOUUUUU!!” The call sounded off the brick walls surrounding them. Honey was suddenly bounding toward them, as if she had materialized from the fog itself. An enormous plastic bag dangled styrofoam boxes from her arm, the contents of which must’ve experienced something equivalent to a roller coaster on the way there. At the last second, Honey leaped toward Kyou, landing both feet in a puddle directly next to him that splattered his pants in rainwater. If he was bothered, he didn’t let it show on his face, instead shooting a hand out to catch and steady her as she sat panting in front of him. His expression had changed from one of casual half-interest to something far more delicate, eyes tracing over Honey as if looking for any signs of wear and tear. She looked up at him, grinning through the rain dripping down her face. “I weaseled some extra hot and sour soup out of the kitchen,”

“I will never understand how they let you get away with that…” Kyou said, laughter in the breath he let out. Quickly, however, he grabbed the jacket she had wrapped around her waist and slung it over her head, trying to protect her already dripping-wet hair from further rain. Not that it was any use.

“Because they’re just as subject to my charms as you are, big boy,” As if to punctuate the point, she shoved off his jacket and quickly leaned up to capture him in a kiss. “You’re all hopeless in front of me,”

This time, it was Olivia and Umbra’s turn to watch smugly as Kyou returned the kiss and withdrew, a sheepish blush warming his cheeks from the sudden intensity of it. Instead of saying anything, though, they turned instead away from the couple, giving them the space they needed. Umbra took Olivia’s hand more securely than before.

“I’m hungry,” He said, tail still swaying.

“Let’s go get some food, then,” Olivia responded, a grin still on her face. Whether it came from watching Honey’s antics or just seeing Umbra’s face, who could guess, but it made her look radiant even in the gloom of the rain.

Turning, they prepared to offer a quick wave in farewell, but Honey had beat them to it. She was shooing them away with one hand, her other held up toward Kyou as he inspected the contents of her bag. The wide smile on her face was a clear message: Get going, lovebirds.

When a magic bird lands on a branch and offers you a job, the first thing they teach you in Magic School is LOOK AT YOUR NOTES.

Which was why Emmer didn’t respond right away to Howard’s offer. He was madly flipping through his old field guide. He used to have the “Questing Beasts: Birds” subsection bookmarked, but the last time this happened he foolishly did not check his notes first, and the deal of the Foul Fowl (Queriaves offendo) deal had to be settled with either a pound of flesh or his most shiny possession.

Ugh… It was a really cool bookmark…

Relief washed over him when he followed the key to a drawing that was a perfect match to the bird he saw on the branch in front of him. An exact match, even. Emmer held the book up to the eager corvid, comparing the smooth beak, wide eyes, and even the intricate mug full of what seemed to be hot water, before he realized the scientific name of the creature was simply Queriaves howard. A perfectly safe entity to interact with, the words “Easily Impressed” underlined several times.

The promise of treasures also helped. His friend Pistachio was an excellent forager, mind you, but living “off the grid” still really makes you miss groceries. Not to mention… like any good academic, Emmer was very eager to share his findings. He plopped down beneath a tree and pulled a ramshackle journal out of his cape.

“Well, I have lots of notes from studying the cave ecosystem,” he said, turning to a page covered in the sketches of various fungi, “There’s new species I documented, magical anomalies, some unique cavern ecotypes… do any of those sound like what you’re—”

The bird was now perched on his knee, staring upside-down at the sketches. “Easily Impressed” indeed. Emmer couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“It could be argued that the sunballs that light most of our caverns are the most important fungal species that Mycenians interact with. These round growths seem to mimic the day/night cycle from the surface with uncanny accuracy, emitting energy comparable to real sunlight, allowing there to be forests of surface plants and animals underground. We admire them every day and miss them every night, counting on their faithful reliability to fuel our society.

So it’s come to shock me how little we actually seem to know about this species. Or, as I’ll explain, these species.

Sunballs are only one component of an endolithic lichen. A cooperative organism formed by fungi and algae that can grow within solid rock. In fact, the lightly glowing “mycena” tendrils that webs across the roofs of our caverns, that “blue sky” within our caves that has come to define our civilization, may not even be a member of the Mycena genus at all! In fact, it has a completely different method of producing its luminescence than true members of the “glowing mushroom” family— it’s real daylight, both chemically and magically, being passed down from the surface itself.

But I digress. For the sake of communicating just how exciting this is to the average onlooker, I’ll explain the three major organisms that provide our indoor sky.

Organism 1: The Photobiont (part that converts sunlight into energy): Blackburn Fern.
A mysterious plant known from the times before the Great Winter which creates sprawling black moors across the mountains above us. I posit that this is not a fern at all, but an algae, similar to a land-kelp. More fascinating is that most photobionts are green like leaves because of chlorophyll, but blackburn doesn’t photosynthesize at all. It directly passes sunlight into its “body,” the thallus.

Organism 2: The Thallus Mycobiont (body tendrils made by a fungus): Skywires, also called the “mycena” of our Mycena Cave.
Though it’s more likely that our “mycena” is part of the Pezizomycotina subdivision, which is about as distant from the mycena genus as a human is to snails. Directly connecting to blackburn and snaking through the layers of rock below, skywires hold and carry sunlight like food through a gut. What warms the surrounding stones and leaks out in the pale blue glow is the exhaust from this process. Remarkable that the sun is so powerful that hundreds of thousands of miles of hyphae can’t hold it all!

Organism 3: The Cortex Mycobiont (skin-like fungus that typically protects the body, but as you’ll learn, it’s anything but typical): Sunballs.
Burning growths that store a potent mix of fire and wind magic, providing radiant sunlight that can fuel subterranean ecosystems AND boil any would-be predators that get close. As alluded to, most lichen cortexes are a sort of “skin” covering that protects the other symbiotes, but since sunwires are encased by rock, it seems like sunballs have taken on a different protective function! “Blackburn” is also said to be able to scorch those who come close— further research is needed, perhaps one day when we Mycenians are free I’ll be able to take samples of my own.

For the sake of simplicity, I propose that we refer to the superorganism that these components form together as Mycenian Skybox Lichen. My research is only just beginning. I hope to understand if there’s a reason why the skywires of some caves are colors besides blue, why some caverns only have one large sunball while others have dozens of tiny ones, and if my hypothesis is true that only the topmost cavern within depth layers are inhabited by Skybox Lichen.”

As Emmer reached the end of his article, embarrassment washed over him like a sudden wave, sweeping away the giddy glee that had gripped him. He hadn’t realized that his voice had become passionate, loud and rolling with the joy of having someone listening to him. Shame pricked his ears, which had certainly been flapping, and his last sentence trailed off under the weight of self-consciousness.

To his relief, the corvid was still listening. Thankfully, he had not scared him off with the infodump. The young bull was grateful from the bottom of his heart that Howard was only a bird— it would have crushed him to share the first draft of his passion project with someone who would have been (rightfully, of course) bored by it.

Still… he figured it would be a good idea to make his next share more interesting. Whatever Emmer thought a magic bird would find more interesting. Or maybe just something shorter?

“A few weeks ago, my friend and I found two people in stone.

Pistachio’s really had a thing lately for the idea of freeing more Mycenians. I think it came from wanting to make more friends who have more of a connection to their old lives, unlike people like me who’ve had time to get used to everything new. Between you and me… she’s my friend and I love her, but I think she kinda resents how content I am. Like, how I didn’t really think too much about who I used to be, before I met her. It’s not like I don’t take her seriously, but, when she starts going off about the Sorcerer… I can tell it bothers her that I’m not as riled up as she is about being trapped in this cave, or losing my memories.

Shoot, I’m rambling. Sorry, I didn’t mean to get into that.

Anyway, the point is, she’s wanted to find more Mycenians in stone slumber. I helped her get a good set of stoneworking tools, and we’d been exploring together in Cobblestone Cavern looking for people. Eventually we found a little hollow in The Soup with two stones, obviously a parent and a child.

So she carves out the parent, and… sorry. I just… have you ever known a kid who was actually freed from stone slumber? Because… it never really crossed my mind that I’d never seen it happen. I didn’t even imagine that when p’Stash chiseled the kitten, there was a chance he wouldn’t wake up. When I was tending to Quinoa— the parent— I told him that everything would be okay soon.

I just wanted to calm him down, I really really thought it would be okay soon. I didn’t mean to lie to him, but if I hadn’t said that…

Sorry. I think that’s eating me more than I realized. We couldn’t do anything about his son, but at the very least, I could have not made it worse. The first thing he ever did was trust me, and I let him down. Ugh, even now, I’m throwing myself a pity party.

Hhh. Digressing.

His son was lost. His grief came in these awful waves, like he would just be able to eat or get some sleep before he would relapse back into the raw pain again, weeping and pacing like a leopard in a cage. We took turns staying up with him. We were strangers but… it would have been wrong to leave him alone in a new, awful world. Since then he’s been really close to p’Stash, so… I haven’t had a chance to make it up to him. Telling him it would be okay when it wouldn’t be.

I know it’s a bit selfish, though, that I want him to like me. It’s not like I have any idea what he’s going through, as if I can even understand what sort of pain he must be going through.

I don’t remember many details from when I was carved, but I know that I was found in a lineup of Mycenians. Like we were pillars that had been arranged as decorations. Most of the people I was found with didn’t wake up. I visit them in the Garden of the Lost sometimes, but I don’t know who they were. It’s weird. I feel like I want to miss them, but how can I miss people I can’t even remember?

All this time I just focused on the here and now, not knowing what I don’t know. It’s supposed to be a mercy that our memories are blurry, so we can start new lives… but since then, I think I see Pistachio’s point a lot more clearly. Even though I’ve been drinking potions daily, I don’t remember who I was, or what I did during the Great Winter. “Emmer” probably isn’t even the name my parents gave me, and I couldn’t even tell you who my parents were.

I don’t know what I lost. It’s kind of messed up, isn’t it? That I WANT pain when I don’t have it?

Sorry. I’m rambling again.

When Qui recovered enough, he told us about his people. He says they’d moved to the mountains that drasilis came down from, and had sworn to them that they would care for the homes they were leaving. They’d consecrate the grounds where they lived by spreading the ashes of their loved ones there, as a promise that they would tend to their settlements the same way they would tend to the graves of the deceased. His son was gone, and he needed to spread the ashes.

Of course… the cub was a stone statue, not burnable remains. I tried to tell him there’s still hope that they can wake up one day, not dead, just lost, and that we could simply bring his son to the Garden of the Lost to be visited. I think that was the last straw for him. As in, the last straw for him to ever listen to me ever again. It really offended him. He demanded to know if it’d ever happened, HOW it could be done, and I had to backtrack and spit out that it’s just hope, not that it ever actually happened.

Then he said “I’m done with your false hope,” and then growled about how it was sick to suggest to him that we put his son’s corpse on display, in someone else’s garden, where people could gather to stare at him.

After that, I shut my mouth. Which I should have done sooner. I keep thinking about what he said, though… false hope.

This keeps coming back up in my mind because, since he crushed and dusted the statue around the garden, Quinoa is so much more… I’m having a hard time describing it. Alive doesn’t feel like the right word, but he’s got purpose now. I think he’s naturally kind of a dour guy, but he has an energy and a drive like he knew what to do from that ritual onward. He tends the grounds, from the sparse woods below our grotto up to the mosses and lichens up in our niche.

It gave him such closure that he’s like a new person.

He lost everything, but… wait. No. I get it now.

He lost a lot, but he still has that connection to his culture. His people’s tradition on how to grieve, how to find meaning after loss. No wonder he was so offended! I was totally trying to spring my traditions on him— or, well, the culture of the cave I’ve come to adopt. It must have felt like I was trying to take away the one thing he had left…”

He placed the object on the ground in front of him, clearly preparing to demonstrate something.

“Cordyceps are commonly believed to control the minds of insects they infect…” He popped the top of the camera, revealing some kind of fungal mass. What Howard might have assumed were “antennae” of some type were actually fruiting bodies. “...but this isn’t entirely accurate. Parasitic cordyceps usually control the nervous system of their prey.”

As if it was disturbed from slumber, the contraption twitched, then stretched. It was held up by fungal “roots” that resembled bones, pierced through a condensed nutrition ball to work as “joints.” The joint then had a second, smaller limb that ended in hooflike shoes, keeping it balanced. It wobbled as it rose, tottering on its feet like a baby colt.

“By giving this species a simple system of pulleys and levers, I was able to make a tiny robot piloted completely by a fungus. For now it’s just a proof of concept, but I’d love to work with someone who’s got more of a mind for mechanics to make some more complex automatons. Maybe even turn them into low maintenance pets for people who could use the company— she just needs a little bit of compost and sunlight every week or so.”

Sensing some apprehension, Emmer added, “don’t worry, this species can’t infect anything as complex as non-arthropod animals. She’s only a monster in the strictest definition,” Emmer smiled wryly, “and I’m her mad scientist.”

“This is a Tricky Treat. It tastes and looks just like candycorn. The only drawback? It’s a saprophyte that only eats rotting meat… so I doubt anyone else will want to eat it once they know where it comes from,” He sighed, forlorn.

“Also, my friend Pistachio says that this is what candycorn used to be in the old world. I think she’s pulling my leg, but I don’t know enough about old world foraging to dispute her.”

The bull’s smile was proud, “I made this as a project during my school years. It’s a type of mushroom called a Frost Grenade, and the assignment was to visually explain how they work.”

“It’s one of the types of fungus we call a magivore, because it survives completely on magic. Specifically, Frost Grenades absorb ice magic. Their spores are carried on air and snow currents caused by avalanches, where they grow under snowbanks. The more frost magic they absorb from the frost above, the more they can convert their cores into fire magic. When they reach a critical mass, KABOOOOM!”

He threw his arms up for dramatic effect. Howard hopped and fluttered a little, surprised.

“The explosion starts another avalanche, and the lifecycle continues!”

“This is why I took so long… I wanted to show you this, but, it felt wrong to move anything at someone’s grave. And I didn’t want to bring you there, because…” The thoughtful bull’s brows furrowed, “...because… I dunno. It felt like I should let them rest in peace. When someone’s so badly destroyed like this… I can’t imagine trying to re-assemble them at the Garden of the Lost.”

With Howard properly warned about what he was going to see, Emmer finally showed them the page.

CONTENT WARNING: BODY HORROR. MUSHROOMS GROWING ON UNCOMFORTABLE THINGS.

“When someone’s statue breaks apart like this, there’s no bones inside. You can’t see any fossilized anatomy or organs. They’re just solid rock, all the way through. Yet, there are types of fungi that can grow on living rubble.”

“I’ve never seen these species anywhere else, and I’ve never seen them on an intact statue either. I have been seeing them in Quinoa’s garden, though, even though his son’s statue was crushed and dusted all over the area. Quinoa has a name for the blue cups— he calls them Mourner’s Tears. He says they only appear when someone’s been crying near a burial site… so, someone’s visited this person. Maybe someone who misses them very much.”

“I dunno what I could bring you that counts as thumpthump…” He mused, “thumpthump…”

Thumpthump… it certainly was a satisfying thing to say, wasn’t it? Thumpthump. It had a satisfying weight to it, two flicks of the tongue and two beats of the lip. Thumpthump. He whispered it under his breath, “thumpthump.” Then he said it again, even quieter, not even vocalizing half of it, “thmpthmp,” simply because it felt so nice on his mouth. Thumpthump.

“Thump-thump,” Howard repeated in mimicry. It was inescapable; Emmer was compulsed to say it back. “Thumpthump.” Back and forth they went, echoing the same two words back at each other in rhythm. By the time the spell broke, Emmer’s smile was wide and unrestrained, his ears cutely flapping. How so very stimulating! Thumpthump.

“Does that count?” He asked through a chuckle. The answer was clearly yes, but straightforward clarity was always appreciated. New echolalia for the week. Thumpthump.

“I know I talk about her a lot, but my friend Pistachio has so much knowledge about the old world that it inspires me. She used to do a lot of foraging, especially during the Great Winter when everyone was hungry.

She’s amazing at telling apart mushrooms at a glance. There’s a name for the way lots of edible mushrooms resemble one that’s deadly poisonous, they’re called lookalikes. I’ve never seen her fall for a lookalike, not even when I have to take it back to my lab at home and take spore prints to be totally sure. She can spot a deathcap from a young puffball from a thousand paces.

But, you know the glowing blue mushrooms we sometimes use for indoor lights and street lamps? She hates them.

Apparently, where she used to live, there was a lookalike species that was indistinguishable from it. Or, well, it’s so difficult that even she says it was hard for her to tell the difference. She says they were called “eyeburners.” If you ate them, there was some kind of neurotoxin that would poison your brain and cause an intense migraine. Your eyes would become to sensitive to light that even covering your face with a blindfold wouldn’t be enough.

She says when she was a pup, she had a bite of one accidentally. It was like torment. She’d heard stories of people who had buried themselves alive just to get away from light, and she completely understood why. Locked herself in her family’s vegetable cellar for a week, wouldn’t even let them open the door to bring her food, it was that bad.

There’s never been a report of an Eyeburner growing down here in the cave, to my knowledge. We wouldn’t even know it exists without her. But I recently reported my finding, so now, something that was almost forgotten is not!”

“One time I caused a cave-in,” He admitted, his face already scrunching with the shame of the memory, “Because I didn’t do my part of a group project and wanted to delay the presentation.”

Unfortunately he was a horrible liar. Howard’s wide-eyed birdy expression forced the truth out of him.

“I’m sorry… I… I did do my part of the group project.”

Howard preened his wing. Emmer was forced to confess.

“I wasn’t even invited to anyone’s group at all! I did the work of 3 people alone, because no one invited me to their group and I felt too bad to ask anyone,” He was blushing so red you could see it through his fur.

He buried his head in his hooves, “I didn’t say anything about it for weeks. I couldn’t ask because I’d look desperate, but I also didn’t know if it was just that no one had noticed I was alone the whole time. It was so stupid!”

“Then the day of the presentation was coming up, and I was going to be doing the whole thing alone and in front of everyone,” Emmer couldn’t look the innocent bird in the eye as he continued, “And the only solution I could think of was setting off the fire alarm.”

“Problem was, I was in complete panic mode at that point. I’d utterly forgotten there was just a simple lever you could pull. The previous semester I’d accidentally caused a small fire while making the first prototype for my frost grenade diorama and put it out quickly, but I knew where the spare mushrooms were still kept for the project. So I just bolted in there, set off a frost spell, and caused an explosion.”

“Except… it wasn’t an explosion. It was, you know… multiple. Because there were a lot of frost grenades in that closet. And I cast a pretty big spell. And uh. It got a little out of hoof. The vibration was really strong, and that caused an overreaction a lot bigger than the one I had.”

“It… it wasn’t even the first cave-in I’d caused, so I never told anyone it was me. I didn’t want to get in trouble” He smiled, awkwardly, “But the presentation was cancelled and the professor graded on a curve, so… maybe it was good no one invited me to their group after all! Ahaa…”

At the back of the curios shoppe there is a small crate containing strange whitish shapes. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a jumble of old bones, long left to the elements, the flesh having rotted away to reveal only pitted yellowed surfaces. They are cracked and broken, with jagged shards where the ends should be. Some might have been vertabrae, while others pieces of limbs. It’s impossible now to tell what they belonged to. Who dug them up, and from where, is not apparent. But they are worn down as if from many years left to weather, discoloration and dirt still clinging to them. It’s as if they were gathered together and then just dumped, but for what purpose is also not apparent. The little label on the crate, however, declares their price as two pence a piece.

What use anyone might have for them is probably best left not imagined.

Ezra hasn’t even stepped into their dressing room before Yan Ran’s already upon him, yanking him inside by the wrist only to immediately push him back against the door, slamming it shut with such a loud, resounding bang that Ezra has to wonder if the audience heard it in the venue. “Ranran, what — ” Ezra hasn’t even managed to get his question out before his head is pulled down, his lips covered in a searing kiss that takes his breath away. Yan Ran, as ever, kisses like he hunts — no holds barred, dominating him like there are lives at stake if he fails.

Fuck, Yan Ran was pretty normal when he left for his solo, so what happened to make him this possessive now? Ezra can only guess, at this point, since he didn’t get any hints through their mental link. Did a fan infiltrate their room to leave him a gift? Or worse, a fellow performer asked for his number? That does always set Yan Ran off. Or —

“Stop thinking so hard,” Yan Ran gasps as he pulls away, tilting his head up to nip sharply at Ezra’s lips. “You were just so fucking hot on stage that it’s taking all my self-control not to fuck you right now.”

“I didn’t know you had any self-control,” Ezra retorts, which has Yan Ran immediately moving to pin his wrist as well, his other arm slamming into the door above Ezra.

“Not if you provoke me like that,” Yan Ran breathes.

“Ranran! Damn it! You’re way above my collar! You know I said — ”

“And did you really expect me to listen?” Yan Ran retorts as Ezra grabs his phone, turning on his camera and switching it to selfie mode. The sight that fills his screen makes him whimper, heat rushing to his cheeks as he takes in the absolutely ridiculous map of marks that Yan Ran has left on him. There are so many bruises that the colour of his skin is scarcely visible beneath the red and purple blossoming over it; he doesn’t even try to count the number of hickeys and bite marks littering his neck and trailing down to his chest, recognising the sheer futility of it. Glaring at Yan Ran, Ezra reaches over to flick his forehead, though he knows that’s not going to have any effect with the mood Yan Ran is clearly in.

“I look like I’ve been attacked by a fucking animal! For the love of — Ranran!” Ezra yelps, almost dropping his phone as Yan Ran dives back, nipping sharply at his neck and sending a zip of arousal through Ezra’s body. Groaning, Ezra tugs half-heartedly at his hair, glaring down at the top of Yan Ran’s head. “Damn it, Ranran.”

Yan Ran lifts his head just long enough to meet Ezra’s gaze as he says, “You don’t look like you were attacked by anything. You look like you had very good sex, which is exactly what I want everyone to think.” And with that, he leans back down to suck another mark into Ezra’s skin, and the real marvel is that he actually managed to find a blank patch. Or maybe he’s just making his marks deeper by this point, Ezra wouldn’t be surprised either.

“Brat,” Ezra groans, giving up and going slack beneath Yan Ran’s insistent hands and mouth. At this point, resistance is useless; he might as well let Yan Ran get this out of his system and have this damn treat at his expense.

With this many hickeys on him, their stylists are already going to have nervous breakdowns anyway. A few more won’t hurt.

Deep in the depths of the curious shoppe, something rustles between the parchment-wrapped oddities, shifting and shuffling them about as it shoves its way past. It is an enormous bug. The creature is some kind of beetle, its armored exterior rough and covered in what look like dark, chitinous outgrowths that form overlapping plates across its legs and underside. The two slightly smoother, curved sections across its back are fused together and do not appear to cover wings of any sort; it is far too bulky to fly, and the unevenness of its exoskeleton is hardly aerodynamic. Its six legs end in vicious points, as do its thick, segmented antennae. The most menacing feature of the animal, however, are surely its serrated mandibles. The mouth and numerous compound eyes are set close together on its head, the latter barely visible.

Yet it manages to glare with vicious intensity at anything that approaches. Oddly enough, a little paper label is stuck to its back. It’s a price tag, declaring this monstrous thing is worth eight pence.

There are tears blurring Ezra’s eyes by the time Yan Ran releases him, and the tender brush of Yan Ran’s lips against the corners of his eyelids as he kisses them away only makes more of them spring up. “Ranran…” His voice trembles, and Yan Ran answers him by stealing another deep, possessive kiss, brushing away the last of Ezra’s tears with his thumbs.

“If you say my name like that,” Yan Ran breathes against his lips as he draws back, “I’ll just want to ruin you all over again.” The heat in his words has Ezra’s breath leaving him in a rush, and from the satisfied smile that tugs at Yan Ran’s lips, it’s more than obvious how much he liked that. “Maybe I should, anyway. Just to remind you that you’re perfect, and loved, and mine.”

Ezra doesn’t know what it says about him that the possessiveness in Yan Ran’s voice turns him on so much, but he can’t be bothered to think of that when Yan Ran’s gaze is this focused on him. The air is so charged that Ezra could swear that it’s harder to breathe in — or maybe that’s just because of how much Yan Ran takes his breath away. “Then ruin me,” Ezra whispers, and the way Yan Ran’s eyes widen at his words has arousal rushing through his veins. “Fuck me. Claim me. Make me yours, Ranran.” He clenches his fingers tighter where they’re twisted in Yan Ran’s collar, keeping his gaze trained on Yan Ran’s. “I want to know I’m yours.”

The heat in Yan Ran’s answering smile is full of promise, as is the languid, possessive kiss that he takes. His heat surrounds Ezra as he pins Ezra’s wrists above them, their bodies flush against each other; Ezra can’t take his eyes off Yan Ran, and Yan Ran meets his focus with equal measure, his voice brimming with hunger and desire as he answers Ezra.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you can’t ever forget you’re mine, all the way down to your bones.”

“Take five. Make them count.”

Yoshiki cringes at Ezra’s sharp tone, ducking his head and fighting the urge to apologise again. Damn it, he knows he’s the weakest dancer, but it still stings. He doesn’t have Ezra’s and Yan Ran’s years of training, and athleticism has never been his strong suit; his best attempts at executing their choreography always end up clumsy at worst and forgettable at best. He can write music, sure, but how much does that matter when it’s the performances that will really connect them to their fans? Never mind being a Hunter who draws power from that resonance, he’s not even a passable idol. They’d all known that, but now, on the cusp of their first concert, it’s painfully noticeable.

“God, I can’t believe he told us to make our rest count. I bet that obnoxious slave driver will grade us on how well we rested,” Yan Ran mutters. Despite himself, Yoshiki can’t quite bite back a small laugh. He feels bad for letting Ezra down, but Yan Ran’s petulant complaint has its funny side. “Yoshi. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re really pale.”

Why is Yan Ran always so sweet to him, even when he’s just dragging them down? Yoshiki has never been able to understand that. He doesn’t quite dare to look at Yan Ran’s face, already knowing the expression he’ll see — the worry and care he still hasn’t earned. “Just tired,” Yoshiki breathes, letting himself slide to the ground now that he doesn’t have to be on his feet. He’ll probably have trouble getting up, but that’s a problem for five minutes later. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not keeping up…”

“You’re keeping up fine! You’ve improved so much, Yoshiki. Don’t put yourself down like that. We’ll make a dancer out of you yet.” Yan Ran’s encouragement, as ever, is spoken in a light voice, but with the full weight of his sincerity behind it. And, as ever, it makes Yoshiki’s heart start hammering again, and he doesn’t even have makeup on to hide his flush this time. At least he can write it off as being from the exertion. “Just make sure you don’t push yourself too hard, okay? No matter how insane Mr. Slave Driver over there is.” Yan Ran deliberately pitches his voice so that Ezra can hear him, and Yoshiki can tell it worked from the way Ezra rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t acknowledge Yan Ran beyond that.

“Don’t say that,” Yoshiki protests. “Ezra’s just doing his best for us. He’s working really hard.” I’m the problem here, not him.

A faint flicker of something unnameable flashes across Yan Ran’s face at his words, gone so quickly that Yoshiki almost wonders if he imagined it — not that he even knew what it was. “Yeah, I guess. Ezra’s the one who was raised for this, after all. The best idol, the best Hunter…” Yan Ran plops to the ground next to Yoshiki, heaving a long sigh. “Do you like him that much?” he mumbles.

Yoshiki bites his lip, his eyes sliding over to Ezra. He’s sitting down as well now, but he’s holding the phone they were using to record their practice, his eyes fixed on the screen. Ezra never lets it show, but Yoshiki can tell he’s tired too — he just doesn’t let it stop him, unlike Yoshiki. Yoshiki finds his eyes following Ezra’s hand as he reaches up to brush his sweaty hair out of his forehead, gaze focused and expression solemn while he watches the replay. He always acts so unflappable, but Yoshiki knows that it isn’t really the case. Ezra worries more than any of them.

He just wishes he could convince Yan Ran of that. Ezra won’t say it, but Yoshiki knows that Yan Ran’s acerbic remarks hurt him. Yoshiki never can forget the plaintive question Ezra had asked him once, painfully sincere in its simplicity:

How did you get Yan Ran to like you?

“…Never mind,” Yan Ran whispers, jolting Yoshiki back to reality. Yoshiki looks over at him, but he’s drawn his knees up to his chest, and his face is hidden where he’s wrapped his arms around his legs. “Forget I asked.”

“Kyaaaaaa!”

The screams of children spread through the town as small bodies scrambled back home. On a dark road, a strange creature slowly meandered amongst the buildings. It gingerly bent its head up to look at the lights above searching for something beyond its reach. Its train of thought was quickly put to an end when an object was hurdled at its head. Soon after, many objects and loud voices pelted the creature.

“Monster!”

“Get out!”

“Kill it!”

The last words chased the shadowy creature as it fled into the small back alleys.

When the voices calmed and quieted down, the creature finally got a chance to rest and softly collapsed into a corner. Huffing, it wrapped its dark colored, claw like hands around itself. The only other comfort it possessed was the small white dragon shaped demon that was coiled around its neck. It was so hungry but there was no food in sight-

“Who goes there?!”

Startled, the strange creature sat up in a start as an open door suddenly illuminated its dark corner. Hissing at the light and bearing its teeth, it prepared to run off into the darkness once again.

“Oh no you don’t!”

It felt a large, rough hand grab at his collar heck. It flailed its claws in anger but could not find the strength to escape. Eventually, against its will, it was forced to face its captor.

A grizzled looking man squinted at the odd thing it just picked up. It seemed like a rather malnourished child. Very skinny. But what human child had dark eyes and claw like hands? Peculiar indeed. As he pondered his flailing captive, a grumbling stomach broke the brief silence between them. A pause. The adult stared down at the creature’s stomach as it squirmed in obvious discomfort. A long sigh escaped the man.

“I suppose monsters also get hungry. Shall we get some food inside and figure things out later?”

And so began the strange relationship between the back alley pharmacist and his odd creature like assistant. 

The poets said that something of the incarnated sitra remained, sometimes, in the places of their deaths. Of course, no sitra had died in the uncounted domains for hundreds of years, nor indeed been born there, so Mirel doubted that it was more than a fanciful notion or a passing metaphor to said poets. (Though, she allowed, some still-living poets had seen sitra walk the realm, in their younger years.)

The last sitra to leave this world had not died within it. But if anywhere held her lingering ghost, Mirel thought, it would be here.

They had discovered this place while fleeing Itharim, early on in that particular saga. It was a lovely sheltered valley, incongruously verdant despite being tucked between some of the highest mountains in Mosor’s Spine. She had named it Kuraikamanit, mountain-veiled beauty, and then discovered it was inhabited by a wild river-and-orchard spirit, who already had a name (Eulora). And thereafter it had been Euloramatā, Eulora’s valley, even after Itharim had slewn the spirit for daring to hide its sheltered visitors from his pursuit.

The death of a place’s landspirit always left it feeling a bit hollow - but Eulora and the sitra had seen something in each other, some bond beyond mortal understanding. Something about the place had always seemed to offer her a measure of peace, and no one had been surprised when the sitra took it as her roost.

There was little reason to object; the place was remote, though situated on a ley line, and well-warded from the times they’d used it as a command post. Water and warmth and fruiting trees and mountain thermals were plentiful. They’d dug out a cavern for her, and built a small teahouse and library and guest rooms lower down the mountain for her secretary and any visitors.

And then they’d let her be, by unspoken agreement, though Mirel like the others had paid her a visit every year, then every two years, then every five or ten - she spent much of her time sleeping, or later on in that almost-insensate fugue, most of her mind fading like the light in her eyes. It wasn’t comfortable to be around the slowly-hollowing shell of their close friend and mentor and commander, but Mirel had thought by the end that it was a kindness not to hold on too tight to her.

And so Mirel stands in the middle of an empty pavilion, eyes closed, listening to the wind, imagining it’s the voice of a sky-scaled dragon, wings unfurling, eyes bright and lucid as she was in life and not half-death-dreaming. It’s spring, and the trees are flowering, and the groundskeeper is on leave to visit his family in the south, and Mirel imagines what she would say to him, and to Mirel’s youngest granddaughter as she steps into adulthood, and the young glider-flyer who crashed into the palace rooftops last week, and -

“It’s beautiful, the world you bought for us,” Mirel tells the empty air.

Deep in the depths of the curios shoppe, surrounded by assorted alchemy baubles and equipment, is a small, unassuming lantern. Its exterior is made from dull bronze, the metal long since having lost its shine. Little designs have been pressed into the seams, where metal meets the glass panes. They are not see-thru anymore, having frosted over with grime and dust from sitting at the back of the shoppe for many years. Set high on a shelf, even if someone had wanted to take a look at the lamp, it is far too out of reach. And is really not big enough to be used for much more than lighting a corner.

Nevertheless, sometimes, late into the night, a little flame flickers to life within, shifting and dancing through the long, dark hours. With no one around to see it, it throws dim light and shadows against the surrounding items for sale. But the lamp itself has no price tag.