Verity’s smile is a crooked light through a cracked window, but it remains a smile. She speaks words I cannot hear over the pounding of my own heart— though, I do not need to hear them.

  I feel the same way. Not hope nor gratitude, but relief.

  Hope is what burns in Lena’s eyes though, and the words she speaks are a stumbling thank you, Ivy. Her lips are easy enough to read; she’s staring up at me with an expression warm enough to make my weary heart ache.

  “Get going,” I croak out, or, Gods, I hope that’s what I’m saying. My body is still trying to knit itself back together with what magic remains, and I doubt I’d be standing without the dregs of Hearts to fuel me.

  Verity rests her hand on Lena’s shoulder, leading them both through the Delve portal.

  I rock back on my feet, far enough for my lifted heels to crunch the bone-grass into the ground. Should I have gone first? What if something's wrong? What if—

  Hah. My tail shes through the grasses, whipping through the air and curling around my leg. Not a damned clue what waits for me on the other side, but it’s going to be a far sight better than staying in here.

  I follow them through.

  Abyssal cold, streaming around me. The pressure eases, the rotting hands slide from my scales. The World washes over me like a spring rain, banishing the murk and fog.

  I—

  We did it.

  Pushed through Dongbaek’s scheme to seal us in, perhaps murder us, and got out. I succeeded where my parents failed, and under far worse conditions.

  For a moment, I drift in the gilded emptiness. One heartbeat, then two, punctuated by a long, steadying breath. My soul hesitantly uncurls, stretching its cracked and battered substance as the pressure recedes. It is... different, somehow; shifted in a way uncomfortably familiar, but still recognizably my own.

  Some scales, bereft of pressure, give way to flesh once more.

  A cwed foot presses into rough stone, my head breaches through to the other side, and finally, finally, I allow myself a real smile. Hello to the sights and sounds of the World; hello to the painted night sky and the glint of silver off the pza’s stones. I can hear the murmur and ctter of people and carriages—

  “Oh, thank Elluvial you’re alright! Ivy, Gods...”

  Winston’s voice, and his arms around my chest. The pain of countless bruises drags a soft hiss dragged from my throat, but the warmth of my cousin’s hug is more than worth it. I wrap my arms around him carefully, and my tail works its way around his boots.

  “Thank Adamantine that you’re alright. Eassse up a little?” I murmur back, flicking my eyes across the pza properly. There’s people here, right? What’s happened on this side? Where’s Lena and Verity?

  The world snaps into focus all at once. The broad, circur pza is flooded with guards, every entrance is barricaded, and a squarish white tent dominates a quarter of the space. Someone’s shouting, boots are shuffling, metal cnks, and so, so many people are looking at me. I can’t even begin to count the heartbeats; far too many, a low wash of noise so thorough I have to dampen my own hearing.

  And finally, Lena and Verity.

  Lena is seated on a stool nearby, swaying and talking in slurred tones to Ruby. Her turquoise eyes are dim, but what light remains holds fast. She’s alive, she’s okay, and might even be alright after a few days of rest, I’ll hazard.

  Verity, though... she’s slumped against a rather burly-looking guard, slowly stumbling her way toward the tent.

  My grip tightens on Winston. “Pressure sssickness, Winsston. They’ll need treatment.”

  “Already prepared for it, best we could. Harriet pulled a few books on it, we called in the—” Winston stops, tilting his head to gre up at me. “And you will need it too, Ivy. Gods. I’ll have Dongbaek killed for this, if Elizabeth hasn’t already found him and done the deed.”

  Lizzie and Harriet are fine too. Thank the Gods for that— had they been there, when Dongbaek attacked?

  “What... happened?” I croak out, pushing through a choked throat. My eyes sweep the pza again, looking for—

  —monsters.

  Something deep inside me growls, insisting I check again.

  I don't listen to it.

  Winston slips free of my hold, stepping back to regard me fully. Two shapes, two faces, two Winstons stand within each other, waging war in the subtle twitches and glimmers of expression. Anger and discipline, cousin and Lord.

  "I'm—" Winston starts and stops, brow furrowed. "This was an—"

  He stops again, sighing. "I cannot begin to apologize for this, Ivy. I’m sorry. I, we, failed you. There's cots in the tent, and there's a carriage for you and Hel— Lena, once you're ready. An hour or three, once our healer is through with you. Do you... Would you like to lean on me?”

  So he'd failed to stop Dongbaek, then.

  Should I be angry? Should I be... feeling, anything at all?

  Hah. I'd failed to stop Dongbaek, too.

  Turning my focus back to Winston's words, I manage a broad, toothy grin. Wide enough to make the guards flinch. “Not just yet, Winnie. I’ve got a—”

  My words fizzle into a growl, cut short by a burning ache in my chest. It takes me a moment to hack out the words, dragging myself along by duty and will: “Delve. To. Seal.”

  Winston’s eyes glimmer, and his hands press into me gently. “Harriet would be furious with me for letting you seal it. Hand on my shoulder while you work?”

  I don’t have it in me to speak more, but I rest a cwed hand on his narrow shoulder. I lean, he stumbles, but he doesn't fall. He holds fast as I trace a trembling, Delve-soaked cw along the portal’s gilded fringes, stepping away only when the stitching begins. I feel my soul crack again, but it’s not enough to stop me.

  When I tip forward, Winston catches me— even as my blood coats his clothes, he refuses to fall.

  Nor do I. Nor will I.

  The world is a haze for uncountable minutes after; grasped only in what fragments my exhausted mind catches. Winston’s there, Harriet too— my tail ctters against the cobbled stone, and their words are lost beneath the sound.

  A cot, some figures in white, me saying something about the cot not being sturdy enough. They find one that'll hold me, and I talk the healer through peeling the armor off me. Verity's voice, now a single tone, talks someone else through the same process. Her feathers haven't faded, and her gauntlets peel back to reveal birdscale and cws.

  Lena's fast asleep on a cot, curled up around her bag. I catch a fsh of something in her mess of hair, but I'm too tired to investigate— and the healers would be furious with me for wandering off, I'm sure.

  With my armor in a pile by my cwed feet, I ease myself down and sit on the bed. My tail curls up, spreading across the avaible space and ending with its tip on my p. It's so much longer now, but it hasn't lost its flexibility.

  “Gods, you've changed, haven't you. Are you alright?”

  Harriet's voice sounds out from next to me, and I can feel his eyes sweeping my body.

  I look down to my new feet, cws spread across the stone, heels lifted and stretched. Ideal for leaping and running, not so much for a steady walk.

  ...Ah. I'm still holding that shape, aren't I?

  I try for a chuckle, and let go of my magic. What will stay, I wonder?

  Change comes as a wave of dizziness; a thousand sensations silenced, a body drooping with lessened strength. Cracked scales melt into blotchy, bruised flesh, needling pain heralds the cracking and remoulding of bones.

  My tail stays at its new length, thank the Gods. The scales on my arms have spread further, and my tongue rolls over teeth sharper than when I went into the Delve. I could already tear flesh from bone before, but now...

  A shudder of delight pierces the fog, racing up my spine and nding squarely as a smile on my lips. Yes, these are much better.

  “Ivy?” Harriet's voice tugs at my thoughts, soft and warm.

  “I have,” I say softly, tracing a cw along my tail. I look down at my feet, wiggling my now-human toes. Guess the bck cws stuck around, though.

  Blinking, I shake my head to clear out my thoughts. Crity through joy doesn't mean focus, evidently. Harriet had another question, right? Ah, yes.

  “Am I alright?” I mumble. My neck cracks as I turn to look at Harriet, and our eyes meet mid-wince. I can't help but snort. “Probably not, no.”

  I pause, working my jaw. There's more to that one, and I have to coax it out half-formed.

  “Might take a bit for me to feel alright. Spent... what, twelve hours in there? Thirteen? Too many.”

  I spare another gnce at Lena— sleeping soundly, with a healer fussing over her. Verity's armor is resting on a table next to her cot, and she's fortunately also asleep. Two healers sit next to her, one working salve into Verity’s bruises, and the other watching with an inscrutable expression.

  Pressure sickness, especially to the degree Verity would've gotten it? Honestly, I hope she sleeps through the next full day. I already feel like coughing my lungs out, and I didn’t exceed my Depth record.

  “Thirteen hours, yes. We've been scrambling to find a Mage that could...” Harriet trails off with a sigh, wringing his hands. He looks me over again, then gnces at Lena and Verity. “We— we were terrified, Ivy.”

  His voice cracks, and my heart is caught in the gaps.

  So was I, I don't say. The words stay lodged in my throat, cold and suffocating. I didn't want to die like Mother and Father did.

  “We got out,” I croak instead. “What happened?”

  “We were mobbed,” a new voice cuts in. Familiar, but sharpened to a crisp edge on every word— Elizabeth! “Bck robed, all of them, though it's more an overdyed purple. Rushed through, and by the time we saw that detestable. Wretched. Cretinous excuse for a man, he'd already sealed the portal.”

  Heels click against the stone in perfect rhythm, and Lizzie saunters into view. She's in a rolled-up blue dress, exposing legs covered in shimmering blue-green feathers... as well as several straps for knives on each thigh. Impossibly bright green eyes rake over me, and I catch a glimpse of fangs as venomous words pour freely from her lips. “A shame I only had the chance to bury a few knives in his side, and that was because a passing commoner managed to slow his little gang down. Before you ask, no, I've no idea where Dongbaek came from, or where he went. Caught a few of his little gang.”

  Ah.

  “We failed you, Ivy.” Another voice, slow and steady. I can hear exhaustion churning underneath. Winston, dropping himself onto a chair. “A padin, a bystander, and my own cousin, all injured under my watch. I’d bebor the point, but I suspect you’d get up from that cot and strangle me for it.”

  “Do stay seated. Or y down, ideally,” Lizzie drawls. “Far too many people to witness my failure.”

  “Sleeping would be even better, cousin,” Harriet adds, resting a hand

  My lips twitch. He’d read my mind; Dongbaek had gotten one over on all of us now. “Exactly that, Winnie. Couldn't catch him either, and that's how we—”

  Pain. Throat-aching, lung-seizing fshes of it, strangling my voice and dragging me into a long fit of coughs. My shoulders ache with each shudder, my back screams, only a force of will keeps my tail in pce.

  That'd be the pressure sickness, hah. Or perhaps it's my dip into the abstract? I can feel my magic slowly decompressing, fizzing at random into a body not quite mended. I'm healing, sure, drawing on the World around me to slowly replenish my magic, but that's just softening the blow. Feels better than the first time I’d fallen in, at least.

  There's a hand rubbing circles in my back, now, and a corked potion held out to me in brass chain gloves. A healer, then? No, that's Harriet's hand on my back, and a healer with the potion.

  The pain, thank Adamantine, seeps back to a dull twinge. My coughs subside, and I reach out for the potion.

  Ah. Blood on my scales. Lovely. I switch hands, and pop the cork with a cw. My words come out hoarse, but still comprehensible. “Thanksss. What'ss thisss?”

  “Pain dampening and healing, my dy,” the healer answers, their voice coarse. “I apologize, my dy, but it will take a handful of hours for the healing to—”

  I raise the bloodied hand and wave them off. “Potions take... ach, take time to kick in, I know the theorems.”

  I swirl the potion once, watching the alchemical brew inside glimmer. Green, so Wind. Perfect. I down it in one go, savoring the cold numbness that follows. Magic follows after, a gentle pulse that slowly leeches into my own magic.

  “You should rest, dear,” Lizzie says gently. “Rest now, so you can tell your side ter.”

  “Mm. Maybe,” I grunt, sparing a gnce toward Harriet. “Thanks for the back rub.”

  “You're family, Ivy. No need to thank me,” Harriet gives me a smile, and I snort.

  “Picked a good one, Winnie.” My tail flicks towards Winnie's heartbeat, and I can hear him chuckle softly.

  I should rest, shouldn't I. But...

  A presence, peering back at me from the abstract. Smoke and tendrils, reaching for my soul.

  Or, perhaps, my imagination running wild.

  “No, not yet,” I shake my head, drawing in a deep breath. “We saw something down there, Winnie. You need to know. Lizzie, Winnie, do you know the—”

  Pain again. Too many words at once. Dry throat, dry everything, and the water the healer offers next helps only slightly.

  Once I'm done, I hold up a bloodied hand to stall their words. How to say this quickly, then...

  “Lizzie. Sound cancelling spell?” I bite out, clearing my throat. Still painful, still dry. I take a swig of water, then another, and another.

  Lizzie snaps her fingers, and the world goes silent. Her brow is furrowed, green eyes cutting deep into my thoughts. “Ivy, dear. Is it really necessary?”

  “She's right, Ives. You need rest, and this can wait,” Winston adds on. His voice drops as he adds, “Please.”

  “But you won't go for that, will you?” Lizzie muses. “Stubborn lizard.”

  My lips curl into a smile. “You already cast the spell.”

  “A compromise, then,” Harriet cuts in, rubbing my back still. It's probably the best damn thing happening to me right now. “Tell us what's important, then rest.”

  My heart aches, and for all the right reasons. Family again, and family I should probably hug when I have the chance.

  So I open my mouth, gather my words, and remember to swallow my pride. I tell them just enough, warn them of fears with the portal and the smoke, and only then do I let

  Consciousness comes in fragments of light and sound: the press of sunlight through white canvas, the dull ctter of shoes against stone.

  ...Three heartbeats holding steady, thank the Goddess. The gentle breathing of two sleepers, in and out. A third intake of breath, moving close as I shift on my cot.

  My eyes open further, peering fuzzily at a far too bright world. There's a Lena shaped blob there, a Verity-ish one over there with a white blob behind her, and something moving toward me. Hm.

  Gods, my body aches.

  “Dame Crawford,” someone says, “It would be best if you rest further. You are... injured.”

  The healer, then.

  “Trying,” I croak, wiggling my tail. I'm on my side, of course, and the end of my tail has found itself on the cobbled stone. “Bit sore for that.”

  “Ah. I will get another numbing potion for you, my dy. I will return in a few minutes.”

  Boots click against stone, canvas rustles, and the healer is gone.

  One less heartbeat in the tent, now. A few thoughts fall together, and even my fogged mind can connect them.

  I clear my throat. And I do it again, when that doesn't help my voice.

  “So, is Verity alright?” I call out hoarsely, focusing on the whitish blob beyond Verity.

  “No, but she will be,” someone replies, their voice low, soft, and rich. It tickles at the back of my mind, familiar yet not. “Pressure sickness of Verity's degree requires special attention.”

  They pause, breathing in. “Surviving being trapped in a Delve... thank— thank goodness you did, but it is quite the feat.”

  Relief swirls within me, worming its way through the knots in my head and heart.

  “And is Lena alright?” I ask next, testing my legs. Can I stand if I need to? How quickly can I move?

  ...Barely for both, I decide. Enough to swing up to sitting, even if I hiss the whole damn way.

  “The changes may take some adjusting, but she was well-protected, so, hm. Yes, I hope,” they answer with a trill. “The Restoration intervened when she was forced in. Without it, none of you would be here, I suspect.”

  ...Thank the Gods, and despite everything that came before, thank the Restoration that Lena's heart still beats. What changes, though? Her hair looks different, a little spikier on the top, but my vision refuses to focus.

  No, not spikes. My heart lurches— ears. Pointed, fuzzy ears, poking from her mess of brown locks. Will she be okay with that? Is that too much for her? Is...

  A healer shouldn't know most of that.

  Healers also usually have heartbeats. Most beings do.

  “Winston only mentioned one healer,” I murmur. I'm in no state to stop them— whatever they are. “So, who are you?”

  “I forgot the heartbeat again, didn’t I.” They ugh softly, rising from their seat. A brass hand gleams in the dull light, teeth fsh into a familiar smile. “I suppose I should have expected that... hm. Some advice for you, then, since Verity is asleep.”

  “Go on,” I grunt, and I get the faint impression of a smile on their face. More of their existence sharpens in my senses; wiry bck hair, crinkling around radiant eyes... and a ragged scar starting at the colrbone and disappearing into their white robe. The brass hand finishes the story, fingers clicking like clockwork.

  “Tomorrow,” they begin, gliding across the tent toward me, “The search for Bitgarm Dongbaek begins, but you will need more time than that to heal. You sealed the rgest wound, so he must begin again. You have until the winter solstice to catch him— three months to bring justice to one most deserving.”

  They pause a march away, watching me with white-gold eyes. “You and your friends did something incredible today, Ivy. Have faith, keep an ear to the ground... and rest. Rest until the Sun rises once more.”

  Exhaustion floods my body, dropping me back onto the cot with a thump. Muscles go limp, my thoughts begin to slip.

  Three months, my mind hisses, straining against slumber. Three months to catch the priest.

  Three months to kill—

  Darkness takes me once more, dragging me deep into dreamless slumber.

  Origami_Narwhal