Seven yonders and a hundred-eleven turns deep in the Stretching Abyss, inside one of the small prison gazebos of the Iron Garden, Mr. B and his good friend Mr. S paused their daily game of ‘let's-dig-an-escape-tunnel’, when a gardener’s metal foot clanged against their cage. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the gardener landed all over a white gravel path. What had once been a pair of walking hedge shears were now scrap metal confetti.

The broken gardener turned to its side. It groaned in agony, attempting in vain to close its mangled blades. Poor thing! Mr. B covered his eyes with his feelers. He couldn’t bear to watch such violence.

“About time,” said Mr. S. He dusted his threadbare suit and climbed up the ironvines enveloping the gazebo to vie for a glimpse of action. “Could it be, the rescue finally arrived? I’ll admit, I was getting a tad worried there.”

Clanking and banging of metal was followed by various types of gardeners flying all over the place. A rake crashed into a topiary sculpture, adding horns to the bird bush. A watering can smashed into the cage opposite of Mr. B’s and Mr. S’s. Its water spilled all over the gazebo, causing ironvines to erupt and bury it entirely. Luckily, the person inside was already a skeleton, so he didn’t seem to mind too much.

“Have they hired someone new?” Mr. S mused, as footsteps and commotion grew closer. His beady orange eyes widened and the thin gray tendrils coating his head writhed anxiously.

“Uh oh. That’s not the rescue,” Mrs. S said, dropping down into a crouch. “Of all the scum in the Byss it had to be him… Oh boy, we are in for a ride old friend.”

Mr. B raced to their escape tunnel, where he put his stubby front-paws into a digging frenzy! He let out a loud ping, urging Mr S. to help save himself.

“I appreciate the concern, but we won’t make it big enough in time.” Mr. S knelt, upturned his stone pillow, and reached his hand into a secret cache. “You’ll need to go alone.”

Mr. B bounced against Mr. S’s foot in protest.

“Don’t be such a drama queen. I do have a plan,” said Mr. S.

He retrieved a small bundle wrapped in red foil and unwrapped it. A tempting scent of pure potential wafted from the golden orb on his hand. Its glow was dimmed only slightly by the patina-darkened silver coin resting between the orb and a small sealed pouch.

Mr. S glanced sy the encroaching ruckus, slipping the coin under his forked tongue, then ripped off a small rectangular piece of his suit. With fingers as nimble as a human’s, Mr. S spread the pouch’s contents on the suit-piece, rolled it tight, and shoved the joint in Mr. B’s mouth.

Mr. B spat it out and pinged desperately, reminding Mr. S of his obligations.

“It’s too late to stop her. Surface is doomed, but that’s fine.” Mr. S bit his thumb and began drawing squiggly figures on the bundle of shiny foil. “We’ll get creative and figure out how to come out on top, and set ourselves up as kings of whatever’s left after the chaos settles.”

Ignoring Mr. B’s weakening beeps, Mr. S handed him the golden orb wrapped in his drawings.

“Come on now, old buddy, smoke the prophecy, and find someone useful who can help us out.” Mr. S ruffled Mr. B’s fluffy head, and picked up the joint. “Give them the orb and the message. That should be enough to convince anyone with a functioning brain that my best interest is their best interest.”

He was trying to look tough, but Mr. B sensed uncertainty and dread dancing behind Mr. S’s every thought.

Mr. B squinted his eyes, pinging with determination!

“Of course I’ll try my best. No one is completely immune to my charms, and who knows. Maybe this goon he sent could be bought, for the right price.” Mr. S flicked his fingers, producing a spark. The joint of prophecy lit up, glowing soft violet. Whispers of futures wafted from it. When the tip touched Mr. B’s tongue, he was hit by a riot of scents, all mixed up into one overpowering flavor of future.

His paws tensed, when Mr. S put Mr. B face first into their escape tunnel. Mr. S gave him a shove, to which Mr. B pinged.

“Haha. Don’t jinx it. When have I failed to negotiate myself out of trouble?” Mr. S asked.

Mr. B pinged repeatedly.

“Right, well, I’m sure it’ll work eventually.”

Mr. B grumbled.

A pergola next to the cage crashed down. Over it walked a humanoid figure as tall as the gazebos and half as wide. Its headless body was a mass of pitch-black roots intertwined, and writhing. When it bent down, and stared at them with two round purple eyes, Mr. B’s ears stood up in primal fright.

“Go. Go!” Mr. S hissed.

The creature dropped two mangled watering cans from its grip, and grabbed the gazebo bars. Metal groaned as it yielded.

Mr. B sprinted into the tunnel.

Behind him, Mr. S spoke with carefree confidence, “Welcome, my new friend. Welcome. Could I interest you in a friendly conversation where we both sit down and conduct ourselves like gentlemen? I’m sure we can come to some form of agreemen—Urk!”

One gut punch dropped Mr. S into dirt. Mr. B felt his pain, and hesitated a ping too long. The towering creature locked its eyes with his. One of its arms reached reached into the escape tunnel, parting into thick tentacles which grabbed at Mr. B. Pinging in not at all undignified panic, Mr. B drew on the strength of his chubby legs, and squeezed deeper and deeper into the ever narrowing tunnel. Even when the tentacles got stuck, he continued for several turns, until collapsing from exhaustion in a root covered cave.

Scuffed up and dirty, Mr. B dragged himself into a comfortable nook, where he drew a big fat drag of prophecy. The joint crumbled into purple ash.

Whispers, chirps, and sounds flooded Mr. B’s senses. Glimpses of the future blurred his vision. Before his eyes, the cavern twisted and turned, its plants flourished and withered, and creatures crawled every which way in blurs of motion too quick to catch.

Mr. B focused hard, wrangling the untamed futures into a prophecy. He concentrated on finding someone who could save his friend, anyone.

An image flashed through Mr. B’s mind.

He knew where to go and who to find. He wouldn’t let Mr. S down!