Cyrus stared blankly at the spot where the projection had been.
Alor grimaced, his words lingering in his ears. Well, that could have gone better, yes?
“Come, my friend, we must hurry—Maija’s threats, they are never idle.” Alor gestured towards the dark cavern, but Cyrus noticed the dwarf wasn’t fully recovered. Despite this, Alor turned sharply on his heel, waved for Cyrus to follow, and moved swiftly toward a narrow passage at the cavern’s edge. Cyrus stretched his legs and followed, easily matching the dwarf’s pace.
“You know,” Cyrus said after a dozen steps, “you could tell her the truth. It’s not like you had anything to do with the ship crashing.”
Alor laughed bitterly and shook his head. He didn’t slow down at all.
“You see, it does not matter. To Maija, trouble finds me because I seek it out. It is my charm—and also my curse.” Alor shrugged theatrically, then winced as pain blossomed sharply in his shoulder. Cyrus grimaced at even the dull projection of the pain he felt from Alor. The dwarf fished another potion from his belt and quaffed it before continuing.
“Besides, the Voidship’s destruction, the lost mithril vein—these are mysteries best solved before I admit them to my business partners.”
“You don’t trust them?” Cyrus asked bluntly.
“I trust them with my life, my friend—but perhaps not with every secret. You understand.” Alor gave him a pointed look, his pink hair glinting briefly under the distant luxe of phosphorescent fungi that climbed the cavern walls. “You, for example. I do not yet know what you are. Until I do, perhaps a little discretion.”
Cyrus nodded, even though he winced. Alor’s logic was watertight, even if it made Cyrus feel uncomfortable.
They walked swiftly through winding tunnels. Occasionally, Alor paused to activate his Pathfinder’s Insight. Each time this happened, he would mutter to himself, then guide them confidently past pitfalls, unstable passages, scavenger dens, and pits that seemed to go down forever. Cyrus could sense those unseen dangers out there in the darkness. Some were aware, thinking creatures, and others were merely wild animals.
Time was difficult to tell without a sun or watch. They’d walked for quite some time when Alor abruptly froze and lifted an arm to stop Cyrus.
“Quiet now,” Alor whispered. His eyes narrowed at the darkness ahead, and based on the faint reflection of light in the dwarf’s eyes, Cyrus wondered if the dwarf could see in the dark.
A frown crossed Cyrus’s face as he realized something: Alor wasn’t using a light source. Could Cyrus, too, see in the dark?
The anxiety to beat Maija’s deadline receded before a new tension in Alor’s mind, but Cyrus caught no stray thoughts. It was as if Alor had pulled into himself, and only his emotions escaped.
“What is it?” Cyrus asked.
“Machina scouts,” Alor answered so softly Cyrus had to struggle to hear, yet the quietness of his answer did nothing to lessen or conceal his disgust. “They must have detected the crash. They hunt anomalies—like you.”
Cyrus stared into the darkness. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and he saw the humanoid silhouettes creeping forward. Their bodies were a twisted amalgamation of flesh and metal; parts twitched erratically as corrupted augmentations hummed and clicked. Cyrus’s jaw tightened. He knew these things were wrong. They were an affront to life itself.
“How dangerous?” Cyrus asked.
“Individually? Weak,” Alor murmured. “But there are never only a few, and where scouts go, harvesters follow.”
Cyrus raised his hand and followed instinct. Deep, unfamiliar, yet unmistakably a path known to muscle and mind, power surged within him. The air warped slightly. It bent like a bow and filled him. Somehow, someway, he knew when it was ready to release. Without overthinking it, he closed his fist sharply. A pulse of raw telekinetic force fired into the darkness, and the things were blasted into a stone with sickening crunches.
With a swipe of his hand, their debris tumbled into one of the many pits that littered the cave.
Alor emitted a low, complimentary whistle, then laughed joyfully. “Remind me never to make you angry.”
“Well, I’m not even sure how I did it,” Cyrus said. He flexed his hand, then rubbed at the uncomfortable sensation emanating from the pit of his stomach.
“Instinct,” Alor said. “The body remembers what the mind does not. You are sure you don’t remember anything?”
“Nothing. It’s like grasping smoke,” Cyrus admitted.
“We must hurry. Where there are few Machina, more come. This passage will hopefully avoid them.” Alor nodded as if he could make it play out the way he imagined merely by wishing.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Alor's path was darker, and the bioluminescent fungi didn’t seem to favor this branch of the cavern. Yet the dwarf did not pull out a light. Cyrus could sense the questions bubbling through Alor’s thoughts, but the dwarf did not voice them.
After all, how would he know what he can do if he does not have memories?
The air grew still. Stale. It smelled almost like the same air as the Voidship. An eerie, unnatural quiet enveloped them.
“Do you feel that?” Cyrus asked.
“I hoped we could avoid this. The crash of your Voidship has done strange things to this place. The System, you see, it does not like disruptions. Especially big ones.”
Cyrus felt the muscles near his armpit tense up painfully with anxiety. In the heavy silence, whispers rose—faint, pained murmurs that drifted just beyond comprehension—whispers that no set of ears in existence could hear, for they were not audible sounds. A pressure built in Cyrus’s temples, and the whispers begged him to feel their agony.
Alor’s hand grasped Cyrus’s forearm. Despite his firm grip, his voice was gentle. “Come now. Keep walking. The dead should not distract the living, yes?”
Cyrus blinked, but the pain had a desperate hold on his mind and was loathe to relinquish it.
Alor guided him with gentle pressure, and when they found a split in their path and a return of the luminous fungi, they stopped to catch their breath.
“What was that?” Cyrus asked. His face was pale, his hands shaky, but the pain finally abated.
“A place where reality frays thin. It happens when the System is not stable. Your arrival seems to have made the thinness worse. Be careful, my friend; such places are never safe, and you seem affected by them.” Alor said, patting Cyrus on the shoulder.
After a few blissful moments of rest for their tired legs, the two resumed the trek.
“We have company,” Alor warned. The dwarf slipped to the side, behind a large piece of rock.
Cyrus followed suit, but this put him entirely behind the rock and unable to see their opponents.
Alor pulled the tool off his belt, which looked like a projectile thrower. A sleek black handle, a trigger, sights, and a barrel of forged metal. Yet it wasn’t a cylindrical hole at the end of the barrel. Alor’s eyes flashed white light, and the dwarf hopped out of cover.
Click. Click. Click. He pulled the trigger three times, and a blade—thin, impossibly thin—shot out of the end of the barrel, wreathed in white light. The blade sank into the vaguely humanoid shapes of three more Machina, which was when the fireworks started. After a brief delay, the blades, which embedded themselves in steel and flesh with equal ease, exploded.
Flesh and technological debris went everywhere. Cyrus nodded somberly. It was as if Alor had turned them into fragmentation grenades.
“Remind me not to make you angry,” Cyrus said.
Alor winked.
“Come, we must go. If we do not return quickly, Maija will likely start breaking things. Possibly people.” Alor gestured towards another cave. This one was lower than the previous ones, and would require Cyrus to bend awkwardly.
“Your Maija seemed… unhappy,” Cyrus murmured. His lower back ached in anticipation of entering such a low ceilinged cavern.
“Unhappy? You are a master of understatement, my friend. Maija does not do unhappy. She is furious. She is incandescent. Right now? She is both. We must hurry.”
Alor stole the opportunity to delay any longer from Cyrus, and the dwarf trotted into the tunnel. He didn’t have to bend over to do it, either.
Grimacing, Cyrus followed.
Mercifully, it wasn’t long before Alor led Cyrus between a pair of worn pillars that marked an entrance to the cave, and the sun's light bathed the dirty, exhausted duo. Even Alor had been forced onto his knees to crawl through the passage.
A metallic dome, painted green to match the grass, filled the area before the cave. A number of dwarves mulled around the strange dome. When they saw Alor they waved, and caused a bit of a commotion.
“You made it in time,” a cold, familiar voice said from above.
Cyrus glanced up to see the platinum-haired woman seated imperiously atop a large stone—one significantly bigger than Alor himself. Maija regarded them both with an icy glare, her arms folded across her chest. Cyrus thought she might be waiting for Alor to plead for mercy.
Breathing heavily, Alor held up a hand weakly, begging her to grant him a moment’s reprieve. He slumped on the grass, visibly relieved to feel the sunlight warm his face and beard after the mad dash through the cavern’s oppressive darkness filled with anomalies, Machina, and centipedes big enough to eat Matti whole.
“Maija, you’re being too hard on Alor again,” came a friendly, teasing voice from the direction of the dome.
Cyrus swiveled his eyes and blinked in surprise at the massive, muscular figure strolling casually toward them. The newcomer was tall and powerfully built, with short blonde hair and bright, strikingly blue eyes. It didn’t take a genius to notice the familial resemblance between Maija and this man, which was good because Cyrus felt exceptionally bright to have seen it on his own. The man’s shirt hung loosely, mostly unlaced, revealing an impressive amount of sculpted chest. In his large hands, he idly shifted a ring of wooden, metallic, ceramic, and plastic discs back and forth—a nervous habit he had no intention of correcting anytime soon.
He’s cute. The thoughts bubbled from Matti excitedly. Not as cute as Alor, but still cute.
Cyrus grinned despite himself, faintly amused by the candid simplicity of the big man’s thoughts.
Beside him walked a woman almost equally tall, her sharp, severe features framed by a high ponytail of vivid crimson hair. She wore elegant robes in brilliant shades of white, red, and gold, giving her an air of authority both regal and intimidating.
“You look terrible,” the red-haired woman said bluntly, her eyes blunt in their appraisal of Alor. “Admittedly, that isn’t unusual.”
“Cassandra, always so charming,” Alor responded wearily from his prone position. Despite his exhaustion, he offered the redhead a crooked grin. Then he turned his gaze toward the muscular man beside her, and it softened visibly. “Ah, Matti, my friend, it is good to see someone who appreciates my efforts.”
Matti laughed gently, and moved to help Alor to his feet. “Let’s get you up. You can tell us all about your dramatic escape from death once you’ve passed a medscan. And introduce your new friend.”
Maija’s eyes narrowed dangerously at Cyrus. Suspicion simmered openly beneath her cold exterior. “Yes. Introductions. And explanations—especially explanations.”
Alor groaned theatrically, but the smile on his face while he accepted Matti’s help to stand ruined it.
“Maija, you never let me enjoy my victories. Such cruelty,” Alor grumbled.
Cyrus stood slowly. He could feel the curious and wary gazes upon him. Matti, Cassandra, Maija, and all the other workers around the dome who didn’t approach stared and gossiped.
A fitting sensation for the man at the heart of a burgeoning madness about to engulf a planet.