I had entirely forgotten about this memory here. This is of my younger brother, Dylan, back before the world went to shit. He was only five in this fragment. I see him playing with the water hose—pretending it’s a jump rope. It’s funny, seeing the joy on a child’s face like that about something so simple. I wish I could have that kind of joy again–not thinking about the darkness or pain.

  I think you would have liked him if you had gotten the chance to meet him, but unfortunately he was stricken with the Chlorination Syndrome.

  He died in the first wave with all the others before he could even realize what was going on.

  That was a sad day. There are lots of sad days here.

  I regret watching this memory now.

  Hauthe 19th, 758

  As consciousness begins to reassert itself, I find myself struggling to breathe. Each cough is an agonizing expulsion, the stinging-burning sensation in my lungs a continuous pain in my chest. My eyes open wide as disorientation hits me after the pain.

  The first thing I see is Ezra pressing down on my chest, and a final cough erupts from within. I turn over onto my side to hack up the rest of the water, then turn to meet Ezra's gaze, thankful that we made it on dry land. My vision focuses and I see the southern coastline extending out on either side, behind us lies Obskurd, and above floats Khadein–where we had fallen from.

  The ground beneath us is composed of vibrant orange, chalk-like rock that shimmers in the soft light. It stretches out into the horizon, creating a stark contrast to the cerulean sea stretching out to meet the sky.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath as I gradually sit up, the cold dampness seeping through my clothes.

  "Malachi, are you alright?" she asks, her searching eyes scanning my form for any sign of distress or injury. I manage a weak nod, acknowledging her with gratitude as I continue to fight the involuntary shivers coursing through my body.

  "I'll be fine," I reply, my voice strained and hoarse. A series of coughs wrack my chest, expelling more water from my lungs, accompanied by the painful burning sensation that accompanies the process. It takes me a full minute to regain enough composure to speak. "What happened?" I ask, my hand reaching to wipe my face in a feeble attempt to clear the disorientation that clouds my thoughts.

  Ezra's features contort, caught in a tangle of emotions that play across her face like shifting shadows. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and the weight of her actions appears to press heavily on her shoulders. She folds her arms tightly over her knees. "I...I think I messed up," she confesses.

  "What? What do you mean?"

  "I'm glad you're okay," she utters softly. "We're lucky we ended up on this shore. It could have been far worse. I could have killed us both..."

  I recall the initial collision that sent us plummeting, during which I had seen Ezra in the air above me. If she had been descending at the same speed as me, how could she have possibly…? My realization strikes me like a bolt of lightning. "You...aren’t floating down—you started free-falling immediately," I say. "You didn't send a prayer to Levios?”

  Ezra's expression darkens with regret.

  "I feel so idiotic," she says. "Just after I made such a scene about having a default. I've never left Khadein from the Spiral. I...I don't know how to work it. I was embarrassed to admit it. I figured you moving forward meant you knew what you were doing and it'd work for the both of us...I'm…” She pauses and takes a deep breath before meeting my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mal. I let myself get in our way...maybe you are right to question me.”

  I meet her gaze with reassurance. "Hey," I interject, turning to face her, "We’ve made it through. In hindsight, I should have communicated better too. I should have checked to make sure you knew how it worked. I haven't been through it before, but I've heard enough stories from my father about it. That's the only reason I knew what to do. And besides, if you haven't been here, I wouldn't have even thought to pray to Velos. It is only at that moment I realized. I would have probably been knocked unconscious by the waters at such a depth before I even hit the surface below."

  Ezra's laughter breaks through the tension, and I see a flicker of a smile forming on her lips. "I acted on instinct. See someone drowning—you help them out."

  "Anything you say to me could be said to yourself," I offer, reminding her of her own wisdom.

  She chuckles, her gaze now softening. "I don't recall having that look on my face when I say that...but I guess you're right. I guess that makes us even, then?" She extends her hand, a sign of understanding and unity.

  I nod, accepting her gesture, and we shake hands in agreement. While we take a moment to recover from our ordeal, Ezra suddenly sits up, her eyes widening in realization. She reaches for her holster with a sense of urgency that makes me anxious. "Ah, shit!"

  "What is it?"

  She sighs, her frustration palpable as she holds her waterlogged gun in her hands. "The gun will be fine once I can dry it out, but the ammo's done for," she explains. "I should have realized...even in the best-case scenario, we would be hitting the water. Gods…” She rests her head at the top of her knees, her distress evident. "Should have air-sealed it. It would have taken minutes at most."

  "Maybe we'll be able to find a store in Obskurd? They've got all those mines they work in—I'm sure they have the gunpowder to spare. How’s your flashstick?"

  “It survived, thankfully. Though, I’m not particularly inspired by our surroundings for a picture at this exact moment. Ugh, damn. I’m sure they'd charge us up the ass for ammo—I don't have that kind of money...I guess maybe we could come up with some working arrangement..."

  "I...don't think I have the time for that," I admit, a touch of anxiety creeping into my voice. "They're expecting this by the end of the month," I point at the Sword of the End.

  "End of the month?" she inquires. "That's..."

  "Sorry, I should have mentioned that too. I know that part hasn't spread around town—my father and I agreed it would only make the people’s fears about this all worse."

  She studies me in silence, a hint of frustration on her face, but she pulls it back.

  "What is it?" I ask..

  "Two weeks is not a lot of time," she says. “Kinda wish you had led with that.”

  I sigh, my shoulders drooping slightly. "You doesn't have to come along; I told you it is—"

  She waves off my concern, unwilling to entertain the thought. "I've already signed on. That’s not a question. I just wish you mentioned that...but okay. Two weeks...Well, we should pick ourselves up here and find someplace to duck the night—our stint in the water doesn't afford us a lot of time with the sun," she points off in the distance, where the setting sun is casting a warm magenta glow over the horizon.

  “My father said if we can keep a good pace we should be able to reach the Verdantian border by the end of tomorrow, and only spend two days max before we get to the Aurelethian border. That’s of course assuming everything goes smoothly.”

  “Which it probably won’t,” Ezra says. “So, I feel even more sure about us taking in for the night wherever we can.”

  As the sun sinks lower on the horizon, we both scramble to our feet, shaking off the residual water from our clothes. I pull my bag over and unclasp the latches—thankful that the food my father prepared is secured and sealed in bags. I reset the clasps and look over to find Ezra inspecting her bag as well—emptying it of the ruined ammunition.

  It’s an eerie, barren place, and the setting sun paints the world in a surreal, otherworldly glow. I feel the gritty texture of the orange soil beneath my damp clothes, and the sea breeze tousles my hair.

  I spot a path that is worn into the terrain by what looks to have been countless footsteps. It looks like an ancient scar in the land, leading us further inland.

  "We should follow that path and find shelter for the night," I suggest.

  "Perhaps some friendly Obskurdians will offer us lodging."

  We continue to walk, our footsteps echoing in the stillness of the evening, with the distant murmur of the sea as our only companion.

  I observe the swift scurrying of tiny insect-like creatures called Scwerpos that navigate the flat ground with remarkable speed, moving faster than we could hope to keep up.

  It won’t be like this when we hit Verdantia at least. Low amounts of invasive species there, everything loves to stay where the grass grows greener.

  We continue along the stony terrain for another hour longer until a voice behind us abruptly shatters the silence, making us both spin around. A figure emerges, clad in hunting gear, carrying a walking stick that pounded the rocky ground rhythmically with each step. The approaching figure appeared to be a seasoned local, his eyes scanning us.

  The man confronting us appeared to be in his early twenties, his jet-black hair bound tightly in a ponytail that swung behind him like a determined pendulum. His skin is much darker than either of ours. His imposing stature effortlessly dwarfed mine, casting a figurative shadow that matched the intensity of his piercing gaze.

  "What are Levios's fools doing, gracing us with their presence?" he inquires, his voice tinged with intimidation. His words hang in the salty coastal breeze, adding an edge of challenge to the encounter.

  "I'm simply seeking to pass through quickly to make a delivery in Aureleth," I reply with practiced confidence.

  The man raises an eyebrow. "A delivery?" he repeats, prompting me to elaborate. His eyes bore into mine.

  "None of your business," Ezra retorts, her voice carrying a sharp, defiant note that echoes in the barren surroundings.

  The man's expression remains as unyielding as the rocky terrain beneath our feet. "Oh, it's plenty of my business when you enter our territory," he counters.

  Ezra attempts to interject, "Surely that can't be worth your time? We can just go and—"

  At that moment, the man pivots his attention toward me. "You Khadein folk think you're the most important lot in the world; you're all the same. By the way you bunged up that fall of yours—I would think you'd appreciate it when someone's offering you a place to rest your head."

  Ezra can't hold back her sharp retort, "Your prisons are no benefit to us. Don't act like taking us in is some grand gesture...and are you watching us?" Her frustration simmers beneath her words.

  "I am the watch for our border. So, yes, I did see you plummet spectacularly. Don't know what those gods of yours see in you—Levios surely has much better devotees to grant favor than two runts looking to jump headfirst into the abyss." Ezra clenches her jaw, but then the man speaks up, "Look, like it or not, it's my duty to bring you before the chief. My greatest desire would be to see you hiking the trail back up to your home, but duty's duty."

  I look up to him. "We aren't going back to Khadein. Not yet, anyway, so I guess we’re in agreement.”

  In response, the man lets out a derisive laugh. "Right. Well, follow me. We've got a bit of a trek back, and I'm not in the mood to carry any of you." The rhythmic click of his cane on the rocky terrain sets the pace for our impending journey into the unknown, echoing in the still air.

  The man reinforces his authority by driving his cane into the ground once more. "I'll have you know I can grab the both of you if I want. I don't want to. I think you'll prefer walking on your own two legs...or are you used to the wind carrying your every favor?"

  "We can walk fine enough,” Ezra says.

  Opting not to escalate the situation, I fall in line behind the man. Ezra quickens her pace, falling into step beside me. She ducks her head low and whispers, "Can you believe the gall of having someone watch the spiral day in and day out? I can’t believe it.”

  "It is a bit strange for me to think about,” I admit, sharing her puzzlement. "I don't think there are enough people leaving and entering on a day-by-day basis to justify having around-the-clock watches."

  "Right, that’s what I’m concerned about too. Why would you need one then? There must be some reason...and I’m not too sure it’s anything good.”

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  "Could it perhaps be related to the Abyss?” I ask.

  Ezra shrugs, and out of the corner of my eye I see the man with the cane come to a sudden stop. "Are you that privileged to know so little of the tensions between your sky pirates and my homeland?”

  The both of us stop, exchanging glances, and then turn our attention back to the man. "I...know there have been conflicts in the past,” I begin. "But I’m sorry, I don’t know the details of everything. My father doesn't tell me a lot of stories about it.”

  "Obskurd and Khadein have fought over territory surrounding the abyss historically,” Ezra explains. "Obskurd attempted to expand their reach through their underground networks, and we’ve defended ourselves. Successfully, I might add.”

  The man's face contorts in response to her explanation. "An explanation of events as simple as I expected,” he says. "Devoid of the truth and nothing more than propaganda to avoid the harsh realities.”

  "Listen,” Ezra says, her frustration evident on her face, "I’m not having someone whose name I don’t even know judge me on bloodline. That’s ignorance at its finest and if anything reinforces many of the negative stereotypes I hear of your people. I don’t need to tell you how many of the things you lay at us could be pointed in the same direction?”

  The man stares hard at her. I knew this trick. Ezra is good at finding when someone has no room to cast stones.

  "I do not seek to hash up old conflicts between people who are doing regrettable actions long before I was even born. I simply seek to travel to the Empire with my friend here to deliver this blade, and that is that.”

  He stares for a moment longer, then turns and starts walking again. "Waylan.”

  "Excuse me?” Ezra asks.

  "That’s my name. You said you rejected my words because you didn't know it. Now you do. We’ll continue on our way to the chief’s, and your path will be decided there—you will be judged for invading our space.”

  "Invading…” Ezra says in disbelief.

  "Let’s at least see if we can speak to this chief of theirs,” I say. "I don’t know if we’re going to be changing his mind anytime soon.”

  "Quite," Waylan says, his voice carrying a hint of nonchalance.

  "Rude of you to eavesdrop," Ezra remarks.

  Waylan responds with a simple grunt, his attention elsewhere, and he continues forward, leaving us with no option but to trail behind him obediently. We’re led to the entrance of a tunnel that I’m sure I would have missed if we are exploring by ourselves. It looks like a sliver of the ground has been carved out as the path continues downward. The air takes on a different quality as we descend further, a subtle shift in temperature and scent. It carries a more bitter aroma. The silence that envelops us becomes more pronounced, broken only by the soft echoes of our footsteps against the tunnel walls.

  The passage leads us to the heart of a whole subterranean world. Bioluminescent fungi in many different colors light our path through the tunnel, casting a gentle glow that mimics the play of moonlight filtering through the layers of rock and soil. The walls are adorned with so many altering patterns that create a mesmerizing display of ethereal patterns.

  Ezra has taken out her flashstick and stops to flash the image before us. She turns to me, “It’s going to take some time to develop since we don’t have much sun down here...but I have to admit this place is absolutely gorgeous down here.”

  Waylan maintains his steady pace, causing us to speed to catch back up. I cock my head back enough to whisper to Ezra, "You said the Khadein people and Obskurdians fought over land disputes, right?”

  "It is as clear-cut an issue as any other. Stemming from the historic disputes back before Levios lifted the land of Khadein up in the air. Even back before then, Obskurd is instigating issues by tunneling underneath Khadein’s land. It is the predominant reason that Khadein is lifted in the first place. I don’t know what he’s got his knickers in a twist over—his people are clearly the instigators.”

  There must be some reason he’s more angry with us based on our place of birth. He's not that old—not old enough to have seen the conflicts of the past firsthand. Was there some other root for his anger? I don’t think he’d admit as much to us, though.

  I realize that we’re losing valuable time, but I don’t think they’ll let us go so easily unless we're able to overpower them. And right now—looking at how toned Waylan’s muscles are, even though he has that cane, he looks like he could take us both on without much trouble. Especially given that Ezra’s gun is functionally useless to us now. I sigh, this trip couldn’t have started out worse. But at the end of the day, this is the truth of the matter, so I can’t do anything but continue to move forward as best as I can.

  The wall on my right suddenly ends, revealing an awe-inspiring and vast expanse that opens up before me.

  Embedded within the rocky walls, clusters of radiant crystals glisten sharply, and as I draw closer. Their surfaces resemble delicate frost on a winter morning, each tiny facet catching and refracting the ambient light, creating a mesmerizing play of colors. The walls, adorned with these vibrant crystals, not only dazzle the eye but also invite the touch, their surfaces cool and smooth under my fingertips.

  The path continues to snake around the left-hand side wall, guiding us further in. As we descend, we approach a fork in the path, where a central tunnel diverges into two separate routes. The rightmost passage appears to lead toward the expansive chamber I glimpsed earlier—an exit where the miners likely emerge from the underdepths.

  I continue to follow Waylan through. The open communal space we enter reveals a bustling underground city, its cavern walls meticulously carved to house people and storefronts.

  "Wait here, I must deliver my report to the Chief, I will then come grab you. Do not wander off,” Waylan says, looking from me to Ezra.

  "Yeah yeah, muscles, go on,” she sighs, waving him off.

  I watch him head off and then my mind focuses on the others around—people moving about on their normal commute, traveling through the winding tunnels with a sense of purpose. The air is filled with the hum of conversation, the echoes of footsteps, and the distant sounds of merchants peddling their wares. The scent of freshly baked bread wafts through the air, blending with the other aromas I smelled.

  Waylan then reappears in the distance, waving us to follow him. Ezra stares at one store off in the distance, her eyes captivated by the gleaming treasures on display. I gently place a hand on her shoulder, and she startles, turning to me shocked.

  "Looks like he's back," I say, pointing to Waylan, who continues to beckon us.

  She clicks her tongue in frustration. "Figures he couldn't give me five seconds to sneak off and look closer."

  We catch up with Waylan, and he leads us to a room that defies the aesthetic I've come to associate with Obskurd. The walls are perfectly smooth, a stark departure from the rough-hewn stone of the tunnels. Intricate carvings and detailed adornments grace the walls. A red carpet with golden filigree stretches out on the ground below us, offering the slightest amount of support for our feet.

  Standing before us behind a golden desk, papers aplenty spread across its surface, is a woman with blonde hair elegantly done up behind her. She is dressed in an onyx-black suit that flowed at the ends before tapering off. The desk itself gleamed with intricate inlay work, reflecting the soft glow of the crystals embedded in the walls.

  "Chief, I've got two stragglers who I think you'd like to meet from Khadein," Waylan announced.

  The woman, Chief Elara Obsidian, looks up from her work. Her piercing eyes harsh behind thin and wiry glasses held tight to her face. I feel my entire core being analyzed.

  "Children?" Her voice is unexpectedly gruff, certainly a lot deeper than I expected. The air in the room held a sense of command. Waylan bows and stands off to the side, letting us come fully into view.

  "Well, I can’t say that I expected this development,” she says, her eyebrows raising. "Is that the daughter of the Khadein gunsmith I spy…?”

  "Y-Yes ma’am,” Ezra says. "We’re not here to cause anybody from Obskurd any undue trouble.”

  "Undue,” Waylan scoffs, his voice almost a whisper.

  The Chief sighs, her gaze shifting between us. "Yes, well, unfortunately, trouble is the name of the game these days, isn’t it?” She looks up to us with a sickeningly sweet look. "My name is Elara Obsidian, Line and lord over Obskurd’s affairs these past twenty years from my father before me. You’ll appreciate the efforts we have taken to protect our borders due to previous...conflicts with Khadein in the past.”

  "We aren’t looking for any trouble,” I repeat, my tone earnest. "We’re just looking to pass through as we’ve little time…”

  "Time…?” Elara asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.

  "We’re on official business from the Emperor,” I say, keeping my tone steady and respectful. "I’m the son of a blacksmith, nothing more. I’m making a delivery for my father as he cannot do so himself.”

  "A blacksmith…” her eyes are scanning me, and then recognition flashes in her face. "You’re not...Logrith’s son, are you?”

  "You know my father?” I ask.

  "Not so surprising since she’s familiar with smiths of all sorts,” Ezra says.

  "Yes, I’m sure it must be confusing for you,” Elara says, her demeanor softening slightly. "Luckily, I’ve positive relationships with both of your families. Logrith has been plenty helpful in refining the resources we’ve mined here. Consider it a blessing both of you aren’t Khadeinite by blood. I figure things would have been much...bloodier.”

  Finally, we’ve met someone with some sense. It’s not perfect, but I’ll take a break wherever I can get it. "That’s great to hear,” I say. "So, we’re good to go on our way, no harm done?”

  Elara smiles, a mischievous glint in her eye. Her lips curl upward in a sly manner. "Unfortunately, we do have some matters of concern to go over...namely the fact of your….unfortunate appearance on our land.”

  "Surely this can’t be a huge issue? We are merely intending to pass through—” I begin, my voice tinged with concern, my words faltering in the face of uncertainty.

  Elara raises her hand to silence me, her expression carrying a weight of authority. "If it were just that, then yes, there would be no further complication—however, you’ve been marked.”

  "Marked?” I ask, my brows furrowing in confusion.

  "Your hand,” Elara says, nodding her head.

  Confused, I look down to the back of my hand—and sure enough, there is a marking there, a faded symbol that looks like a letter I haven't seen before. It’s a faded crimson color that thankfully looks more like a tattoo than smeared blood—it isn’t enough to send my heart racing through my chest. Ezra unconsciously looks down to her hand—but finds it empty of the same mark.

  "You entered the Abyss’s depths. Only those with that mark have done so. And as of the doctrine signed at the end of the war between both of our nations—Khadein is not to press any further into the Abyss.”

  "We aren’t intending to go in!” Ezra says, her voice rising with a hint of panic. "We—er—I...made a mistake coming down.”

  "A possibility,” Elara says, her expression thoughtful. "Unfortunately, it would not be the first time Khadein’s broken its vow under a similar guise. We have to be careful, you understand.”

  "I...I don’t! How can we prove to you we mean no harm?” I say, growing increasingly anxious, beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

  "Well, there are a few options available to you at the current time. We can offer our own investigation in conjunction with Khadein officials over the matter—this would take about two weeks in total to undergo, discuss, and come to a formal answer for…” Elara begins, then trails off.

  "We don’t have two weeks to give. We need to get this sword to the Empire before the end of the month!” I say, the urgency in my voice evident.

  Her eyes glisten, and I can't help but feel a chill creep down my spine, "And that brings me to my second offer.”

  Suddenly, I feel an increasing sense of unease. I didn't like that look in her eyes.

  "I’ve heard rumors over the years of your father’s service to the Emperor—and how upon his discharge he departed Aureleth with a mysterious metal under his whim,” Elara says, her eyes darting to the Sword of the End. "That sword there. Would I be correct in assuming it’s more than your normal Khadein affair?”

  "It’s...just a sword,” I say, my voice trembling with apprehension.

  "Touch the hilt, boy,” Elara says, her eyes locked onto mine, waiting for my response.

  My eyes dart from her to the blade, and then back to her, my hesitation is clear. "Why…”

  "It'll be light for you, no? That’s the most identifiable trait of Godmetal, is it not?” Elara's gaze remains fixed on me.

  I place my hand on the hilt and the Sword of the End glows softly, filling the room with an otherworldly radiance as I feel the cool energy course through my body. The dimmed light from within the scabbard still spills out.

  "Just as legend tells,” Elara says, her voice tinged with a sense of reverence. "Now, your second option is to hand over the sword, and we can forget this intrusion ever happened.”

  My eyes widen, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. "W-What? We...we can’t give up the sword…”

  "Hm…” Elara says, her tone contemplative.

  "If we fail to deliver it—that brings the Emperor’s anger right on us. Do you think he’d let a disservice like that go unpunished?” Ezra asks, her voice full of conviction.

  "Hardly. The Emperor is the fickle sort. He definitely would assume you’ve run off with the blade…” Elara responds.

  "And so you still request it?” I ask, my voice shaky but resolute.

  She chuckles, cocking her head and standing firm. "Tell you what. You can keep the sword—if you can win it in trial by combat.”

  "You aim to have us fight for that which is already ours?” I question, my brows furrowing.

  "Consider the sword a bonus, then. To the victor go the spoils. Consider the fight for your freedom to leave here unpunished.”

  I grit my teeth, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "There’s no way we can go our separate ways, can we?”

  Elara clasps her fingers together on the face of the desk, her expression unyielding. "Considering your available options, this is the way you have the best odds of getting what you want—if you’re capable enough to wield the blade, at least. The thing about weapons is it is useless to those not willing to wield them. If you are incapable, I would gladly have Obskurd take on the honor. It’s been much too long since Godmetal has graced our presence.”

  "So you're looking to fight, that's the end of it? Two on one, not too good in your favor, right?"

  Elara interjects, "I will not be fighting, and nor shall you, Daughter of the Gun."

  Intrigued, I can't help but voice my question. "Then who...?"

  "Waylan here shall be your opponent. He's got the training and the desire to see your journey ended. He shall be my champion."

  The revelation hangs in the air. Waylan, standing stoically at Elara's side, becomes the unexpected fulcrum upon which our fate pivots. His gaze, inscrutable and resolute, meets ours, and in that moment. The battlefield may not be what we expected, but the stakes remain undeniably high.

  Waylan's presence had momentarily slipped from my mind. Upon our entry, he had expertly blended into the shadows, his hands held firmly behind his back. Now, he steps forward, his gaze locked onto me. "This will be quick. Follow me," he says, leaving the room without another word.

  I exchange a concerned look with Ezra, mirroring her unease. "I don't like this one bit," she remarks.

  "Me neither," I sigh, my shoulders tense with anticipation.

  Elara meticulously gathers her paperwork into a neat stack, cradling it securely by her side. "You can spare yourself the agony of this situation by simply handing over the sword," she suggests with a tone that carries a veneer of reason. "Or, of course, you're more than welcome to let us proceed with our investigation."

  "Neither of those options work for me," I assert, the edge of determination cutting through my voice.

  Elara relishes my predicament, savoring the moment as she emphasizes the constraints of my choices. "Well, this is your only viable option now. Time is of the essence, and we mustn't keep Waylan waiting. I fear he's already harboring some frustration, and it's only fair to let him vent it out on you."

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