Lily was dreaming. Slowly shaking the fog from her thoughts, her gaze fell upon a familiar figure slowly forming out of the parting smoke. She saw her sister before her, that brilliant smile shining brighter than a star. With those twinkling eyes, those dimpled cheeks, Lily could not help but break out into tears.

“I missed you.” she murmured through muffled sobs, gazing into those gentle eyes. “Why—why did you leave me?” She reached out a hand to touch her sister’s face, and a single tear ran down that tanned cheek. It was wet to the touch, wet and hot. And yet, as it touched her finger, that tear blossomed crimson and scarlet, a rivulet of blood that trickled down her arm.

“Why did I leave you?” sweet sister whispered, and Lily nearly cried out at the sound of her voice. So dearly had she missed that laughing voice, always filled with joy no matter the time of day. So dearly had she missed that quiet murmur, like velvet against her ears. “But you left me.”

More tears fell from her face, more red covered her skin. Lily saw blood coating her hand, saw hot crimson flow over her palms. She saw the men before her, kicking her sister’s corpse in front of her eyes. And the corpse of her sweet sister wept blood, wept sanguine rivulets as she whispered, “You ran, sweet sister. You left me.”

Panicked and blinded by blood and tears, Lily raised her wrists to wipe her eyes. When her hands fell away, she saw a white flame eating away at sweet sister’s corpse. Soulfire, she noted dully. She felt empty, thoughtless, as the fire engulfed the corpse. She made no response as the burning arm reached out for her. She made no movement as her sister screamed at her, screamed for her to help. A cost, she realized suddenly, even as the last of sweet sister’s image was burning away. A price to vahma.

Those beautiful lips were shaping soundless words, those brilliant eyes cracked and caked with blood. Those dimpled cheeks were sallow and pale, that brilliant smile now ruined and grotesque. As her flesh turned to ash, sweet sister kept clawing for aid. Those fingers seemed more and more skeletal with every passing breath, those arms almost bone-thin now. The soulfire soared to an all-new height, blindingly white. And when it finally fell away, when the vision finally returned to her blinded eyes, she saw nothing but spiraling smoke, shimmering smolder that rose away into a formless sky.

“Sweet sister.” she whispered, fat tears rolling down her face. The words were foreign, strange in her mouth. Why do I weep? Who are these tears for? She could not remember, could not recall, no matter how hard she tried. She could not understand the words she spoke, no matter how hard she tried.

Did I have a sister? The sloane could not recall. Her memories had long since joined that billowing smoke. There was a burning in her chest, a fierce flame that ate away at her. It tugged at the pit of her stomach, gnawed away at her very thoughts.

There is nothing but the hunger, nothing but that insatiable appetite that smothers the thought and inundates sanity itself. It transfixes my every action, my very nerve. I fear that I have become nothing more than a beast, no more than a feral abomination, driven by instinct and desire. Even now, it gnaws at me, like the incessant touch of a lover. And there is nothing here to drown it out, nothing here to take away the suffering.

Since when did I become all alone?

When Lily woke, it was with a throbbing headache. Curled up beside the demon, she found herself surrounded by white soulstone and utter darkness. Rock formed by vahma, hardened by magic, solid as steel. Her mouth twitched with an itching pain, her fingers trembling stiffly. With a groan, she sat up in the cramped, hollow space, remembering the circumstances that had led to this situation. The demon had pulled magma from below the Twisting Spires, drawing it up the crane shaft and burning away the Skal’ai underneath them. It had been a desperate maneuver, a hopeless last resort, and it had been good fortune that had lent to them their survival.

As the molten rock had surged forth, the walls around them had begun to crumble. She had pulled them into a crevice formed by falling stone, using the space to start a chant. The demon had already grown numb, and so she was forced to burn vahma once more. It was easier the second time, the fabric of her soul already frayed. She tugged on those loose ends, unraveling more to set aflame. It had sunk into the stone, the magic of her pact hardening the stone and drawing it around the two. As the magma had shot upwards to fill the shaft, she could only pray that the soulstone would be enough.

Right before the final gap in the stone closed, she saw the remaining diggers on their ledge, frozen with fear as molten stone rose to claim them. She saw Boga, his features torn and twisted with loss and grief. It was impossible at the distance, over all the noise of fracturing stone, but she thought that she had heard him screaming. Fren, she thought she had heard him scream in that strange tongue of his. Don’t leave me, he had screamed. His naivety had been refreshing, certainly, at there was a part of her that wept when she saw the terror and betrayal cover his face. We have left you behind, she thought. We are no true friends of yours.

And then the soulstone had sealed up, and the space was plunged into darkness. Magma caught them as it shot to the surface, and she struck her head on the ceiling with a force harder than any blow. That was the last that she remembered—the cracking of her skull on the stone—the last she recalled before dreams overtook her.

It seemed that they had survived, although she had no way of surveying the situation. Indeed, even if this rock had been their savior, it would kill them both in moments if they could not break out; without fresh air, they could only last minutes at best. Already, she could feel her breathing speeding up as the air ran out.

“Demon. Demon, wake up.” she muttered, jostling the sleeping figure beside her as best she could, yet she found no response. Could it have died? It was certainly possible, if it had been wounded by blows from the stone. If so, then she was alone. A gentle fear bit into her at that thought. Alone, like so long ago.

She needed light, even if it was just for an instant. As if without even trying, flame jumped from her fingers with greedy eagerness at the mere thought. Her vahma burned seemingly of its own accord, without command or even effort. The more frayed the fabric of her soul became, the easier it was to unravel more and more strands to burn. Soon enough, there would only be a single strand left, and she would not even know what she had lost.

Why did it feel as though she had already lost too much?

Yet with that white flame, she saw the smooth rock that surrounded her. It was fractured, chipped and cracked by the force from which they had been jostled. Working her pale fingers into the largest crack, she struggled to pry it open. But the stone was still too hard, her body still too weak, and her breaths were coming even faster now. The flame had eaten its own share of her air, and the hourglass had only a few grains left in the top.

Hurriedly pulling her dagger out of its sheath, Lily began to chip away at the soulstone. Small pieces began to fall away, and she continued with reinvigorated strength. Yet as more and more broke off, she found her breathing grow shallow, matching the pace of her racing heartbeat. She hammered away with feverish blows, her palms covered with sweat and her arms burning. Yet it seemed to be of no use. Her vision blurred, her consciousness growing fuzzy, and she felt her blows grow weaker with every passing moment.

Ghostlike inklings of light began to shine through the veinous rock, bleeding faintly through the stone. So close, she thought. Just a little more. Yet she felt her body failing her, felt her consciousness growing dim. “No,” she whispered, her lips cracked. So close.

A strength filled her then, a bubbling fire that roared through her arms. Renewed strength soared through her, magic in her limbs. With a gasping roar, she drove her dagger into the last bits of stone, breaking through and seeing blessed light beam through. Ash-filled air filled her lungs, making her cough and heave from exertion. Her heart throbbed as she drew in a new breath, suddenly swooning as her head cried out for air.

For a moment, she simply lay there gasping, her chest heaving, her arms weak as water. White smoke fizzled from her skin as she realized that once more vahma had burned without her even calling it forth. “I wonder what I lost this time.” she muttered, twitching her fingers as she struggled to rise. “But my crow-cursed head feels like it on fire.”

Picking up her dagger, its edge dulled and nicked by her improper use, she began once more to chip away at the soulstone. Gradually, the hole began to widen, allowing the bright light of a halfday sun shine onto her face. Over and over, the monotonous motions began to wear her out. Her tired arm swung down and the blade flew out of her sweaty hands, drawing a line of red across her palm as it clattered onto the floor. She cursed, spitting onto the cut as she picked up the dagger with her other hand.

A growling sound behind her gave some warning before something struck the stone with tremendous force. It seemed, Lily noted dully, that the demon was still alive. “Five and three curses!” she swore, caught off-guard as the demon woke. Perhaps it had been the scent of blood that had stirred it from sleep, for it was still in a weary state of torpor. Carelessly, it crashed it horns against the rock, nearly grazing her in the half-mad process.

“Sworn stars, what are you doing!” she screamed, feeling chipped stone fly into her face. “Over there! Break the hole open over there!” She gestured to the small opening that she had managed to make, hoping that her words could break through the demon’s stupor somehow.

It let out a low growl before sniffing, half-lidded turning to focus blearily on her.

Uh-oh.

With a roar, it charged towards her head, the movement awkward in the confined space. She dodged in a hopeful motion, striking her head and arm against stone in an effort to avoid those goring horns. The demon crashed into the stone, striking it with all the force of its charge and breaking through the weakened rock. There was the sound of splintering stone, a shower of cracked rock that fell on her. She raised her arm reflexively, feeling stinging cuts as the edges drew a latticework of scarlet across her skin. Blood oozed from her arm and forehead, smearing her vision with a haze of red as she saw blessed sky above her.

The demon gave a toss of its head before climbing out awkwardly into the light, its skull unhurt despite breaking through the stone. After its large form lumbered out, she pulled herself out of the soulstone outside with a grunt of effort. Falling onto black ash and stone, she collapsed with weary breaths as she gave a huff of relief. It would seem that they had survived.

But what was the price that she had paid for it? As she searched her memories, her jaw clenched with the knowledge that she would likely never know what she had lost. She saw familiar faces flashing through her mind—her aged mentor, the diggers that had met them, even the face of the king when he had paraded through Telavir in the past. Yet they were all faces, familiar but distant, and she realized then that she had lost their names. Try as she might to recall that which should wholly be in her grasp, she could not remember the names of those around her. For her life, she had burned away her memories once more.

As the demon rolled onto the ash and dirt, it tossed its head in confusion. Finally shrugging off the weight of its sleep, it gazed around briefly before letting off a deep throated roar. The grass trembled, groundbirds scurrying away and insects taking flight in a storm of buzzing wings. There was a primal joy in that roar, a undeniable pleasure that from being alive. It filled her blood with vigor, made her face flush with warmth. Names, she thought.

“A name.” she muttered, and the demon turned to face her in surprise. “Don’t you still need a name? How about Joy?”

It recoiled in surprise, cocking its head like a dog in curiousity. She had seen the pleasure that had filled it when it hunted, when killed, and even just now, when it lived. It seemed to contemplate that word, running a black tongue over its teeth before suddenly lunging towards her. Not an inch from her face, it suddenly snapped its jaws shut with a crack, its muzzle close enough that she could feel its breath on her face. Then, ever slowly, it pulled back.

Seeing her flinch, its face was stretched with a savage smile, those mismatched eyes staring into her own. A series of guttural grunts tore their way out of his chest, and it took her a moment to realize that it was laughing.

“Joy.” it nodded, turning away and slowly rising to its feet.