Chapter 1 - Lost

Tailing Sevhalim was easy enough at first.

The tunnels dug by the miners followed a seam in the rock and ran roughly straight into the mountainside. The walls were narrow and smooth, and the ground was clear of debris. All Galen had to do was feel his way along in the dark and keep the glow of Sev's lantern in sight.

Then Sev's lantern went out, and things changed.

Panicked that he had lost him, Galen pushed on, completely blind. At last, a different light, like the blue twilight before dawn, appeared ahead of him, growing steadily brighter until, with a suddenness that made him gasp and fall against the wall at his back, Galen arrived at the place where the tunnels broke through into larger, older caverns.

Like a cockroach peeking from a crevice, Galen peered forth and found himself upon a narrow ledge halfway up the wall of an enormous open space. Immense pillars upheld a ceiling lost in darkness, and below lay the ruins of an ancient city built to gigantic scale.

All it took was a glance for him to see why Anira's people believed they had found the Dweller realm, though it took him several minutes to realize how strange it was that he could see it all.

This far below ground, with hundreds of feet — if not miles — of rock between him and the moon, sun, or stars, it should have been blacker than the pits of hell; and yet the same blue-gray twilight provided just enough illumination to make a lantern unnecessary. He could identify no source; it seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once, though it was brightest at ground level.

By this eldritch light, Galen absorbed the wonder — and the challenge — that lay before him.

The cavern (if such a vast space could be called a 'cavern') was at least as large as the Grotto whence he'd come, and the architecture it contained matched the style of the great edifice carved into the cliff there. Huge archways — massive portals to palaces, or crypts, or who knows where — yawned darkly from the walls, while the open space between looked to be like a public park or promenade.

He saw the broken remnants of statues, monuments, temples, derelict fountains, and what might have been gardens made of stone. Criss-crossing all were the scars of ancient paths and roads, leading to the looming doorways and to whatever deeper places they contained.

All lay in ruin, of course — piles of broken stone, rubble, and debris making a labyrinth of obstacles across the plain. Most of the destruction seemed to have been caused by rocks falling from above — some as large as buildings themselves — which had shattered on impact, spreading a stony chaos far and wide. Some remained intact, like the hulls of sinking ships, the prows sticking up in proud defiance of their demise.

By the time Galen took stock of all this, Sev had vanished.

Falling to his hands and knees at the edge of the precipice, Galen scanned the broken landscape below in search of movement, but all was gray and silent, shrouded in blue mist.

No, not 'silent.' In fact, Galen perceived, there were many sounds, though quiet and subtle: the muted rush of hidden water; the tumble and clatter of little pebbles knocked free by the natural movement of the earth; the flutter of leathery wings, as clouds of tiny bats swooped and swirled in the open spaces like flocks of starlings above a field.

There are other noises too, even more subtle still — clinks and clanks, and a grinding groan, as of massive metal gears, rising from deep below. But it was something else that made Galen's blood run cold: something that sounded an awful lot like the distant wail of a barrowling.

Finally catching sight of movement, Galen's breath snagged in his chest as he recognized Sev's lithe form slipping into the labyrinthine ruins far below. He watched for a moment until he saw the tall, dark-haired man emerge from behind the wreckage of a gigantic statue and established the general direction in which he was heading.

Quickly and carefully, Galen made his own descent from the ledge and down to the floor of the cavern below. Then, taking his bearings as best he could, he set off in pursuit of Sev.

His plan had been a simple one: wait until it was too late — too risky — for Sev to send him back alone, and then to reveal himself triumphantly, proving that he had the will and tenacity to follow Sev so far, and into such dangerous terrain, undetected. Then, he imagined, Sev would have no choice but to accept him as his companion, however grudgingly.

Reality, as it often does, proved less amenable.

Sevhalim was a swift and tireless traveler, and Galen quickly perceived that he had been holding himself back for the sake of his companions. Now with no one (as far as he was aware) for whom to temper his pace, he struck out across the rubble-strewn plain with a long stride that had Galen almost running to keep up and frequently losing sight of him among the maze of broken stone.

Despite his efforts, Galen saw he was falling behind. Each time he scaled a crumbling statue or the ruins of some monument to check his course, the distance between himself and Sev had grown. Meanwhile, it wasn't long before his muscles begged him for a rest. Sweaty, dirty, thirsty, scraped, and bruised, Galen decided he had better make himself known or else risk losing Sev completely, and thus becoming completely and irrevocably lost, himself.

Choosing a long, ramp-like slab of stone, likely fallen from the ceiling above long ago, as his vantage point, Galen scrambled up to its tip and took stock of his surroundings.

The great cavern, he'd discovered, was much longer than it was wide. The place where the tunnels had broken through seemed to have been the widest point, from which it gradually narrowed into something more like a canyon than a vale. Now, Galen saw, it split in two, like a fork in a road, with one way having a more upward slant to it, and the other leading down.

Much farther ahead of him than he would have liked, he caught sight of Sev slipping among the scattered remnants of a massive pillar, where he then disappeared from view. Muttering some of Behn's choice invectives beneath his breath, he weighed the risk of a shout.

With a tremble in his limbs and his muscles aching with fatigue, he had just concluded that the benefits of alerting Sev to his presence outweighed the risks of alerting who-knows-what else, when another flash of movement caught his eye.

High above, almost directly overlooking the place where Sev had just vanished, a pale, spindly creature crouched upon a ledge.

Even from such a distance, Galen recognized a barrowling. He would never forget the way they looked and moved.

The creature sniffed the air while its fanlike ears twitched and flared, each moving independently as it sought to pick up the tiniest trace of sound. Even knowing it was blind, Galen flattened himself against the surface of the rock and froze, hardly daring to breathe.

After what seemed like an eternity, the creature finally shook its head like a dog and scratched itself, then turned and slunk back into a crack in the rock, disappearing from view.

As soon as it was gone, Galen threw off his pack and rummaged within for the scent-concealing Yuthraki salts Zenír had given him. Rubbing a pinch through his hair and over his sweat-moistened skin, he shut his eyes and drew a deep, shivery breath. He had hoped never to see a barrowling again, and now found his terror of them renewed in full. His heart beat in his ears and his mouth had gone dry, and for several long minutes he grappled with a cowardly desire to turn around and run back the way he had come — back to the safety of the Grotto and the blessed light of day.

He knew he could not. He had to warn Sev: had to catch up to him and share the Yuthraki salts. He didn't know if the barrowlings could smell as well as they could hear, but he wouldn't bet against it. Scrambling down the rock as quietly as he could, he set off after Sev at a run.

Reaching the place where the canyon diverged, Galen paused to catch his breath and swore. He had a choice to make, and a fifty-fifty chance of making a terrible one. As he ran, he had looked for signs of Sev's footsteps in the dust, but he did not have Triss or Rea's skill for tracking, nor Sev's for walking without leaving a trace. Deciding to scale another crumbling pile of stone in the hopes of catching come glimpse of him, Galen rounded a protrusion of rock and found himself flying through the air.

He landed on his back, the breath knocked from his lungs and his head smacking painfully against the rocky ground. With a boot on his chest and the tip of a sword beneath his chin, he stared up into a pair of silver eyes that flashed with blue fire.

Sevhalim's expression shifted between almost comical extremes, from murderous concentration, to confusion, and at last to angry surprise.

"Galen?" he hissed. "What in the thirteen hells are you doing here?"

The boot and sword lifted, and Galen coughed.

"I'm... following you... obviously," he rasped. His head hurt, and it was not the triumphant reveal he had envisioned, but he shivered with relief nonetheless.

Sev sheathed his sword, knelt at his side, and began a rapidly whispered conversation.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. I don't think so."

"You are lucky I have the reflexes of a Hand. I thought you were one of them. I came within a hair's breadth of relieving your body the weight of your head."

Galen swallowed. "You saw it, too? The barrowling?"

Sev nodded and pointed up to the walls. "Scouts. They learn the way, then return to the hive and lead others."

"Like ants?"

"Probably. Can you sit up?"

Galen did so and Sev gently probed the back of his head.

"No blood. Any dizziness?"

Galen shook his head, then winced. "Maybe a little."

"Well, it is fortunate you heal fast."

Galen heard the hard edge to his tone, even in a whisper, and looked up to meet Sev's eyes, a little fearful of what he would see.

Sevhalim's dark brows were drawn so close a line appeared between them. He radiated quiet anger, and despite his determination, Galen quailed beneath his silver gaze.

"You gave me your word, Galen. You promised to stay with Iksthanis and Zenír."

"I never said for how long," Galen whispered.

Sev said nothing, and in the silence of judgement, a defense rose to Galen's lips.

"I'm sorry I lied, but not sorry I came after you. It's my life on the line. I have the right to risk it."

A sneer curled Sev's lip. "You are more selfish than I imagined, then."

Galen blinked in surprise. "What?"

"P'yrha or not, your friends would give their lives for you — a life that, as the p'yrha, is not yours to risk. And you would throw it away for some misplaced point of pride?"

"What?" Galen gaped at him, forgetting to whisper in his surprise. "No! I didn't follow you to prove anything. I—"

Sev clamped a hand over his mouth. "Why then?" he hissed. "What is it you hoped to achieve?"

Galen blinked and Sev lifted his hand, allowing him to speak, but he had no quick reply.

He hadn't wanted to be left behind, hadn't wanted to sit idle while his friends faced danger for his sake, and hadn't wanted to surrender passively to whatever destiny others chose for him. But his choice to follow Sev instead of going after Triss and Behn... That was harder to explain.

"I don't know," he said. "I just... felt I had to... be with you." He felt his face heat and looked away. "I mean, I felt this is where I could do the most good. Like..."

"A calling," Sev said, and sighed as the anger in his eyes finally cooled. "Well, the workings of fate are mysterious, I suppose. And I must say you did far better than I'd have given you credit for. I knew I was followed — that's what put me on alert enough to notice the scouts — but I did not perceive my tail was a more pleasant creature, by far."

Galen was glad the pale blue gloom hid most of the color in his cheeks. "Will you send me back?" he asked.

Grimly, Sev shook his head. "No. As you no doubt surmised, I can't risk sending you back alone, and I can't sacrifice the time I've made by accompanying you. You've made your choice; now you must stick to it. But neither will I slow my pace for you. You've proven you can keep up, and the less time we spend in this place the better."

Galen nodded. "I won't disappoint you again."

"Again?" Sev lifted a brow.

"For breaking my word."

"Ah." Sev's expression eased. "Well, you are right. You never promised to remain behind for long."

Galen looked up and saw the faintest hint of a smile on Sev's lips.

"Come." Sev helped him to his feet. "We'd best be moving. The decision is made, and we've lingered long enough."

"Wait." Galen shrugged out of his pack and rummaged for the salts, holding out the little lidded bowl to Sev. "Zenír gave them to me."

Sev took the small wooden vessel and lifted the lid, peeking at the contents with raised brows. "I wonder what he saw. Zen would not have parted with these easily. Perhaps it is fate, after all," he murmured.

Taking a pinch, he handed the bowl back to Galen, who stowed it carefully in his pack once more. Then, side by side, they continued on to the place where the cavern split — one vast canyon leading down into misty gloom, and one slanting upward towards a hazy light.

Galen rubbed the back of his head. "It was a bit more painful than I'd planned, but I'm glad I caught up to you before you disappeared on me. I wouldn't have the faintest idea which path to choose."

Sev glanced at him, silver eyes flashing beneath black brows.

"Unfortunately," he said, with a wry twist to his mouth, "neither do I."

[Some AI concept art for the Dweller realm]

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