Hawkins was trapped.

The chaotic, grey landscape stretched for miles, the group making little headway but with every cluster of rubble they passed it felt like aeons away from him. No matter how much he willed his feet to move they remained grounded in the dirt. Desperate to catch up, Hawkins tried to wave his hand to ask them to wait but all he could do was watch. Frozen.

The distance between them became cataclysmic despite only being a few minutes behind. The sheer loneliness in the dangerous territory around them made Hawkins shiver but there was no movement behind it. His fatigue felt meaningless within the expanse of Memoriam’s hold, neither hot or cold but completely abandoned and forgotten.

Mantis’ runes glowed dull with every achingly long second, Hawkins’ anxiety lurched in his throat, sending him spiralling but the only thought he had to cling to was that he had felt this before. Back when he and Hack had seen the Trollians around the Soulcatcher Grove. But no matter how hard he tried to break the amber aura Hack never turned his way.

“Weren’t we supposed to conserve your energy, Mantis?” 

Hawkins winced at the sound of Odi’s voice, marred with the knowledge of her betrayal despite the scattering of laughter from the group. Once the dragon’s voice would have put his nerves at ease but the moment her green eyes met his he wanted to cry. 

She could see him.

“Odi-“

The dragon moved ahead without a word.

Hawkins couldn’t breathe. 

He wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream and shout and curse at the Scale Shrieker who had built up his trust only to rip it all away. The sheer dread of being duped for so long made him want to collapse in exhaustion. The tether of trust that kept Hawkins going now snapped into pieces. Risking his life for Odi had all been meaningless. He had picked himself up again and again for a lie. She didn’t care as long as she was alive.

“We still have a wayward Fire Traited to find.” 

Odi’s eye twitched, Hack’s phrasing aggravating her like there was some hidden joke or meaning to his words. The Sand Wraith merely blinked, the miniscule movement barely letting Hawkins catch the hint of a smile on the Sand Wraith’s face. 

Hack had never looked so calm before. 

Hawkins looked down, the brief Hammerlocke symbol burying itself in the dirt before anyone else could see it. 

It wasn’t just Hammerlocke. 

The rough outline of a gear was surrounded by three pillars indicating the Halls of Mediation in a flash of movement before the Sand Wraith swept it away with his cane and a swarm of dust beneath it.

It was the symbol of the Mediators. 

Hack knew he was missing. Even if he couldn’t see it.

Hawkins clung to Hack’s support with everything he had, the double meaning of his words carving his way into his heart. Wayward wasn’t just a term for a lost soul. It was the name of a Calorian town that Hack had visited. The last town he had stayed in before settling down in Beggar’s End. 

It was a sign that even though Hawkins had lost his way, Hack still remembered and he would not be lost so quickly. Budding Fire Traited or not he would not be wayward for long. Hawkins took a large breath to settle his nerves, attempting to focus on his fear over the confusing situation rather than the memories he had been shown. 

Whatever was happening to him wasn’t foreign to Odi. But he could breathe now. Things had changed just enough to let him do that.

The twist of his stomach unravelled at the reminder of the moment Hack had told Hawkins he was a necromancer. How hurt he was. But how much he cared for him anyways. Hawkins knew how different the comparison was but Odi’s sympathetic smile still stuck in his mind despite his angry outlook on her past. 

He had seen Hack’s past and moved forwards despite it. He was asking her to do the same with Odi. She was a necromancer too and he had judged her exactly the same way. Hawkins didn’t know whether Odi would or even could help him but he couldn’t deny what he had seen. She had seen him through the trap of Memoriam and left him be. 

She refused to help. 

The very dragon that had once been actively hurting people was now the only person who could free him from this strange prison.

But somehow Hack knew too.

There was no doubt they had been friends before but even if Hawkins couldn’t bring himself to trust Odi he could always, always rely on Hack.

“I’m sure I could find something here…”

Gizmo’s small frame knocked into Hawkins’ shaking knees, the amber aura around him flickering for a moment. It was like a grainy picture returning to focus only to burn under the gaze of a magnifying glass. The moment Hawkins regained his senses it was quickly gone. Who knew stumbling over some loose rocks could trigger such relief but still no one saw him.

“Move, Gizmo. Before I tear down another building on top of us.”

Hawkins jolted forwards at the sound of Cull’s angry voice, lacking the usual bite that came from a working brain. The sluggish movements betrayed the Fire Traited frustrations, the hint of exhaustion on Cull’s face disappeared the moment he dragged out a half battered lantern with shattered glass.

“Fine, fine Culverin. Give me just a moment.”

Gizmo half heartedly scrambled around in the rubble, chucking minerals and rocks aimlessly without looking over his shoulder. Cull rattled the half broken lantern much to the Tinker Mole’s annoyance, the Fire Traited taking a sharp stone before striking it against another to light the meagre wick. Coaxing the flame like a crying child, the Fire Traited smiled at the growing light blooming from his own creation. Something he had done for the first time without his Trait.

Hawkins blinked, the firelight dancing against the rubble making his vision blurry and the familiar feeling of Memoriam’s hold startled him for a second considering his current trappings within it. The dwindling smoke that drifted from Cull’s lantern clouded over the glass, trapping it within such a small space. Holding onto the feeling, Hawkins let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

The cracking of a campfire surrounded the twins, the spine chilling howl surrounding the gloom of a dense forest. Two siblings embracing despite their exhaustion and dirt smudged faces. The wide eyed horror of a young boy being separated from his sister turned to unsuppressed rage at the thought of her enslavement, the building collapsing under the weight of his grimoire.

With every life that turned to ash the brilliant carmine of his flame turned his heart to stone. The darkened edges of his grimoire ebbed and flowed like his mood, unchecked through brawls and botched burglaries until his sister was at his side again, whether she wanted to or not. With every hitch of her breath the hesitance to change her fate was blurred by every fire they started.

A flash of an argument changed everything.

Hawkins expression darkened, the thought of another member of their mismatched group betraying them without warning almost felt normal at this point. Cull had allowed his sister to be taken by Cricket. He didn’t know the reasons why but judging from Mantis’ insistence the Fire Traited had expected to go after her anyways. 

The cloying taste of smoke faded a little, Cull’s frazzled expression a mix of anxiety, pity and worry for what was to come. Hawkins could see the memory clearly now. Rin wasn’t furious at Cull for betraying him. She was furious at being used as bait. Reina had lured her away during Mantis’ Stormspell and Cricket couldn’t ignore the prospect of having her babysitter back. The Transference hidden within a storm had all been a distraction.

Rin had been Transferenced along with them and Cull had no choice but to leave her behind and respect her decision for the first time. Hawkins' eyes refocused to the present, coughing at the sudden plume of black, acrid smoke escaping from the rickety contraption. His eyes watered, the sheer hysteria of the panicked Fire Traited caused his mouth to tweak upwards in a smile. 

Until a rock sailed overhead and struck him in the shoulder.

Before Hawkins could register the pain, a sharp crack bloomed into an explosion. Swatting at the flames he tried to protect his face while he was knocked to the ground from the impact. But there was no heat within the reaction. 

His ears rang with the sound of the blast echoing in his ears until the amber aura shattered all around him. The only thing that was left was a small, black pebble clutched in his hands. Cull turned around at the noise, his judging glare soothing under the recognition of being seen for the first time that day.

Hawkins had never been so happy to act like a complete idiot.

“So, Bookkeeper. It seems the black grimoire Drifted a little too far into the past for you this time, hmm?”

Gizmo sidled over to him, casual as you like and leaned on a shard of rock far bigger than himself. He stared at Hawkins with amusement in his eyes, as if peering closely at an exhibit in a museum. Gizmo cocked his head to one side much like August did when being spooked by his own reflection. 

He had salvaged a dishevelled satchel wrapped around himself, the extended strap taking a few times to wind it comfortably around his Tinker Mole body. It reminded Hawkins of Gidget’s tool belt but it was awkwardly bulged with all types of strange minerals and stones he had clearly spent the time collecting along the way. The bubble of Trait around Hawkins had burst because of his Craft.

 “Normally, I’d be pissed at you for that but…thank you. You saved me.” Hawkins admitted, breathing heavily with everything that had happened.

Gizmo’s reaction to his gratitude was as if Hawkins had spat in his face, disgusted by the mere thought of being thanked for something he did. His claws scratched against his fur as if responding to the positivity like an allergic reaction.

“Non. I do not accept thanks as payment. Besides, Gidget’s mother would flay me alive if she found out I meddled with the boy's education. But you? Yours is turning out to be far more entertaining.” Gizmo added, his voice changing from harsh to convincingly smooth.

Despite the haze of exhaustion Hawkins was in, there was no mistaking the genuine worry in Gizmo’s voice towards his nephew's future or perhaps the threat of his estranged family members. He didn’t even need to know the history but the tremor in his voice was unmistakable.

“Education?”

Hawkins couldn’t help but ask, too tired to be frustrated at Gizmo’s smugness. He had opted for sitting slumped on the ground, looking up at the endless grey around him as he resisted the urge to flop onto his back and tried to focus on Gizmo’s endless urge to add intrigue into every conversation.

“Truly, Odiphilis has failed in training you Hawkins.”

Hawkins blinked. The blaze of anger that crossed his mind soon dampened at the reminder of what he had seen through Memoriam. He flinched at the thought of so many Traited forcibly being turned Truants by her words. The quick defence on his tongue died the moment Gizmo’s hints at ‘her training’ left a sour taste in his mouth.

“What are you talking about? What…what happened to me? What did Memoriam-“

Gizmo’s hiss was enough to shut him up.

“Don’t. You foolish idiot. Don’t say that name.”

As if trapped in Cricket’s Tarragon Hawkins mouth clamped shut at the sight of Gizmo’s wide eyed terror. The Tinker Mole didn’t move, the shock too great to even register Cull’s rooting around behind him. He half expected him to collapse into ashes but Gizmo remained rigid as a board even as Hawkins squeaked out a reply.

“Why?”

The word seemed to break him out of a trance, Gizmo’s eyes softening as if being asked to do something by his nephew. Hawkins flinched, not used to an argument turning a one eighty so quickly. All his overthinking about how conversations like this normally went was upturned with a single reply.

“Sacre bleu, you really don’t know do you?” 

Gizmo’s tight voice came out in a whisper, the pain in his voice stabbing Hawkins in the lungs more than any bullet ever could. Gizmo’s rude tone had been washed away, his concern sending a wave of nausea through Hawkins enough to make him cling to the gravel beneath him.

Despite the sharp stones singed by heat and damp by Reina’s earlier rain Hawkins ran his hands through the sand like grit and tried to breathe. All of this was too much. He barely recognised the added weight next to him, the sound of gravel shifting to suit a much smaller stature.

“Look, Mediator. Blindly assuming no one else knows anything about that tricky, little book of yours is just as naive and gullible as believing that Scale Shrieker is just as innocent as that Sand Wraith.”

“If this is about the Kinslayer I don’t want to hear it.” Hawkins snapped, his anger hollow in his chest even as Gizmo scoffed.

Hawkins didn’t want to look at him. The familiar sound of a cork being unstopped sent his mind back to his mother’s habit of day drinking and the verbal abuse and inevitable patterns that followed. The endless feeling of regret and guilt that he had fucked up almost wanted to overwhelm him but the pads of his fingers forced him to focus on the prickling pain.

“Contrary to popular belief, no. It’s not.”

Hawkins could tell how tired Gizmo was, his voice droning but strangely calming tone almost trying to be attentive to his current anxiety. The trapped feeling slowly began to lessen as the ground helped centre himself a little more. He risked opening his dust ridden eyes, Gizmo resting next to him even as he kept one eye on his nephew sidling next to Cull for some mundane conversation.

“If you continue to delve too deep, continue to Drift too far into what…Memoriam has to share…I cannot guarantee your safety or that I or anyone else will be able to pull you out of it again. I am not as skilled as…others.”

Hawkins blinked, noting how carefully Gizmo chose his words despite taking a swig of whatever was in his flask. He didn’t have to guess why the Tinker Mole was being cagey about his intentions, the threat of the Lockbind constantly in the back of his mind. 

But he couldn’t help but note how genuine Gizmo was being, his experience clear despite needing nothing but words to showcase it. The idea of Memoriam latching onto Gizmo’s mind and Hawkins delving into his memories remained in the back of his mind but he clamped the familiar sense down.

“What do you mean?”

Trying to sound less like an absolute idiot Hawkins tried to theorise what Gizmo meant by Drifting. He had heard it mentioned several times before but for the life of him he couldn’t remember the specifics. His sluggish brain tried to connect Gizmo’s Craft to why his smoke wasn’t triggering any forced memories but it couldn’t decide on a tangible answer. But the knowing look in Gizmo’s eyes said otherwise.

“Your mentor and that dragon know far more than any of us could ever imagine. They know far more about that book in your hands that anyone could ever know but they cannot refute their…position. They must stay quiet to preserve their lives. They choose to stay quiet to protect their past.”

“Protect their past?”

Hawkins could tell his broken record syndrome for questions was grating on the Tinker Mole but if he was annoyed he didn’t show it. Hawkins tried to ruminate over every word in an attempt to distract his anxiety from being trapped in a temporal bubble of Trait but it took every ounce of concentration just to follow along.

“Aye, Jerimiah. Right now, Memoriam is giving you all the memories you need to piece this all together but they will always be missing something. Hack and Odi already know what Memoriam can do. You do not.”

Gizmo’s usual smugness was sobered by the sombre topic of conversation, his grating foreign accent switching to Nocturian with ease as if never having changed it at all. But something didn’t sit right with Hawkins. If Odi and Hack’s position was related to necromancy then why didn’t Memoriam show him that from the beginning? Hack’s past with Anirri hadn’t been about his ability but his Trait and Odi’s…he was still unsure about.

“The moment you forget that, is the moment you forget everything about who and what you are here for.” Gizmo added ominously, as if purposefully adding to all of the questions still spinning in his mind.

“But I don’t even know-“

“You do, boy. You absolutely do. But you know I can’t convince you of that, after all I do have a few gears loose.”

Gizmo gave him a trademark grin, a crude gesture that suggested his brain was addled but Hawkins wasn’t smiling.

“You betrayed us twice before. That’s why.” He reminded the Tinker Mole bluntly, eerily picking up a few of his mentor's habits.

Gizmo shrugged as if debating the weather rather than the lives of those they travelled with. The moment screwed on the cap of his flask, his air of self importance returned. 

“True. But if you continue to ignore the warning signs of Drifting it will get you killed. More than likely, it’ll get one of us killed too.”

Gizmo picked himself up with his claws and reunited with the group, already distancing himself from the dazed Mediator, showing no amount of exhaustion even in his stance. The satchel he had salvaged clashed with his bedraggled waistcoat, his flask now tucked haphazardly at his hip in the bursting pouch of a trove of stones and ores. 

The lump in Hawkins dry throat doubled in size. 

The bottomless dread he felt at the thought of being taught necromancy after everything he had seen all to combat this sporadic ‘Drifting’ felt like giving healing herbs to stop the Eternal Death. Pointless. 

Gizmo’s threat couldn’t be more clear. 

The Tinker Mole’s ultimatum was more damning than a raised gavel sounding his execution. He had already decided. This amicable conversation was over. Without the endless tugging of the black grimoire pulling his consciousness away Hawkins didn’t know how long he could cope without Wisp by his side.

No wonder Odi was so defensive when they first met. His drunken ramblings had basically shit talked her entire family for being hunted for something he had just tried to do on a whim. The only difference between him and every other necromancer was that they saw the memories of the dead. He saw the memories of the living.

He blinked. That was it. That was all he was missing.

“Uncle? Are you alright?”

Hawkins snapped his attention towards the much younger Tinker Mole, Gidget’s awkward gait sidling up to his uncle, nose quivering with worry but the moment Gizmo raised a claw Hawkins couldn’t help but look away. Gidget smiled up at him gratefully, his uncle’s claw gently resting on his shoulder as he wordlessly reassured his nephew despite the short time apart.

“Fine, fine. Just looking forward to finally getting out of here dès que possible. I dunno about you Gidget but these Stormspell runes are aggravating the Hells outta my Craft.”

Hawkins couldn’t bring himself to rejoin the others just yet. His body was still fighting the vertigo and the endless amount of questions that kept piling up. Memoriam. Necromancy. Gizmo. Whenever the Tinker Mole meddled things that made sense turned on its head. Hack. Odi. His Trait.

“Then turn it off. Surely you don’t need your heat vision to keep going all the time.”

Hack’s familiar tone silenced his mind a little more than normal, the reminder of Gizmo’s discussion on necromancy simplified everything a little more. Turn it off. The burning candle within Cull’s lantern puffed out. Hawkins legs ache a little less than before, grunting in exertion in an attempt to rise to his feet. Ignoring the blisters and grime coating everything he hobbled a single shuffle forwards and tried to switch his brain off and just listened.

“Maybe you can turn your leg off and stop with that aggravating noise. I swear it’s like a herd of Hammerhead’s just rammed through here every time you walk.” Gizmo complained, the bite of his voice far less prominent than before.

Hawkins could tell things were about to get heated long before the raised voices. It was like a ripple in the air, a heat haze that bloomed long before the clenched fist or tightened jaw. The anticipation of pain, the micro analysing of every sound and movement until finally. The cycle breaks.

“Heat vision?”

The quiet, quick question Hawkins asked that was normally met with a wall of noise quietened to a simple nod. Hack’s elbow knocked against his, his grip adjusted against the roughly hewn staff as if clinging to what little comfort of Anirri he had left. Cull let out a noncommittal grunt, the newly lit lantern shadowing his face in discomfort at such a sudden break. 

Perhaps it was the overall impending doom that had become their everyday background but it was clear all of them were stubbornly chatting in a circle like colleagues trying to avoid rush hour. No one wanted to rest. No one wanted to move. No one wanted to keep going. No one wanted to give up.

“Oui, oui. It is part of my Forger Craft. But I take it you don’t know much about Crafters? Then again, perhaps if you did you would’ve fared better the last time we faced off, non?” 

At least the Tinker Mole’s antics were an easy diversion to avoid talking to Hack about Odi but the less than dapper Tinker Mole was laying it on thick and Hawkins had to fight the urge to vomit. Gizmo certainly had a way of diverting people away with his smug, egocentric self but Hawkins was all too familiar with the tactics used to tolerate him. 

“Yeah, maybe. I’ve never been around anyone except Traited. I didn’t even know there was…”

“More?”

The sky dipped into a calm grey, the miniscule sunlight that peaked over the horizon of sheer rock that only ever dwarfed them in comparison. It was exactly as Gidget described and for the first time Hawkins didn’t care about the Land Above. He fell into step with the group, exhausted both physically and mentally but each took one step, one claw, one half broken, clumsy prosthetic stumble at a time until they would all inevitably turn to ash. But not yet.

“Yeah, the same thing happened when I joined the Guild. I just couldn’t fit around the schedules and the constant underground. I wanted to see the world outside of the Labyrinth. Away from my mother and the pressure of  Guildmaster.” Gidget explained awkwardly, trailing away the moment he mentioned his mother.

Hawkins nodded, finding the young Tinker Mole incredibly relatable despite barely knowing anything about him other than his obnoxious uncle. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother, his own tendencies to avoid discussing it or convincing himself and others it wasn’t that bad.

His body language was far less boisterous and comfortable and instead was closed off, his claws turning a small gear that was strangely recognisable. It had flecks of gold ridging the edges along with being caked in mud and brick dust that reminded Hawkins of the ceremony Gidget had performed in Axis. That Tinker Mole was a far cry of the calm and collected Crafter that had helped Sleek to his final resting place.

“Yet you joined Gearloose as an Enforcer. Wouldn’t exactly call that a sightseeing job.” Hack interrupted gruffly, startling the young Gidget into dropping his trinket.

It rolled out of his grasp and caught under Hawkins foot, the bright eyed gaze of the Tinker Mole turning to a look of pure horror as his grounding object slipped from his fingers out of his false calmness. The Smoke Trait gave in to his miniscule need to show off and flicked the small gear with his foot and into his palm with relative ease.

He wordlessly handed back the little golden gear to the bashful Tinker Mole who laughed awkwardly in delight and wordlessly thanked him with a little awkward half bow. Hawkins half waited for the familiar amber aura to explode but it took him several seconds to remember his Miner Craft and several more to realise the landscape slowly repairing itself around them. It seemed Axis didn’t just favour Mantis but the little Tinker Mole Druid too.

“I guess not. But I met you, right?” 

Gidget’s loveable innocence startled the Sand Wraith, his scales changing from a deep purple to a scarlet red before settling into a mix of indigo that matched the sheer embarrassment that Gizmo and Hawkins couldn’t help but exchange a goofy grin at. Gidget was so adorable he could even warm Hack’s stone heart.

“Don’t mind, Hack. Not all of us have travelled as much as he has.”

Hawkins teased his mentor, nudging Gidget gently with his shoulder as not to jog the little intricate gears out of his hands. Hack’s indigo scales deepened to an abyssal black once again his stare fixated straight ahead in an attempt to avoid admitting it to the group. His mood shifted to match the subtle changes in the environment, scales upright in tense sentinel-like attention that always left Hawkins uneasy.

“You’re right about these runes, boyo. I haven't even seen ‘em before. I think Odi has but…she’s spooked by ‘em or by what happened with Cricket. She still ain’t herself.” Hack mumbled, lowering his voice the moment they fell into step beside each other.

Normally, Hawkins jaw would’ve gone slack and he would’ve stumbled his way through all the questions he could have ever imagined possible but that inquisitive part of him had been squashed down and forced into whatever plan Memoriam had for him now.

“That’s not an excuse for leaving me trapped.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Hawkins let out a puff of air as he forced himself to charge forward, the urge for a cigarette crawled its way back to the centre of his focus but the slow shuffle he had adopted seemed to latch onto the others. At some point, the boys steady conveyer belt merged with the girls group a little ways away and the familiar formation they had slipped into earlier became natural. 

August let out a squawk.

Hawkins' eyes went wide.

They had found her. 

They had found Rin.