I fear that I am lost. I fear that I am broken. There is a madness in my veins, and it surges with every passing heartstroke. I shudder to imagine what has been stolen, what has been torn from my veins. There has been too much sacrificed, too much that I have forgotten and failed. But still I suffer in His name. Why do I bleed longer still? Why do I suffer longer still? Why—

Why do I still hunger so?

The darkness roared silently, swallowing all in its path as they ran through the tunnel. Already, Sister was beginning to tire, her weak body worn down by days of running. She needed time to rest, to recover, but the Skal’ai were a tireless hunter. They would chase over the plains, chase through the mountains, chase by day and night without pause. They would run their prey to the ground if needed, and their final step would come with as much ease as their first.

“We can’t—we can’t keep going down this way!” she huffed, pointing to a side tunnel that many of the strange men were fleeing into. “This path ends! We need to go up the mountain to get down to the other side.”

“Aye, iss’a truth. Ya ou’sa work sa cran’ ta git up.” huffed one of their guides, surprisingly quick despite his clumsy size. They were one of a flood, a surge of bodies that struggled to cling to life. As they barreled down the path, he could not help but sneak a glance over his shoulder to see the Skal’ai.

The great mass of writhing shadows spanned the entire tunnel, engorged with the corpses of men bulging beneath its depthless surface. Black mist plumed from its edge, smoke billowing from where water crackled into ice on the stone floor. If there was one fortunate thing, it was that its insatiable hunger was also a flaw; the more it consumed, the slower it became as it digested the flesh and bone. In a way, he was grateful for those wrenching screams behind him. At the very least, their deaths still gave him hope. Still, as the living shadow crept along the walls and smothered out the light, he felt a creeping cold dread slither down his spine.

As they entered the side tunnel, they saw a large crowd gathered before a massive shaft running up through the mountain. In the center of it was a metal basket that hauled men to the mountaintop, suspended by chains that stretched all the way up the shaft to the surface. Intuition told him that this was the “crane” that the guide had spoken of, although it did not nearly seem large enough to accommodate the number of men here. Yet the crowd streamed in, shoving and fighting for a spot in the basket. They piled on with shouts and screams, their small build a gift as far too many tried to enter the basket.

A loud clank rang out from above, a low groaning of metal, and then the chains began to scream as they move. Slowly but surely, the basket began to crawl upwards, pulling what seemed like almost a hundred of the men up to the top of the mountain. There were far too many trying to escape. Many were forced to cling onto the edges, entrusting their lives to the strength of their grip as the metal basket was jostled and shoved inside the narrow shaft. As their strength failed them, they slipped and fell, plummeting to a sickening crunch somewhere far below at the bottom.

“Is there only the one? Aren’t their any more.” Sister cried out, and their guide shook his head sadly.

“Iss’a only way ta surface. No many cran’ers, and most o’ ta miners ne’er leave da tunnel.” He muttered, suddenly sinking his face into his hands. “Junga...Moga…” he wept, fat tears slipping through his fingers to fall to the floor. “Dat—dat thing a-ate dem…”

He let out a growl. There was no time for this. The Skal’ai was certain to get here before this damned basket even made it to the top, at the rate this was going. His mind scrambled to think, to come up with some way to make it out of here. But these walls were too thick, the stone to hard for him to break in the needed time. They were not even halfway through the mountain; he could feel it around him. But there needed to be some way.

“W-wait!” someone cried out from amongst the crowd, voice full of panic. A horrendous screeching sound tore its way through the air from above, and there was torrent of screams that echoed down the shaft. The chains must have snapped, for the basket plunged down the shaft with the shearing sound of torn metal. Sparks rained along the wall, showering men who stood too close, the chains whipping about like snakes. As the basket passed those still waiting on the ledge, some tried to jump to safety in that briefest of instants.

They failed.

Their faces twisted in fear and horror, they all fell short of the stone ledge and howled down the shaft, incapable of stopping their death. Even the closest could only bring his knuckles to touch the stone; their small stature and size betrayed them in this time of need.

When the basket struck the ground, there was no sound.

“No…” their guide gasped softly, only for a quiet sob to sneak out of his throat. “W-we’s all ded now, n-no way…”

Black mist billowed from the bottom of the shaft, numbing those it touched with that terrible cold. Some men became rigid, others collapsing like mere infants. It crackled over their skin, sapping away their heat and stealing away their strength. Those that stood too close to the edge fell over without a sound, and their bodies were swallowed by shadow in silence as well.

“Skal’ai.” he hissed, and he knew that there was no more time. Grabbing Sister by the waist, he bolted towards the shaft with as much speed as he could muster, pushing aside men in the way. “Wait! Fren!” their guide called out helplessly as they left him behind, callous and uncaring.

“Wait—” she cried out, not understanding. “What are you—”

And then he leapt.

Weightlessness took over him for a breath of time, and they were flying through the air. Nothing but death waited for them below, nothing but momentum keeping them from the maws of waiting shadow. For a moment everything froze, his heartbeat, his movement, and there was only his body, minute against the consuming darkness. They were floating, suspended motionless in the air. He dared not to breathe.

And then there was a jarring sensation as he struck stone. Sparks flew as his claws dug into the stone, every muscle in his body taut as a cord as he struggled not to fall. He fought his own weight, fighting not to fall. Fear and doubt shouted at him, worrying that he would slip, that Sister would fall, that the Skal’ai would pluck them off then and there. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to ignore his own uncertainty. It would serve him no purpose here. Weight and momentum carried them down, although their speed began to slow as his claws began to find purchase. Above him, Sister let out a shrill scream as they slid downward, seemingly towards certain death.

There was only a tense silence when they slowly ground to a halt, claws buried into the cracked stone.

“N-now what?” Sister stammered on, her arms around his shoulders the only thing keeping her alive. Her fingers dug into his fur, struggling to keep a grip.

He let out a toothy grin that none could see as his legs tensed. They had survived the jump, now they just had to climb out of the shaft. It would be just like running, he reminded himself. Just, instead of forward, it would be up. “Hold on. Tight.”

Pushing up with every last fiber of strength in his muscle, he swung his left arm up and buried his hand in cracking stone. There was a brief moment of tension as the stone began to crumble, began to come loose from his endeavors, but it passed and a tight breath snuck out of him. Once more, he buried his right hand in stone, pulling himself upward.

Over and over he repeated these motions, clawing his way out of death’s jaws with nothing but primal strength. His muscles burned, his heart about to burst, his veins aflame with molten fire. His body was a dead weight, his Sister made of lead and steel. His limbs were made of water, his shoulders and legs protesting the very notion of motion. He howled and cursed the useless flesh that he bore. What use was it to him if it failed him now? If it broke in his greatest moment of need?

And as he searched with his foot for purchase on the sloped stone, his hand slipped.

Fear shot through his stomach like a poison, lacing through his blood with its icy touch. He was dangling, hanging on with only his right hand. His progress had been too slow, and now shadow began to dance around them. Coiling darkness, serpentine hands of the Skal’ai, they circled like a predator to prey.

Far, had Skal’ai chased them. They had waited in every shadow, behind every corner, waiting only for their mother’s call. Now, their hunt was over. As that black mist settled on his hand, he felt his grip begin to loosen. Already, Sister had fallen silent. His body was worn, his mind feverish and tired. So tired. There was no more strength in him, no more drive. It was all just so cold.

“Demon!” Sister gasped, trembling on his back. “These mountains. There must be heat beneath these mountains!”

Heat? But it was so cold.

But he was so tired.

His eyes closed, that familiar numbness spreading to his chest. Without sensation in his fingers, the shadows began to lap greedily at his flesh, sinking formless fangs into the muscle. His eyes closed, and he could only feel that which was around him. Feel. It was a familiar sensation, one that he had experienced before. He felt spirits around him, the slow pulsing of a thousand souls in these mountains. He felt life fade, those light below him slowly guttering out as they were consumed. He felt the earth around him, felt the trembling of the very stone that he still clutched. Above him, he felt the sky, its winds harsh and cold as they struck the mountaintop. And below him, he felt the chilling cold. The numbing void. That consuming emptiness that swarmed ever closer.

And yet, below that, he felt heat.

His eyes were closed, and he felt heat. His eyes were closed, and he saw heat.

Like a blind man gifted back his sight, he saw everything around him in vibrant color. He saw the brilliant white of the spirits in these halls, pulsing with gentle life. He saw the threads of mahji in the air, even saw the green of tainted marai. Above him, he saw the sky, even hidden as it was behind stone and snow. Below him, he saw heat. Red-white with power, with life, with brilliant fire. That heat warmed him as he gazed into it, as he saw it with sightless eyes.

Well done, scion. Once more, you have opened your Mind’s Eye. Those hissing voices spoke once more

Indeed, this sensation was familiar; he had felt it once before, when he had freed the dead from the blackstone. He had seen then, and he saw now. He saw the flame beneath him, and he felt it burning his blood.

He felt the heat pulsing, felt the heat ebb and flow—for this was liquid fire, and it ran like a river under the stone. He felt it churn, felt it rise and fall. He felt its pulse, and he felt his own heartbeat slow to match it. And as he felt its pulse, unbeknownst to him, threads of purple wound their way out of his fingertips.

Fire, whispered numb lips, frozen by cold shadow, and he wanted to pull it closer. He wanted to draw it into him, to have this scalding heat warm away the numbness in his bones. He wanted to pull it out of the earth, to feel it suffuse him with warmth, to feel it cascade against his skin. And as he felt that need, unbeknownst to him, ribbons of purple mahji sank into the stone.

All around them, the shaft began to tremble. Pebbles and rock fell loose from the walls, large cracks splintering like veins along the surface. Rumbling filled the air, steam hissing and popping as it surged towards the surface.

“Was that you?” shouted Sister, but his ears were frozen.

“Run!” shouted Sister, but his legs were frozen.

All he wanted was the heat, to thaw off the cold shadow that ate away at his heart.

So why did Sister climb into a hole in the cracked shaft wall, formed from crumbling stone? Why did Sister pull him into the collapsing rock, away from the heat? Why did Sister drag him farther and farther from the opening that they had entered through, farther and farther away from that blessed heat?

Why did Sister seal the opening off, hardening the stone around them with vahma until they were in a ball of unbroken rock?

And then the surging current of magma that he had called forth struck the boulder that she had made, and the movement made hit strike his skull against the stone. Heat, he thought, feeling that numbness slink away from his flesh. And then, broken and weary and drained by the effort, his vision went black.