Rot, scraping at my scales.

  Tremoring bridges beneath our boots, echoing our steps out into an impossible infinity.

  An absence I cannot define.

  Thoughts like that could lead me down into a dark spiral. Anxiety and dread are potent brews, but unproductive ones.

  “Let’s talk,” I say instead, working my jaw.

  Verity cocks her head to regard me —with one eye, still chewing the ration bar I’d handed her. Both of her hands are occupied— one holds a padded jar of salve and a pauldron, the other is working that healing salve into a massive rosy bruise on her shoulder.

  Were we higher up, closer to the exit, I'd suggest she just use her own magic to heal. Healing isn't cheap, though— something my nearly disastrous Delve with Lena had reminded me of.

  After a moment, Verity nods, gesturing with her salve-hand for me to continue.

  “About the fight, I mean,” I crify, pulling a fsk of water from our supplies bag. After taking a swig, I almost instinctively hand it off before remembering Verity has no way of grabbing it. “Went well enough, I think. Got hit more than I’d like.”

  Verity hums in acknowledgement, still chewing. Guess it’s harder when you don’t have teeth like mine.

  “Wrong about the material, not that it ended up mattering,” I continue, leaning harder into my well-worn Delving habits. “Happens, though. Given this monster was actually a threat, we'll need to pn for fighting it more safely if another one shows up.”

  Swallowing, Verity makes an odd trilling noise in the back of her throat. “You won't hear an argument from me, there... Goddess, my shoulder is going to ache for days. Are you alright? How often do you fight things like that?”

  “I'm doing my best not to think about the aches,” I reply drily, which unfortunately is enough for me to think about it. I reach out with a drip of Lightning to score a bckened mark along a tower as we pass, just as a reference point for our return.

  Bah. The left side of my chest aches, I've got bruises throbbing everywhere on my body, and catching Verity probably strained my shoulder muscles.

  I shove the pain back down with a growl, because Verity had a second question, didn't she? It takes me a moment to think on it.

  “How often do I fight things like that?” I repeat for confirmation.

  She nods, pursing her lips. “Mm. I can't get a good read on your skill, Ivy... and I've never been good at comparing monsters to each other, like the horse thing and the spider.”

  That's a question worth turning over in my head. I stroke my chin, running my scales against the edge of my jaw. Why do I always end up around women who ask good questions?

  Probably because I enjoy it, but focus, Ivy.

  “There was a grading system before the Colpse, but the Guilds don't really agree with it. Caliburn has one, which I also don't agree with. I doubt that'll change any time soon.” I snort, crossing my arms. “First, that spider was on the higher end for me, but I wouldn't call it a major challenge. The snake horse took a while to kill, but we could dodge easily and nothing it did could... well, hurt us meaningfully.”

  “And there’s your bookish parts coming through, huh?” Verity moves closer to me, her elbow bumping mine. “Because the spider was still a threat, you said.”

  “I wouldn’t be a good Delver if I didn’t do my damned research.” I give her a light elbow-bump in return, lips twitching. “First off, the spider could actually hurt us. Its legs were faster than we are, had ways to use it, and those spore sacs might've killed a regur human with the shockwave alone. Hang on, I think that's a Heart—”

  We come to a stop, and I take that time to pull out my brass Depth meter. The enchantments shielding it and the tiny Wind crystal powering it still seem perfectly intact. Truthfully, I almost wish it would break; that’d be an instant signal to go back up, no questions asked.

  Verity gets her shoulder back under her armor while I poke at the meter, watching for fluctuations. By the time she’s done, I’ve successfully located and retrieved a sizable Heart clinging to the bottom of a web-bridge.

  The quiet aches. The absence does not loom, for there is nothing to cast a shadow— but Gods, do I wish there was.

  “So,” Verity bats her eyeshes, wrapping the Heart in cloth and stowing it in the bag. “That's the most I've ever heard you speak, but it sounded like you weren't done?”

  I look away, letting a rumbling sigh slip through my teeth. “I wasn't, no.”

  My tail curls around my leg, clicking against my armor rhythmically. It helps my face cool off, and I turn to face her again. “Both were breakable. Spiders often have weak joints, which we'll have to exploit more, if we fight this one again. Taking it on alone would've been much slower.”

  Verity snaps her fingers, smiling brightly. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, this time.

  “So if a monster is made of something hard to break, like metal,” Verity raps her knuckles against her chestpte. “Then it'd be a bigger challenge for you. More than just a threat... now that I say it, it sounds really obvious, huh?”

  I snort. “Gd I'm making sense. It can also be too soft, too... spread out, or abstracted.”

  My mind aches with far too many memories of trying to interpret and comprehend something while also fighting it.

  “So. How do we make this spider not a threat?” Verity says finally. “Also, do you need the salve?”

  “There’s a few things we could try, and no,” I say, clearing my throat. That was a bit too much talking for my tastes. “Any other wounds I should know about?”

  “Shoulder bruises, some around the ankles, and I'm pretty sure my back will kill me tomorrow, but nothing in need of salves. And don’t be frugal with it, we need our Delver at her best.” Verity hands the salve off to me, snatching the fsk off her belt in exchange.

  I check our depth— eight hundred and ninety marches, give or take— and do one st once-over of my own body. I'd have to strip off my cuirass to use it on my bruised ribs, so I just stow the salve. Chest armor coming off is too much of a risk.

  “Either cut a bridge out from under it, or stay above it. Can't do much to stop us that way,” I say, shrugging again. My shoulder twinges, a thousand stray needles up and down my back. “I... might use the salve on my shoulder, actually.”

  Verity smirks, slipping the bottle right back out of my belt and then pushing it into my hand. “There you go, then.”

  I accept my own salve with a chuckle, using my other hand to start working at the straps on my pauldron. It's something I'm fortunately— or unfortunately— quite good at doing quickly. On one hand, it means I can do it without looking. On the other, it means I've had far too many reasons to apply salve mid-Delve. On the third, my tail tip even, it's the objectively correct approach as a professional Delver.

  Not exactly something to brag about, though.

  And all of this thinking? It doesn't free me from my unease. Our path takes us ever-deeper, my cws run absent-mindedly over my aching shoulder. The thick, colorless cream sends a shiver of cold down my arm, but only for a moment. Nine hundred marches deep, nine hundred five...

  Silence encroaches, heady and agonizing. My heart thumps in my ears. If this yer is still going and we get close to a thousand marches, I’m not going to try and finish it. We’re going right back up.

  Verity coughs. “Ugh. I really don't like quiet. Mind if I fill it?”

  “Please.” The word drops from my lips before I have a chance to yank it back. Bah, why bother? My tail curls and uncurls, a moment of cathartic sensation to burn away my irritation. “Some of my colleagues at the Guild call it Delve-silence.”

  “And you?” Verity cocks her head, examining me with one Sun-bright eye. Her smile looks almost predatory from this angle, and something deep inside demands I reply with my own.

  “Silence,” I drawl, wincing as my thumb rolls over a knot. When she snorts, I raise an eyebrow and add, “What were you expecting? Silence-ness?”

  Her dark lips curl, and her one visible eye glimmers with impish light. “I thought about it.”

  Of course she did. We curve around yet another white pilr, and I sp my tail against it as we pass. A touch of Lightning turns my catharsis into a convenient way of marking the pilr. The tremors radiate outward silently as I watch.

  “I had some thoughts too,” Verity continues with a trill. She taps a finger to her chin four times, then presses a talon to her lips. “I’ll save the details for when we’re in the bath again, but... hm. Give me a moment.”

  She begins to hum, drumming a taloned hand against her chestpte. The song is new to me, yet it serves as a perfect ward against the all-encompassing silence.

  Our depth is nine hundred twenty two marches, give or take four. We’ll need two decompression stops, at the least. The curve of the Delve only deepens; I feel as if I am peering into the abyss and feeling my gut twinge. Vertigo of the soul, shivering through me and escaping as a flick of my tail.

  Is it an unfamiliar feeling? No. But now, on edge, bruised and sore, my senses buzz. My growl lurks under Verity’s rising tune, a bass rumble to her impeccable humming.

  My focus spreads, moving from listening to scanning the Delve around us. Watching the endless web for monsters, with our blended sound as a comforting undertone.

  “You were a lot more aggressive this time,” Verity says finally, and my eyes snap back to her. My growling rises, then stops. “I saw you trading with it— if I'd known you were going to change your approach, I would've stuck closer to you and helped block.”

  “No, I was—”

  I stop for a moment, working my jaw. I cap the salve and put it back in my belt. Rather than belt out the first thing that comes to mind, I think.

  “You’re right,” I admit, because there’s no pride in dying from incompetence or a ck of communication. I take another moment to mull over the fight, unraveling instinct and tracing my own heated decisions. “I should have. Bah. I’m not used to working with others, let alone other front-line fighters. I should’ve— well, no, we should’ve coordinated properly.”

  “Rather than reacting to what the other does? Yeah,” Verity’s brow furrows, and she hums the whole time as we climb down the side of another pilr. “You’re much faster than I am, but I can block hits you can’t. We should take advantage of that more— for monsters more dangerous than that, how do we pn on short notice?”

  “We don’t pn on short notice,” I reply instantly, then soak in the rest of her words. It’s not often I get to talk about deep dives into Delves, how they vary, the kinds of extra precautions I need to take. Rest stops, evaluation pns, preparing for... no, focus, Ivy. I need to be saying this aloud.

  “We’re already past nine hundred marches. So if we see monsters, we gather information and run— usually back to the previous yer, if that doesn’t involve stopping for decompression.” I pause, then sigh. “Which in this Delve, it would, because these yers are massive. So we’re just retreating.”

  Nine hundred fifty marches.

  Uncomfortably deep, no real signs of the end of the yer yet. The idea of turning back even earlier than pnned starts to gain traction, and I’m of half a mind to go for it now.

  Something is missing, still. Every second of silence is a deathly one, choking on nothingness.

  “Mm! Makes sense. Gives you time to think on previous fights, and time for us to pn,” Verity nods along vigorously, running a hand through her hair. Her eyes have left mine, scanning our surroundings constantly. “And, right, blocking. I can’t keep up with your speed, but if you can get yourself behind me, I can definitely block for you.”

  “So we should stick a little closer unless we’re trying to fnk.” I pick up on what I hope is her thought process, and carry it further. “And call out weaknesses or tactics as needed. Or to call out a retreat, which is part of why I make those portals between yers. Decompression is dangerous, sure, it’s better than dying.”

  “Exactly. That’s what makes a professional Delver.” Verity winks. “Not just knowing the tactics, but knowing when to stop. Speaking of...”

  “When do we stop?” I ask for the both of us, and wait for Verity’s nod.

  Nine hundred seventy marches. Time to make a decision.

  I feel the curve of the Delve as best I can with my dulled senses. It’s a bit pointless; I’ve been feeling it in the back of my thoughts all along, and checking again won’t change the outcome.

  The absence, the ck... a wave? A fluctuation of the Delve, maybe. Maybe the rippling of the Hearts has shifted, or a new yer formed somewhere beneath us. No, that makes more ripples, not less.

  Or...

  Something dark stirs inside me. A leaden fear gripped in my mind’s cws, pressed against the scales of my thoughts. Cold seeps through, flooding from my gut.

  “We ssstop now,” I say, voice wavering. Verity stops in her tracks, and I’m already turning around. I swallow my fears, crushing them down as I walk back, looking for the bck marks I’d left. “This still feels wrong.”

  “And we can close it if we need to,” Verity points out, her own voice as soft and sweet as always. “Even a thousand marches could net us... a month? More, maybe, but that might be too optimistic.”

  My snort comes out a bit strangled. “And here I thought you were the optimist, Verity.”

  “Of course I am!” Verity ughs easily, but the light isn’t reaching her eyes. “It makes people feel at ease, and I love doing it. But I’m not a fool, and there’s no point in lying, right?”

  A recent memory floats up through the mire, turning my strangled snort into a choked ugh. So Ruby’s at least partially right, not that I’m surprised. I suppose it’s reasonable, given her job. “So how much of it’s an act?”

  Her smirk goes lopsided, showing just a hint of teeth. “None of it. I’m just pying it up. The flirting, though, is entirely genuine.”

  At any other time, that might’ve gotten to me. But here and now? It’s a drop of honey in a bucket of tar. Doesn’t change much.

  “...Let’s worry about that when Craumont isn’t at stake,” I sigh, gathering myself.

  "And that day will come, Ivy. I swear it on my honor, with my Goddess as witness."

  And, Gods, I hope so too.

  ***

  Death by a thousand cuts. It’s a term I’ve heard countless times; a fancy and gruesome way of saying attrition. To bleed from a thousand tiny wounds until the heart has nothing left to pump.

  But it doesn’t work, here and now.

  During my stay in Ard Judicia, specifically the city of Promelia, I’d learned a better version, one I haven’t thought of in a very long time. Doesn’t transte perfectly, but it is essentially, ‘waiting for the next knife’.

  And Gods, are we waiting for it. Bleeding is a problem to fix, waiting to bleed will wind me up until I go mad. We talk, we pn, we wander off and circle around different topics, picking apart the cy-monsters of the third yer with much more care than before.

  We rest at six hundred fifty. That’s pushing it; a bit shallower than the standard practice of every two hundred fifty marches of ascent. An hour of waiting, of checking in on our own bodies to make sure we weren’t feeling any strain. An hour where I have to get out the little tea stand, watch Verity boil water, and drink tea anxiously— and it’s good tea, thanks to Benny. Green with a hint of honey, good for soothing the throat and distracting the mind. Better than waiting at seven fifty and five hundred, worth a bit of grit teeth and sore souls.

  We’ll heal.

  And then we ascend again. I don’t dare challenge the tension for fear of inviting some greater disaster. As we rise through the marches, my worries don’t fade; I’m still waiting for that next knife.

  The tunnels along the second yer’s cliffs pose no threat, same as before. Verity grumbles about denting her mace, I worry about bruised knuckles. Nothing new. Gods, we even find another Heart in a fissure.

  We rest again between the two portals on the second yer. More tea. More nervous chatter. I crush a stone-bat’s head between my hands when it tries to interrupt. That, at least, makes me feel better.

  Three hours ter, we finally, finally drag ourselves up to the top yer. Back to that endless field of bone-grass, the ragged and shadowed chasms that twist and warp along a wobbly horizon.

  It’s then that I realize the magnitude of the absence. My soul and magic are screaming as they decompress, insisting that something is wrong, where is it?

  “You feel it too?” Verity murmurs. There’s no brightness to her tone this time.

  “Mm.”

  But we don’t see anything. Not even another snorse, and the joke brings no joy. Bah.

  We’re close to the exit, at least. That’s what the portals are for, cutting this down and getting out while lowering risk. I have half the damned handbook running through my mind on loop like a chant, blotting out pointless anxieties.

  Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump...

  “There’s a—”

  “—heartbeat,” I finish for Verity. My tail curls around my leg, then uncurls to drag itself through the bone-grass. “Sound doesn’t travel through Delve entrances.”

  It doesn’t take long to see the source in the distance. A brownish lump, a dent in the grass in the direction of the Delve’s upward curve. A heart pounding a frantic beat, ragged breathing that prods at my memories.

  “Why would anyone...” Verity trails off, and she starts jogging. “Doesn’t matter.”

  The shape lurches, dragging itself up. The mass of brown falls away to reveal greys, whites, and...

  ...a purple I know all too well, with a face that’s etched into my memory.

  I'm running, I realize. The bone-grass fractures beneath me, the air rushes past in a howling surge. Brown, greys, a flicker of turquoise.

  She wouldn't. Gods, I've just given her a modicum of trust back. She wouldn't do something as foolish as walking to a Delve alone, would she? Running off like that, why would—

  The absence.

  There is no shimmer of gold behind her. There is no rippling of the World, for the World is not here. No, no, no, they shouldn’t be able to do that. Not without a Heart, not without overcoming my own reinforcement.

  With air crackling and howling in my wake, I close the remaining distance between myself and Lena. She practically throws herself into my arms, breathing frantic and heart pounding enough for me to feel it in my chest.

  “Oh, Restoration, thank you, thank you! Gods I was so scared, I can’t... please...”

  Verity skids to a stop next to me, face twisted into a rictus of raw, unadulterated rage. It’s like looking in a mirror.

  “Goddess. Lord Craumont? Tousavon? No, no, but who would— why would they seal us in?” Verity says, her voice like steel through silk. “And if you didn’t have that shred of magic, you’d already be dead. I can feel a blessing upon you, but still...”

  “I tried to stop them, I’m sorry, I’m...” she draws in a ragged breath, clutching me tightly.

  I pull Lena in closer, tail wrapping around her legs. I need to know, but what do I say to calm her down? Gods, I don’t even know where to start.

  “You did nothing wrong. Adamantine’s hammer, you did everything right,” Verity corrects, and I’m gd she can speak for us. “Breathe. Count them with me, Lena. One, two, in. One, two, out.”

  Lena breathes, still pressed firmly into my cuirass. My tail curls tighter, circling her boots completely.

  “He— Dongbaek. He had a Heart, and he... he shoved me in when I wouldn’t move. They all rushed Winston, a-and Elizabeth was too far away, and...”

  Dongbaek. I let her talk. I doubt I can do much other than snarl or growl right now.

  She looks up at me, finally, bright turquoise eyes wet with fear. A tremulous smile crosses her face, bright and honest like a knife to my chest. “But you’re here now, Ivy! You can... you can get us out, right?”

  Can I open a Delve from the inside? My parents had died trying, and they’d had tools. Practice. Lives to pour into their work while their children suffered.

  “Ivy?”

  Of course I know how. It’s half the reason I became a Delver.

  We just don’t have enough Hearts to do it.

  Origami_Narwhal