The crossbow lowered at the sight of long hair and feminine features.

The portal above shimmered and dissipated into gray sky.

The ashes of the demons swirled above the heads of Ronken and Meryn, and the smoky air began to clear of all but the stench of burning oil and flesh.

The crossbow raised once again.

"That's a nasty bite," the fairy said, flitting over Ronken's ankle. "It's probably poisoned. You're probably going to die now. Don't worry, death isn't so bad, it --" The fairy suddenly dropped like a stone into Ronken's lap, one wing torn to shreds. A crossbow bolt had whizzed past, and plunked into the roof beside Meryn's hand.

The barrier was gone; there was nothing between them and the hooded figure that notched another bolt.

Outside the city, the beam of light disintegrated, and the portal was completely gone. The bombs had stopped erupting; the guns had stopped shooting. Somewhere in the distance, a woman sobbed. Fire crackled in the window of the next building over. The demons on the clock tower were gone, and so was the girl.

The bell that hung from Meryn's neck grew warmer, and it shimmered with a gentle glow. Meryn would feel a distinct pressure in her skull, like a foreign thought trying to force its way in. North, it said. There was a desperation behind the thought -- an abstract knowledge that the world, teetering on a precipice, could collapse at any moment.

The crumpled and soggy letter still lay unopened between them.

---

"Hey what?" The kid sloshed back, his head craned to see where Emma had gone. "No -- hey what's wrong with you, not that way!" He grit his teeth and chased her down. "You're gonna get caught by the Cabal!"

He skidded to a stop just as a statue appeared out of the gloom ahead: a man standing on a short pedestal, with a staff in one hand and a book in the other. Atop his head was a sculpted stone crow, its wings splayed and contorted into a strange headdress. The man's eyes had been painted white.

The boy refused to pass that statue -- as if the darkness beyond it were a certain death. "Come back!" he hissed, frightened of being heard.

The compass lit the way forward.

Should she continue to venture into the dark past the statue, the slick slush under Emma's feet would turn to a carpet of thick grass.

The slimy stone walls slowly gave way to strings and coils of roots, and then leaves appeared as Emma walked. Soon, she was moving through a green growing corridor, filled with rich leafy vines, strange white blooms, and dangling violet flowers that clung to the ceiling. All of it had been growing in complete darkness.

A light flickered ahead: a small room at the end of the corridor and a clearing in the forested sewer. A wide oil lamp sat on a bed of stones at the center, burning brightly. A crucible was set in a metal frame above the flame; a purplish liquid bubbled inside that filled the leafy room with a scent like oranges and honey.

The next barren hallway stretched away to the right. At the end of it shone a glimmer of sunlight.

No one was around.

Having just pinched himself on the arm, Ronken was becoming more and more convinced this wasn't just a drug induced fever dream. Piss.

He had collapsed flat on the roof as soon as he'd made it up. Only slowly leaning over to check his leg. He cringed, his face scrunching up in worry. It looked pretty bad, those teeth were sharper than any knife he'd seen. Luckily his hand only had a gash on the back of it.

His breath was a few ticks short of hyperventilation, fighting through the tired haze for every breath. He managed to get himself sitting up and looking around. As much as he would love to take one of his oh so favorite daytime naps, he had enough mind to keep alert. Well, as alert as possible.

He was a bit put off by the swirl of black shit everywhere, like literally, everywhere. It didn't seem like the usual shit in the air either which is what scared him. He was used to the smoke polluting the air, it was the lower town's signature scent. But this stuff was just.. wrong.

Though he had been reciting, 'Screw Magic, Screw Magic Bugs, and Screw Travelers', over and over in the back of his head for the last six minutes, he would admit he was thankful for the... bubble... thing..

He jolted at a clang. The Traveler threw a bit of a fit. She had tossed her fancy brass mask to the ground and taken a seat. Right, she was the victim here. Not the innocent deliveryman just trying to make a living in a shit economy. The Man who had been beaten, blinded and deafened, attacked by a magic bug, and then attacked by a crystal monster thing. The man who was one more mystifying magical being away from a nervous break down. About to start gibbering and rocking around in a corner.

She locked eyes with him for a second, some dumb sad look on her face. He doubted it was concern, he just shot a glare back at her.

He wanted to yell. Break out every curse he knew, and even a few hand gestures.

He'd say what an utterly useless Traveler she was, that he'd seen blood thirsty crooks more reasonable and helpful than her, that at this point he was going to just tear up the letter, how that mask was stupid and uncool, if she liked to attack everyone trying to do her a service, call her magic bug lame, and finally tell her that he'd thought she was a man until she'd taken off that stupid and uncool mask.

What stopped him from going on this rant was a scream from the streets.

His ears had finally stopped ringing, and now he just heard... Everthing. The wails of men and woman, roaring fires and collapsing buildings. He finally was registering the smell to. The Smell. It was like someone had left something on the fire for too long. Far, far, too long. If there was a time today where he would have thrown up, it would have been now.

He leaned over and looked out across the city, and what he saw-

Ronken didn't have anyone he was close with, not really. But still, this was his home hellish as it was. He had friends, haunts, the occasional good memory. Now all he saw was blackness and fire.

He wanted some answers.

"What happened?" He asked. His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.

He looked to Meryn, she was holding out a rag to him, but he quickly slapped her hand aside without a thought.

"Say something damn it! Wha-What-", he paused trying to think of what to say. His eyes glanced over to where the club would have been. All he saw in that direction was the fire and blackness, -"What the FUCK happened?!" His voice broke.

The bug swayed over his ankle and told him that he was poisoned. That he was going to die. That dying wasn't so bad. He disagreed, dying was very, very bad. He was about to scream at the thing when a bolt flew past his face. Barely missing him by a few inches, landing with a crack into the roof next to Meryn.

He realized that it didn't miss the bug, which was now collapsed in his lap. He yelled another curse and pulled himself, Meryn, and the fairy into cover. Cover being lying prone against the roof hoping to not get shot.

Meryn flinched back when the man slapped her hand away, and just for a moment she was a child on the streets of Enn again, cowering away from another beating.

But then her eyes narrowed and she was just pissed instead. She'd been trying to help and this guy was shouting at her? Her frustration built when he demanded she speak and she reared her arm back to just chuck the damned rag at him, let him clean himself up.

But then a bolt shot through the air, embedding itself in the roof next to Meryn's hand. She jumped away from it, stunned. She looked up to see the man in an equal state of shock and –

The fairy was an unmoving thing on his leg. It'd been shot.

Meryn hadn't even fully registered what was happening when the man surged forward, grabbing her and using his weight to press her into the roof. Apparently this was an attempt to… protect her? By laying flat out in the open??? Meryn struggled under him, trying to free herself. She finally managed to slip a hand loose and used it to wrench herself out from under him. Scrambling to grab Spook's mask she snatched it (and, as an afterthought, the crumpled up letter) up and dashed behind a chimney, still spouting black clouds of smoke. She grabbed the man's wrist as she passed him, trying to pull him with her and hoping he still had the fairy, until they were both out of sight, and hopefully out of range of the archer.

Frantic confusion wrapped around her as she tried to figure out who was shooting at them and why but the adrenalin pumping through her made it impossible to concentrate. In a flash of inspiration, Meryn dropped the letter in her bag and jammed the mask on her face. She was careful to stay below the wall as she looked in the general direction the bolt had come from, trying to find their assailant.

There. Through the wall she saw a far-away twist and turn of dreams, dark and dangerous. A tremor of fear reverberated through her body. Then there was a glowing warmth against her chest.

North, came a whisper like a breeze through her mind. There was urgency to it, a pressure that demanded attention. North. She didn't understand how or why, but she knew she needed to follow the instruction.

Meryn looked up, searching for the sun. It'd already begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky a fiery crimson to her left, and stains of deep blue to her right. North was directly in front of her, then. But… she'd have to get out of the city first. Would they have to go all the way back towards the gate, where the mob had been? Her eyes found the man, her unlikely companion through all of this. Would he know any other exits? Would he be sober enough to remember them?

She looked back towards the chimney, seeing the attacker's dreams through it again. They had to go, to keep moving behind cover before they got skewered. The buildings of Cogswall, though rusted and grimy, were at least packed closely together with flat roofs. Hopefully the man would be able to jump over them, even with his shredded ankle.

On the next roof over, in the direction of the clocktower, there was another structure to hide behind, some sort of bizarre… sculpture? Meryn had no idea. But it was tall, wide, and solid looking, meaning it was useful even if it was ugly. Meryn tugged on the man's wrist to get his attention and pointed to it. She glanced through the chimney again and back at Ronken. Not letting go, she got ready to make a dash for the next roof.

The city was silent -- save for the distant roar of a crowd declaring revolution upon the burning palaces. Smoke trickled along the streets, mixing with blood and demon-ash.

On the tower, another bolt was notched.

With Ronken ready and in-tow, Meryn dashed for the statue, across a narrow gap between buildings that would have been easy for anyone with two working legs and half a wit to cross -- but unfortunately, at the moment Ronken had neither.

He tripped on the roof's edge, cracked his head on the opposite wall, and tumbled and wrenched out of Meryn's grip; he dropped like a stone three stories, and landed with a sickening crack that echoed up the alley.

A bolt whizzed past Meryn's ear, cutting her hair and drawing blood. Another, a split second later, would embed itself into the roof where she had been standing. The statue -- a stylized gargoyle in the shape of a horned cat with a disturbingly human face -- offered her momentary shelter, but the archer was not the type to give up.

Above her were the open arches of a bell tower, and inside the great dark bells hung still and cold. Something small glittered among them, and came to rest on the ledge of one of the arches: a golden mechanical bird.

The tower had a view of the city: the fires that dotted the streets, the greater inferno that had once been the government office, and the explosion-pocked wasteland that extended beyond the walls. The demons were all gone, soaked up by the now-vanished portal-in-the-sky -- there was no sign of Spook, either.

Night was falling; stars glinted behind a cool violet sky to show the way -- between Meryn and the north wall was a labyrinth of unwieldy structures, whirring turbines, rattling boilers and plumes of smoke. Within the bell tower, a spiraling staircase led down into the rooms below.

A bolt whizzed by her, from the opposite direction; there were two marksmen now, both aimed for her head.

---

"You're not very good at this, are you?"

The same hooded woman who had given Ronken the sealed letter knelt in front of his still-alive form with a small smile; with a pastel pencil in her gloved hand, she drew a bright rune on his forehead. She pulled a necklace out of the collar of her cloak, and she touched the small silvery pendant against the newly drawn rune.

A surge of energy coursed through Ronken's veins and repaired his bones and his injuries; in a moment, the effects of his fall were completely gone, his ankle was completely healed, and even the lingering effects of his earlier drug habit had left him.

The woman dropped the silver bell back down her collar, and she smiled at him with humor. She had dark hair, her skin was the color of acorns, her eyes almost glowed a bright green, and she was covered in dark patches of crystalline stone. "Good morning, Sunshine. I owe you a payment. You can call me Switch. You're welcome."

A shimmer of light glowed just inside her cloak; the fairy was recovering, curled in a pocket.

A flicker of a shadow passed overhead; more people were jumping the rooftops in pursuit of Meryn. The woman glanced upward, but was confident they would not be seen.

Meryn watched with horrified eyes as the man she'd towed tumbled down until – a sickening crack and a muffled thump echoed in her ears as she looked down at his ragged form. Her lips parted and all she could do was stare. She – she'd just watched someone die. Something queazy and terrified rose up in her throat.

No no no he was still alive. Meryn could still see his sluggish, dull dreams seeping out from his body like leaking blood. She could –

A crossbow bolt slashed through the air, cutting a crimson line on Meryn's cheek. She stumbled back from the building's ledge with a jolt, scurrying backwards to hide behind the gargoyle as another bolt embedded itself in the roof, right where she'd been standing. Right. Assassin. Another bolt came flying at her – from the opposite direction. Meryn barely ducked to the side in time to see a bolt lodge itself in the gargoyle's grotesque face. There was a second shooter. She scrambled around the side, trying to find an angle that neither archer could hit. Meryn squeezed her eyes shut as she pressed her back against the statue.

North. She needed to go north. Meryn didn't know how she knew it, but she knew whatever else happened, that was the priority.

Also avoiding the people trying to kill her. And helping the guy she'd maybe inadvertently lead to death. And finding her friends. And warning Enn about the Crystalline. And holy shit, Meryn was not prepared for this.

Meryn's hand curled into a fist and slammed against the gargoyle in frustration. Then she opened her eyes again, her breath coming in quick, hurried puffs. She looked over her shoulder at the archer's sharp dreams through the gargoyle. Then to the north. She could do this. The city was full of odd structures and buildings to climb. She could outmaneuver the archers. Ditch them, circle back for the man, get out of Cogswall, go north. She had a plan. She could do this.

Meryn looked back the way she'd come and her eyes widened behind her mask.

Her plan did not take account for the three nimble figures dancing over rooftops as easily as she did, coming straight at her. Their dreams were as sharp and focused as the archers'.

Her heart slammed in her chest as she turned and shot out from behind the gargoyle, making a break for the north end of the tower she was on. But the archers had been ready. Before she'd taken more than two steps, a crossbow bolt cut through the air, barely grazing Spook's mask. It bounced off of the brass with a metallic clang as Meryn jolted backwards, trying to control her momentum. She took a step backwards and a bit to the side – right into empty air.

Her body lurched back as her eyes widened at the familiar sensation of falling. There was a hole at the top of the bell tower that opened up to a spiraling staircase that lead down the length of the tower. Time seemed to slow as she fell, weightless. Another arrow went whizzing above her. The great brass bells glinted in the evening sun, along with… the bird?

She only had half a moment to stare at it, stunned and confused. Then Meryn went tumbling down the bell tower's stairs.

Ronken had expected to feel something when he died. Regret, fear, joy. Something. But as he fell from the rooftop and crumpled pathetically into the harsh pavement, all he felt was a strange acceptance. He figured his luck would run out eventually, whether taking one too many knocks in the ring or crossing the wrong dealer. Looked like that time was now. Could've been worse, he guessed.

The drugs an adrenaline let him ignore the pain that no doubt would have driven him mad sober. Crimson filled in his mouth, one eye was blinded with pooling blood, and he thought he could see some bones poking out of his leg. He definitely should be feeling that.

Oh well. Nothing to do about it now. Just close your eyes, breath, and wait for it to end. On the brink of drifting off, the last thing Ronken heard was someone say, "You're not very good at this, are you?"

Which, while possibly true, did seem a touch rude to say to a dying man.

He felt something stroke his forehead, and then something a second later get pressed up against the same spot. Suddenly it was like the first high all over again, only a million times stronger, mixed with getting struck by lightning and the feeling after winning a fight. Which is to say, it felt really, really, good.

He could think clearer than he had in months. The almost perpetual fog in his mind cleared in an instant. The taste of blood in his mouth, gone. His bones mended and back in place, his broken skin sown back together.

He looked up to his savior, wiping the blood from his eye. It was his employer. Under other circumstances he would give a hearty 'I quit'. But seeing as she just managed to save his life, he was inclined to bite his tongue.

Ronken stood up and brushed himself off, eyeing 'Switch' warily. She may have saved his life, but it had just occurred to him that his life wouldn't have been threatened if not for her and that letter. "You're damn right you owe me a payme-"

She had that crystal stuff all over her.. Just like those monsters that cut him up! Was she a monster too?! Was she going to crouch down and tear him apart the second he turned his back? Was this some sort of plague that would turn her? Could his day get any more upsetting?

"What the hell is that! Why are ya like those beasts?" Ronken backed further into the alley and away from Switch, fists raised and ready to defend.

"Get away from me!" He yelled. "I've had enough magic, crystal shit, and stupid letters! Get AWAY!"

Chaos.

She was surrounded by noise and light and screaming, terror that dug up old memories and made her want to find a tree to cry in. Feela ran down the stone covered path between the boulder-tents in a frantic haze, animal skin shoes slapping against the hard rock as she searched for her prey through the film of terror that obscured her surroundings.

The Dark-folk. That's what her teacher had called them. She had heard the ones calling themselves Traveler talk about Demon, and they seemed to be the same. She was supposed to kill the Dark-folk wherever she found them, they were dangerous and terrible. Her teacher had also told her to stay away from the Rock-tribes and their strange, square villages, but she had never told her which rule was more important, so here she was, surrounded by boulder-tents and cold-shiny-rock, and she hadn't even managed to find her prey. She should have left it alone, let the Rock-tribe deal with the wooden Night-folk, but what if they couldn't?

so what? a tiny voice said in her mind. Not in words, since she had lost her words long ago, but in feelings. let them die. Where were Rock-people when mother died, sobbing?

Feela came to a stop and shook her head violently, the bone shards on her necklace jangling loudly, it must have come untucked while she ran. She squashed that tiny, furious voice in her head and looked around again, trying to pick up some kind of trail.

Her body lurched back as her eyes widened at the familiar sensation of falling. There was a hole at the top of the bell tower that opened up to a spiraling staircase that lead down the length of the tower. Time seemed to slow as she fell, weightless. Another arrow went whizzing above her. The great brass bells glinted in the evening sun, along with… the bird?

She only had half a moment to stare at it, stunned and confused. Then Meryn went tumbling down the bell tower's stairs.

The spiral staircase seemed to spin rapidly around her while the clouded daylight shrank far above. The floor rushed up at her, and she might glimpse the lines of a sigil etched into the stone before a gust of wind surged and spun out of the darkness below, twisting around her with enormous power. The wind slowed her fall, turned her upright, and set her feet down carefully in the middle of the sigil before it dissipated. She would feel a little lightheaded, drained of energy. The sigil had been powered by her own will to live, after all.

"Who's there?" An old man was standing between Meryn and the only open door, a book clutched in his bony hands, wielded like a bludgeon. He was a thin, crochety looking fellow, with a hunch in his back, a bald head and comically furry eyebrows. He wore a threadbare housecoat over his faded pajamas, and his slippers had been worn to the heel.

The room at the bottom of the bell tower was round and clean and filled with shelves of books. There were ancient tomes and new paperbacks, pamphlets and maps and binders full of drawings. Though all of it was in an array of sizes and materials and degrees of wear, no library could have been more excellently maintained.

The old man's sharp eyes studied Meryn a moment before they went wide -- and he scowled with a deep jowly frown. "What you doin' with Spook's mask?" After another moment his eyes widened one more time in realization. "Don't you tell me he's kicked off." He lowered the book slowly, confusion and regret lining his old face.

Through the eyes of the mask, the old man's dreams were like the old scuffed books on the shelf: gray and deep blue, etched with old tired frustration and a long, eventful life.

---

"What the hell is that! Why are ya like those beasts?" Ronken backed further into the alley and away from Switch, fists raised and ready to defend.

"Get away from me!" He yelled. "I've had enough magic, crystal shit, and stupid letters! Get AWAY!"

Switch stood with her weight on one leg, hands in her cloak pockets. "Okay," she said with a nonchalant shrug, grinning. "You're you, man, you be you, do whatever you want. The city's crumbling to the ground and everyone in it is about to die if they're not dead already. The food's poisoned, the water's poisoned, there's no one to call for help because the city's self-sustaining -- but hey, you're a big boy, you can make your way on your own. Just think, now you won't have to pay those thugs back."

With the same grin, she leaned back against the wall, keeping herself between Ronken and the only exit. She placed a cigarette between her lips, and -- after the click and bright cupped glow of a lighter -- exhaled a slow smoky breath.

"Listen. Ronken, right?" She tilted her head at him. "You're infected. I hate to break it to you, but eventually you're gonna look like me, so get used to it now. I gave you a pendant." She gestured at a string necklace that hung around his throat, threaded with a round reddish stone with a rune carved into it. "It's slowing down the spread of the Crystalline. Don't take it off. Again," she took another puff of the cigarette, "you're welcome." A small smile crossed her thin face. "There's stuff that people like us are pretty good at. You can say we walk the edge between dreams and reality. I brought you back 'cause I think you're capable of a lot more than you like to let on."

She took out the box of cigarettes and held it out to him, grinning.

---

Feela came to a stop and shook her head violently, the bone shards on her necklace jangling loudly, it must have come untucked while she ran. She squashed that tiny, furious voice in her head and looked around again, trying to pick up some kind of trail.

A burst of hot steam hissed out of a broken pipe and billowed into the darkened road. A rat darted into an alley where a woman's corpse was sprawled. Vacant windows gaped lifelessly. A robot sat broken on the street corner, creaking as it raised and lowered its arm brokenly. At the other end of the street, a house burned; black smoke blanketed the sun.

There were traces of demon-soot everywhere -- Feela's quarry had certainly died here, but the corpses had gone.

Footsteps rushed down the adjoining street ahead. A small boy with black hair, a wool jacket and a gas-mask ran full-tilt into the crossroads, where he skidded and turned around, breathing heavily. He spotted Feela and stopped, stunned by her strange appearance.

"What are you doing?" he called urgently, his voice muffled by the mask. He beckoned to her with a hand. "Come on! We have to get to the shelter! You'll miss out on the rations! Have you seen anyone else?"

Feela backed away from the steam, remembering that it could burn her. Why these strange people kept the steam from their cooking pots in tubes baffled her, but wasn't worth figuring out. The smell of fresh death and burned Dark-folk filled the air here, and she found herself feeling foolish for having charged into this place for nothing. Just as she was about to turn back, a boy with a frightening black mask ran up to her and started making sounds at her. For a moment, Feela couldn't make sense of the noises, but before long an old part of her mind, long unused, started waking up again. Still, there were words she couldn't puzzle out in the things the boy said.

"Raas-or?" She said, trying to force the words out of her long unused voice. Frustrated by her failure, she screwed up her face and tried again. "Whaaaat es ah raaas-un?" The words came slowly to her memory, and didn't sound quite right, but she thought she had gotten close. Using words again felt strange, like the first time she had used her folk-weapons. Realizing the boy was still waving his hand at her, Feela followed uncertainly. She was lost and confused and more than a little scared. Dark-folk she could fight, but this place and it's baffling features were something else entirely.

Meryn swayed on her feet, disoriented. And tired. But then was that really a surprise after the day she'd had? She'd barely had time to glance around the tower's interior though, when a voice cracked through the air. Heart in her throat, Meryn spun to see an unimpressed, unimpressive old man holding a book like he meant to club her with it. But then he saw her mask.

Spook.

He knew Spook. He had answers. He'd know what to do.

A flash of movement above caught her eye though and Meryn looked up to see the dreams of the three runners getting closer. Right. She was being chased. People were shooting at her. She'd just lead someone to his death after losing her friends and Spook and bringing a fatal disease to a town and now people were actively trying to kill her, she didn't have time to explain to him, to tell him how dangerous the situation was –

But… but maybe she could. Meryn ripped off the mask.

Standing before him was a girl with wide, pale eyes. There were speckles of dried blood on her face, though it was impossible to tell if it was hers or not. Her hair was a long black mess, an unraveling braid only held together by knots and tangles. Her bare clothes – a frayed undershirt with a thick dark stain near her waist where it stuck to her skin, and a pair of pants with one leg ripped off below the knee – hung on her stunted frame after a childhood of too little to eat. She was a mess of dirt, sweat, and blood, her urgency electrifying the air with every frantic breath she took.

Meryn darted forward, mask in hand. She thrust it up to the man's face, nearly hitting his nose, the eye holes as accurate as she could get them. He'd see her dreams. She hoped. Would he know what they meant? Would he know she was terrified?

Every muscle was tense as she held the mask in a quivering hand, heavy breaths pushing her chest up and down. She could only stare at the old man through the eyes of the mask as her teeth bit into her lower lip and her eyebrows pulled together.

There was thump on the roof of the bell tower. It was followed by two more. Meryn jumped back, glancing up. She was out of time. She could barely hear over the thundering in her ears as she dove for the closest hiding spot she could find: the shadowed corner directly under the spiraling staircase. She gripped Oliver's bell when it chimed with her movement. Meryn pressed herself into a tiny ball, tired muscles aching for rest. There was a pounding in her head. She couldn't keep this pace. She couldn't keep going like this.

A runner hit the first step on the stairs.

Meryn pressed her eyes shut, clenching her jaw. She'd get through this. She had to get through this. Her hands were balled so tightly that they shook with the strain.

The second runner entered.

She pulled Spook's mask back over her face and opened her eyes again. She forced out a silent, quivering breath. Her eyes were trained on her old boot, like she was afraid to face whatever was coming for her.

The third.

Meryn finally looked up to see… the delivery guy? She blinked.

There was no doubt: those were his dreams she could see through the wall. But they looked… ok? Certainly less lifeless than they'd been when he'd fallen. Heck, they looked even better than they'd been before that. And from their position they even looked like he was standing rather than laying flat, leaking on the ground.

The runners' quick steps reverberated down the staircase to Meryn's hiding spot.

The crumpled letter that had been in her bag lay where it'd fallen on the ground at the foot of the stairs, unnoticed.

Ronken's fists unclenched and slowly he lowered his arms to his side. He was scared shitless right now, and the woman's crystals weren't helping. But she did save his life. And- wait hold up. He almost died. He was right on death's door. If it weren't for some crazy magic mumbo jumbo, he'd be dead. And what had he had to show for his life? He was a junkie who managed to win an above average number of bar fights. Goody.

Come to think of it, as he was slipping away into sleep, that last sleep, he wasn't sure if he saw... anything. Shouldn't he have seen something! Didn't those 'Fathers' and 'Sisters' in their churches always preach about some peachy afterlife? What happened to that!? Ronken was no religious man by any stretch. But on his darkest nights when all he had was a bottle and his own thoughts, the idea of heaven comforted him. That comfort was no more.

His conversation, his newly healed body, the burning buildings and screams of friends, all of it was pushed away as the world closed in. His breath quickened to the point of hyperventilation, he wrapped himself in his arms, and backed himself into the corner of the alley.

So what if Switch had saved him? The whole city was burning. And as she has so eloquently said, everything was poisoned. No food, no water. Even if he was able to make it out alive, he didn't know how to survive! He didn't know anyone that had ever been outside! He didn't know anything about the wilderness.

He would die. Again. And for good. And there would be no heaven, no afterlife, no reincarnation. He would die, and his corpse would rot. Maggots would eat his bowels, the birds would pluck his eyes, worms would burrow into his stomach. But first he was gonna throw up.

As he hunched over about to heave from panic, his eyes spotted a pair of hands. His hands. After so many years of fighting the skin on them was nothing but scars and calluses. But now, after the magic, it was like he was in someone else's body. He was looking at new, fresh hands. No scars, no calluses. There wasn't even grime nor blood under his fingernails. And the gash he had gotten from the monsters, gone without a trace. Smooth as the day of his first fight. And his arms. Some of the harder stuff he used had given him serious track marks and, again, gone. Scars where he had been stabbed and cut in fights, gone. It was all gone.

No. No he can't lose it, not now. He's survived this long, put off that endless sleep this long, he can go longer. He got a second chance, something no one, no one, had ever given him. So the city was on fire, who gives a shit? He was Ronken Vusettan! World renowned brawler, beguiler of women, master of beer, and occasional user of drugs! This city threw its worst at him every day and he survived and thrived. Today it just upped the ante. He would not die, and he would not throw up!

Ronkens straightened himself and looked back to Switch. She was talking to him. He had missed some of what she was saying but he caught her say, "It's slowing down the spread of the Crystalline. Don't take it off." He didn't know what that meant, but he would ask once he was safe. So, not now. "You're Welcome"

"I'm sorry." He said. "Thank you. Truly." Those words may have been the sincerest thing Ronken had ever said. He meant it. Though he was pushing thoughts of afterlife from his mind, he was still aware that were it not for her he would be dead. No one in this city would of even tried to save his life. Except her apparently. Words didn't really do justice how he felt.

"There's stuff that people like us are pretty good at. You can say we walk the edge between dreams and reality. I brought you back 'cause I think you're capable of a lot more than you like to let on."

"I'm not gonna pretend to know what all that means." He said. Looking past her shoulder for danger. "But if it means you'll get me out of all this-" He gestured out to the the burning city. "Then yeah, I'm in."

She offered him a cigarette, and he took one with a grateful nod. He waited for her to light it when he remembered. "Shit!" He muttered. "That person, that I was supposed to get the letter to. They're in danger. Like, more danger than we are. Arrow-y type danger."

She offered him a cigarette, and he took one with a grateful nod. He waited for her to light it when he remembered. "Shit!" He muttered. "That person, that I was supposed to get the letter to. They're in danger. Like, more danger than we are. Arrow-y type danger."

Switch flashed a grin and exhaled a billow of smoke to hear him express concern for another. He was definitely more than he let on. "Yeah, those arrow-slingers call themselves the Crystal Knife. Everything's black-and-white to those zealots, won't see reason. They consider people like us to be worse than the demons, and whoever wears the mask to be the epitome of evil. Brainwashed band of dimwits if ya ask me." She tipped back her head to stare at the ledge from which Ronken had fallen to his demise. "You delivered the letter, right? So I know where he'll be headed. You coming? If you get left behind I'm not coming back for you again."

She led the way out of the alley and broke into a run through the hissing steam and rivulets of blood that lined the once-familiar street. By this time the riot at the capital had gone silent -- but from here it was unclear whether this was because the people had won, lost or died. There certainly weren't any victory chants to be heard, either.

Switch turned a corner and darted around a lonely whirring battle-mech, its half-eaten pilot crumpled inside. The machine was stuck on a cycle of raising and lowering itself due to the corpse pinned against a lever.

"I saw some people running this way earlier," Switch informed Ronken, slowing down so he could keep up. "You know this city. There's an emergency shelter, isn't there? Underground? Somewhere like a cave." She pointed at the end of the street, where a tall boy rushed with a quiet toddler in his arms and seemed to suddenly disappear into the ground.

What they discovered there looked like an oversized manhole, but the cover was inscribed with the town's triangular symbol for emergency; removing it would reveal a metal staircase that led down into a gaslit corridor. Ronken might remember, from his early schooling, that the old catacombs underneath the city had long ago been repurposed by well-meaning humanitarians as a disaster shelter -- in case of war or gas leaks or robot uprising -- but due to neglect it instead harbored drifters and thieves and dirty rainwater.

"Ladies first." Switch flashed him a grin and gestured with a flourish at the stairwell.

"Whaaaat es ah raaas-un?" The words came slowly to her memory, and didn't sound quite right, but she thought she had gotten close. Using words again felt strange, like the first time she had used her folk-weapons. Realizing the boy was still waving his hand at her, Feela followed uncertainly.

"Not raisin, ration!" the boy huffed impatiently. "It's food that's for emergencies. Like when the world blows up. It's different from regular food because it probably tastes bad, but it's what we got. C'mon!"

The boy raced ahead between gaping dark doorways and broken pipes; he knelt beside an oversized manhole-cover, and with a grunt heaved it out and onto the street. Metal stairs led down beneath the road, illuminated inside by flickering gaslights.

At the bottom of the stairs, the corridor led toward a bright open archway, where several flights of metal stairs led down to the floor of a cavernous domed room, big as a cathedral and stuffed with people. Under the lights of several dozen gas lamps -- which illuminated the high walls filled with sealed crypts -- cityfolk, mostly teens and children, sat on blankets or comforted one another or stood in line for soup and bread. Their voices were a dull echo-noise in the vast empty stone, but fear was the prevailing emotion.

If one looked closely -- and knew what they were looking for -- one might spot a few people scratching at patches of alarming black crystal that grew on their arms or face. Two of these lay in a section of the shelter reserved for the wounded, where they were wrapped in bloody bandages and writhing in pain while the crystalline slowly crept over them -- and none of the doctors could identify what it was or how to stop it.

One young man walked between rows of children with his head covered by a towel to hide his crystalline face and glowing red eyes. He walked with a stiff gait, his shoulders squared, giving off an air of danger and quick reflex if anyone dared approach.

On one end of the room, the little boy removed his gas-mask and gestured Feela to come on inside, bounding ahead down the metal stairs with clanging footsteps.

On the opposite side, at one of the many entrances to the shelter-room, Switch looked over Ronken's shoulder at the mass of refugees huddled below. "Well this is a massacre waiting to happen," she muttered. She hadn't spotted anything unusual, at least not yet.

---

The runners' quick steps reverberated down the staircase to Meryn's hiding spot.

The crumpled letter that had been in her bag lay where it'd fallen on the ground at the foot of the stairs, unnoticed.

The old man squinted at Meryn through the eyes of the mask she held up for him, and he studied her dreams with a quick gaze before she disappeared into a dark corner like a pursued mouse. His lined expression was grim, and his steady eyes watched her without blinking -- but just before the cloaked intruders made it to the bottom of the stairs he stepped on the crumpled letter and kicked it with his heel into the dark space behind a bookshelf.

The first of the intruders stepped to the floor and gave a low bow. "We apologize for the intrusion, Sir," a young man spoke out of the hood.

The second cloaked person leaped the last few steps, crossbow clanking against her back. "Has anyone else come through here just now?"

The third, larger than the other two, immediately began walking the perimeter of the library, taking careful note of the sigil carved into the center of the room. "A safety net," his gruff voice echoed. "The fall won't have hurt him." He continued around the room, peering into every crevice and corner, his footsteps quickly making their way toward Meryn's hiding place.

"Her," the woman corrected. "I saw her face."

Should Meryn dare to look at their dreams, she would find bright and confident colors, determined and righteous, tinged with a horror and sadness at what had befallen the city -- which only fueled their unwavering resolve.

The old man, meanwhile, had put on a feeble charade of fear and confusion, his hands jittering and his mouth jabbering. "Th-there was a masked man just-just now," he stammered, swinging a crooked finger around the room before he pointed through the doorway behind him. "Didn't say a word, just whipped right past me! Who is it? What's happening? Jiminy Cricket is it a robber?"

As if on cue, the front door in the next room creaked. The largest of the marksmen had just stopped in front of Meryn's hiding place -- he turned suddenly and followed the others past the old man, in pursuit of whoever had just exited the far door into the street. The front door squeaked and slammed behind them, and the bells and gears rattled on the shelves.

The old man stayed where he was for a few moments, just to be sure they were gone before he grumbled inaudibly to himself and shuffled over to where the sealed letter was pinned behind a bookcase. He snatched it up between gnarled fingers, then shuffled again and sat down on the bottom step to pop the seal and unfold it under the shifting light from above.

"The eyes will pass to the Silent One," he read aloud, "The Rogue will walk between. The Hunter's knife in the cavern light, the last the children will see." He exhaled loudly through his nose. "Confound the blasted Prophet and her blasted riddles." He huffed and waved the page at Meryn. "People live and die over this rubbish."

Ronken gave a small smile to Switch for the light, and took a deep hit. Doing his best to let the fumes calm his shattered nerves. He could snag something from his 'happy bag', but he wanted to be on alert. And there were... other reasons. So no. For now he was content with a cigarette. He blew the smoke out with a chuckle, relishing the feeling. It felt like a thousand hits of happyroot or purple Nancy. It felt like life.

He nodded along to Switch's explanation of the would be assassins, only understanding about half of it. He still wasn't sure what she meant by 'people like us'. But again. He was saving questions for when he was safe. "Not the biggest fan of the gal behind the mask myself, but arrows are prolly a bit much." He took another hit and continued. "An Crystal Knife? Seems a bit much. Never seen a job a shiv couldn't do." He joked. He knew it wasn't all that funny. He just needed to make fun of the people that killed him. No. Almost killed him. Second chance and all that.

He took another hit trying to forget the sound he made when he hit the ground.

"You delivered the letter, right? Switch asked.

Ronken frowned like an upset toddler and sighed. "I don't bloody know!" He flung his arms in sudden anger. "That girl was a bloody psycho!" He stroked his hand across his temple, calming himself back down. "We beat the shit outta each other. Eventually I think I got her to take it, I-I think." He sighed again. He really couldn't remember. He wasn't proud to admit it. "It's a big ol' blur. Whether she kept it and read it, I have no clue." He then pointed quickly at Switch. "But I'm!-"

"You coming? If you get left behind I'm not coming back for you again." She was already walking away.

His frown was back. "Yeah, I'm comin." He mumbled. He followed her out of the alley. He tossed his cigarette into a puddle in the cobblestone street. He ignored that it was blood, he also ignored what he thought was an arm poking out of some rubble, and he pretended he didn't hear some faint cries from the other direction.

He tried to forget what it felt like to fall three stories.

Ronken had to sprint to catch up to Switch, but once behind her he settled into a run. He yelled to her, "Even if the note didn't get delivered, I'm keeping my money!" After everything he had been put through, that sack of coins was the only good thing he had going for him.

As they ran it was quiet. Not completely quiet. There were still the occasional shouts and cries. But where once the whole city was screaming as one, now it had nearly fallen silent. Smoke still rose from buildings, making every breath Ronken took remind him of a bad hit. He scanned the skyline, he could faintly make out smoke coming from certain buildings.

Over there was the Parliament building, couldn't see the structure from here, but you could see the smoke. Enough of it was coming that it would block out the sun depending on where you stood. Crowds would have hit that place hard. He wondered if anything was still standing, or if it was all ash. Good riddance.

In the other direction was Market Row. A few different colors of smoke ranging from red, orange and yellow painted the sky. Probably due to all the spices that were sold and stored down there. Not a huge target for revolution, though some merchants made a habit of getting involved in politics. Looters on the other hand were probably having a field day right now. If it weren't for his survival instincts Ronken would probably be down there stealing for old time's sake.

Then there was the clock tower which was growing smaller in the distance, Ronken wondered if his client would in fact be ok as Switch had said. He wasn't worried enough to ditch Switch and go running back to check, but still, arrows were arrows. No one deserved that kinda trouble unless you were a real git.

He turned a corner and stopped in his tracks. In front of him was every child and elderly man's nightmare. The thing where riots ended and rivers of blood began. The thing that had taken more than a few friends from Ronken over the years. A mech. In all it's horrible glory. Only this one wasn't horrible, much less glorious. It was just sad. It was stuck in a cycle of pointless movement, shaking around its eaten pilot like a morbid doll. So many rioters crippled, maimed, killed. Whenever you heard one walking down a street, you scattered. Even if you hadn't done anything wrong, you just did. Ronken used to have nightmares about these machines. Hell, he still did sometimes. But now, seeing the thing forever stand up and down, it seemed silly. He spat on the mech and turned to catch up with Switch.

Luckily she had slowed down for him. He didn't comment on stopping at the mech, it wasn't her business.
"I saw some people running this way earlier," Now that he looked around, he did recognize this street. And considering the current state of the city, he could probably guess where she was going with this. "You know this city. There's an emergency shelter, isn't there? Underground? Somewhere like a cave."

He adjusted his stride to be side by side with her and nodded. "Yeah, ol' catacombs." He watched as a boy carried a toddler into the shelter. His heart suddenly felt a lot heavier for some reason. "Church folk tried to turn em' into an end times shelter. Place to hand out food n' blankets. All that." He bent over and pulled up the manhole with a grunt. If they wanted people to get in during emergencies, then why the hell did they make these things so damn heavy?

"Problem was, there weren't a whole lotta end times to go round." He looked down at his old familiar friend, it'b been a good week since he'd visited the 'shelter'. "So us criminal vagrant types took to doing what criminal vagrants do." He gave a small chuckle and continued. "Sell drugs, do drugs, lay on our asses, beat each other's asses." He grinned and puffed his chest. "I'm something of a champion. Holder of the 'Shelter Brawl Ring' title. Shit name I know."

Switch just grinned and said, "Ladies First"

"Oh you're a real riot, aren't ya?" He shook his head and began his descent, the familiar stuffy air hitting his nostrils. He prayed for the millionth time that today wouldn't be the day that the metal staircase broke.
____________________________

Nearly half of Ronken's memories involving the shelter were him lying on the rusty metal floor in a drug haze. Half constructed thoughts flittering through his consciousness, the only real worry being when next to shoot up, and if any of the other junkies were going to shank him.

One quarter was him working in the fight ring. Having his sense and teeth knocked out of him, and knocking it out of other people. People had died in that ring. Some friends, some enemies, all deadbeats. One or two even died by his hands, as much as he wished his drugs would say otherwise.

The last quarter was spent helping the local gang smuggle items through the tunnels. Not just spices or silk to dodge taxes. Weapons and harder drugs than he had ever done. And though he had never helped with it, he knew that the catacombs had even been used to smuggle people.

All this was to say that this place wasn't for children. And what was there, almost exclusively, down here now? Children. And a whole lot of missing parents.

Ronken stood stunned at the entrance of the room. Running a hand through his hair. "Shit." He looked to Switch and back to the room. "Just.. Shit."

"Well this is a massacre waiting to happen."

"No kidding." He nodded. "Things are bad. I've spotted three different gang colors down here, any other time, they'd tear each other apart." He looked out across the crowd for more gang colors, making sure no one was looking for a fight.

"So what are we doing down here?" He didn't see any turf wars breaking out but, over there, in a crowd of kids. Ronken knew what someone looked like when they were about to start a fight. This guy had the body language all over. What was even more worrying was that he had that body language next to a crowd of kids. Not good.

Ronken tapped Switch on the arm and pointed to the man, then made a fast beeline to him. He didn't know if she would follow but it didn't matter at the moment, the guy looked dangerous. He pushed past a kids half his size with a half muttered apology and now stood a few feet from the man. Couldn't tell how old he was, had his face covered. But he was a decent height so he had to at least be of age. No guilt punching him then.

Ronken positioned himself between the man and as many kids as possible. He then reached out to the man's right shoulder from the side. He kept his other hand at his side in a fist. He was hopefully ready to block a punch if needed, but he didn't want to threaten the man if he could avoid a fight. Not in front of kids. "Hey Mate, you okay there? Seem on edge."

Feela had never seen so many people in her life. She stared dumbfounded at the number of bodies crammed into one place. She would never be able to watch all of them at the same time, and any one of them could be waiting to kill her as soon as she turned her back.

Her first instinct was to run as far and fast as she could and never look back. All she had to do was pick a direction and keep going, and eventually she would find the edge of this insane place. Her right foot pulled back to turn her body away but before she could go further there was a tug at her arm. Rather, as she looked down she realized that her hands were locked in a death grip around a fold in the boy's shirt, unable to let go. Instead she tried to be as small as she possibly could be and hide behind the boy, trusting him not to be the bait for some elaborate trap.

Meryn crept out from her hiding place, eyes still trained on the three people hunting her as their dreams grew farther away. She slipped off the mask when the old man read what was on the mysterious letter.

She only understood the first part. The 'eyes' and the 'silent one'? Easy enough to guess. But that had already happened – Meryn already had the mask. This 'prophet' sounded a lot more like a 'town cryer' as far as Meryn was concerned. She had no idea what the rest meant. Something about a rogue and murdering children.

Meryn decided she hated this town. Though, she supposed it wouldn't be a town much longer. What with everyone dying of a magical plague, and all. Meryn dropped the mask on the cluttered desk and brought her hands up to rub over her face. She dropped them and looked up to meet the old man's eyes. Unsure of what else to do, she gave a small, thankful nod.

She had no idea where the man had gone. Or why she was being hunted. Her best guess was they blamed her for bringing the plague. Or they hated outsiders. Trying to kill her on sight was kind of extreme, but the guards that had brought her in had also threatened to shoot her when she couldn't say her name.

No wonder the people were so eager for a revolution.

Meryn let out a breath and started wandering around the room, eyes tracing the rows upon rows of books. She needed to get moving, she knew. The old man had bought her some time, but who knew when they'd circle back or if there was anyone else looking for her. But she was too exhausted to muster up a sense of urgency. Too sore and dirty. An unfortunate feeling from her childhood that she'd managed to wash off in recent years. Well, it seemed to fit like a glove after all this time.

Meandering to the desk, she glanced over it. It was a mess of loose papers and ink, scattered pens, Spook's mask, some sort of shiny assortment of rocks, runes… but Meryn blinked at what was under it: an expanse of green, the outlines of trees, and a brown square with the word Cogswall written in small, neat lettering.

A map.

Memories of the voice echoed again in her mind: North.

Meryn began pushing papers and books aside trying to see the map in full.

There, to the East of Cogswall was the forest. And just on the other side, a small circle.

Enn.

Meryn's fingers drifted over the name. Home. Less than a day's travel away, but it felt like an eternity. How had this town been so close to Enn all along and they'd never even known? All this time, Enn had felt like a world unto itself, alone and adrift in space. But here was another world, teeming with life, so close to home but so achingly far.

Cogswall was doomed. Meryn couldn't fix that. But there was still hope for Enn. She just had to go North.

Meryn found Cogswall on the map again and traced a line northward with her eyes.

_{Meryn found Cogswall on the map again and traced a line northward with her eyes.}

The old map was drawn with meticulous care, in sepia ink on aged paper; it had been folded and re-folded, bore tea stains and small margin notes scribbled in a runic code. Much of the map was forested by clever penstrokes, while plains and desert were noted by the sparsity or scraggle of trees.

Cogswall was most prominent, with its moat of barren burned wasteland -- and Enn, half-hidden in the forest, smaller and inconspicuous. There were others -- Lune, Kestrel, Raskiln -- and the temples: An'Dast, the ruins that Spook had called the "Temple of Spring Whistling"; and An'Hiket, which appeared larger and, according to the drawing, slightly more impressive.

North of Cogswall there was -- nothing. Only Sorrow's Deep lay to the north: a round craggy bay crowned by mountains.

The old man shuffled behind Meryn to peer over her shoulder. "Sorrow's Deep, eh?" He scoffed. "Dangit if that damned crater doesn't keep comin' up. You an' the Prophet and Spook -- the temples an' the lot of the crystal-skins, all you all gosh-dang care about is that gosh-dang crater." He worked himself up to exhaustion, and he creakily lowered himself into a chair.

He set his beady eyes on Meryn and pointed a knobby finger at her. "I'll tell ya somethin' 'bout that crater, missy. Leave it alone. Let it be. Boats sail in and don't come out. Birds fly out over it and don't come back. There ain't nothin living in that water -- not a fish or a scrap of weed. It's been dead and death always, and it'll be dead and death after we're all gone. Don't you believe the fairy tales -- the creature sightings or caught fish, or people returnin'. They're lies told by the temples to bring in new recruits, see. Spook hisself swallowed that garbage line and sinker. We wouldn't be in this mess."

He huffed a sigh and leaned on his bony knees. "The best thing is to just leave it be. Leave it all be. And if the temples are right, and somethin's comin', then we'll just stay out of its way."

Machinery elsewhere in the tower whirred down, and pipes clanked. An uncomfortable silence draped over the room. The old man turned his head, listening -- then shuffled over to a sink and turned on the spigot to find only a few short spits of sludge. "Dangit now the water's out, too."

_{Ronken positioned himself between the man and as many kids as possible. He then reached out to the man's right shoulder from the side. He kept his other hand at his side in a fist. He was hopefully ready to block a punch if needed, but he didn't want to threaten the man if he could avoid a fight. Not in front of kids. "Hey Mate, you okay there? Seem on edge."}

The hooded man stiffened, and slowly he turned, his eyes blazing. He was either furious -- or terrified. "Get out," he hissed, his voice deep and trembling, mad with diseased insanity. "They're coming. Too many here. Get out. They're coming." A crystalline hand suddenly snatched Ronken's shirt, his fist like stone. "They're in the waaaalllssssss!"

_{Rather, as she looked down she realized that her hands were locked in a death grip around a fold in the boy's shirt, unable to let go. Instead she tried to be as small as she possibly could be and hide behind the boy, trusting him not to be the bait for some elaborate trap.}

Below, a small circle was forming around a big hooded man and the smaller man he was holding up by the shirt; heads had turned to see the source of the crazed voice that echoed in the wide chamber, and some recognized the gleam of black crystal that grew on the brute's exposed arm.

The boy, however, was undeterred. "It's okay!" he assured Feela with a pat of her hand. "We're all refugees. C'mon, let's get some grub, yeah?" He encouraged Feela down the stairs, holding onto her wrist, and waved over his head at a few friends who had spotted him from another side of the room. "That's my sister, Glinny, and her friend, and that's Bobo and Tizzy. They're saving a spot in line for us, it's okay!" He pushed his way through the crowd, skirting around the fight in the middle of the room to reach his friends who were calling over the crowd's murmur.

"PEOPLE OF COGSWALL!" a man's voice bellowed.

Up above, a man in a white hooded cloak stood at the mouth of one of the drainpipe entryways, at the top of the stairs. He had his arms outstretched. His nose and mouth were covered by dark cloth.

"THE INFECTION HAS SPREAD, AND IT IS DEADLY."

Somewhere behind him, faintly, came the choked sob of a woman.

The man who restrained Ronken was trembling. "They're coming, they're coming, they're coming for us.

"ALL OF YOU HAVE BEEN EXPOSED. BUT YOU'LL ALL BE JUST FINE -- A CURE HAS BEEN FOUND!

A ripple of excitement spread through the room. Murmurs whispered in the crowd.

Water began to trickle out of one of the four drainpipe entryways. Then a second began to drip.

"A MEDICINAL WATER HAS BEEN MIXED. EVERYONE HERE MUST ONLY SUBMERGE THEMSELVES MOMENTARILY, AND ALL TRACES OF THE CRYSTAL-SKIN WILL BE WASHED AWAY."

The third drainpipe began to leak water.

"WE WILL BEGIN TO FLOOD THE FLOOR WITH THIS MEDICINAL WATER NOW. PLEASE DO NOT BE ALARMED, AND HOLD UP YOUR VALUABLES. SOAK YOURSELVES IN IT AS MUCH AS YOU CAN!"

"They're coming, they're coming, they're coming, they're coming . . ."

Water began to flow freely out of the drainpipes, splashing down the stairs to the floor. People rushed to it to rub the water on their skin, splash their faces, scrub their hair.

"GET OUT GET OUT NOW!" This screech was not the man in the drainpipe, but it was Switch's voice. She pushed her way through the crowds, shoving people aside with a blade withdrawn, raced up the steps to get at the man in the white hooded cloak.

SLAM

A metal grate slammed down between her and the man in the white hooded cloak.

SLAM

SLAM

SLAM

Each of the four drainpipes closed off just before the water began to surge. Frothing water surged and roared out of all four pipes, and waterfalls spilled down into the crowd.

The boy tugged on Feela's shirt while water rose at their ankles. "C'mon, we gotta get wet to get cured!"

The crystalline brute at the center of the room was still shaking. Whispering. "Get out. Get out. Get out."

Stay away. Stay away. STAY AWAY!

Feela's mind was already in full panic when the water started streaming in, and her fear started turning to anger. She just wanted to leave now. She had no intention of letting these people confine her in an unnatural place like this.

Slam

Feela whirled around as metal bars crashed down over the way she had entered, sealing her in with the rushing water. She swiftly ran back and slammed her shoulder into the obstacle, bouncing off and falling to the floor. Now well and truly angry, Feela decided she had had quite enough of this place. These bars were in her way, and she would not let them remain so.

She thrust her hand out to her side, feeding that rage into the symbols tattooed into her right hand. As always before, her blade extended without a sound, ready to slice apart anything she needed it to.

She brought her hand across in front of her, swinging her hand with all her might through the bars that blocked her.

Meryn's eyebrows drew together as the old man grumbled. Some of his words flew right over her head (what the heck was a
crater?) but others were old and familiar. Sorrow… death… lies…

She felt her breath catch in her throat like it did when she stood at a precipice, still and waiting. The promise of pain just out of reach, taunting her closer. She stood at an edge now, muscles begging for action. To fall or to fly. Meryn pressed her lips together and looked back down at the map. The old man had shrugged his way back to his feet and made his way to the tap. Her fingers twitched at her side.

Finally she forced herself into action. Meryn hurried to the man, grabbing his arm in both her dirty hands and tugging him back to the map. Meryn pointed to Sorrow's Deep. Then she grabbed a long rectangle of charcoal and held it up to him, tapping it with her index finger. In a quick, brutal motion, Meryn brought the flat of the charcoal down to the map and smeared black over Cogswall. She looked back up to the man, urgency in her eyes. Without waiting more than a breath, she picked up Spook's mask and cut the charcoal across the intricate design over the eyes. She held the dirtied mask again up to the old man. Meryn lowered it, her motions slowing again. She bit her bottom lip as she glanced back at the map.

Enn

Meryn brought the charcoal to the city's edge. But she couldn't bring her and to move. She looked back up at the old man, fingers still poised to ruin Enn. But Enn wasn't gone. Not yet.

The old man thought that Cogswall would be safe if they just kept their heads down and stayed out of the way of whatever was coming. But to Meryn it looked like whatever it was… was already here. People were already sick and dying. Spook was already gone. But he'd given her the mask. She didn't know what it meant, but it was clearly something important. And out of everyone, he'd trusted her with it. Didn't that mean… he thought she could do something?

Maybe the old man was right and there was nothing but death at Sorrow's Deep. But Meryn had never let fear of death stop her.

Meryn dropped the charcoal and put on the mask. She turned from the old man and moved to the spiral staircase.

She thrust her hand out to her side, feeding that rage into the symbols tattooed into her right hand. As always before, her blade extended without a sound, ready to slice apart anything she needed it to.

She brought her hand across in front of her, swinging her hand with all her might through the bars that blocked her.

The roaring water pressed against her, surging waist-high, threatening to fling her any moment off the platform and into the splashing crowd below. The blade of light shimmered at Feela's wrist, ripe for violence, and effortlessly sliced through the bars that separated her from the outside world. With a few more strokes, neat sections of the bars suddenly launched outward with the rush of the water and flung down among the screeching people, sloshing hurriedly through the water to avoid being hit by the projectiles. But Feela had opened a way out, even if it was a narrow passage filled with rushing water. There was no way the children or the elderly could hope to traverse it without being overwhelmed -- but Feela would have only small difficulty scaling the slick rapids alone.

Not far along the passage there was a ladder that led up to a manhole cover and the empty street above -- she would be free. If she were to emerge here into the street, she might glimpse a small group of people in white cloaks -- like those of the people who had condemned the refugees below to a watery grave -- rushing northward, to disappear around a corner.

Should she continue against the water in the dark, thus letting the white-cloaks get away, she would emerge at one of the four tunnels that opened onto the reservoir and invited an endless torrent of water. At the mouth of the tunnel was a thick metal door which could be sealed with the turn of a huge wheel-crank.

---

Maybe the old man was right and there was nothing but death at Sorrow's Deep. But Meryn had never let fear of death stop her.

Meryn dropped the charcoal and put on the mask. She turned from the old man and moved to the spiral staircase.

The old man watched her back, and he stared down at the map again. Cogswall was gone. Spook was gone. Hope was . . . on her shoulders, it seemed. The one who didn't speak understood far more of what was going on than most of the people he'd known. His eyes traced the black line toward Enn, glanced at the other towns that dotted the continent in the path of the blight, and he thought that he, too, might understand. His dreams took on a solemn and deep-blue appearance, sharp and firm in shape.

He laid his gnarled hand on the drawing, stared at it intently -- then huffed a defeated and frustrated sigh. After yanking the map off the table he strode angrily after Meryn, to grasp the back of her shirt and shove the map into her hands. "Don't be stupid," he admonished her. "There's nothing you can do alone except get yerself killed. Get help. The Prophet's up in An'Hiket, it's a sanctuary for the crystal-skins and the best place to find allies, if you're going to Sorrow's Deep like a lunatic." He let go of her and grumbled to himself. "Don't say I didn't warn ya."

Outside the bell tower, the city was eerily quiet, gray and still. Broken mechs and robots whirred and shifted endlessly. Steam hissed out of broken pipes. Fires burned quietly where buildings once stood. Bodies smoldered. There was no more sign of people, cloaked or otherwise.

The low clop of hooves echoed through the street -- a horse or two might be found wandering the wreckage among the dogs and rats that had escaped the disease, having broken out of their stables.

If Meryn were to listen carefully, she might hear rushing water underneath the street, and the echoes of screams.

Feela looked backward as she stood at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing all the people who couldn't hope to follow her out. She felt an unfamiliar pressure Rise in her chest as she thought about them dying down here, separated from the sky by cold, unfeeling stone. There was nothing she could do for them though, so she pushed herself against the water towards her escape.

That is, until she had a choice in front of her. There was series of handholds going upwards, to freedom and relative safety, but the water was flowing from farther down the tunnel. Again her mind strayed to the people trapped down in the cavern, frightened and struggling, and as her hand rested on the first handholds the pressure in her chest refused to let her upwards. With a howl of frustration, she launched herself upstream, clawing forward as fast as she could until she reached a circle of metal sticking out of the wall. She had seen people traveling from the cities grab such circles and turn them to do... something. She didn't trust the creations of the people in the walls, but she didn't have another choice right now. She grabbed the wheel and yanked at it with all her might, growling with the effort until, finally, she noticed the water getting less violent. Opening her eyes, she saw where there was once an open tunnel pouring out water, now a slab of metal stood sentry instead. Taking a moment to wonder at this event, Feela turned around a sprinted back down the tunnel towards the cavern. Once she saw the people inside, and the water level still rising, she pulled up short and banged against the bars to get everyone's attention.

"Way out!" She yelled, hoping those where the right sounds to make. They sounded weird, but she remembered hearing something like that a long time ago.