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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The realm of dreams shone peacefully through the vast lands of reality and space, echoing with the many visions of sleepers. Amidst golden sky and white clouds, their minds drifted peacefully, filling the place with images, with their concealed hopes, with the most truthful portraits of themselves, with preternatural colours that graced the sight of the inhabitants with something akin to an aurora borealis. This kingdom, per say, was not a small one. It was unlimited, expanding through the sleeping mind of every creature, beyond wastes and beyond seas, it was echoing the very different dreams of foreign tribes, lone travelers, warriors. However, unlike other godly realms, the kingdom of dreams had a center. Its center was the shrine built by the moth tribe, in a little cave, lost somewhere in a little oasis hidden in the heart of a vast wasteland, somewhere, in some small country. The shrine was the heart of worshippers, the heart of belief and love of many generations, the respectful, the wise tribe, lovers of day and night, adventurers of sleep and light, her most precious children, those who spread her influence through the world, in their waking prayers and rituals, in their sleeping adoration.

It was on their land that she had set her sights, lately. It had occurred to her that in this special place, the heart of her power, she could have a real influence on reality. She fancied this way of life: god creator, protector of the land, reigning monarch of both dreams and reality. This gave her the control she craved so, the power over so many, her light had shone through their eyes and mind alike, making all the land hers, and hers alone, for the other gods that dwelt in here had no interest for these people. They rested silently in their caves, and the world around them remained untouched.

The land was hers, the inhabitants, hers too, even if they were unaware of it, every time they closed their eyes and went to sleep, they surrendered to the power of her infinite realm, dreams forever swirling, of every place and time, whispering to her, with awe filled adoration :

“You are god, the only real god, you made the world and you made us, and we love you.”

Such happiness, such confidence that came with a might so absolute, a will so unshakable, a voice, thunder like, resounding, and wide troops of bugs on their knees… Nothing would break this. Nothing could destroy. Some had tried, in the past, creatures with endless lives and ferocious appetite that thought they were as godly as she was, vagrants, coming to her with bare teeth and absurd claims, mistaken loners that tried to blind themselves in meaningless glories reaped in hopeless fights… She had burned them all to ashes. Like the last creature that came into her domain, that launched at her with no reason, claiming that it had seen the future. She had destroyed it too. It was weak and foolish, she vanquished it with no effort, its body, its mind and power, all of it had been turned to ashes, not even ashes, dust, atoms lost in nothingness, a thing soon to be forgotten, and it was as if it had never existed.

Sometimes, she wondered. What could have been the dreams of this attacker? What where the visions it claimed to have, those images of the future in which, according to it, she would curse the land she adored for eternities to come? Well, this was probably just the unclear musings of a self proclaimed seer, of one that could not entangle the threads of minds and those of reality, like the others, this creature was just an idiotic seeker of glory, one nobody would ever have to worry about. The winds of oblivion had scattered them long ago in the wastes, the last remnants of its body.

Suddenly, an unwelcomed presence disrupted her peaceful meditation. The irritating hues of nightmares had appeared before her, announcing the arrival of her worthless brother, a usurper in his own right too, who claimed the darkest parts of her lands and wallowed into their dreadful essence.

“Little brother. What owes me the displeasure of your visit?”

He smiled with amusement. In the dream realm, when he took the powerful form of the god of nightmares, his scarlet flames moved according to his emotions. Their restless swirling now showed that something had him very entertained.

“Do not be so brash, dear sister! Nothing in particular, I must say, has compelled me to seek your company, except boredom, and the sudden urge to bother you!”

“I have no time to lose to entertain you, brother. If your predicament bores you so, go search for another dying kingdom to fill your unsightly heart.”

Grimm got closer, his smile had widened, even if it looked hardly possible.

“Do not be so uptight, sister ! I simply wish to enjoy the pleasures of conversation. See, it has been a long time since neither me nor the troupe have been summoned, and dreamers are hardly entertaining.”

“Well, if this can make you stop pestering me with your empty banter, I am ready to undergo the despairing inanity of your words.”

“Very well, very well !" He exclaimed, jumping from one puff of red smoke to another. "I commend your patience sister !”

“It is just that I know I will not be able to get rid of you unless I give you what you want.”

“This is very true !”

“So, what is the useless thing you probably want to tell me about ?”

Grimm let out a sinister snigger.

“ I have seen that lately, you bestowed your rule upon the lands below, those inhabited by the moths. Such a grasp on reality is quite a feat, I must admit, but are you aware of those who wish to come in your way ?”

“Are you talking about this people of crawlers, those wyrms, who mistake size for divinity and appetite for inspiration ? These are no bother to me. Anyways, I heard they went extinct, and I myself executed the last representative of this bothersome species.”

Grimm laughed again, wholeheartedly, this time.

“Ho, no, not at all! I know someone as powerful have you have no problems dealings with creatures that so clearly lack intellect and subtlety. However, in the very heart of your kingdom, menaces are growing, and you might find yourself faced with the most unexpected foes.”

“What are you talking about ?”

“ I have heard of some… interesting activities, that some bugs have resumed in this so called “archives” they built in fog canyon. And these activities, if I trust my sources, are by you largely unsupervised.”

“Are you talking about the doctor?”

“Yes, precisely ! This doctor is quite noticeable, be it by the impractical colour of his shell or the surprising nature of his inquiries. The fact that you have not yet looked into his little machinations, honestly, it surprises me.”

“This doctor you speak of is no hindrance for me. He is just another bug; he has no power I should fear. I have seen his research. He is merely grappling in the dark, seeking truths his narrow mind could never understand. One like that is no threat for me.”

“Allow me to express my disagreement. The most dangerous threats are those that arise from the most unexpected places.”

“Grimm, are you implying that the doctor and his ragtag troupe of self-proclaimed scholars could threaten me in any way? I thought you could grasp the extent of my power, but it seems I was mistaken. It appears you cannot comprehend the nature of my divinity! ”

“I may be, I may be. Or maybe I am not. Who knows what discoveries they could make…”

“The only end I see for the doctor is his own destruction. There is nothing to fear. By pursuing his research, he will just lose himself into the unending labyrinths of useless knowledge, and he shall never reach the truth. He will lose all hope, and then, he will lose his mind. No mortal can reach the heights of our reality.”

“Are you so sure? I fear you underestimate the foolishness of mortals. Their lives are doomed by dreams too great and sights too wide, they seek glories and might they cannot attain, painfully unaware of the limitations of their beings. Their desire for godliness is ravenous, and if one of them could comprehend what power they would obtain, were they to snatch your light from you, I fear there would be nothing to stop them.”

“They are too small, brother, too fragile. They cannot reach such power. The barrier between mortals and gods is too high for them to trespass into our domain.”

“Well, sister, if you are so sure about this, I have an idea.”

“Is this another way to entertain yourself ?”

“Indeed, it is, indeed. I’m sure the entertainment I can get from such an activity will be unmatched!”

“Tell me about your idea, then, though I fear it is vain and foolish.”

“Vain and foolish it is, sister ! I see you know me well. My idea is that we should make a bet. With simple discussion, there is no way for us to go over our disagreement. So, let’s make a bet, to see who is right about the nature of mortals.”

“If this means I can prove to you that I am right, I see no inconvenience in such a trivial activity. But what shall be the object of our bet?”

“ The doctor, sister, the doctor. He seems to be quite the entertaining toy and will serve as the perfect guinea pig for our little experiment. This shall not make you uncomfortable. I know very well that you and I take much pleasure in toying with the lives of mortals.”

“I see. What is the nature of the bet, then ?”

The flames around nightmare king Grimm swelled, and took the ominous shape of a mask with vicious eyes. With a passionate voice, he said:

“I wager that the doctor’s insatiable lust for knowledge will eventually lead him to your realm, that he will see gods and will desire their powers, I wager that he will fly to the utmost summits of our realms and reach the higher regions we occupy, and that he will try to take our light! I wager that he will disrupt your reign and that he will go far enough to touch your sun, and that the very moment he touches it, he will burn!”

“You wager things that are quite unlikely. Well, I guess this will make my win easier. So, listen well, little brother. I wager that the doctor will never reach the heights you speak of, that he will lose himself in empty musings and philosophy, that he will go in circles trough darkness, and that at the end of this sad merry go round, he will find nothing but despair and insanity.”

The nightmare king nodded.

“This looks like we have set ourselves for quite the entertaining game, my dear sister! I can’t wait to see how this will go down, even if I don’t doubt my final victory. So, let’s see how it ends, the story of the doctor! Will he be burnt by the light of his overwhelming pride, or will he drown in dark desperation? “

“We will see, brother, but I am still convinced that it will be the latter. I am convinced that I am right.”

“ I do not doubt that, dear sister ! And I cannot wait to see it unfold before our eyes. With this little game, we will determine the real nature of mortals, and the colour of their tragedy! “

On these words, Grimm disappeared in a puff of red flames.

The radiance felt strangely satisfied. Usually, she found no pleasure in the visits of her brother. He just came to taunt her and annoy her with his antics. However, this time, the nightmare king came with a very entertaining idea. This had been a long time since she had felt such a thrill. Even if she knew that eventually she would win, she could not help but to look forward to the events that would unfold from their wager.

This little experiment, no doubt, was going to be very, very interesting.

Chapter Text

In an immense cavern far below the surface of the earth, a lair dug by sharp fangs in ancient times, a great room which ceiling was sustained with vaults taking the form of swirling arabesques emerging from its darkness, three huge creatures waited silently, forming a small circle. Two of these long creatures had dark bodies, one was completely black, the other had a deep blue shell, with patches of green. The third one, however, had a dull grey colour, it did not emit the preternatural glow like the two others did, but exhaled another sort of power, something akin to mystic authority.

This last creature waited in front of a fire, that burnt a strange material which emitted a blueish smoke that filled the cavern with its dancing mist. The two dark wyrms, for this was the name of these creatures, the one with a name made of storms, the other with a name of darkness, the two of them stared into the fire with intensity, while the elder, the blind one, ancient like the earth itself, was whispering arcane incantations that vibrated in the air and the smoke, filled with a power that dated back from ancient times of the universe, when the fabric of time and reality was still tight and blurred, when any eyes, where they to gaze long enough, could perceive times to come, times that could never be, and times that never were.

This cruel people, whose roots dated back to this bizarre time, had jealously kept their ability to peer into the orbs of future paths, their lives were created by these visions, in which they sought goals and destinies, each individual serving the greatness of their race.

This was the ritual of adulthood, a ceremony in which every individual had to partake, were they to be considered a full fledged member of the tribe. The ritual of adulthood was performed by the elder, with air full of word magic, mind magic and trance-inducing smokes, he guided their minds through the realm of uncertain times, for them to have a very special vision. A vision every wyrm should have, lest they shall be judged beings with no purpose or destiny, and be abandoned, fatally wounded into the wastes.

This vision was the vision of their death.

Even if they were a race of immortals, who, even if their body could age, could never be taken away by the silent and peaceful death of the elders, their infinite lifespan paradoxically made the chances of them dying from an unnatural cause so high that such death was inescapable.

Between them, it was said that only by knowing one’s death, could one go correctly about their lives, that this was the only way to achieve greatness.

The two youths breathed the smoke and let themselves be taken over by magic, ready to gaze upon their last instants of the earth, to find out the meaning of their lives.

In a very far corner of the cave, hidden behind high rocks, a fourth creature was breathing the smoke, and listening intently to the whispers of the elder. This creature was not allowed to partake in such ceremonies. Were it to be found in such a place, it would endure a deadly punishment. Many times, they had tried to chase it out of the nest, but somehow, it always survived, it always crawled back in, stealing their food and spying on their ceremonies. This creature did not have a name of storms of a name of darkness, neither did it have a name of skies or name of dawn. This creature had no name at all, because it was not supposed to live, because its white colour was said to be a bringer of misfortune.

Being born with a white colour was a defect, a sign of weakness, it was something that brought shame to those who had birthed it. They were incredibly rare, and had to be abandoned upon birth, because their life was said to bring misery to those around it. A creature like that was not supposed to receive a name, it had to be forgotten, buried, lest its white colour, the symbol of death, the symbols of things lurking between dusk and dawn, lest it shall curse their race for all eternity.

The nameless wyrm had managed to survive long enough to spy on this rite. Maybe did it think that by grasping these visions of death, it could finally break this curse. Maybe did it seek to confirm the things other said about its existence. Whatever it could be, the nameless one plunged itself secretly in the ritual, letting its mind wander amidst visions, guided by the strong magic of the elder.

Visions of death were rarely a clear thing. They often contained multiple instances, different paths that could be chosen. They were feared by the young, but they were also reassuring, giving to their life a sense of direction, of certainty, something they could turn towards to live surrounded with light and glory.

The nameless wyrm had expected many things to emerge from these visions. Images of itself put to death by its peers, images of dying alone in the wastes, or of succumbing to this mysterious curse he was supposed to bear. However, he never imagined such a thing.

These were the strangest visions it ever had: in these visions, he was not himself. Or rather, he was, but in a different shape, a very strange shape that took the attributes of the little creatures that crawled silently in the borders of their domain, of these insignificant things, that were so small and so fragile, and yet, had so much diversity in their shapes, shells with colours that were so bright, some of them adorned with graceful wings … These visions offered many different kinds of deaths.

In many of them, he was there, in this strange shape, sitting all alone in a complicated, pale construct, surrounded with the essence of dreams. He was taken over by an incredible pain ( pain of the body, for sure, but another, very unusual kind of pain, a pain of the mind and of the heart, a mix of deep sorrow and hatred for oneself.) There was this pain, this loneliness, and he was taken over by darkness, darkness invading the room in a form of obscure tendrils that surrounded him, destroying his life, his mind and his soul.

This, however, was not the only death he saw. They were others, more cryptic, that passed between these images of darkness and despair.

Himself, in a violent fight with two entities of light and flames, with a spear piercing his heart.

Himself, all in chains in a dark room, with shell cracking and vision turning to orange.

Himself again, in a place resembling a deep abyss, letting darkness take over.

Himself, in a beautiful green garden, jumping into a pool of acid.

Numerous visions continued to cross his mind, all of them where unexplainable, horrid, and all of them came with this pain of the heart, with a form of immense guilt and despair.

The strangest thing of all was that in all these visions, death came with a sense accomplishment, with a sense of duty. Why were they so many of them in which he just let himself die? Why were they so many of them in which he gave death to himself?

The nameless wyrm understood that he was missing something important, that behind all these visions of death, there was a cause, something he had done, something that was horrid and unspeakable, something he could not grasp, no matter how much he tried, a secret, perhaps, something else, something that was forbidden for him to see, because its meaning was too deep, because it weighted too heavy on the world. It seemed that through these many paths, these choices, innumerable, there was an event, a constant that had determined the shape of his destiny. Was it something ? Someone? The truth's dark silhouette was close, but the moment he felt he was about to reach it, the mist of future sights began to slip away.

The nameless wyrm felt the effects of the elder’s magic fading, as one last vision traversed his mind. There was something strange about this one. The guilt was still there, but it was different, and it seemed that somehow, it was not tied to this special, horrible event that appeared to be the heart of his destiny.

He saw himself, in his wyrm form, burnt to ashes by a golden light.

Then a quick flash, of himself, once again, in this other bug-like form, but with the appearance of a child.

Then, he saw it, strangest sight of all, himself, faced with a strange creature with eyes that were burning with a crimson flame, there was a sword planted in his chest, and the sword was in the creature’s hand, and the creature did not look full of scorn or full of hate, the creature was … crying?

On this mysterious last sight, the vision faded completely.

The cavern did no longer echo the incantations of the elder, and the smoke had dissipated.

Slowly, very silently, the nameless wyrm retreated into the secret passage and made its way through the abandoned tunnels of wyrm nest, looking for the wastes.

The visions should have filled him with dread, but instead, the only thing he felt was curiosity.

What story could lead to such an unusual end?

What was this event that plagued so many of his futures, and in what way was it possible to avoid it?

Questions filled his mind as he crawled through the desert.

Whatever this future was, it was going to be very, very interesting.

Chapter Text

Upon first glance, the doctor’s laboratory was a rather welcoming place. Despite its subterranean location and lack of windows, the many lumafly lamps, made with coloured glass, as well as the warm glow from the stove filled it with dancing light that shone in irregular circles through the room. The laboratory was not organized, far from it: many books covered the desk and the floor, and on the shelves, the subjects were mingled together, mathematics next to geography, physical science with arcane linguistics. However, though it was certainly far from perfect cleanliness, it was not dirty at all, and thanks to a few cushions that had been disposed here and there, as well as a big armchair, the room looked quite comfortable. Though, the armchair’s state and position suggested that it was seldom used for sitting, and that the doctor probably climbed on the backrest to access books disposed on the higher shelves. The equipment one could see in the room revealed the eclecticism of its user. It ranged from mechanical contraptions, to tools of alchemy, to a few music instrument ( a lute and a flute).

However, a more thorough examination revealed some of the laboratory’s dweller most disputable habits. On one shelf near the entrance, there were three big pots, one of them contained a powerful kind of black tea, the second was full of powdered grains that had an aroma of spice and bitterness, the last one was half filled with white sugar. A big mug and a spoon, as well as a big teapot on the stove proved that the use of these substances was very regular. Except for these, there was no trace of food in the laboratory. One big blanket laid in the corner, with another mug next to it, as well as other books and a quill.

If one were to enter the doctor’s laboratory that night, though, the view they would find would have been far more upsetting. Well, no one would have entered anyways, since the doctor had locked the door and blocked it with the armchair for good measure.

Most of the books and miscellaneous objects that usually littered the floor had been pushed aside, to leave a large empty space in the center of the room. The space was organized in a circle surrounded with seven high candles. There was another smaller circle facing this one, a pentacle and strange symbols had been drawn on the floor. Next to the smaller circle, their laid a sword, a branch of olive tree, a bowl of water and a mirror. The two circles were joined by the symbol of the east.

Using a big pen and black ink, the doctor was drawing the second circle, one that was far more complex, full of runes and seals: in the circle bordered with arcane symbols, there was a pentagram with five branches. One well versed in the dark arts could have recognized it easily: this was the tetragrammaton.

The first part of the symbol was now drawn, leaving but an empty center. The doctor hesitated for an instant and walked to the desk, where he left the bowl of ink, and took a small, sharp dagger.

As he walked slowly to the center of the circle, he mumbled to himself:

“Ach, Philosophy, mechanics, physics, and you, too, sad history… I studied you for years with such patient ardor, I plunged myself in your complex detours and strange theories, proclaiming myself doctor In those sciences and yet… My knowledge does not reach any farther than it did the first day I stepped upon this land. It seems I should have kept this tiny form, it would be more appropriate for me now, since the reaching of my mind do not cross that of a child! I lost so many years in innate readings and useless experiments, I thought I was finding the way to unravel the mysteries of these caves, plunging myself in the abstract theories of writers, and yet, it appears I am just scraping the surface of things, as pitifully as I did the very first day. And I should have known better ! I should have known, that with the limited ways of mortals, there is nothing we can really know… If only I still possessed the sight… But better keep silent about this, lest my secret shall fall into treacherous ears.”

He stopped at the center of the circle, and using the dagger with a quick movement, opened a deep cut in the palm of his hand, letting flow a pale, vaguely translucent blood.

“All there is left for me now is to explore the forbidden ways of sorcery ! I understand now, were I to contact dark and unreal powers, the secrets of this nest shall reveal themselves to me. The days of fruitless musings and tame studies are over! I shall now thread these secret paths and finally, reach the truth of the world.”

Using the dagger dipped in blood, the pale scholar drew the great seal of the great beneaths and beyonds in the center of the pentagram. Then, he lit the candles, put on the robe of white linen, took the book of invocations and stood proudly in the circle of the invocator. His hands were trembling slightly, as his face twisted into an expression of fascination and power.

“Now", he whispered, "the secrets I deemed unattainable will be within my reach.”

The pale scholar put on the crown made of holly and thorns, then, he lit the last candle. With a voice that tried to sound calm and confident, even if it was trembling with fear and awe, he began to recite the incantation:

“Thee I invoque, the borneless one,

Thee that dwellest beyond the earth and heavens

Thee that with each wing roams both night and day

Thou, who art the bearer of many names and lord of many realms

I am thy servant and prophet

I am the caller from darkness beneath the earth

Ho, thrice winged, grant me the power

So I shall command upon the spirits of day and night

And call them by my side !”

This was only the preliminary incantation, nothing was supposed to happen yet, but the center of the circle began to shine with an unnatural hue. The pale scholar stopped in his tracks, reliving the whole process in his head, trying to find what he had done wrong. This was not supposed to happen, not when he had not stated the name of the spirit that was supposed to manifest in front of him. He had not made a single mistake in the ritual, he could swear it, he had rehearsed it again and again. This could only mean one thing. Another power, something more potent than the lesser spirit he intended to call, something mysterious had perceived his use of magic, and was going to appear.

Red flames began to emerge from the pentagram, and a great, foreboding wind put out all the candle at once. Now, the terrifying red flames were the only source of light in the room, casting fantastic shadows on the walls.

The doctor was paralyzed with fear. The book escaped his hands and fell on the floor with a loud thud, as he stared helplessly at the flames. The seals of protection he had prepared were going to be useless for such a creature. They were supposed to help him control a lesser spirit, not such a great power. His hands shook even more than they already did, as the pale scholar grasped the full extent of his mistake. He had meddled with powers that were too great, his hope to control something from the nether realms was foolish and naïve. Perhaps in his previous, godly form, but now that he was just a mortal, just a powerless scholar, he realized that such powers would always escape his grasp.

The red flames swelled and twisted in the circle, they were about to engulf the whole room, but then, they suddenly retracted, taking shape, as matter was forming within the circle. Now, I front of him, staring with an air of amusement, was a tall person, with a strange cloak and preternatural aura. His eyes were burning bright red, as a reminder of the flames that probably constituted his essence. However, what frightened the doctor the most was the fact that he recognized this creature. He had seen him long ago, when he was still a young wyrm: the creature was the one that appeared in his vision of death, the one he saw shoving a sword in his heart.

The doctor tried to take a step back, but he stepped on the linen robe and fell rather gracelessly on the floor, still staring at the creature with terror.

The mysterious spirit let out a strange laugh, and took one step towards him, looking down with a disturbing smile.

Then, the spirit spoke, with a powerful, raspy voice, that echoed through the room in an unnatural way.

“Well then, doctor, or, as you fancy calling yourself, pale scholar! You should stop staring at me like that, this is not a way to treat your guest!”

“Who… who are you?”

“Me? I am the spirit that denies all, I am the terror of sleep, the red flames, I am the heart burning with your fear of the dark, I am a god, I am the nightmare king! You can just call me Grimm, though. It’s shorter.”

The pale scholar stood up, he still had an air of defiance about him, but he had hidden his hands in his sleeves, efficiently concealing their shaking. Grimm found that he was rather quick to retrieve his countenance.

“Grimm", the doctor said, trying – and failing- to sound unafraid. "This circle was not made to call you, so how did you come?”

Grimm looked at the circle and let out a resounding laugh.

“This little circle of yours? Oh, poor little scholar, did you really believe that your puny seals would stop someone like me to use this gate to enter your sphere? I saw it from miles away, your call, your circle. To go through this was but child’s play for me!”

The pale scholar threw him a scrutinizing look.

“Since you came here on your own volition, king of nightmares, what is it that you want? I assume you did not come here purposeless.”

Grimm laughed again. He seemed to deem the encounter incredibly comical.

“I see you recovered rather quickly from your initial fright, pale scholar! Could it be that I am not menacing enough ?”

A circle of red flames appeared around him with a bright flash. Grimm saw the scholar flinch a little, but hid it very fast under a stern look. The god of nightmare supposed the scholar figured it would be a bad idea to show any sign of weakness in front of a creature as powerful as he was.

“I reiterate my question, Grimm. What is it that you seek? Surely you did not just want to pay a visit to an insignificant mortal.”

“I appears I will not be able to avoid your inquiries, scholar. So, let me tell you why I came, though I fear you would find my reasons to be quite shallow.”

The pale scholar tilted his head on the side a little, his hard expression being slowly replaced by one of curiosity.

“See, doctor", Grimm pursued, "the life of a god can prove incredibly boring sometimes, especially for me, who cannot show up on the mortals’ sphere uninvited. So, when I saw that you were calling spirits from my parts, I jumped on the occasion, and here I am.”

The scholar frowned, looking distrustful. Well, Grimm knew that he would not believe his lies so easily. He continued:

“Though, I can return you the question, pale scholar! For what purpose are you calling spirits in this place? What compels you to use the forbidden arts of invocation?

“My reasons for doings this is the pursuit of knowledge. This place holds many secrets I want to discover, and I figured recently that it would be impossible to do so through… conventional means.”

Grimm took again a step closer, delighting in seeing that the scholar had reflexively stepped back, and was now trapped between him and the wall.

“How interesting, Grimm said. Most magicians, in the practice of such arts, seek power and domination… Yet you pretend you use the things you already know to acquire even more knowledge? I find it quite unusual.”

The pale scholar frowned.

“Is this entertaining for you, Grimm? I would hate to bore you with my goals.”

There was something poisonous in his voice. This confirmed that the scholar knew Grimm concealed his real intentions. However, he could say the same for the scholar. Even if his desire for knowledge appeared sincere, Grimm clearly saw that there was something else, something the scholar was quite good at concealing. Well, if this was going to be a game of deception, Grimm would play it enthusiastically.

“Your goals do not bore me, little scholar. In fact, I would like to help. I can lend you my power, and you will be able to reach the secrets you seek.”

“Do not think I am so foolish, Grimm. I know creatures like you never give anything for free. Were I to ask for your help, what would you want in exchange?”

Grimm’s smile widened, as he answered.

“Despite your fearless endeavors with magic, you now appear rather circumspect. Well, let me tell you, then. In exchange for my help, the price I ask for is comprised of two parts. The first is quite simple for us to achieve. See, pale scholar, the first thing I ask for is but a mere formality. Through this contract, I want to bind myself to your being so that I can remain in this plane. You see, I am usually called forth under ... very special circumstances, so I need this attach to remain in this realm. But enough with practical question! The second part of the price I ask for, pale scholar, it is ... your soul. I will help you and lend you my power, but when you have obtained all the knowledge you seek, your soul will belong to me, and you will serve me for all eternity.”

The pale scholar looked at Grimm’s overly gleeful face. Did this god of nightmares think he was so intelligent? The doctor could easily see his deceit. Through this contract, it was so obvious that Grimm concealed his real goals. The god was a bad liar, smiling like this. Well, if this spirit wanted to play mind games with him, the scholar was ready to accept. Even if he could not contend with him when it came to raw power, if this was a game of lies and deception, he knew he could easily compete with a god. After all, in this new existence, his predicament from his first death had made him a master of lies. The nightmare king thought he was going to fool him, asking for a pact like this, but the pale scholar had some deceit of his own.

Serve him, for all eternity, Grimm said ? Well, this was a compensation he could accept, since this was a price he would never be able to pay. He had seen his death, in this precise version of his life, he was going to killed by this creature, this was certain, which meant he was destined to die before he could fulfill his end of the contract. Grimm could laugh as much as he wanted, hoping for a price destiny had already decided to snatch from him... Hoping for a price that he would finally detroy with his own two hands, when he would destroy his life, kill him with the shining sword ...

This fact could have appeared dreary to anyone else, but for the scholar, it felt exhilarating. This meant he owned a card that would allow him to fool this god as much as this god was probably fooling him.

“Is this a promise you propose, Grimm?" He said. "A contract perhaps? If so, know that your price does not appear unreasonable to me. When I have obtained all the knowledge I desire, I fear my life will be severely lacking in objectives. Hence, I do not mind offering it to you.”

The nightmare king frowned. There was something shady about this. The scholar seemed to accept his proposal a little too quickly. Was he in fact foolish? Was he this desperate? Or was he hiding something?

Well, if he hid something, it did not matter to Grimm. After all, he too, was lying. His real goal was to push the scholar to his demise, to feed him with dreams of power, to entice him with promises of glory and power, so he would fly high enough to burn his wings in the gods' sacred fire. He was determined to win this bet he made with his sister, even if it meant piping the dices a little bit.

Grimm summoned a piece of paper in his hands, with the terms of the contract written on it. He took a quill from the desk, and signed it with his flames, then, handed it to the doctor.

“If you are ready to accept the terms of this contract, then, sign this, pale scholar. This will bind us to our promise!”

The pale scholar took the contract and the quill, he signed it with his own blood.

With this, the pact was sealed. Grimm made the paper disappear in a puff of red flames. They were tied togeter, now. The promise filled him with a new power, one that allowed him to stay onto this plane, this reality he missed so much, with so many mortals to toy with, with so many lives to entertain him, so many destinies to twist in his hands.

He smirked, breathing the last remnants of the smoke produced by the spell.

How he liked this… This contract was reeking of deception. This was not one of these honest promises, these foolish exchanges made by most mortals or benevolent gods. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart… This was a knot made with a thread of lies, this was going to be a very interesting game, a game of treasons, the type of game he liked the most, a game of piped dices, of cards in sleeves, knives in pockets, and lies on tongues.

From the expression of the pale scholar’s face, it seemed he was willing to play.

Chapter Text

The pale scholar filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove, while keeping watch of the god behind him. Grimm sat on the armchair with a relaxed position, looking at him with an ironic expression.

“What do you prefer, king of nightmares?"He asked, while retrieving the mug that was in the bag for various things, just under the desk." I’m afraid I don’t have much choice, just black tea or coffee.”

“Tea will do very well for me, thanks.”  He answered, stretching his legs.

The pale scholar wondered for a moment why his legs had to be so long anyways. However, this confirmed the small details he had observed since their strange encounter. This deity of nightmares was obviously taking his ease with this newly acquired physical body. Was it actually matter? Something made of energy, of flames? The doctor decided he would have to make some research on this later. For now, what interested him the most was the way Grimm was moving around carelessly, taking interest in every little object, as if he had not seen the physical sphere for a very long time. He remembered what he said : “especially me, who cannot show up on the mortal’s sphere uninvited.” Since he was turning his back to Grimm, the scholar let a mischievous smile appear on his face, as he poured water into the mugs. Pure black tea for Grimm, and coffee with an unhealthy amount of sugar for himself. By making this little comment about not coming uninvited, Grimm had made a very big mistake. He had revealed what was probably the source of his weakness, which meant that with careful questions and some other ploys, the pale scholar would probably be able to discover the god’s weak point, which would give him a clear advantage in this game.

With the steaming mugs in hands and an innocent smile on his face, he turned to Grimm, handing him the very hot beverage.

“I must say, Grimm, your appearance has quite stirred up my curiosity. Since you agreed to help me in my research, would you mind answering a few questions about your realm? I fear the books of magicians are quite laconic on the subject.”

“Mmm". Grimm answered, taking a sip of his tea, before stopping with surprise. "Hey, you’ve made this quite strong, haven’t you? I could swear one’s tea should not be black like that!”

“Oh, sorry about that, it’s… a bad habit of mine. Do you want me to dilute it ?”

“If you would, please.”

The scholar wondered why Grimm was acting so casual, all of a sudden, when he was trying to frighten him before. Did he do that so he would lower his guard and make a mistake ? Well, this was not going to happen. While he diluted the strong tea with more water, he heard Grimm saying:

“Oh, and as for your questions, I will answer them, of course. After all, this is part of the contract. However, since I accept to satiate your curiosity, you will have to satiate mine.”

Well, that was to be expected. Grimm probably knew the importance of information as much as he did. Thankfully for the pale scholar, this would not be an issue. He had been hiding his real identity for many years, and all the lies he could tell were rehearsed and ready.

“Of course", he answered. "As a matter of fact, it would be rather rude of me to refuse.”

Grimm smiled, tasting the tea for the second time.

“Yes". He said to himself. "This is much better.”

Another sip. The doctor prepared his question. Though both of them looked relaxed, Grimm on the armchair, and him sitting cross-legged on the desk, the acute look in the god’s burning eyes and his own heightened awareness of every small movement Grimm could make filled the air with tension.

“So, what is it that you want to ask ?”

“Firstly, I’d like to inquire about the nature of creatures such as yourself. You say you are a god, but I assume the other inhabitants of the nether realms do not share your power.”

Grimm nodded a little, and took no time before answering.

“I imagine you refer to the land of dreams.”

“So this is the sphere you inhabit ?”

“Yes, it is, indeed. The first thing you have to know about the land of dreams is that it is divided into two kingdoms. The first is the kingdom of… let’s say, regular dreams. It is governed by my sister, Her name is radiance. This is quite a dreary place, as she is the sole inhabitant of these parts, the company of dreaming minds is enough for her, it seems.”

Upon hearing the name of Radiance, the scholar tried to stay as neutral as possible. He hid the little twitch in his hand by taking a large sip of coffee. He really needed to get over this. He had practiced it many times, but it was not enough, just her name, or any thought about her, it brought back the memories of the pain, of the burn, of the most horrible agony a living being could ever feel…

“And what of the other kingdom ?” he asked.

“The other kingdom, as you probably guessed, is the kingdom of nightmares. It is comprised of the darker part of the sphere of dreams, though I find it quite lively. Contrarily to my sister’s dismal land, this kingdom has many inhabitants. I suppose those are the ones that your book call “lesser spirits”. Their real name is the “Grimmkin”. Loyal servants of mine, as well as agreeable fellows, though I must admit their company gets quite redundant with time.”

“I see…” He mused, taking in the information. “From your sayings, I infer that the dream realm is not the only sphere, that they are other places such as the one you come from.”

“Indeed, they are. However, their gates cannot be crossed by yours truly. These are reality separate from dreams, and my influence in these is as tenuous as it is in the waking world.”

“So, this mean you can actually interact with this sphere, even without the aid of a sorcerer ?”

“It does, in a way, yes. Albeit we are incapable of dealing with anything tangible, our grip over minds, especially those who are sleeping, is not to be trifled with. Through more or less forceful… suggestion, we can influence weakest minds to act as our servants in the waking world.”

The scholar nodded again, taking a quill and sheets of papers to take notes about these interesting facts. He seemed to be in a good position. The questions and answers flowed naturally, and if he kept this up, he may be able to lead Grimm to disclose some crucial piece of information.

“From the way you phrase it, it appears you are quite familiar with the use of these… influences. Why do you interact with the waking world like this? Is there a precise goal?”

Grimm’s expression looked sharper, for a quick moment, but his voice had not change in the slightest when he answered.

“I am the nightmare king, we are the people of nightmares. Through strange stories and suspicious events, fear spreads, and nightmares swell.”

“I see. So, you’re basically compelling those who fail to resist you to give scares to other people ?”

The pale scholar did not know if he could believe Grimm on this one. What that all, really? These reasons seemed a little insufficient, but, on another hand, it made sense, given the fact that gods were known to be fickle creatures who liked to laugh at the expanse of mortals. No element allowed him to be sure of this one, and Grimm was looking at him with a smug expression… Did he know ? It would make sense if he knew, but then …

“Yes, that’s it". Grimm answered. "Though, the way you phrase it makes it seem less dignified. May I have more tea, if you please ?”

“Of course.”

He poured him another cup of tea, while asking:

“I must say, there is another element that I find myself quite curious about. Given the way you interact with the objects in this room, your form appears to be physical. However, if your kingdom is made of dreams, I suppose it lacks materiality… So, what are you, now, exactly?”

Grimm took a noisy sip before answering.

“Curious fellow, aren’t you ? It’s been a long time since anyone has shown such interest in this good old Grimm. As a token of my appreciation, I shall answer this one as well. In this form, dear doctor, I am perfectly tangible, which is why I am able to appreciate your tea. This form is as real as yours, but it has two main differences, the first is that it can be summoned and revoqued at will…”

To illustrate his point, Grimm snapped his fingers and disappeared in a puff of red smoke, only to reappear a few seconds later behind the doctor, almost making him choke on his coffee.

“The second" , he continued, with a more sinister tone," is that this body can be destroyed countless times, but that I will never die.”

The pale scholar swallowed, trying to hide his unease. The god of nightmares, truly, was very intimidating when he wanted to be. Using the same ability as before, Grimm came back to his armchair, then sat down in a theatrical manner.

“This is very impressive", the doctor said, "but there’s still one thing bothering me. Gods may have limitless abilities, but matter, on the other hand, is a very limited thing. Even if you’re a god, I doubt you can change the quantity of matter in the universe like that. If you could, I’m quite sure you would not be talking with me right now. So, what is the source that you use to create this physical form?”

Grimm frowned before answering:

“You’re too serious, doctor. You should let yourself be seduced by the mysteries of this world, instead of trying to explain everything like that.”

“I disagree with you on this point, Grimm. Those who lack the will to explain are apathetic towards the world, and have no interest in its wonders.”

“You may be right, little scholar, but you may be wrong. Don’t you fear that if everything is explained, if everything is submitted to the narrow and mechanical ways of your reason, the world for you will become dull and lifeless ?”

“I can’t see what you imply. Knowing the inner workings of a thing does not take away its beauty. Moreover, this does not answer my question about your use of matter.”

“Very well, scholar, very well. I will answer your question. Though I must admit it is quite bothersome, so it will be the last inquiry I accept from you today. After this, you will be the one answering.”

“I already said I would answer your questions, I will not go back on my words.”

“Alright, scholar! Do not be so impatient! You see, the source of the matter that composes this body is flames, or, more precisely, the energy that is stored within then. Energy is a type of matter, and my powers allow me to give it any shape I desire.”

On these words, Grimm got up and walked straight to the doctor. He continued:

“Touch my hand, pale scholar, and you will understand what I mean.”

A little too slowly, perhaps, the doctor reached towards Grimm’s hand. Upon touching it, he did not hide his surprise. Grimm’s hand was incredibly hot. It was not burning, but still, it was way warmer than any living being could be.

“See, doctor", Grimm said. "This form is burning with the flames of nightmares, and even if you cannot see them right now, you can still feel their energy and their heat.”

The doctor nodded reflexively, while swaying back and forth a little, like he used to do when he was lost in thoughts.

“Interesting… " He mumbled. "Very interesting.”

The physics behind this phenomenon were probably one of the strangest things he had ever witnessed. He wondered if the king of nightmares would let him study it enough to understand its mechanisms. Such ability was probably made possible by some kind of process, akin to alchemic transmutation. This reminded him of the red Lion, an alchemic realization he was never able to complete. Maybe, with Grimm’s help…

Suddenly, the sound of the god’s voice made him abruptly come back to reality.

“So, pale scholar", the nightmare king said. "Now it is your turn to answer my questions!”

“Yes, of course.”

This was the moment Grimm was waiting for. With these questions, he hoped to unveil the doctor’s secrets. From the moment he saw him, he knew the doctor had a secret. Something very important, something that would give a new meaning to their whole story. No matter the expedients he would have to use, he would discover it, and then, the doctor’s life, his soul, it would be his, and his alone.

“So, here is my first question. What is your name, doctor? I find it rather unpractical not to have a name to call you by.”

Hearing the question, the doctor looked a little embarrassed, a little sad. Good, Grimm thought. This meant he was already touching something important.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Grimm, but… you will have to continue calling me pale scholar. You see, I don’t have a name.”

“You don’t have a name? How is it possible?”

“It is a tradition in the land I come from, in large families, the last born are not given names. The parents do this because its quite common for them to die early, so they don’t feel too attached.”

The doctor had said this a little too quickly for Grimm’s taste. He said this as if this was a matter of fact. Perhaps this was normal for the doctor, from a cultural perspective, or perhaps he was reciting an act. To find the right answer, it seems he would have to look for inconsistencies.

“But how come you don’t have a name now, since you survived ?”

“This is because I lived many years without one, and the people had already taken the habit of calling me “pale scholar”. I guess the whole name thing just seemed unnecessary. This is also the reason why I never chose a name for myself. It would feel very strange if I did.”

This seemed a little contrived, but not completely impossible. Grimm thought he would have to wait to know if it was a lie or not. Besides, the doctor seemed to be a good liar, and good liars were the ones who had enough skill to mingle lies and truth on deep levels, making them almost impossible to entangle. Grimm resumed his interrogation.

“You said “the land I came from”. This means you’re not native from these caverns. This would explain why your appearance is so different. Could you tell me more about this place you come from ?”

“Yes, of course. Though I apologize in advance for the lack of details in what I am about to say. You see, when I crossed the wastelands, its winds did a number on my memory.”

“As long as you still remember the gist of it, that’s enough for me.”

“Well then… My homeland is somewhere, far on the northeast. It has a harsh climate, it’s very cold outside, with snowstorms and droughts, so we mostly live underground, like the bugs in this place. My tribe was very conservative. What mattered to them was to follow the rules of their ancestors, and they did not appreciate those who showed too much curiosity towards other things. As you might have guessed from the anecdote about names, this is a rather unforgiving people, and even if I still take pride in the title of “pale scholar”, they used it as an insult. So, you can understand why I left this place I soon as I could.”

Grimm found this answer somewhat unsatisfying. It was too normal, the typical story of an outcast who turned to science. It lacked the strange circumstances he was hoping to learn about. The pale scholar’s words, it seemed, instead of bringing him light and meaning, clouded his form in a dense mist of tales and truths, making him strangely unreachable, something that seemed ill suited for a mortal. The god of nightmares continued his inquiry.

“But when you settled here, it was different ?”

“Yes, very different, indeed. First of all, I was able to do my research as I pleased, the locals seemed to have no interest in me, which helped a lot. Then, there is the fact that this place has a rich history and a variety of peoples, it holds numerous secrets I am still to discover. Last but not least, I met some adventurers on my way whose interests matched mine, and it is thanks to our alliance that we managed to create these archives. This makes me think that I will have to introduce you to my… colleagues. However, we will have to come up with a fake identity for you, I don’t want them to discover that I’ve been practicing dark magic.”

Grimm felt greatly disappointed. From these answers, it appeared that the doctor’s secrets were well protected, and that he would not be able to unravel them with simple conversations. This comment about hiding his more… unsavory research to his colleagues further exposed the fact that the doctor was used to concealing many things from others, which meant it would prove difficult to overpower him in this specific field. However, he had time, and with time, he would have many occasions to discover what this scientist was really about. Like all mortals, this creature probably craved bonds and affection, and if Grimm could appear benevolent enough, the doctor would quickly let his guard down. This was the moment he would strike.

For now, the only thing he had to do was to play along, and wait for the perfect occasion.

“I think you could just introduce me as a new scholar coming from abroad", Grimm said. "This would make them less suspicious of my appearance.”

The doctor acquiesced.

“Well then", he said…" I guess that from the time being, you are Grimm the scholar.”

Chapter Text

“Now, Grimm,” the doctor said, “I suggest you use the power you demonstrated earlier to get out of here. We cannot meet again outside, in front of the archives. It would be too suspicious if anyone saw me leaving this laboratory with you, while nobody has seen you enter.”

Grimm acquiesced.

“Good suggestion, pale scholar. This room had started to bore me, anyway, and I can’t wait to get a view of these caverns that seem to be the object of so many fascinations.”

Grimm bowed in a weird, dancing way, and disappeared in a cloud of thick red smoke. Before it could dissipate into thin air, the doctor managed to take a small sample of it in a vial. He closed it carefully and hid it in one of the secret drawers under the desk. He looked forward to identify its alchemic properties, hoping that it could prove useful in one way or another.

Then, he carefully erased the invocation circle and hid the forbidden books and suspicious equipment in the usual place, a trapdoor under an old rug. Even if he always carefully locked the door of his laboratory, he did not trust the other inhabitants of the archives, one of them could very well break into this room, motivated by curiosity, or to steal one of his books. If he talked about this with Monomon, the strange teacher with her uncanny fascination with acid, she probably would have accused him of being too distrustful, or even paranoid. However, the doctor knew this was a gross exaggeration. He had once surprised this other scholar, the self-proclaimed “soul master”, trying to pick his lock.

The pale scholar left his laboratory, carefully locking the door behind him, and climbed the stairs that led to the main hall of the archives, a room that was supposed to be a library, but was used for various activities of disputable usefulness by the residents, such as tea parties and games. The pale scholar seldom participated in such meetings. He had his own tea in his laboratory, and anyway, he had been banned from their games, with the pretext that he had been caught cheating once or twice.

As he arrived in the main room, his expression changed to one of slight annoyance. Monomon was there, fetching books, and given the way she reacted upon seeing him, it looked as if he would not be able to escape the interaction.  With a fit of giggles, the teacher floated towards him in a graceful move.

“Look who’s crawling out of his den!” She chirped, in a somewhat mocking tone. “None other than the pale scholar himself! I was beginning to think that you would never reemerge!”

“You exaggerate, teacher, I was not down there for so long.”

“Not so long? I admit I may or may not have a propensity for the use of hyperboles, but this time, doctor, I am not exaggerating. You were locked in your cave for three entire days!”

“Three days?” He said in a lower tone, almost to himself.

He could have sworn he had not stayed in his laboratory for more than one day and a half. Either Monomon was having fun at his expanse, or his excessive consumption of coffee and obsession with his new project had seriously messed with his circadian clock.

“You know,” Monomon continued “As a last resort, we made cake, hoping to lure you out with the smell, but even this did not work! I wonder what research must have fascinated you so much that you would ignore such a mouthwatering stimulus.”

Damn this Monomon for talking about food. He could not remember the last time he had eaten anything, and if he was to show any sign of hunger now, she would never let him hear the end of it. As if to mock his current predicament, his stomach let out a loud gurgle. How embarrassing. Monomon was looking down at him with a smug smile plastered on her face, while he damned the unpractical needs of physical bodies, swearing that in his next life, he would reincarnate into pure ether and never be faced with such shameful situations again!

“Your cake…” He sighed. “Do you have a piece of it left?”

Monomon was laughing whole heartedly, now, and answered:

“I’m sorry, Quirrel finished the last piece for his afternoon snack. However, we have some pickled mushrooms in the kitchen.”

The pale scholar made a disgusted grimace, thinking about the infamous dish. Sometimes, he suspected that Monomon was a demon sent on the earth to torment him, with her evil plans and constant teasing, and wondered what he could have done in alternate lives to deserve such a punishment.

“Sorry, Monomon. I’m going out. I think I might need some fresh air.”

“Says the one who stayed locked up in his cave for three entire days!”

As he made his way to the exit, the doctor peeked in Monomon’s laboratory. Unlike him, she was not secretive about her research and the door of her domain was always open, letting anyone see her strange contraptions filled with bubbling acid. Despite her mischievous behaviour, Monomon was a dedicated researcher, a full-fledged scholar, who took interest in many subjects, from abstract mathematics to chemistry, as well as poetry and languages. Her current goal was to use acid in order to create documents impervious to the effects of time. A noble act, and one that fitted the ambitions of their kind. A master of scripts, seeker of eternity, she wanted her words and the words of other to live forever in her greenish jars, words, like ghosts in bubbles and spirits in vials. Her title of teacher was well deserved. Her main preoccupation, instead of finding new knowledge and discovering secrets, was to find ways to offer it to future generations.

He continued his way and passed the stairs that led to the upper rooms, the quarters of Lurien the watcher. He passed by quickly, hoping not to make another encounter. He already had to introduce Grimm to everyone, which was a chore in itself.

Finally, he got out of the archives’ building. By staying in his dim laboratory for so long, his eyes had grown accustomed to darkness, and the sudden light of fog canyon made him squint. For the first time since he had decided to use forbidden magic, he felt weak and weary. The humid air of the canyon felt disagreeable and heavy, and the many smells that came from plants and other organisms were making him light-headed. However, what worried him the most was that Grimm was nowhere in sight. The scholar hoped he had not made a mistake by letting the god of nightmares out like this. He dared not imagine the catastrophes that could be caused by a god let loose in the caverns.

He felt his heart rate accelerating. He was beginning to panic. This was not good, he realized now that he had probably made a huge mistake. He had to find the god quickly, before he could wreak havoc in the caverns. In front of the main entrance, he noticed footprints that matched Grimm’s size. He followed them hastily, almost running, hoping that it was not too late, hoping he could still do something before…

The pale scholar stopped right in his tracks and began to laugh. (He may have to do something about his laugh, though, for it sounded naturally like a weird snigger that made him look like a mad man or someone very evil.) What a fool he was, worrying for nothing in such a pitiful way! From time to time, he understood why the teacher was having so much fun at his expanse. He was an idiot, an unredeemable dimwit, for panicking like that. Of course Grimm would not try to ravage the caverns of anything like that. This would be contradictory for the god to act in a violent manner, when his objective was so obviously tied to their research. He could definitely use some sleep, lest he let himself slip and make an irreparable mistake.

“Why are you laughing like that, pale scholar?”

He started and turned back quickly, taking a defensive stance. Grimm had appeared behind him, and was staring at him with his usual infuriating smile.

“Nothing special”, he answered. “I just thought about a stupid wordplay.”

“Let me hear it then, I want to laugh too.”

He had spoken too fast. This was a terrible idea, now he had to think of a joke very quickly, and wyrms knew how bad he was at this kind of things.

“Why … is it impossible to use the square root of two to calculate a quotient?”

Grimm frowned, probably anticipating the pitiful punchline.

“Because… it’s irrational.”

Grimm looked unamused. Very understandably so.

“You, know, because it’s a ratio, but…”

“Don’t explain it. You’re making it worse.”

The doctor cleared his throat. He had managed to embarrass himself in front of the god, but this was a noble sacrifice that allowed him to stay clear of any suspicion. When he thought a little more about it, he realized that this was actually a rather good move. Such a despairing attempt at humor would probably lead Grimm to have a poor opinion of his wit, meaning that he would underestimate him, and allow himself to be less careful. This was a tactic he should seriously consider.

“So, Grimm”, he began, as if nothing happened. “Where have you been? I was looking for you.”

“Just visiting the place. I find it quite charming, though it’s a little too damp for my liking.”

“If the humidity of this place does not suit your flames, we can go back inside. I would like to introduce you to the others.”

…

Grimm followed the doctor back to the archives. Even if the pale scholar thought that was going to be a genuine introduction, he had already had a good look at the place’s occupants. The jellyfish teacher and her apprentice, as well as the weird one-eyed bug passionate with lenses appeared to be good little scholars, assiduous in their research, perhaps a little weird, sometimes, but tame and severely lacking ambition. None of them had stumbled upon forbidden books, or pursued darker goals, like the doctor did in secret. However, the last dweller of the archives had caught his interest. This one was a large bug who fancied himself a “soul master”, and had already begun to thread a dangerous path, in his pursuit of the mastery of life magic, or, as some bugs called it, the power of soul. The moment he had seen him, Grimm had felt the hunger in his heart. This one desired power over anything else, he probably dreamed to become a mighty magician, a ruler, a king. His mind was of a very common kind, simple and obtuse, defined by the ravenous desire for domination, badly concealed behind a polite façade. This type of mind was the easiest for Grimm to manipulate. The soul master was going to be a very good tool to serve his plans. He could imagine many scenarios in which his thirst for power would come in handy.

The doctor took him to the four scholars and introduced him as a new recruit, someone from abroad who had caught word of the archives and would be joining them in their work. Grimm delighted in their expression of fascination, especially the teacher and her apprentice. The soul master appeared more defiant, probably with a tinge of jealousy. The watcher had a strange expression of curiosity, mixed with something else the god failed to identify, given the bug’s unusual features. Many ideas form in his head, about the way he would use them, the way he would turn them into puppets to match his goals and push the doctor to his demise. With these new pawns in place, it seemed that the game was about to become even more interesting.

After a quick visit to the kitchen, where they had the displeasure of tasting the local specialty of pickled mushrooms, they got back to the laboratory. He looked at the pale scholar rummaging through his books, before revealing an ancient volume. The aspect of this book was quite uncanny, its cover was made of a strange, greenish material, that had something organic in its appearance. The pages were covered in strange, circular symbols, unlike anything he had seen before.

“See, Grimm”, the scholar began, his voice weaker than usual. “This is the book of the Green Prophet. I found it many years ago, when I was exploring the caverns above us. I have the tools to decipher the script, but, as you can see, this book is a very strange and ancient one, its pages are imbued with spells of dreams and confusion, and I never managed to decipher it without finding myself in a kind of trance, leaving me with no memories of my readings, except for a very disagreeable impression. However, I believe that with your power, it is possible to…”

The doctor stopped abruptly in his explanation, and stayed immobile, looking in the distance.

“Yes? You believe that it is possible to?”

With no warning, the doctor suddenly collapsed, face first on the book. Grimm felt alarmed for a few seconds, before he heard a light snore. The pale scholar was sound asleep, and given the way he had lost consciousness, he would probably not wake up before a long time. A wide smile appeared on Grimm’s face. This was the moment he was waiting for. Now, the doctor was completely defenseless, and it would be so easy to peer into his mind and discover some secrets in his dreams. In fact, this was so easy that Grimm even found it a little disappointing. Well, it was the scholar’s fault, for thinking he could play on equal grounds with a god.

Grimm lifted the doctors sleeping form and took him to the corner of the room with the cushions and the blanket. Doing this, he could not help but notice that he was too light, even for his size. This was no concern for him however. What he was about to see was much more interesting.

Grimm prepared to launch into the pale’s scholar’s dreams. Red fire surrounded him, as he placed his burning hand on his brow, ready to invade his mind.

The power of flames grew larger and larger, the god of nightmares was in his element, ready to strike, ready to see it all, the things the scholar was concealing. His magic swirled around him, opening the gates of minds and dreams, he was so close, so close to victory, after this, manipulating the doctor would be so easy, this was the last tool he needed before he could truly become the master of the game. Red flames where about to take over, his eyes, wide open in the scarlet fire, with a mind like a bubble in his claw, so easy to break… Flames grew larger and larger, and then … It happened.

A white light appeared around the doctor’s mind.

A seal. Unknown, powerful magic.

An intricate pattern of unknown signs.

Six pale eyes, a look of scorn.

A voice, the strangest voice he ever heard, like a ghost or an echo, thousands whispers, saying:

“You’re not welcome here. Go away.”

A preternatural force pushed his flames back, and when Grimm opened his eyes, he was still in reality.

Many emotions appeared at once in the god’s heart. Frustration, anger to see his power denied, but also curiosity, tension, and most of all… The thrill.

This was the thrill of a real game. One that was not rigged in his favor. One that was filled with uncertainty.

The smile on the god’s face grew wider.

“Well, well, well”, he whispered to himself. “Pale scholar, it seems that you are more than what you pretend to be.”

Chapter Text

The doctor sat into the vast desertic expanse. He was alone, completely alone, and his shadow stretched lengthily on the white soil, cast by a very distant sun in the horizon. No wind was blowing, there was absolutely no sound, and even if he tried to speak out loud, to scream, the place would still be engulfed into perfect silence. In this place, the doctor’s appearance was different. He was smaller than usual, with shorter horns and child like features, like the day he was reborn, in a state that, for what he knew, could have been less diminished.

The doctor knew very well it was a dream. No, this statement was not correct. It was the dream. From the moment he woke up in this mortal form, not once had he dreamt of something different. The doctor knew it was a dreadful dream, one that came with a horrible pain he could not escape. He had tried many times before, using his lucidity to his advantage, trying to change the scenery, or to fly high enough to reach the darkness far above. Every time, he had failed. Now, the doctor did not try anything to escape what was about to come. He waited patiently, hoping that soon, it would be over, and that he could finally wake up. It is a saying that with enough repetitions, one can grow accustomed to almost anything. In the doctor’s case, this was very true. Not that he no longer felt the pain: it was as burning and sharp as ever, even in a dream, this was a horrible agony. However, this no longer made him feel like he was about to die. The fear and the panic that came at first had disappeared, leaving only the burn, meaningless.

The doctor had never grasped the cause of this phenomenon. Was it a side effect of the spell he had managed to cast on himself as he was dying, so the radiance would not discover him through the powers of dreams, the wyrm’s last spell, before it was burnt to ashes? Was it just his own mind that was determined to make him suffer, to make him relive this event every time he fell asleep? There was no answer to these questions, fore none of the methods tested by the pale scholar to put an end to this had proved efficient. Psychotropics and other types of drugs seemed to plunge him in sweeter visions, of green and blue, but these were always followed by the dream. Magic had no effect either, and this problem just managed to make him lose many days in sterile research. Sometimes, the pale scholar imagined that this was the wyrm’s ghost, trapped in its own spell, with this fragment of time, that this ghost pushed far away beyond his consciousness was reliving the moment of its death again and again, taking him down with it, forcing him to share its suffering.

 He guessed that served it well. The wyrm had fallen because of its own stupidity, because it vastly overestimated its magic, because it was prideful and naïve, it claimed to be a seeker of justice, one that had the right to chastised others for actions they had not done yet. Feeling about these days made the doctor deeply ashamed, he was so entitled, so idiotic, thinking the whole world was his to own and that he was right about everything. The fact that he had to hide his previous identity was very good. No one would ever have to learn about this embarrassing past.

The sun rose slowly into the dark sky, and pale flames appeared around his robes and his wings. It was happening. The pale scholar did not grate his teeth of clench his fist, or any other action that one usually does to better deal with pain. He had felt it too many times. This was an agonizing sensation, sure, burning, his body falling apart, becoming ashes, becoming nothing, but the pale scholar did not care. He had stopped caring long ago, and this had become a mere step he had to go through before he could find real rest.

The burning sensation was followed by the sensation of nothingness, as the same pictures as usual flashed before him.

A sword planted in a black rock.

A vial, with a very small, dark heart beating inside it.

Something huge, horrible, made of birth and decay veiled in purple mist.

After these, there was just darkness, finally allowing for a long-awaited rest.

…

The doctor woke up to the sound of someone cursing and grumbling. He had a slight headache, as he usually did when after sleeping, and felt a little nauseous. It appeared he was in the corner of his laboratory, and… This person was sitting on his desk and sounded very pissed about something. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. It took him some time to understand what was happening. Grimm was there, with the book of the green prophet open on his lap, surrounded by innumerable threads of burning light. Grimm looked like he was trying to entangle them while complaining and cursing profusely.

“Damn those ancient sorcerers! The day they decided to do something like this, they should have hanged themselves, it would have been more productive! Sadistic dreamweavers! Laborious wretches!”

The pale scholar stood up, looking at the interwoven threads. He could understand Grimm’s frustration: these looked rather annoying to entangle. The god of nightmares turned to him.

“Good day, pale scholar! It seems you’re finally awake!”

The doctor got closer, examining the spell.

“I see you’re trying to get rid of this curse of confusion… It looks quite annoying.”

“That’s a huge understatement!” Grimm hissed. “Look at that! I’ve never seen a spell that was both so messy and so complicated. I can’t understand what went through the head of those who crafted it.”

The scholar examined the lines of magic. The nightmare king was right: they were hideous. This had nothing to do with the elegant symmetry of the geometry of seals he himself used. Now that it was made apparent by the god’s power, he could see the grotesque mess of lines and dimensions that made the fabric of the curse, long arabesques and unnatural angles, impossible figures connecting with each other, forming a repulsive abstraction that made him feel dizzy just by looking at them.

“At least,” Grimm said, “I’m almost done. Just a little knot to undo, and I will tear this thing apart. What disgusting magic!”

“The power of the god of nightmare is impressive. I must thank you, Grimm, with your help, my research could reach a turning point. I can’t wait to decipher the book’s content.”

With a majestic if exaggerated gesture, Grimm finally entangled the last knot, and dissipated the spell. Now, it was possible to look at the pages of the book without losing the ability to think correctly. The doctor was already leaning in to look at the uncanny script, when Grimm abruptly closed the book and put it on the highest shelf.

“Grimm ! What are you doing ? We’re supposed to decipher it!”

The god of nightmares frowned, looking down at the pale scholar.

“Before I let you have fun with this, there’s something we need to talk about.”

The doctor felt the tension in the laboratory rise once again. The room was imbued with Grimm’s power, and it seemed that in the twinkling of an eye, it could be filled with flames.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I want to talk about your lies, pale scholar. It appears you have been hiding important information for me. I thought I could trust you.”

The doctor felt a rush of adrenaline, as he suddenly realized what this was about. The god of nightmares had tried to enter his mind when he was asleep, which meant… he had discovered the seal. The scholar cursed himself for not anticipating this outcome. He had been so engrossed in his activities that he had forgotten about Grimm’s most obvious attribute, the power to enter dreams and nightmares. Dealing with this situation without losing the advantage was going to be extremely difficult. He could not think of a plan yet. For now, he had to buy time.

“What do you mean, nightmare king. I do not recall hiding anything from you.”

Grimm gave him a contemptuous look.

“Do not try to play the fool with me, pale scholar. I though you were better than that.”

The doctor crossed his arms, trying to look unafraid.

“I could say the same thing for you, nightmare king! By your accusations, you confess that you tried to look into my dreams without my consent. This is incredibly rude!”

“Oh please, pale scholar, do not try to make me believe you thought that despite being a god of nightmares, I would not try to see your dreams. Even for you, this is too foolish.”

“I thought I could trust you to respect the basic rules of decency. It appears I was mistaken.”

Ominous flames appeared around Grimm, as reddish eyes opened around his darkened silhouette, glaring forebodingly at the scholar. His voice grew louder, it filled the room with a terrifying rumble.

“You forget your place, mortal! Gods do not abide by your rules or your laws, our will is sacred, our grip, infinite.”

The doctor jumped back, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the nightmare king. He tried to reply something, but his throat refused to emit any sound. Grimm stepped closer, the flames behind him looked like red wings, while his eyes were burning with a fantastic glow. The god continued, speaking very slowly, adding spikes and poison to every word that left his mouth.

“Now, prithee, doctor, tell, what is it? What is this seal that bars the doors of your mind, even for one as powerful as me? This does not come from you. Something else, something powerful… Something godly has granted you this protection. Who is it, then, who is your mysterious ally?”

Grimm leant down, his face was not two inches away from the pale scholar’s. Staring in his eyes, he continued:

“I recall our pact stated that your soul would be mine and mine only. For your mind to bear the mark of another higher being… This is a serious breach in our contract.”

“Wait, nightmare king…” he finally managed to say. “There’s no breach in the contract, I swear. This creature… It’s already dead. The spell it left on me is a parting gift.”

Grimm stepped back, flames receded.

“Then, tell me doctor, what allowed you to receive such a gift?”

“I was there when the creature died. It cast this spell on me because I was here for its last moments. This is a seal protecting me from you and your kin.”

“A generous creature, I see, and one that seems to arbor grudges against my sister or me… To think it would be a gift to bar your mind from the realm of dreams.”

“I am sorry,” the pale scholar continued, finding confidence in his lies. “I met this creature when crossing the wastes, and I lack any clear memory of it.”

Grimm frowned.

“The wastelands… quite convenient, aren’t they?”

“What do you mean? It’s just that they have this problematic effect on memories…”

“A good excuse for you, that’s all, not to have to talk about your secrets!”

“But I told you. About the spell, and the creature.”

“You did, you did… However, I find the substance of your tale to be a little lacking.”

“If I was lying about the creature’s death, the contract could not have been sealed in the first place. I know you used your magic for this.”

Grimm sighed.

“This is… not untrue. However, don’t fool yourself thinking I believe you on this one. I know you’re still hiding something from me.”

The pale scholar nodded silently, while thinking to himself: and I know you are hiding something as well. Your eagerness for a dedicated servant is the sign that your godhood is incomplete!

“Now, Grimm, would you be so kind as to let me examine the book ?”

The nightmare king took the book on the shelf and put it on the desk.

“Do your thing, doctor. However, I suspect you will not need me for this. I believe I will leave you to your dear studies, entangling this spell was enough boredom for today. I think I’m going to have fun with your colleagues upstairs.”

With his usual puff of red smoke, Grimm disappeared, leaving the pale scholar alone with the grimoire. Using the knowledge and tools he had gathered over the years, the doctor began to decipher the mysterious script. Now that it was free from the curse of confusion, understanding the book’s content had become easier than he expected it to be.

With fascination and desire, the doctor read each page feverishly, talking to himself and taking notes. The contents of the grimoire exceeded his expectation. Given the spell that protected it, it was easy to determine that it was a book of forbidden knowledge, of things of the earth’s earliest times, secrets that were supposed to be left unrevealed. The book was about the nature of a god, a very old one, a being from remote times, plunged in deep slumber at the margins of reality. A god of life, a being with its own reach on dreams, one that was said to grant wishes in exchange for strange offerings. This divinity was named Unn, it was one of the minor forces of the universe, small, in comparison with the terrifying realities the authors of the book did not dare to mention.

The book of the Green Prophet was comprised of two parts. The first part was comprised of seven chapters detailing the nature of Unn, her powers and the various meanings behind her name. The second parts was thirteen chapters long. The twelve first chapters described all the rituals that could be performed in order to communicate with the ancient one, as well as the things she could grant, and the things she would take. Many of these rituals were disturbing, as it seemed these ancient cultists honored their divinity in the strangest ways. Some of their practices turned his stomach, especially those that had to do with life rituals.

The thirteenth chapter, however, was very different. It was the longest in the book. This chapter began with the author’s musings about other ancient divinities. If the first lines were understandable, it appeared that the more he wrote, the more the author slipped into madness. The script turned into illegible scribbles, in which from time to time, it was possible to make out a word.

Each and every one of these words sent shivers into the doctor’s spine. This was awe, fear, dread, but most of all, exhilaration.

“Darkest Seer”

“---N’gai—aa—”

“Never dead”

“eversleeping”

“the most ancient”

“The one below”

The doctor stopped reading, as he felt something unnatural resonating with his mind. A panic, the impression of not being himself, in his thoughts, there was something like an echo.

Quickly, the pale scholar came back to the twelfth chapter. He reread it one time, then, reread it again, taking precise notes.

Then, he closed the book, as his face twisted into a devious expression. An unsettling laugh escaped his lips, as his heart filled with thrill and satisfaction.

He had a plan.

Chapter Text

The soul master focused intensely. He could feel it, the energy of life was swirling inside him, it turned round and moved like air or liquid, something fleeting and far away, a power beings like him were not supposed to access. He focused more, ignoring the buzzing of the artefact around his head. The white energy seemed to slow down, the more he focused, the more regular its movements became. He pursued his meditation, concentrating on the shape of the energy. It had settled down and taken the form of a white, steady orb. The soul master slowly began to formulate the spell of control. He could feel it, he was about to succeed. Power was there, at the tip of his fingers, waiting to be seized.

Very slowly, careful not to disturb the concentration in the air, he reached towards the pale orb. That was it, he was finally reaching his goals. The overly normal one, the bug with nothing special, the son of a family of merchants, the one that was often forgotten for he seemed to have no story of his own, no greater struggle, no mystery… He was about to claim this ancient power for himself, to become the greatest wizard of these caves, a master, a conqueror, a ruler, at last he would be respected and everyone would see who he really was. He was so close, as his hand began to close around the orb, passion and violent desire filled is heart, lust for power, for admiration, Lurien, Monomon, Quirrel, the pale scholar, who deemed his research too narrow minded, how they would regret their disregard for his intelligence! The great wizard, master of souls, he was about to be born…

The moment his hand touched the orb, his heart, swollen with desire, the focus broke. The soul dissipated. Soul master found himself sitting alone in his room, with the artifact buzzing on head, and the jar of fresh blood on his lap. He could feel the energy dissipating in the air around him. In a few seconds, it would become too diluted for him to perceive anything.

The soul master clenched his fist, and out of spite, he threw the jar of blood in the sink. It broke, leaving the unsettling vision of blueish hemolymph on shattered glass.

“Treacherous soul…” He whispered between his teeth. “Am I not enough for your fleeting power? Am I too low to receive yourmight? What do they have that I don’t, those obscure shamans of the mounds? In what way is their form superior to mine?”

He walked trough the room and seized a book that laid open on his tidy desk. He began to turn the pages feverishly.

“What is it? What could it be? These are as mortal as I am, their mind is no wider than my own, for I have studied many years and reached knowledge they could only dream of! Could it be their ancestry, their tradition, their rituals? No, it cannot be. Soul is a force, an energy. It cannot be harnessed with the aid of those arcane beliefs and empty ceremonies. Only the pale scholar is foolish enough to follow the tracks of legends and old stories. I am a man of science, not an old fortune teller dreaming of gods and spirits! What do they have, then? Perhaps it is their race, their flesh, their bodies… A natural organ akin to a finer version of my artifacts …”

He punched the wall violently, in a fit of exasperation.

“Damn it ! And I was so close ! Every time, I get so close, every time, I am about to reach it, I am about to become the wielder of soul, and every time, power seems to flee farther and farther away! Science… Universe… What are you trying to tell me? You can try to deter me all you want, but I will not yield! My determination is stronger than your laws!”

Suddenly, his passionate monologuing was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on his door.

“Who is it?” Soul Master said, taking off the artefact.

“It’s me, Grimm the scholar.” Said a melodious voice on the other side of the door. “Since I am new here, I wanted to learn more about your studies.”

Soul master opened the door, looking at the strange scholar. He seemed to show genuine curiosity regarding his work. This pleased the soul master. The others did no understand the greatness of his project. Monomon deemed the wielding of soul useless, pretending that because they were scholars, they were not to engage in combat. Quirrel, her apprentice and adoptive son, always agreed with his mother. Lurien had tried to comfort him from time to time, but it was clear that he did not care about his soul at all, all engrossed that he was in sky maps, paintings, and architecture. However, the pale scholar was the worst, he had called his research fruitless and obtuse, he acted like he knew more about soul than him, and yet, never gave him any help in his research. He acted like he had no interest in the manipulation of soul and always belittled him when he refused to inquire about the shamans’ innate customs. He had thought about it many times now. One day, the pale scholar would bitterly regret this mistake.

However, this was not about any of them, now. This was about Grimm. Perhaps he would understand him. Perhaps he could comprehend the vaster realities to which he was aspiring.

“Good day, Grimm. I’m glad you see interest in what I’m doing. Did the others tell you a little about my research?”

Grimm entered and settled on an armchair, before answering.

“They did not tell me much. Only that you were experimenting on soul energy.”

“Well, that’s true. The point of my research is to become a soul wielder. By finding a way to manipulate this energy, I hope to become a wizard.”

“I see. I command your objectives. If you manage to harness such a power; you will surely achieve great things.”

Soul Master smiled. Grimm’s remark inflated his sense of pride. Having someone finally understand the interest of his activities felt incredibly rewarding.

“I could, indeed. Soul is a powerful energy, it is very good for healing, and has great offensive capabilities.”

“And are you close to your goals? You seem to know your subject very well, but are you able to manipulate it?”

“Not yet unfortunately. I am always under the impression that I will finally achieve it, but it seems that the closer I get, the more its power seems to avoid me.”

“This is a strange phenomenon indeed. Do you have any idea as to why this happens?”

“I suspect my artefacts are not developed well enough.”

“But tell me, how long have you been studying soul?”

“A little more than ten years.”

“This is a very long time. Don’t you think your artefacts should be perfectly fine tuned by now?”

“I thought so, but as I told you, for a reason that escapes me, it’s never enough…”

Grimm looked at him with a sympathetic expression.

“You know, soul master, I believe you’re a little hard on yourself. Maybe the problem does not come from you, but from something else.”

“What could it be, then? I’ve looked into so many possibilities, and I never found the solution.”

Grimm stood up and began to look at the soul master’s books. He was far from owning as many books as the pale scholar did, and all of them had something to do with soul. In fact, the whole room was a testimony of the soul master’s obsession. The moment his face was out of the scientist’s sight, Grimm let an unsettling grin twist his features. This was so easy! The soul master was the perfect puppet. So much so that sometimes, it seemed too good to be true. He had seen many beings like this one before. Little creatures obsessed with power and glory, ready to damn themselves and to destroy their own lives for the sake of their illusion of grandeur. These beings, as children, had often dreamt themselves kings, great warriors, magicians. In their riper years, they plunged themselves headfirst in their obsessions, claiming to be tragic heroes, misunderstood by their peers, crafting around themselves a commonplace tale, a boring story that was always the same, one of reaching their goals against all odds, and to finally prove themselves by dominating those who did not believe in their delusions. The soul master was a perfect example of this kind. What he craved was power, domination. He wanted the other scholars to look up to him, to admire him, to worship him. As his self-given title suggested, his mind was controlled by unconscious, primal urges to crush the others, and the appearance of the intelligent and cultured scholar was but a mask that hid the desires of a territorial beast. Grimm found it hard not to laugh in his face. For the soul master to become the convenient pawn he needed, all it took was a little push.

Grimm turned again to the scholar, wearing an expression of innocence and curiosity.

“You know, it could be an external cause. What is your problem, exactly? What stops you from wielding this energy”

The soul master sighed.

“Every time I’m about to reach soul, it dissipates. Even with focus, I do not manage to maintain it in a high enough concentration, and it ends up dissipating into thin air.”

Grimm played hesitation and deep thinking, before saying:

“So, the key factor for you to be able to wield soul is that it is in a high enough concentration, am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your problem is that you do not manage to reach a focus deep enough for you to be able to manipulate it.”

“That’s it.”

“Well, I think there might be a way for you to go around this problem. However, I’m not an expert like you, so I could be severely mistaken, but sometimes, you know, one may need an outsider’s perspective.”

“Of course, it you have an idea I do not mind listening to it.”

“If the factor you require is to have a concentration of soul around you that is high enough, maybe, instead of intensifying your focus on a small quantity of soul, you could keep your focus as it is, but increase the quantity of energy at your disposition, so you can use it without needing to reach an impossible level of focus.”

For a few seconds, the soul master stared at him with wide eyes.

“You… you’re right… I was so absorbed in my ways that I never thought of this alternative route…”

“I told you, sometimes, when you’re too engrossed in your research, you can miss elements that could seem obvious from an outsider’s perspective.”

“You’re right, you’re very right… I must thank you, Grimm, I think that thanks to you, I reached a breakthrough! “

Grimm stepped closer and leant towards the soul master.

“However, there’s something I find quite strange, soul master.”

“What do you mean?”

“You spoke to your colleagues about you research many times before, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. They didn’t look like they were very interested, though.”

“If you did, I find it quite strange that none of them mentioned this idea before. They’re not stupid, it must have crossed their mind at some point. Did they not tell you about this possibility?”

The soul master stayed silent for a moment, as the realization hit him. They never told him about this. This idea that Grimm found so easily, for several years, none of them had suggested it.

“No…” He whispered. “They didn’t”.

“How curious …”

Slowly, but surely, the soul master’s heart filled with rage. These scholars, not only did they disregard his research, but they also kept precious information for themselves. He understood what it was about, now. The scholars of the archives were not deluded. They were not stupid either. They were jealous. They knew they could never reach the power he was about to achieve, and because of this, they did everything they could to get in the way of his success. Never encouraging him… Keeping information hidden… All this because of their pride, because they could not bear it, to see someone like him rise above their level, because they were afraid of his abilities, they kept him in the dark all this time…

As these thoughts took over his mind, soul master failed to notice Grimm’s predatory expression as he was looking down at him.

Many desires had motivated the soul master in his research, in his quest for power. Might, domination, fame, wealth, the admiration of his peers. On this vast pile of desires in his heart, another one appeared, another thing that made him burn with an eagerness he had never felt before, a thing that would push him to the very end of his objectives, a desire, burning hot and red, stronger that all others. He wanted it so badly, and with the great power soul was about to grant him, he would obtain it :

Revenge.

Chapter Text

This room was not like the other rooms in the archives. It looked more comfortable, more refined. This had nothing to do with the room of the soul master, coldly functional, entirely dedicated to one goal, nor with the rooms of the teacher, brimming with disorganized projects. This room was the highest in the archives. It had been built entirely with iron and glass and it resembled a small greenhouse. There were many plants, in the room: cacti, orchids and other types of epiphytes, two heveae with colorful leaves, a blooming fuchsia.  There were also many paintings exposed in the room. Most of them were of plants and landscapes, a few still lives, other things that mostly came from the painter’s imagination. In the center of the room, there was an elegant table with chairs and a tea set. These had nothing to do with the mugs and iron kettle that were to be found in the pale scholar’s laboratory: this set was clean and elegant, something that looked expensive and was very well kept. On another corner of the room, near the entrance, there was a desk covered in blueprints and different optical instruments, as well as a painting set. Next to it, leaning on the wall, were some incomplete paintings. One that represented a strange gothic city, and another, that was a group portrait of the archive’s scholars.

Monomon, Quirrel and Lu, his butler, were posing in the center of the frame, smiling. Their poses were somewhat awkward, but they looked genuinely happy. On the right side of the painting, there was the soul master, standing in a ridiculous position, bending his back and looking downwards with a hilariously dignified air. The left side of the painting was not finished, it was just a sketch on bare canvas, showing the pale scholar looking intently at a book. From the state of the paint, one could easily see that it had not been worked on for a long time.

Lurien looked at the unfinished painting and sighed lengthily. Now, he thought he would never be able to finish it. The painting reflected the way he felt, these days. No matter what he did, even when he managed to paint what he wanted, or to make new discoveries about the nature of colour and light, there was still this strange heaviness in his heart. Even during his long conversation over tea with Lu, when they spoke of their homeland, of their projects, of abstract things like the nature of art, when they laughed at each other’s bad jokes, the feeling was still there, buried very deep into him, one feeling that tinged all the other with bluish hues. For some time, he had tried to ignore it, or to give metaphysical explanation to the feeling, pretending this was about the days of his youth getting farther and farther away, about the constant dissatisfaction with oneself that defined every creature in one way or another, but in truth, he knew the explanation for this was way more simple.

For a few months, now, Lurien had been feeling lonely. As his friends became more and more engrossed in their research, it seemed they had begun to drift away from one another. At first, it was the pale scholar. One day, as he returned from a visit to an old merchant of ancient codex, he stopped talking about his research. He had become more distant, often locking himself in his laboratory for days, pretending nothing ever happened. Then, it was the soul master. Lurien never liked his obsession with soul, but lately, it seemed it had become more potent, as the scientist seemed more and more engrossed with his projects. The last one was Monomon: they still talked very often, being with her reminded him of their first days, during the building of the archives, when they still did not know much about anything and could lose many hours in laughter and idiotic conversations. However, she too, seemed to get closer to the heart of her research, and spent more time than ever around her tanks of acid.

The truth was that Lurien felt left behind. It seemed that his friends were going their separate ways, that they had found goals worth pursuing, and that he was the only one who was still clinging to their forsaken days, when they were all innocent students who liked mischief, riddles, long night around fire and stories.

Then, there was Grimm. Lurien had thought about welcoming a new scholar more than once. He thought someone new could make them go back to these days he cherished so, that once again, he would feel like Lurien the runaway, the student, young and eager, living adventures with Lu the faithful butler, making strange friends along the way. However, the moment he saw Grimm, he knew there was something off about him.

Lurien had always had this uncanny ability to feel people’s intent. Perhaps it was the power of his eyes, perhaps it was his upbringing in an aristocratic family. Very early on, he had been able to spot the hypocrisy of those who surrounded him: fake respect, feigned friendships, lust for power, for riches, for fame. This constant presence of lies was the main thing that compelled him to run away from home. His sensitivity to such things allowed him to spot this special kind of peoples. Wearers of masks, shrouded in lies, and in their truth, so lonely.

The pale scholar had been one of these peoples. The moment they met, Lurien knew he was hiding many things, that his real story, his real heart had been silenced and replaced with a convenient tale. The way his lies felt was different, though, his words did not sound sickly sweet, like those of courtesans, nor did they seem poisoned of evil. There was always a sense of emptiness in his stories, he lacked the emotions of those who told about a sad past, the light in the eyes that looked at memories. Strangely, even for a being like Lurien who abhorred hypocrisy, the pale scholar’s lies had never bothered him. This was because they were tied to a strange sense of necessity, because they bore no concealed joy, no feeling of superiority. This was something the scholar could not tell, no matter what, because if he did, something terrible would happen.

Grimm was one of these people too. However, his lies felt very different. Grimm’s mere presence made him feel ill at ease, there was something about him that was frightening, and he could not tell what it was. His voice changed too easily, sometimes it was harsh and raucous, sometimes it was soft and mellow. His eyes emitted an unnatural light, and his smile seemed dangerous. Moreover, the circumstances of his arrival were incredibly suspicious. He was introduced to them by the pale scholar, which made little sense, since for the last month, he hardly left his laboratory. The fact that he was the first one of them to meet Grimm did not look right. There was also the fact that he saw Grimm go down the stairs that led to the scholar’s laboratory several times, despite the fact that he usually never let any of them enter this room. The way Grimm talked to them, with fake curiosity in his voice, the pale scholar’s restlessness... In Lurien mind, this was self-evident. Those two were up to no good.

Lurien looked at the painting again. Were they still friends? What were these strange ways in which they all seemed to lose themselves?

On an impulse, Lurien took his spyglass and walked to his room’s vast windows. Since Grimm had arrived in the archives, something was not right. The watcher knew he could trust his intuition. When he thought about the things Grimm and the pale scholar could be doing in secret, the same words always echoed through his mind: Forbidden. Dangerous.

The watcher began to scan the area with his spyglass. The feeling he was about to discover something did not leave his mind. At first, he saw nothing. He inspected the landscape thoroughly, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. This was not right. There was something, he could swear it. He inspected the cavern a second time, and his eye was caught by a movement in blue grass. He adjusted the spyglass and focused on the area. Then, he saw seven white horns emerging from the grass, then, two black eyes, looking about suspiciously. His intuition was right: the pale scholar was sneaking out of the archives, and given the way he behaved, he did not want any of them to discover where he was going.

The watcher frowned. He was growing tired of this. The pale scholar’s distrust, his secrecy. This irritated him. They were supposed to be a team, and yet, the scholar was purposely ignoring them and hiding things from them. He felt it was time to discover what this was really about.

Lurien opened the windows of his room and stood on the ledge. From where he was, he could see the doctor making his way towards a small tunnel, carrying a bag that looked very heavy. Lurien spread his blue wings and flew towards him, ready to launch on him like a bird of prey. The watcher approached with high speed, he was a few feet away when the pale scholar turned around and noticed him.

Then, Lurien realized. He had built too much momentum. The collision was unavoidable!

He crashed onto the pale scholar, sending them both rolling a few feet away.

“Lurien! What is the meaning of this?”

The watcher stood up and jumped on the doctor, successfully capturing him by sitting on his back.

“I captured you, pale scholar!”

“Let me go, Lurien!” The doctor exclaimed, wiggling pitifully under him. When it came to physical abilities, they were both ridiculously weak, but the watcher had the advantage of surprise, and had secured position that would give him the upper hand.

“No! Until you explain yourself, you are my prisoner!”

The scholar kept struggling, but it had no effect.

“Let me go!”

“No!”

“You are drunk!”

“No I’m not! You are sneaking out like a thief, you’re suspicious!”

“No I’m not! Let me go!”

“No!”

“You’re crushing me!”

“Impossible! I am not so fat!”

“Let me go I said!”

“Never!”

They struggled and fought for long minutes, without realizing how embarrassing their situation was. If an outsider had observed the fight, which, fortunately, was not the case, he would have been mortified by how pitiful this was. Combat involving two scholars who took pride in neglecting physical activity was not a pretty sight, and amounted to the both of them wriggling in the dust and rolling about gracelessly.

“Yield, pale scholar!” Lurien exclaimed, tugging at the doctor’s cloak.

“I will not be vanquished by you, watcher!”

“Don’t you see you’ve already lost?”

“No! I will escape!”

“Stop struggling already!”

“I will not yield!”

The scholar’s tail was wiggling in every direction, making it difficult, making it considerably more difficult for Lurien to keep his hold on his prisoner. He caught the tail in his hand and pulled on it with all his inexistent strength. The watcher heard a little crack.

“Ouch!”

“Oh… Sorry.”

Suddenly, a huge wave of embarrassment hit them, as they realized their ridiculous position.

“Oh gods…”Lurien said. “What have we done.”

They stood up, dusted their clothes and looked at each other awkwardly.

“Let’s not talk about this.” The pale scholar said.

Lurien nodded energetically. Then, he felt his mouth irresistibly bending into a big, stupid smile. This was also the doctor’s case. Suddenly, they both burst out laughing. They laughed like this for a long minute, unable to stop. It felt so good to be laughing like that, it had been so long, so long since he had not felt a genuine laugh, one that was so idiotic, but so honest at the same time, one that made the heaviness in his heart recede, one that pushed the blue tinge away, and the caverns around him, suddenly, had so many vibrant colours …

“Lurien… What was that? for a moment I thought you had gone crazy!”

“Sorry about that. I guess my frustration just burst out all at once…”

“I can see that!”

An awkward pause. Blue slowly crept back in his eye and his heart, as the moment, with its earnest innocence, was slowly fading away.

“You know …” the watcher began. “I’ve had enough of this. I did not say anything because I thought this was none of my business, but I realize now, I cannot keep ignoring this.”

The pale scholar looked at him with an expression of both resignation and worry.

“I’ve had enough,” Lurien continued, “you’re not telling us anything about what you do, you just lock yourself in your laboratory, and then you invite this suspicious guy, Grimm, and now you’re sneaking away like that! I want to know, I want you to tell me what this is all about!”

The doctor looked down at the big bag that laid abandoned on the floor, before answering, still not looking at him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry… I can’t. This has nothing to do with you… This would not interest you anyways.”

Lurien frowned. He felt disappointment, he felt anger.

“This has everything to do with me!”

The pale scholar raised his head, looking confused.

“What do you mean? Why?”

Lurien stepped towards him, his voice grew louder than before.

“This has everything to do with me because you are my friend! And I don’t like it when my friends do dangerous things without telling me!”

“Lurien, I am sorry, but… the reason you said… This is exactly why I can’t tell you about this. My research, it’s too dangerous. I don’t want to put any of you in danger because of this.”

“What about Grimm, though? He doesn’t look like a safe fellow to me!”

“Do not worry, he will not harm any of you, I am sure…”

“And how come he can work with you when you don’t even let us enter your laboratory?”

The pale scholar was looking increasingly uneasy with the confrontation.

“He has a special involvement in this… You have to understand, Lurien, I’m threading paths from which one cannot return. I can’t let you join me in this. It would be irresponsible.”

Lurien looked down at him.

“The real irresponsible thing would be to disappear, let us in the dark and then all of us having to deal with all your problems with no explanation at all.”

“You don’t understand, I’m doing this to protect all of you.”

“Liar! You’re doing this because you don’t want us to know what you did !”

The pale scholar stopped for a moment, thinking. His expression was unreadable, and he walked to his bag and began to rummage through it for a moment. Then, he stopped, and revealed a small glass vial, one that contained a reddish smoke. Lurien felt there was something off about this smoke, but he could not tell what it was.

“Lurien… Do you want to know this badly ?”

“Yes! I have a right to know and I want to know!”

The doctor walked to him with the vial in hand.

“Then, I guess there’s no way to continue hiding things. Look, I’m going to show you something.”

Lurien looked at the vial with curiosity. Was that it? Really? Was he finally about to learn the pale scholar’s secrets ? He hoped they could finally be like they were before, not hiding their research from each other, hand in hand, sailing the sea of knowledge and mysteries. He hoped, and yet, the uneasiness kept growing, it whispered to him that this was not right, that he should not trust, that he should jump back, but… He was too eager to know. He had wanted this for too long.

“I am researching this substance. It has rather mysterious effects.”

On these words, the scholar took off the cap of the vial, letting a small amount of the strange vapor float before him in the air.

Lurien breathed in, awaiting the rest of the explanation. The red hue dissipated all around him, and he smelt a strong smell taking over his senses, a smell of smoke, iron and wet cinders. Something seemed to cloud his visions, as every perception began to mix into a reddish hue. He felt dizzy, and in front of him, the white silhouette of the doctor looked distant and blurred.

“What did you do?” The watcher whispered in a weak voice, as his body was taken over by the sensation of sleep. He felt betrayed, defeated. But most of all, he felt incredibly tired. He heard a sound coming from the pale scholar, but failed to recognize what it was. He was exhausted, and his mind was taken over by darkness. Two red, vicious eyes appeared briefly before him, before his mind drifted away towards the land of dreams.

…

The pale scholar stood silently in front of Lurien’s sleeping form. He never wanted it to come to this, but the watcher’s insistence had forced him to use his last resort. This is for his own good, the pale scholar thought. The things I am about to see, about to do… they’re dangerous, and he is not prepared. None of them is, and it is better this way.

“I am very sorry my friend.”, the doctor said. “But I’m doing this to protect you.”

The pale scholar turned away with the heavy bag on his back. After looking back one last time at Lurien, he disappeared behind a curtain of moth, and made his way towards the secret tunnels of Greenpath. The pale scholar was convinced he had made the good choice. This was a path he had chosen for himself, a path for which he had chosen to pay the price. He could not take them down with him, it would not be right. He saw no flaw in this reasoning. It was for their own good, for their safety, it was not wrong of him, wanting to protect them from the dangerous sides of his quest, so why? Why did he feel this nauseating sensation down his throat? Why did he feel disgusted with himself?

Chapter Text

The pale scholar examined the stone in the temple. This corresponded to the depiction in the book. A great, round stone, covered in antique hieroglyphs, the twisted shapes of which reminded him of the strange magic that protected the contents of the book. Even now, he could not stop thinking of his encounter with Lurien, which did numbers on his concentration. There was something about this that made him feel uneasy, that made him think it was much worse than just making the watcher fall asleep with some nightmare essence. This echoed with memories of visions, with the things he had seen far into the uncertain fabric of time, these numerous outcomes filled with despair and guilt… Doing this to the watcher, it felt like the first step on a very long road with an unknown destination, one that only allowed to walk forward. It seemed there was no turning back, that he was already engaged too far in this path of causality that threatened to swallow him in its darkness.

Following the uncanny engravings on the stone with his fingers, the pale scholar smiled. Beyond this path of darkness laid the truth. The truth he so desired, truth of the caverns, truths of gods, truths of time… And with these truths, he would discover it, at last, the meaning of his existence.

He finally felt it. There was a very small crevice in the stone, one that could not be perceived through the naked eye. His heart filling with anticipation, he pushed it. Far below the earth, an arcane mechanism activated, and the stone rolled sideways, revealing a dark tunnel with a steep staircase. The entrance looked like a gaping wound, letting out greenish emanations. The doctor put his hand on his mouth, fighting the urge to throw up. The inside of the tunnels was filled with mephitic miasma, a smell of rotten flesh and manure as well as something horribly sweet, reminiscent of fermented fruit. The walls covered with morbid chunks of moss and deformed fungi had something squalid and sinister about them. Like the soil, they were covered in a repulsive, slimy substance.

The doctor took the lumafly lantern he kept in the bag, and, mustering all his courage, he entered the tunnel. The trembling lumaflies cast fantastic shadows on the walls, and his body was run through by shivers, as he felt the horrifying texture of the soil beneath his feet. The deeper he went, the more putrid the air became, and the walls and ground around him were filled with the odious heat produced by putrefaction. It seemed he was entering something that was alive and sleeping, something that could destroy him with a single breath, something powerful, horrible, and unspeakable.

Finally, he reached a great room, adorned with bone like vaults meeting each other in unnatural angles that made him feel dizzier than he already was. Half of the room was a deep pool of acid, and in the center, there was a wide altar, covered in disturbing engravings. The doctor examined them, their hideousness filled his mind with an uncanny sort of fascination, the same trill he had felt upon his first deciphering of the forbidden book. They represented odd creatures he had never seen before, even during the strangest days of his journey, things that were both plant and bug, as well as something else, that could not be described. The creature’s bodies twisted in unnatural ways, and the skill of the sculptor had made it so that by looking at them a little too long, one could have the impression they were moving.

The pale scholar shook his head, trying to tear his eyes from the hypnotic sight. From his bag, he took the book of the green prophet and laid it open on the altar, looking at the twelfth chapter.

The chapter was entitled “Ritual of dream visions”

It described an act of black magic in attunement with the power of the ancient goddess that should allow one to reach in dreams for the truth they desired. This ritual was deemed a minor one by the author, but from the pale scholar’s perspective, it was the most interesting of all. With this, he hoped to unmask Grimm’s weakness.

The doctors moved the book away and took out three jars that were hidden in the bottom of his bag. These were the offerings. One jar of fresh flesh, one of burst flesh, one of rotten flesh. The pale scholar emptied the three jars on the altar. Under normal circumstances, he would have flinched at the stench coming from this unsightly offering, but given the putrid atmosphere of the place, he did not notice any change. Then, heeding the instructions of the book, he placed runes engraved on shell wood on the four corners of the temple, while reciting the memorized incantation in his head.

Finally, he took his sharp dagger, and he reopened the cut on the palm of his right hand, which was hardly healed from the moment he had used blood for his ritual of invocation. Clenching his fist, he let drops of fresh blood fall onto the offering. Then, he turned away from the pond of acid, facing the exit. The book was very clear on the subject. The sorcerer was not allowed to see what happened behind him during the ritual. If they did, if they dared to turn back, overtaken by fear of curiosity, they were certain to lose their mind.

Slowly, the pale scholar began to recite the incantation. His own voice seemed foreign, it echoed in the hollow trapezohedrons formed by the vault, it was absorbed in the putrescent life filling the caverns. The incantation continued, as a terrifying presence filled the room. With solemn awe, the doctor recited the last word of the ritual.

Suddenly, he heard a wet noise close behind him, that came from the exact emplacement in which he had left the offerings. This was the sound of something humid that was moving slowly, something that was breathing on his nape, with a warm, terrifying breath. Gathering all the will he could, the pale scholar fought not to turn back, not to run away. The thing was getting closer, he could feel it touching his shoulder, it had an unnatural weight. He felt something liquid on his cloak, something thick that had the smell of rotten blood.

A preternatural whisper resounded in his mind.

“What dost thou want to see ?”

A shiver ran down his spine. With a quivering voice, he answered:

“Show me… the real god of nightmares.”

The moment he said this, his vision filled with red and green. He felt horrible, like he was about to faint, and at the same time, falling through a great, obscure well. Rite given visions began to fill his mind. He was under a vast tent, filled with red flames, Grimm was looking at him cruelly, feeling scorn, betrayal, and behind him… Here it was. A huge patched up heart with twisted eyes, throbbing in the deepest parts of the nightmare realm. The heart held invisible chains over Grimm, the heart was an unmoving thing, a thing that needed to be sustained, through the burning sacrifice of its servant, and, most of all… The heart was hungry.

The vision faded, leaving him with a feeling of dread and terror. He heard the thing behind him crawling away. Wet, disgusting noises of something horrible moving on the ground. Then, the noise of something plunging into acid. The powerful presence in the room disappeared, leaving it as it was before, completely silent.

The pale scholar turned around very slowly.

A feeling of horror and disgust surged through his heart.

On the altar, the repulsive offerings he had left were no longer there. The only thing left was a trail of thick, corrupted blood, leading from the altar to the pond of acid.

All the fear he had repressed during the ritual, all the disgust hit him at once. With hands shaking uncontrollably, he put the book back in the bag and hurried towards the exit. He did not want to stay in here one more second. He ran, finally reaching the exit, feeling the rush of adrenaline, as his terror was replaced by exhilaration. That was it, his weakness, the reason why Grimm had appeared before him, his hunger, his sacrifice. The ritual had worked, his eyes had once again contemplated the forbidden realms of the godly, even in his form, by the way of knowledge, by the way of ancient arts, he could access these spheres which gates ought to be closed to mortals, it worked, these lost magics, these dark arts were in his reach, which meant that with this knowledge he was about to acquire… He could do anything.

The doctor stopped suddenly in the green cavern. A twisted grin had appeared on his features, as he was trying to catch his breath. Despite the horror of this experience, despite the disgusting sensation still clinging to him, the doctor felt more powerful than he ever was in this form.

A cloud of red smoke materialized in front of him. Crimson, with bloody scent, swirling with rage.

Grimm appeared before him. He knew.

The doctor looked at the god with an expression of irony. The poor burning god, the servant of the heart, the eternal sacrifice.

Grimm hissed:

“You never learn your lesson, pale scholar !”

Despite Grimm’s attempt at intimidation, the doctor did not flinch. He felt confident. Probably more than he should. He knew the god of nightmare could not kill him. At least, not now. It would go against his plan. The god needed his cooperation, through his action, he knew Grimm hoped to feed the heart. Maybe he even hoped for something more, something the scholar could give him, something he could retrieve from the deepest corners of unspoken knowledge, something he craved, the thing that tinged his flames with insatiable longing… Whatever it was, the king of nightmares needed him.

Grimm jumped in front of him and grabbed him by the collar.

“Answer me, you backstabbing wretch! Have I not told you that you were not to defy me again?”

A menacing flame appeared in the god’s right hand. However, despite the danger, the pale scholar gave him an infuriating grin.

“I know you won’t.”

The nightmare king saw red.

“Listen to me, you impudent little… Just because we have this contract does not mean I can’t do anything to hurt you!”

“Then I will not help you. I will not let you use my research to feed it, or to do this other thing you so desire. I’ve seen your heart.”

The innuendo was almost enough for Grimm to lose control of his anger and burn the pale scholar with all his might. How dared he, looking like that into his very nature, how dared he mention the abhorred heart ! However, the god kept his rage in reins, as he remembered his own plan. Maybe the scholar had managed to take the advantage with this move, but Grimm’s own strategy had already been set into motion, and the doctor was painfully unaware of his plan.

“Do not look so confident, pale scholar.” He whispered. “He who laughs last laughs longest.”

On those words, they both disappeared in a puff of crimson smoke.

Chapter Text

The soul master began to make his way to the caverns far above. Those were a way to access the settlement at the entrance of the caverns, and it was also the dwelling of many wild bugs. More importantly, however, this was where one could find the ancestral mound, which was one of the residence of snail shamans. However, those were not his main priority. At least, not for now. Now, he had to harvest soul.

With a spear in hand, and his artefact ready to be used, the soul master began to roam the caverns in search of wild bugs. As soon as he saw one, he dispatched it with his weapon, greedily absorbing every bit of soul they could give with his artifact. He could feel it, the more he killed those insignificant creatures, the more the energy within the artefact grew, naturally reaching concentrations he never hoped to achieve by meditation alone. Power was so close, the white energy, fizzling around him, traversing his body like waves of electricity, he was sure he could already… No. The soul master shook his head, barely giving a look to the small bug he had fatally wounded with his spear. Not yet. Not enough. He could feel it, in his whole body, a little more soul, and he could achieve feats he had never dreamt of.

With an unsettling nonchalance, the soul master cut in half another crawlid. Soul vibrated all around him, power ready to be harnessed. Dark blood was soiling his legs and his coat, and the path he had followed was littered with small corpses. Just one last bug… He thought. One last bug, and he would be ready. He noticed one small pill bug rolling in his direction. Given the color of its shell, it was still immature. Soul Master did not think twice and pierced through it with his spear. A squirt of grey blood landed on his face. Soul enveloped him. His artifact was at its maximum capacity. Soul, in a concentration he had never experienced before, as it flowed around him, it gave him an impression of greatness, of invulnerability.

The grip of soul master’s mind seized the soul. It did not disappear. It did not dissipate into thin air. It was there, under his control, ready to be used! The soul master formed six white, flaming orbs around him. Soul energy, burning, a powerful, destructive spell. He stared at them, feeling enraptured, eyes wide open in fascination by his own prowess. The orbs swirled around him, they were a concentration of raw power. How engrossing… how beautiful! But he felt the quantity of soul within him diminish with every second he maintained the spell. He needed more. He killed two other wild bugs that had the misfortune to be passing by, feeling the energy within him swelling to great proportions. His heart filled with the impression of fulfillment, with limitless pride.

The soul master turned towards the ancestral mound. He wondered what they would say, when they saw him, the scholar they mocked for not being able to wield soul. Now, his power greatly surpassed theirs, they would have to bow before him, to beg for forgiveness! The soul mater used his energy to perform another spell: levitation. This was one other thing he had desired: flight. He wondered why the bugs he knew who were lucky enough to possess wings were not using them more often. Now, with soul he could achieve this dream too.

He floated into the ancestral mound. Two shamans were there, cooking something in a round cauldron. The moment they saw him, soul master spotted the terror in their eyes. Seeing them so afraid of him, ready to be crushed… If filled him with a joy never felt before. One of the little snails stood before him, brandishing their staff, while the other stayed behind, looking incredibly worried. The wizard let out a low laugh, their fear rejoiced him. How he longed to see such fear in the eyes of Lurien and Monomon, how he longed to see such dread in the eyes of the pale scholar!

“Do not tremble so, menial mollusks! I will not hurt you. I just wanted you to see a little demonstration of my power.”

The first shaman took a step back, perfecting their defensive stance.

“Soul master, the self-proclaimed… You have gone too far! Don’t you realize the heresy you’ve committed, by taking such amounts of soul just for yourself?”

“They were nothing but wild bug.”

“These are lives, you have taken! How many lives for such power?”

Soul master felt rage growing steadily in is heart. How did they dare, these puny shamans, they acted like they were the ones who knew the rules of soul, but they were nothing. Nothing but fools following decades old tradition without ever looking for new abilities. He was the soul master, the guardian of soul’s secret, the one who really knew about soul powers. Those who thought they still had authority over it were just fools, and he was about to show them how wrong they were.

“If you think you can tell me the rules of soul, little snail,” he exclaimed, “prove it to me with your power!”

On these words, the wizard gathered soul into his fist, preparing for a devastating spell.

“Wait!” The shaman exclaimed. “This is not about power…”

It was too late. The soul master was already casting his powerful new spell: the desolate dive. The poor shaman tried to summon a shield, but it was too weak, and broke in a million pieces on the impact. The moment they were about to be hit by the spell, the shaman saw it, flashing trough the wizard’s eyes. Ravenous hunger for soul. Fascination. Madness.

Soul master looked down at the shaman’s lifeless form, as he felt great quantities of soul being absorbed by his artefact. Was he dead? Really? The wizard though he would at least put up a fight. He did not expect to end this in just one strike. He understood now, the gap in their power, the level he had achieved.

“Too bad.” He muttered.

The other shaman was looking at their friend’s body, paralyzed by shock.

The soul master turned away and levitated out of the ancestral mound. Their grief did not concern him. This was the price of their pride, the price for being so self-satisfied and never trying to improve their mastery over soul. He was so powerful, now. All his years of ceaseless studies had finally paid off. A price long overdue, because of the jealousy of is colleagues, but what price! Such power, taking him so high, a level so far above a mere mortal’s… His knowledge over soul was so vast, his mind had so ceaselessly trained that it seemed he could wield this power as if it were another limb, with great precision, and even greater destructive ability. This was the thing he had always desired, the power he had so long craved, it was there, in his hands, finally mastered … And yet, the soul master was not satisfied.

This was when he realized it. He wanted more. More soul. More power. The satisfaction of his desires had left him incredibly hungry. However, the caverns was now deserted. Wild bug had felt his presence and fled long ago. He needed to find them. He wanted more soul. He craved more. He needed more.

There was an old bug sitting in the cavern. Not a wild one; one that possessed a mind. He was resting, seated on a stone, facing away from him. The soul master slowly approached, feeling desire building inside him. He did not see the old bug, he did not see a person. Before him, this was a recipient for soul. The soul master tried to regain control. This was a limit he had set for himself, one he had sworn he would never cross. Killing bugs with mind for soul was the threshold he refused to cross. He could not do this, he refused to do this, but… Images of the dead shaman flashed through his mind. Images of taking his soul. Bugs with mind… These had so much more. And the shaman was already dead… Even if killing him was an accident, he still did. He still took his life, and gained a great quantity of soul for it. What about this limit, then? What could he do with this line he had already crossed?

Overtaken by a sudden burst of violence, the soul master shoved his spear into the heart of the old bug. His life, his fragile life disappeared quickly, like a dry flower scattered in the wind, leaving only soul. The soul he craved, soul so precious, soul that made him different, superior, a being far above. Soul filled his being, giving him a delightful sensation. Was he really just a mortal, now? With such power, did he really have to care about them? Their lives… Weren’t they as insignificant as those of wild bugs? These were sound sacrifices. They should give it up. They should give up on living, for him, for his hunger, for his all-powerful knowledge… Lest they wanted to become his delectable energy, they should bow to him… Bow to the king of soul!

They should bow, bow and beg for mercy, those damned scholars, those who dared preventing him from reaching the power he deserved!

Obsessed by his new thought, the soul master made his way towards fog canyon. With now second thought, he dispatched the bugs he met. He did not care for the blood marring his face and his cloak. He did not care for the stench of death that rose around him. The only thing he cared for was soul. He thought of the scholars in the archives. How much soul could they contain? Maybe he could spare them, if they owed deep enough, if they begged for mercy. Maybe he could make them his servants. At least, he could spare Grimm. He was the one that had opened the gate of his mind, the one who made him realize he was being kept away from power all this time.

Soul buzzed around him, making him rise to a new state of awareness. All around him, he felt it, life, energy, power. He felt it, and he desired it. All this, it was going to be his!

Soul master finally reached the archives.

Well, it seemed he would not have to look for them.

They were here, before the building, waiting for him. Lurien, his butler, Monomon and Quirrel.

They were looking at him with an expression of shock and awe. Very well, he thought. This is how they ought to look at the great wizard, at the soul king.

Monomon floated forward. Something did not make sense with her expression. It was not fear, nor respect. It was anger, scorn. How could he allow her to look at him with such a face?

“Soul master…” She shouted angrily. “What have you done!”

“Why do you ask, teacher? I just took was rightfully mine. I just seized the power you kept from me for all these years!”

Lurien stepped forward.

“Seeing you like that, it confirms our decision. We were right not to tell you. Unfortunately, it seems you figured it out on your own…”

“Oh, but I didn’t. It was Grimm who told me. The only honest fellow in these archives. You are all liars! My painstaking research, my work, my years long effort… You tried to push their price away from me!”

The moment he said Grimm’s name, he saw Lurien posture become more aggressive.

“I knew it!” The watcher said between his teeth.

“Soul master!” Monomon exclaimed. “It appears you’ve lost all reason! Don’t you see your hands are full of blood? Don’t you realize that for your magic tricks, you’ve destroyed lives?”

The soul master frowned. It appeared these stupid scholars did not realize the power that faced them. Even now, they were as foolish and ignorant as they were before. It seemed he would have to beat some sense into them. When defeated, they would understand, surely, and they would regret their impudence.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m the person I was before, Monomon. You ought to address me with respect. Now, I am the greatest wizard. I am the soul king.”

“The soul king? Are you sure ?” She answered. “For the only thing I see before me is a soul tyrant!”

Chapter Text

Monomon sighed as the words dissipated into acid. This was not it. Another solution to abandon, to add to the long list of frustrating trials that proved her project could work, but did not help her to move forward. She knew this was a complex endeavor, one that could seem counterintuitive. Looking for eternity in transience, for engravings stronger than metal and stone in soft bubbles dancing in acid. Well, science was often counterintuitive. In a way, she was glad that it was. The knowledge that things could often prove to be very different from what their appearance suggested made every research feel like a fascinating adventure. Monomon analyzed the chemical components of acid once again. The substance was not stable enough. With this project, the physics were a little tricky, because the substance required to be ionized to allow the loop of information, but it had to have extremely low energy levels, or it became too unstable and the bubbles became completely illegible. As she pondered on this seemingly unsolvable equation, she was interrupter by Quirrel’s voice.

“Monomon, have you seen the hunting spear? I can’t find it anywhere!”

The teacher smiled fondly, hearing the voice of her adoptive son. The young pill bug had finished his growth, and as he was going through the final years of his adolescence, his interest in action and outdoors activities had considerably intensified. Not that she would complain about it. She found such a behaviour to be healthy for one of his age, besides, this meant he often brought back meat and interesting foods to the archives, something the other inhabitants were unable to do.

“Sorry Quirrel, I haven’t seen it. Are you sure you’ve not forgotten it somewhere?”

“I’m sure, I had left it in the entry way yesterday, but now it’s gone. I’m sure someone took it! Have you seen Lurien? I asked Lu but she doesn’t know where he is.”

The teacher let out a little laugh.

“Oh, Quirrel, surely you don’t think Lurien’s the one who took you spear!”

“He disappeared and the spear disappeared too, this makes him a potential suspect.”

“Then you will have to enlighten me! What could he do with this spear? You know he’s completely inept with anything related to combat!”

Quirrel thought for a moment.

“That’s true… Then, the culprit has to be the pale scholar! He’s been especially sneaky recently.”

This time, Monomon did not even try to conceal her laughter.

“Ho, sorry Quirrel, that’s too funny… But, you do realize that when it comes to this type of things, the pale scholar is just… Lurien but worse ?”

Quirrel burst out laughing too, he laughed so hard, in fact, that he almost fell to the ground.

“Ho no… I just pictured the scene! Mother, you’re absolutely right! Then, I guess the last suspect is the soul master… That would be weird, though, I saw him just earlier today. Even if it wouldn’t be impossible for him to actually use the spear, I don’t know why he would need it. This type of things does not interest him, right ?”

“I mean, the only thing that interest him is soul, and I cannot see what a spear could have to do with his…”

Monomon stopped right in her tracks, as her carefree attitude was replaced with one of worry. Quirrel immediately understood the idea that had crossed her mind.

“Oh no… Do you think he realized?”

Monomon nodded.

“I believe he did.”

A pause.

“Quirrel… I have a bad feeling about this. The soul master has always been very obsessive when it came to soul, so I fear the worst. Please, find Lurien, he has to be around here. We will have to confront him together or it will be dangerous.”

Quirrel acquiesced and immediately ran outside in search of Lurien, while Monomon said she would come back with the pale scholar and Grimm. Damn these scientists, they never left their laboratories, and yet, when they were needed for something, they just disappeared into thin air !

Quirrel heard someone panting behind him. That was Lu, who had trouble following him with her short legs.

“Quirrel! Quirrel, wait!”

“What is it, Lu ? I’m trying to find Lurien, this is urgent!”

“Wait, I think I know in which direction he went!”

Quirrel stopped.

“What do you say?”

“I saw the windows of his room, the one facing east was open, so I think he flew in this direction!”

Quirrel immediately turned in the direction she showed, but with a slower pace, this time, so that the small butler could keep up with him.

“Sometimes,” Quirrel said, ”I think Monomon is the only responsible person In those archives! She should be appointed director.”

…

Lurien slowly opened his eyes. He had fallen face first in humid moss, and it seemed he had been asleep for long enough so that this delightful phenomenon known as capillarity had made his whole cloak completely wet. The watcher sat up and rubbed his eyes, still trying to process what just happened to him. He was about to have a real conversation with the pale scholar, he had said he would tell him about his research, about a substance he had in a vial… And then, he had made him breathe it, and he had fallen asleep. The watcher felt betrayed, utterly disappointed. He had given the pale scholar a chance to make amends, to stop being so secretive about everything, but instead of seizing it, instead of trying to preserve their friendship, he had used his feelings against him, he had tricked him into breathing this weird vapor and he had slipped away once again.

This confirmed Lurien’s suspicions. The pale scholar was doing something very dangerous, something that, in one way or another, was tied to Grimm, and he believed they should not know about it. The watcher felt more and more irritated. What had led the pale scholar to think he had to protect them from anything? To even think he was able to protect them? There was no explanation for it, it was not as if he was more powerful, or wiser than they were. When it came to it, he probably was the weakest of the four scholars, and one of the less wise, even if the soul master was probably the most foolish of them all. He had no right to pretend he could protect them from anything at all. This was just an excuse, because he was too protective of his knowledge, because he was afraid of their judgement, if they discovered what his research was really about.

He stood up, the feeling of his cold, damp cloak on his body made him shiver. He heard someone calling. That was Quirrel’s voice. He turned around, to see Monomon’s assistant and his butler hurrying towards him.

“Lurien! Come here ! hurry!”

The watcher walked towards them, curious as to what this turmoil to be about.

“I’m coming, Quirrel, I’m coming. What happened, you look strange…”

“You have to come back to the archives, Lurien, it seems the soul master has decided to go and kill bugs to harvest soul !”

The watcher felt dread creeping on his back. It appeared one misfortune never came alone. To say the truth, Lurien knew this day would come, sooner or later. Like the rest of the scholars, he had hoped the soul master’s single-minded obsession would prevent him from going to such extremities, or that he could be able to set moral boundaries for himself. However, he knew these hopes were futile. The soul master did not desire knowledge or creation like the rest of them. He desired power, and the more years he spent in perpetual frustration, unable to achieve his goals, the more deranged he had become. Lurien understood, now. Instead of addressing the problem directly, they had differed it, because they were too engrossed in their own projects, because they underestimated the soul master’s obsession. They had let it grow, his madness, his desire, and now that it had finally burst out, they would have to face the consequences of their inaction.

And yet, even if he knew this was bound to happen, Lurien could not help but think that an external factor had precipitated this event. There were strange circumstances in this. The fact that it happened so quickly after Grimm’s arrival… the fact that the day before, he had seen the soul master letting Grimm into his room…

Lurien followed Quirrel and Lu as they ran back to the archives. The air of the cavern was filled with tension, with a sense of urgency. As they finally reached the building, they saw Monomon alone before the doorstep.

“Quirrel !” She exclaimed. “I’m glad you found him!”

“Did you find the others ?”

“No, I looked for them everywhere but to no avail!”

Lurien stepped in.

“I don’t think they’re in here. I saw the pale scholar sneaking out earlier, and when I tried to confront him about his suspicious actions, he used some kind of sleep-inducing gas and ran away in the direction of Greenpath. I’m pretty sure he’s with Grimm. I have good reasons to believe those two are doing something shady behind our backs.”

“I see. Well, it seems we’ll have to make them spill the beans later. For now, we have to find the soul master before he commits irreversible damage.”

Suddenly, Quirrel expression’s morphed into one of terror, as he pointed at something behind them.

“Mother… I think we will not have to look for him.”

The four of them turned back and gasped in horror at what they saw.

The soul master was floating before them, surrounded with a supranatural aura, his eyes, filled with madness as blazing orbs of soul turning around him. He had Quirrel’s hunting spear in his right hand. The tip was dripping with blood, and various hues of hemolymph stained his face and his cape. The soul master was looking down at them with a demented smile.

Monomon floated forward and exclaimed:

“Soul master… What have you done!”

They all realized it. It was too late. The soul master, his mind intoxicated by this newfound power, had already gone too far. They did not dare to imagine the atrocities he had already committed to reach this level.

“Why do you ask, teacher? I just took was rightfully mine. I just seized the power you kept from me for all these years!”

Something in his tone made Lurien feel utter disgust for his former colleague. He was so entitled, so prideful… It was as if he did not even realize the horror of the things he just did.

“Seeing you like that,” he said, “it confirms our decision. We were right not to tell you. Unfortunately, it seems you figured it out on your own…”

The soul master levitated closer, and even if they scorned him, for his disregard for life, for the true nature of science, they could not help but feel frightened by the raw power that emanated from him.

“Oh, but I didn’t. It was Grimm who told me. The only honest fellow in these archives. You are all liars! My painstaking research, my work, my years long effort… You tried to push their price away from me!”

Lurien felt rage surging within his heart. So, he was right. His intuition had not fooled him, Grimm was a menace all along, it was he who had lured the soul master to this path of alluring power, and now, the scholar had turned into a machine of destruction.

”I knew it!”, he hissed, his voice full of spite.

“Soul master!” Monomon exclaimed. “It appears you’ve lost all reason! Don’t you see your hands are full of blood? Don’t you realize that for your magic tricks, you’ve destroyed lives?”

The soul master did not seem to react. He just frowned, looking at them with derision. He was too far gone. Lurien could tell, the soul master had definitely lost his sanity, he was not even able to realize the horror of his deeds.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m the person I was before, Monomon. You ought to address me with respect. Now, I am the greatest wizard. I am the soul king.”

This infuriated the scholars. The soul master’s overwhelming sense of superiority, his solemn attitude that would have seemed so comical, if it was not for the blood-stained cape and blood-stained spear, his childish reasoning, thinking that with this destructive power should come the respect of others, their dedication for his cause, their admiration… Was he really this stupid? Did he not realize that now, the only feelings he could inspire were hatred and fear?

“The soul king? Are you sure ?” Monomon exclaimed. “For the only thing I see before me is a soul tyrant!”

This was the enough to enrage the soul master. His voice trembling with violent spite, he screamed:

“You are too foolish to show me respect, scholars! Then, let me beat some sense into you!”

More orbs appeared around the soul master, as well as streaks of burning energy that surrounded them. They all took a defensive stance, ready to avoid the demented wizard’s attacks. They hoped to put up a fight, because this was the right thing to do, and they could not forgive their former colleague for what he had done, and yet… Lurien felt the urge to run away. He knew they could not win. Not like that, when their opponent had already so much power, when he was already ensnaring them in a web of deadly energy. He knew that the moment he would strike, at least one of them would be severely injured, and this was in the best-case scenario.

The soul master was about to launch a devastating spell, when suddenly, they heard the noise of something bumping into the back of his head. It was a small pebble. The wizard reabsorbed the energy of the spell he was about to launch and turned around, looking incredibly pissed.

“Who dares interrupt me with such a ridiculous attack?” He growled.

Then, Lurien saw the one who had thrown the pebble. It was the pale scholar. They all stared at him in disbelief, as he threw a dagger in the soul master’s direction. He missed. The dagger landed on the ground, in front of the wizard’s feet.

“What a coincidence, pale scholar”, the soul master hissed. “You are the one I hold the most grudges against. How convenient that you came to me by yourself.”

The pale scholar spread his wings and exclaimed:

“Come at me, soul cringer! You know nothing about soul at all, you pathetic, ignorant pea brained maggot!  You’re so asinine you make tiktiks look like geniuses!”

As soon as he uttered these words, he flew away as quickly as he could, and… With a cry of rage, the soul master launched after him, surrounded with swirling orbs of soul.

The scholars looked at the scene in utter disbelief.

Lurien found it hard to pinpoint the thing that shocked him the most in what just happened.

The fact the soul master had fallen for this obvious taunt, or the fact that the pale scholar had used such a short-sighted tactic.

Making the soul master go after him, and then, trying to take him on all by himself… Given the pale scholar’s inexistant offensive abilities, this was… downright suicidal.

Chapter Text

A puff of red smoke appeared in the crossroads, and Grimm landed gracefully on the ground, still holding the pale scholar by his cloak.

The doctor looked around him with an expression of surprise, hardly heeding the uncomfortable position he was in.

“How interesting… Grimm, could you happen to have power over space? How did you manage to take me along like that? My material body is a lot more… stable than yours so… And I assume that if you used a process of deconstruction and reconstruction of matter, as you do with your flames, the experience would have been far more painful.”

Grimm did not answer. He just looked around him. The crossroads were strangely silent. The last time he saw them, there were full of life, wild bugs hiding in every corner, the sounds of creatures creeping and flying in every direction… Why did the place seem so empty?

“However, given the fact that I am not dissolved or put together in a horrific fashion, my hypothesis is that your flames, since they belong to another realm, have the ability to link one place to another, using your sphere of origin as a passageway. Am I right?”

The doctor’s banter prevented him to inspect his surroundings correctly. Besides, the fact that he was mostly right in his guesses irritated him.

“Shut up!” He snapped. “Can’t you see there’s something wrong in here?”

The pale scholar stopped talking, finally noticing the eerie atmosphere around them.

“Grimm, can you put me down, please?”

The god of nightmare le got of his cloak’s collar, and the doctor landed clumsily on the floor. They both began to inspect the area, slowly making their way to the right side of the caverns. Suddenly, the pale scholar stopped.

“Can you smell it?”

“What?”

“Blood. A lot of it.”

Indeed, the smell of iron was strong in the air, it had something heavy and repulsive about it. This was not the smell of blood from a clean cut. This was the smell of bodies that had been ripped apart, not just blood, but entrails, other fluids with a noticeable stench. The doctor recognized them easily, for he had smelled it countless time as he was studying biology with Monomon, when they were making dissections. Death, even when it is recent, when the flesh has not begun to rot, has a very specific aroma. Hormones released by the body when it is put under a large amount of stress gave out an acidic fume, something disagreeable and sinister.

The pale scholar noticed it then; on a bridge below laid the origin of the stench. Corpses. The numerous bodies of wild bugs. It was very unusual to see something like that. Even if killing wild bugs was common for the inhabitants of the cavern, it was always for food, and to make use of their shell. However, the bodies here had been abandoned carelessly, as if something had passed in there and destroyed them just for the pleasure of taking life. They were too numerous for this to be a hunt. Besides, what hunter just forsakes the body of its prey? This was a massacre. The doctor walked quickly to the ancestral mound. Maybe the snail shamans that lived there knew what happened.

He did not expect what he saw upon entering. Out of the four shamans that lived here, three were gathered around the lifeless body of the fourth one, lighting candles and reciting incantations. It appeared the poor snail had not been killed in a similar fashion as the wild bugs whose bodies littered the caverns around the mound. They had been severely injured by something that had crushed them from above, something that had left horrible burn marks. One of the shamans looked in their direction. Their eyes were full of desperation and fear.

“What happened?” the doctor asked.

Then, the shaman answered, his voice was interrupted by sobs, and even if it was hardly understandable, he managed to make out the last two words.

“…soul…master”

The pale scholar stood in shock, this made sense. Too much sense, given the soul master’s obsession with power, and yet… He could not believe he would cross the line so easily. Without adding anything, he left the mound in a hurry. He had to go back to the archives quickly, or… Who knows what could happen? As he was about to reach the end of the crossroads, he heard Grimm’s voice behind him.

“This was faster than I expected.”

The doctor turned towards the god, as his initial shock was replaced by anger.

“What did you do, nightmare king?”

“What did I do? Oh, nothing. I just talked to him a little bit. As for now, scholar, you should be the one wondering what you’ve done.”

As these words escaped his mouth, Grimm felt his frustration with the pale scholar’s former success being slowly replaced by cruel pleasure. It seemed his plan was coming to fruition earlier than he expected. What a delight for the god of nightmares. It appeared the scholar’s victory was short lived. Now, he was going to be put in a position where he would have no choice but to give Grimm the information he wanted. How it pleased him, seeing the pale scholar so close to panic, as he slowly realized the trap that had closed on him.

“What do you mean, Grimm, what have I done?”

The god leaned towards him, his eyes burning with intimidating heat.

“It appears you think of the fate of your friends, now, doctor. But it’s too late. You should have thought about them when you started meddling with forces that by far exceed your meager understanding.”

The doctor hissed, looking at him aggressively.

“Do not be so angry, pale scholar. You should have known better when you decided to perform your ritual. Those of my realm have no empathy for mortals. You should have known better when you decided to play this game with me.”

Grimm’s smiled widened, as he continued:

“Now, if your friends are killed by the soul master, foolish little scholar… It will be because of your lack of boundaries in research, because of your recklessness, because of your pride…”

He saw the scholar’s hands shaking, as he pursued:

“And if you see them dead, wriggling in mortal agony before your eyes… know that it will be all your fault.”

Grimm did not know this, but the moment these words escaped his mouth, they echoed through the scholar’s mind in the most horrific way. These words, he had heard them so many times in his previous form, as he stared into the many possible outcomes of his actions, they were always here. In different forms and different voices, they had plagued his sight and his dreams before, and now, these memories he had tried to burry as deeply as he could with this new life, they were surfacing again.

A voice beautiful like millions of choirs and powerful like thunder, its vastness echoed in the clouds.

“They died, each and everyone of them, they died, and it was all your fault.”

A voice that was soft and musical like harps and dewdrops on leaves. A strong voice, with the power to command. A silent voice, made of obscure hands, signing.

“It was all your fault.”

The pale scholar began to rush towards the archives as quickly as he could, flying in between platforms and using dangerous shortcuts. He had to go be fast, he had to reach the archives before it was too late. His own words echoed through his mind.

“I don’t want to put any of you in danger because of this.”

How could he have been so foolish, so short sighted, pretending he would protect them when his actions were ultimately what put them in danger in the first place! He winced thinking of his own hypocrisy. He had put on convenient blinders that had prevented him to see the real price of this game, thinking proudly he was the only one engaged in this, that they would not be taken down with him.

“You don’t understand, I’m doing this to protect all of you.”

He felt the urge to find is past self as he was saying this and beat him to death. What folly! Was he so blind, blind enough to trust the morality of a god of nightmares? Had he really been so conceited, thinking he could control the powers he had called forth? Lurien was right when he called him a liar. And Grimm was right saying it was all his fault. He had to deal with it himself, he could not let them face the consequences of his reckless endeavors.

He could feel Grimm’s presence as he jumped down fog canyon. He was following him, in an aethereal form, surely eager to see how he would react. Did the god of nightmare want to see him despair at the death of his friends, did he hope to see him drown in guilt and self-hatred, to finally harvest the essence his heart craved so? Well, if he did, the pale scholar was not going to give him this pleasure. The secrets he wanted to know, the despair on which he wanted to feed… The god of nightmare would have none of it. The pale scholar’s mind filled with determination. He would not yield to the god’s will, and to do so… He had to take on the soul master by himself.

As he landed in front of the archives, a plan quickly forming in his mind, he saw him. The soul master was about to attack the other scholars, using unnatural amounts of soul, no doubt, harvested in the crossroads, causing this unsightly bloodshed. The wizard had not noticed him, he was too absorbed in his spell. The doctor had to catch his attention as quickly as possible. To do so, he grabbed a pebble and launched it in the soul master’s direction. This was a lucky throw. The pebble hit him in the back of his head, making him stop his spellcasting and turn towards him. He looked enraged.

Trying to push his change, the doctor threw his dagger in the soul master’s direction. However, he failed pitifully, and the dagger landed in front of the feet of his foe. At least, this meant his attention was entirely focalized on him, enough for the pale scholar to enact his plan. He exclaimed:

 “Come at me, soul cringer! You know nothing about soul at all, you pathetic, ignorant pea brained maggot!  You’re so asinine you make tiktiks look like geniuses!”

The taunt was far from subtle. However, it had been especially designed to appeal to the soul master’s insecurities. The doctor knew his foe had an inferiority complex regarding his intelligence, especially when it came to him, given the way he had criticized his research countless times. The taunt worked as intended. It was enough to make the little reason the soul master still had slip away, as his mind was completely overtaken by rage. He launched at him, now more akin to a terrifying wild beast that to a scholar.

The doctor spread his wings and escaped through the caverns, with the wizard on his heels. Despite not being particularly fond of physical activities, the pale scholar was good at escaping. He had learned this skill the hard way, just after his rebirth, when all the hostile creatures of the caverns seemed to have agreed on the fact he would make a delicious meal. In spite of his newly acquired power, the soul master was still slower than him, even if he made up for it by throwing burning orbs in his direction. This was a bad sign. From what he could see, the wizard was in for the kill, he would not lose time by bragging about his soul powers. This meant that for the duration of the chase, he was relatively safe, but when he would have to get back at him… Besides, he had to act quickly, he had never had good stamina, and it was a very bad idea to let the chase drag out.

Thankfully, he had reached Greenpath, which was where he wanted to take the wizard all along.

“Stop running away, you coward!” the soul master howled.

The doctor did not answer. Instead, he jumped towards a group of platforms that were hanging from the ceiling. With a quick look, he determined which was the mots instable one and latched onto the vine that held it in place. The plant was already dying and gnawed at by smaller bugs, and the sole impact of the scholar grabbing it was enough to disrupt the fragile equilibrium. The vine broke. The platform fell right onto the soul master, making him disappear under the rubble.

The pale scholar sighed. It seemed his plan had worked.

He looked down, feeling uncertain. No sound escaped the pile of rubble. Nothing moved. At least, nothing he could see from where he stood.

With a quick flap of his wings, he jumped in front of the rubble. He felt incredibly relieved. For once, one of his plans had worked as intended, and it appeared he had managed to vanquish the soul master thanks to this ruse. He hoped Grimm had witnessed it, and was now wriggling in rage, seeing the pale scholar’s victory.

He was about to walk away, when suddenly, he heard a loud noise coming from under the rubble. The pile began to shake, and, with an explosion of soul and stone, the soul master emerged.

He was uninjured. The shield of soul that protected his body dissipated quickly, as he hovered over the doctor.

The pale scholar looked around. By getting down, he had made a fatal mistake. Now, the soul master was barring his only was out. Once again, he had been overconfident. Now, he was trapped, and given the twisted expression on the soul master’s face, he was not going to show mercy.

“Pale scholar…” The wizard began, looming over him menacingly.

“Your little tricks are useless against me. I am the master, and you are the fool. Prepare to die!”

Chapter Text

For the god of nightmares, mortals had always been most entertaining creatures. He often mused at their foolishness, at the disproportion of their desires, at their overwhelming pride. They were so eager so plunge themselves in endless sufferings, to set their minds to unattainable goals and waste their lives in meaningless quests. For Grimm, they were so easy to understand. So easy to manipulate. For centuries, he had tugged at their desperation, he had obtained puppets, slaves, wearers of masks, bearers of flames, everchanging figures in his little merry go round.

He was the layer of plots, the weaver of lies, dangerous ploys pushed them all to the demise he had chosen for them, the most tragically ironic, always, the deepest forms of despair. This had always seemed like a right compromise, to him. The nightmare heart could have its flames, and he would have his entertainment. After being sacrificed and reborn so many times already, this was the only thing he desired. Life, a cycle, times without ends, memories, always the same, like blood coming back and forth to the heart, he burnt and sprang back to life, to gather flames and burn again, so many times, with so few of his previous selves left, that the memories of the times before his current form seemed like a red, twinkling star very far away in the sky.

These times had made him a capricious child. Many times, he broke his favorite toys, the little creatures of the earth, poor denizens of dung and dirt, and they gave him their soul so eagerly, too, with so much hope in their eyes, all enthralled in the fulfilling of their wishes. Many times, they had shattered too early, because Grimm was too eager to play, because he often forgot the fragility of their souls. Their fading minds and shattered bodies made the red essence feel unripe and sour. This left him with the impression of burning things with his mere touch, and images from his previous lives flashed trough his mind, images of his very first lives, when he still hoped for meaning, when he was not so bitter, not so cynical, when they had looked at him with pleading eyes, and he had answered them with true love, when they had dreamt together under the beautiful evening clouds… And their dreams, always burning bright, when their still could be tears in his eyes, when he still believed he had a heart.

Now, he knew what mortals were, and more importantly, he knew what he was. A cruel god, a servant of the heart, a desperate trickster, jumping from one game to another, so that he would not think. So that he would not put a hand on his chest and feel the absence of heartbeat.

Of course, the doctor was just another toy to break, another little game. He could struggle more than most, that was true. This had an excellent effect on Grimm’s morale. The pale scholar was knowledgeable but reckless, he was a good liar, a trickster too, in his own right, one that understood his deception and tried to deceive him in turns. He was unpredictable, and the recent events had been thrilling enough to push away the numbness that always loomed over his mind. He had managed to make him angry. In fact, the doctor was incredibly irritating, and the way he had betrayed him, to discover what he was, to discover the heart… This had made him furious. A feeling he had not felt for a very long time… Something he thought he could no longer experience. Rage, joy, exhilaration… How long had it been since he had not felt those? He thought he was growing tired of mortals, that their sufferings were always the same. He though they had become predictable, boring, he did no longer take pleasure in their helplessness. Once again, the omnipresent impression of dullness that had threatened to take over him after his first few reincarnations was taking over, but now, with this game with an issue so uncertain, with a toy so wily and twisted, with a setting that allowed so many twists and turns…

Grimm was having fun again.

From his cloud of smoke, he looked at the scene.

The doctor was stepping back in front of the enraged soul master. The chase had exhausted him, and he had no way to escape. He could see him panting, looking around helplessly for an escape that was not there.

“Pale scholar…” The soul master exclaimed. “Your little tricks are useless against me. I am the master, and you are the fool. Prepare to die!”

On these words, the wizard launched two orbs of soul the doctor barely managed to avoid.

Grimm wondered what he would no next. When was he going to call for help? He was waiting for him to beg for his help, to implore the god to save him, and then, Grimm would ask for the price. In exchange for his help, the pale scholar would have to reveal his secrets. He waited for the moment with such eagerness. Grimm knew the doctor could no longer escape, that for him, the only way out was to play in his hands, to give up his secrets. Grimm’s plan had worked. The pale scholar had lost. What feeling of victory it would give him, to see the pale scholar on the ground, begging for help, ready to relinquish his lies…

“You’re only buying time.” The soul master growled. “Your fate is in my hands doctor, now, repent!”

The mad wizard launched the hunting spear towards the doctor. This time, he did not manage to avoid it completely, and the spear broke through the chitin on his leg. Pale blood gushed out of the wound.

“Repent, pale scholar, for berating me, for looking down on me all these years!”

Grimm wondered why the pale scholar was not calling for him. He had to. They both knew this was the only way out. He desired it so much, the feeling of this final victory, and yet… This was so strange. A part of him did not want this. A part of him, he realized with horror, a part of him wanted the pale scholar to win this round, because if he didn’t, it would make him predictable, and Grimm did not want that.

The pale scholar stood up, wincing with pain, and broke the hunting spear close to the tip, taking only the point that he held as if it were a knife.

“Repent, for calling me short sighted, you stupid doctor!”

Another orb of soul brushed past the pale scholar, leaving an ugly burn on the left side of his face.

Grimm did not understand why the doctor was not calling for him right now. He had to, if he did not, the soul master would kill him, why did he not… And what did he think he could do, this the point of the spear? Was he really foolish enough to think he could fight the soul master with this ?

“Repent, and curse your own stupidity !”

The soul master began to prepare one last, devastating blast, soul gathering above his head in a foreboding orb. Grimm could not take more of this. He did not want his plan to be ruined like that, he wanted to see this scene he had already played many times in his head, and if it continued like this… Why was he so upset about this? This was just another mortal, another toy he could easily… easily replace? Grimm cursed himself as he realized. He cared.

“What are you waiting for, pale scholar! Call me for help already!”

The pale scholar turned to Grimm, and looked at him with a twisted expression. He took the point of the spear, and… put the tip on his own throat, hissing.

“Act now Grimm, or your stay in this realm is over!”

Wait… Was he serious ? The soul master was still preparing his attack, and a thin stream of blood was flowing from the place the tip of the spear touched the scholar’s throat… Oh nightmares ! He was serious.

Soul gathered, ready to be launched, the tip of the spear pierced deeper, the pale scholar was staring at him with a sick sense of victory… He had not time. No time to think.

As the soul master was ready to launch his last spell, Grimm appeared between him and the doctor. A shield of flames absorbed the attack, and a dozen burning spears pierced through the wizard’s body. Red flames engulfed him, as he stared in terror and incomprehension.

“Grimm…” He breathed. “How is it possible? I thought…”

The fallen wizard could not finish his sentence, as a crimson spike pierced through his skull.

Red essence began to appear above his body. The residue of his madness and suffering. With a swift movement of his cape, Grimm harvested it. Soul no longer lingered in the air. The soul master was dead.

Grimm turned to the pale scholar, to see him sat on the ground. He had already torn his cloak and was using it to stop the bleeding of the wound in his leg. While he was doing all this, he looked at him with a grin that could only be described as (pardon my language) shit eating.

The god looked at the doctor with an air of disbelief, as he struggled to make sense of what just happened. He sighed.

“You’re crazy, aren’t you? I knew there was something wrong with you.”

The pale scholar chuckled. It appeared the blood loss was making him less coherent.

Grimm clenched his fist. This was infuriating, he felt like he had been played again, a god, one that took pride on his devious ploy, being tricked by a mortal, not once, but twice? His heart was filled with rightful anger, this was unacceptable, completely unheard of, and yet… Why was he smiling like that?

“I could have just let you die, you know !”

The pale scholar answered, still wearing this expression that made Grimm’s blood boil. His voice was slurred, but his intent was still very clear.

“I had very good reasons to believe you wouldn’t.”

Grimm clicked his tongue with frustration. He could not believe it. Who in their right mind would try to pull of a stunt like this one? A trick like that, against a god?

He felt furious that things had not played out like they were supposed to do in his scenario, and yet, he could not deny it. This had been so long since he had last felt such a thrill. So long, in fact, that he had forgotten what it was. It felt so foreign and so new, frustration, anticipation… Those were emotions he had not felt for so long he had forgotten what they were like. For the first time after many centuries of laughing despair, he wondered about the future. He thought about the infinite possibilities of this game, of the many adventures they could have, of the surprises, the thrill he so long craved… Strangely, he hoped this could last months, years, even longer, he felt there was always going to be something unexpected and new, a ruse, a lie, a mistake, a discovery. Finally, perhaps he did not mind the pale scholar’s obnoxious musings about his powers, the frustrating ways in which he twisted his plans around themselves, his weird habits, his evil laugh. He felt he could understand it a little, and even if he knew that at the very end, he would burn, he though he did not mind spending a few years indulging the scholar’s curiosity.

“Grimm,” the doctor mumbled, interrupting his train of thought, “would you mind helping me back to the archives? It appears I can’t get up…”

Grimm picked him up carefully. Even if the pale scholar tried to act levelheaded, it was clear from his flinches that the wound was very painful.

The god of nightmares began to make his way back to the archives.

“Why are you not teleporting?”

“Because I know you want me to teleport.”

“That’s petty.”

“You have no right to call me petty.”

They quietly left the cavern, still marked by the destruction brought up by the fight, as soul slowly dissipated in the air. The white energy flowed aimlessly for an instant, before it was absorbed by the white roots hidden under the leaves.

…

Quirrel, Lurien and Monomon examined the book. This was the very weird book they had found in the pale scholar’s bag, which he had left on the ground before escaping the soul master. As the three of them stared into the uncanny glyphs and strange notes left inside by the doctor, their minds filled with an overwhelming sort of fascination.

Whatever this book was, its contents appeared to be very, very interesting.

Chapter Text

The great winds were blowing through the solitary expanse of the waste. The winds were cruel and unrelenting. They birthed storms of dust and storms of sand, their sound, their incessant howling often drove mad the mortal who ventured into their domains. They ripped away fragments of thoughts and memories, their whistling mixed past and present and covered the footprints of the wanderers. The winds, albeit terrible foes for mortals, were perceived as friends by the wandering wyrm. They were like voices, like companions that shared his magic, things that he had missed in these years of solitude. The winds followed him, they flew around him like great, invisible creatures, in a strange fellowship that whispered he was about to stumble upon a great mystery, a thing of many wonders, that in the heart of the wastes, protected by the spirits of changing weather, laid the heart of his destiny.

As he got closer, he could feel it more distinctly. There was something powerful in here, something that called through millenaries and miles, something that called in the dreams of those who had launched themselves in pursuit of the world’s most ancient mysteries. It was malevolent. It was dangerous. It was tied with powers even a wyrm could fear, things that reigned beyond the expanses of the reality that was their domain, kingdoms of sleepers, kingdoms of other times. These had to be the antique caves he had heard about in his travels, the mausoleum that was mentioned by the seer. In tombs as ancient of gods and wyrms, tombs that were there before day and night, under the measureless vaults and infinites caves of the ageless Nay’heth, in eternal death, the great sleepers lie, for those who are dead shall never die.

It all pointed to this place, the horrid paintings of the mad scarab, locked away in formidable ruins, the gazing orbs of the city of Käxh, the contemplation of which had plunged its people in never-ending deliriums and constant waking extasy, the polyphonic chants of the tribes of immense, amphibious creatures that came from the sea, around the horrid monolith, revealed every ten years by great tides, the words of the ancient researcher of Ulthar, the master of dreams who manipulated his consciousness through strange colored smokes and mephitic beverages, his eyes, unseeing and blue.

He could feel it, it was there, the heart that emitted this aura of fascination, terrifying secrets hidden under the earth. The wyrm began to dig, feeling the echoes of great caverns below. There was life in there, his mind’s eyes could tell, life in innumerable forms, an immense kingdom that hid the forbidden truths he craved. He dug for a long period of time, when finally, he reached an opening. The inside of the first cavern.

The moment he entered, he felt it. This was the dwelling of a god. Her mere presence made him restless. His mind was buzzing, announcing new visions. His mind-sight blurred, as the symbols of dreams appeared around him. He looked around to see this was no longer the cavern. He was surrounded with a sea of golden clouds, and before him, there was a beautiful, majestic creature. She had wings. She had a crown. For a short moment, the wyrm fancied having them too.

“Vile earthworm!” Her voice echoed, regal and powerful. “Begone, return to the cursed place you came from! I will not let your despicable kind destroy this kingdom!”

The moment she spoke, he saw. His mind-sight suddenly turned towards the future, as if it was reflecting her presence. She appeared in a myriad of simultaneous visions. He saw her, in countless futures, cruel and full of spite, spreading a deadly infection across the kingdom she claimed to be protecting. He saw her piercing the hearts of innocents with her blades, burning them with orbs of light. He saw her infection desecrating the bodies of the dead. Wherever he looked, he saw the orange hue of her destruction. He had to stop her, or he would never know the truth. Stop her, or the kingdom would never be his.

“I feel your truth, goddess of dreams!” he exclaimed. “You light, noxious, false, your pretense!”

The radiance was suddenly surrounded with shining swords.

“Begone, I say! Or I will do with you as I did with your kin!”

“You, begone!” the wyrm hissed. “I have seen the dreaded future you impose on these caves! You will be the ruin of this land, I have seen how you will taint it with vile poison, bane for minds!”

“What are you talking about, vile earthworm? Begone I say!”

“I will vanquish you and save this place before you can infect it with your hideous epidemic, and then, it will be mine! Prepare to die!”

“I see there is no exception to the stupidity of your kind. I will deal with you like I did with the others!”

The wyrm launched towards the goddess, filling the air with a mighty roar. He was convinced of his forthcoming victory, of his righteousness, and she was there, so close, so easy to dispatch…

The wyrm’s jaw closed on nothing, and then, he felt a sharp pain surging through his whole body. The radiance was looming over him, with an air of scorn. He felt the flames tear through his flesh, through his shell, the flames did not stop, this was the most horrifying agony he had ever felt. The flames were insatiable, their white heat gnawed at his lungs, at his heart, it filled his whole body, and felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside …

“Presumptuous fool!” Radiance hissed. “This is your punishment for thinking you could beat a real god!”

The wyrm was panicking. Even his mind-sight was burning, the pain was unbearable, and, worst of all, it was slowly replaced by something more terrifying. The absence of any feeling. That was it, he felt its claws, tearing him apart, turning him to dust, not even dust, so horrible smoke, body and mind, burning…

“Feel the price of your arrogance!”

The wyrm thrashed about in pain, one that was so intense he was about to lose his mind. It was not right, he did not want to die, he was not supposed to die now, not now, this was not in his visions, this was impossible… Suddenly, the wyrm thought of the other body he had begun to prepare, in the egg that grew close to his heart. He had begun to prepare it in case he needed it, facing the absolute powers of the great sleeping ones. However, this body was not ready. It was small, unfinished, incredibly weak, not even the size of a small bug, it could not receive any of his power, or it would break apart…

“Now, disappear, fool! I will not be satisfied until there’s nothing left of you!”

Despite its poor state, this body was his only hope, the one thing he could do before disappearing completely. He could feel it, already. His powers were fading away, consumed by her light and her golden flames. He could not let her find it, he had to protect it, or she would see the truth in dreams, and destroy it completely. Her voice still resounded in his mind, full of joy.

“Feel the price of your pride, pitiful pretense of a god!”

With the last remnants of his magic, the wyrm cast a spell on the egg. A powerful seal that would prevent anyone from gazing in his mind, or in his dreams. This way, hopefully, she would never find out. This way, he could live.

The egg rolled down the cavern and disappeared in a small crevice, unheeded by the goddess, who was too absorbed in the admiration of her doings. There was almost nothing left of the great being. Just an empty carcass, still burning, with pieces of chitin and blackened teeth, even those unsightly remnants of its glorious form were crumbling, and after a time, there was nothing left but white cinders scattered by the wind.

“King of dust…” Radiance whispered, her voice full of savage glee.

“King of ashes…”

One last time, he flamed brushed the place that was taken by the body of the wyrm.

“Like the others, you tried to take over my Queendom, and like the others, there’s nothing left of you now! Curse your own arrogance, wyrms! Curse your greed! Curse your gluttony! Your infamous species damned itself, and now the earth is free of your unsightly kind!”

The Radiance disappeared, getting back to her realm of dreams. Behind her, there was noting left. Not even a corpse, not even a teeth.... Just the pungent smell of death.

Well, almost nothing, for in a narrow crack hidden behind some rocks the egg was still there, ready to hatch. There was nothing special about this egg, no power emanated from it, it was the egg of a mortal creature, one that failed to retain its powers, its godliness. It was fragile and unfinished, the creature inside had not reached its prime form.

The creature’s body was shaken by a series of painful looking spasms, it thrashed about, and finally managed to tear through the surface of the egg with its horns and claws. Even if the ordeal was over, even if it had survived, the wyrm was still burning. The pain in his previous body had transferred to this new one, and even if it was receding, it did so very slowly. Moreover, this body was new and very small, which made it incredibly more sensitive than the hardened nerves of the great wyrm. The creature fell on the ground, covered in yellowish goo, shaking with maddening pain. He tried to breathe, but it felt like he was drowning, there was something in his lungs that was painful and burning, something that was going to choke him to death. His new body was suddenly shaken by a violent bout of coughing, and a disturbing amount of the ill spelling substance escaped his mouth. The sensation was horrible, enough to make him vomit. There was nothing to vomit, but this did not keep him from soiling the ground with more goo mixed with worrying amounts of hemolymph. Finally, he managed to catch his breath. It made a weird sound, and every inspiration was incredibly painful, but at least, he was no longer choking to death. The pain seemed to be receding enough for him to be able to think straight, and even if he was still shaking uncontrollably, it seemed the panic had begun to diminish. The wyrm (though he could hardly be called a wyrm in this form) began to take deep breaths to calm down.

The pain had become bearable, and he was slowly becoming aware of his surroundings and his new body. There were horns on the top of his head, and wings, and… he realized that despite having lost his magic, despite the fact that he could swear his mind-sight was completely gone, somehow, he was still able to see. Trying to explain this phenomenon, he began to touch his face and… he had eyes. That was new. Interesting.

The creature suddenly let out a weird sound. Then, another. Then, a small hiccup. The hiccups did not want to stop, and there was this noise coming from his mouth, in a voice he could not recognize, one that sounded like a strange mix of crying and laughing. Big, childish tears began to form in his eyes, while his mouth twisted into a crooked smile. Radiance was gone. She thought he was dead, completely destroyed. She was gone, and she had no idea he had managed to survive. Sure, he was an idiot, that was a fact he could not deny, trying to fight a god like that. He had grossly overestimated his power. However, he had survived. Perhaps he was in a new form, a tiny, weird and powerless mortal form, but he was there, in the caverns he wished to explore. He could continue  his quest, and he was sure he would finally discover it, this place of legends, the dwelling of the most ancient ones, the vault that contained all the secrets of time, life and death. Albeit in a mortal form, he could still reach his goals, and hopefully, he could find it, one day: the ageless city of Nay’Heth.

…

The pale scholar slowly opened his eyes. His whole body was aching, and it felt like someone had decided to pour boiling water on the left side of his face, he did not even feel his leg, and he had a bad migraine. It appeared he was in a room in the archives, the one they used as an infirmary. He could see one of Monomon’s tentacles and some red light in the background.

“What happened ?” he croaked. (He regretted it immediately because his own voice echoed through his head, making the migraine even worse than it already was.)

“Well well, doctor, it seems you’re finally awake !”

That was Grimm’s voice, with his usual mocking tone.

“It seems you’re not as tough as you pretend to be. You passed out the moment we left Greenpath.”

The pale scholar sat up, wincing at the pain in his head in his back. Everything around him was spinning endlessly and he felt nauseous. He saw the green form of Monomon approaching.

“Now that you’re awake, doctor, you will have some explaining to do. We found one of your books. And then, we found others in your laboratory, Grimm helped us finding them. You cannot escape, now, you will have to tell us what your research is about. And you will tell us about Nay’Heth!”

“Wait… you went in my lab?” the doctor mumbled.

“Yes, we did, and don’t you even dare to complain about it !”

“Oh no…”

Monomon’s mask took a weird shape, and everything went to black.

Chapter Text

“Look, silver troupe ! We’ve finally arrived !”

The adventurer said this with her voice full of excitement, as she pointed at the settlement in the distance.

“Is it, really?” said the other adventurer, with a soft voice.

Out of the five explorers, this one was the largest, and carried an impressive mace.

“Le’mer! You shall not doubt. Che feels, This is it. This is the place.”

These words were spoken by a tall adventurer, the strangest of the group surely, who carried a massive nail on her back.

“I cannot wait to explore this land!” The explorer with the green braid exclaimed. “If the owner of the map said the truth, imagine what adventures could await us down there!”

“Isma, dear, I understand your excitement”, a dung beetle answered. “But look at this settlement. We’re certainly not the first explorers to come to this place.”

“I am certain many treasures remain.” Said the one with the pointy helmet. “Let’s go, and we shall discover what secrets this place holds!”

On these words, the five adventurers made their way towards the settlement.

By looking at them, anyone could have guessed these five were not to be trifled with. They were surrounded by an aura of strength and confidence. Their armor’s shine had been dulled by years of travels, their capes were all torn on the edges, but they had a good equipment, and their general attire told they were not in want of geo. They walked with long, powerful strides, their capes flowing behind them, heaving dust clouds in their trails. They had the stance of fighters, they had vanquished many foes and crossed many lands, they were just and benevolent, they went from place to place to liberate villages from menacing creatures or despotic rulers. The five of them were renowned in many lands. Hegemol, the strong warrior with a gentle heart, Dryya, the fierce fighter with lightning in her nail, Isma the gentle speaker and keen strategist, Ogrim, the mirthful adventurer, Ze’mer, mysterious iron wielder from a faraway land.

They were the silver troupe. Strong allies and loyal friends with a thirst for adventure, they had met along the way, the bond between them forged with danger, long walks under the night sky, unknown cities, many stories. They had braved many odds, had many adventures, they had stood together atop great mountains, shared the most wondrous views of sunset and dawn, they had fought and reunited again, and after so many years together, they knew they could no longer travel alone.

During their last journey, the silver troupe had come across a small city on the borders of a vast wasteland. This was a strange settlement, surrounded by fields of lavender and other herbs they did not recognize, houses of woods and stones with doors sculpted in the shape of odd creatures with two faces, and the tail of a serpent. The small town was always traversed by the long, blood tainted rays of dusk, in which dancing dust reflected sunlight in beautiful ways and looked like golden glitter.

 They had only meant to spend the night in the inn, a building made of dark wood, ochre and light pink limestone. In there, they had met a strange bug, sat in a smokey corner of the main room. It was a cartomancer and map seller, a strange kind of spider that called himself “mister long legs”. The nickname was not unearned, given the surprising length of the spider’s limbs. For the sake of entertainment, they had indulged the cartomancer’s proposal to perform divination for them, and he had made them draw tarot cards.

Ze’mer liked these kinds of things. Not that she really believed in divination, but the poetic nature of the interpretation it allowed pleased her.

“Interesting… “ said mister long legs. “You drew the card of the lover. Take heed, adventurer, for in the path you follow, you may face difficult choices. “

The cartomancer touched her brow with one of his long arms, and whispered:

“One shall listen to their reason, but one should listen to their heart. One is a path of thorns and the other a path of roses, but in none of them blooms the flower you look for.”

These mysterious words had made her curious and circumspect, there was something different about this cartomancer, something about him that she did not feel around other fortune tellers.

Hegemol was the next one to draw a tarot card. He drew the star.

“The star…” the cartomancer began. “Harmony and strength. The path you follow is a route where one may become stronger than they ever hoped.”

Dryya drew next. She drew the empress.

“The path you seek will be filled with beauty. You will meet the source of love and life, something powerful but benevolent awaits on your way.”

The next one to draw a card was Isma. She did so with less enthusiasm as the others, for this kind of game frightened her a little.

“The high priestess…” the cartomancer said. “You are on your way to make discoveries. You and your friends, you seek adventures and challenges, but do not forget that some things are to remain hidden. I advise distrust if you are to find a book.”

Isma trembled a little. She did not like this omen. The whole situation made her uneasy, and there was something disturbing under the cartomancer’s mask.

Ogrim was the last to draw. The card represented an old beetle lone on the top a mountain with a lantern. It was the hermit. The cartomancer looked at the card for a while before he said:

“You are keen to think of your own feelings. You are surely good at understanding them. However, do not dwell on those too much, or you may lose yourself in solitude.”

The cartomancer tilted his head and said:

“However, I see little meaning in drawing the cards for each of you, since you are a very solid group, a silver troupe. Your fates are interwoven, and if my cunning is right… This may show you the way in your journey.

“I guess it would not hurt to try…” Hegemol said. “Maybe it can inspire us for the direction in which we could be headed next.”

“Excellent”, said mister long legs, lighting his long pipe. Violet smoke began to escape some holes in his mask, forming long arabesques that surrounded the five adventurers.

“I will draw for you, then”, the fortune teller continued. “Three cards, one for the mind, one for the heart, and one for destiny.

With a strange movement of his long limbs, the cartomancer drew three cards from his game and laid them in front of the adventurer.

The hanged man, the emperor, and … The thirteenth arcane.

The cartomancer seemed to think for a time and began to rummage through numerous scrolls he had behind him. Finally, he found what he was looking for. An old, worn out map, with indications written in an antique script.

“Your journeys have made you take part in many different stories, isn’t it ?”

“Yes, they did.” Dryya answered. “But what does this have to do with this map?”

“Seeing you cards, I think you might be interested in this. This map shows the way to a very ancient place, one of adventures, mysteries… and more. If you are looking for strange things, this is definitely the way you should be headed.”

The adventurers took the map and examined it. It showed the entrance of an underground kingdom, in the heart of the wastes.

“There might be treasures, here,” the cartomancer whispered tentatively, “there might be secrets, there will be danger. I saw from your cards. That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it ?”

Dryya examined the map with enthusiasm.

“What do you think, friends ? I never heard of this place! we might discover great things there!”

The other adventurers shared her opinion. Even Isma, who was rather suspicious of the cartomancer, agreed on the fact this map could very well be the beginning of a new, unique adventure. The map itself was full of mystery: the unknown script, the elegant symbols, it suggested something that was ancient and unknown, things they had not experienced yet, a part of the world that was strange and new. They all knew it. They were going to go. Even if the cartomancer was suspicious, even if the cards he had drawn for them were a bad omen. They knew they could not resist the call. And adventure was calling them.

Ze’mer closed the map and put it carefully in her bag as they approached the settlements. After one week of tedious travels across the wastes, they were happy to have finally reached their goals. They were also liking the fact that the place did really exist, which was not completely certain, given the unreliable source of their map.

They had to admit, the settlement near the entrance was a little disappointing. This was nothing like the wondrous casements they had imagined, nothing like the many cities they had seen, great cities of red clay by a beautiful oasis, bustling cities of colorful glass, cities inside immense trees, all surrounded by green lights… This was just a camp, a resting point for caravans, a place for resting a few days and then leaving. Well, they guessed the true attractions had to be down under.

Without spending much time in the settlement, the silver troupe searched for the entrance. The entrance was an old well in which bugs had installed ropes to make the descent easier. They went down, anticipating the great discoveries they could make in this strange place, and then, they arrived at the crossroads.

Isma flinched immediately, not long after, Ze’mer, Hegemol and Drya reacted as well, putting their capes on their mouths. The only one who did not seem to notice anything was Ogrim, but, given his… less than hygienic habits, that was to be expected. The crossroads were filled with the stench of death. Even if the source was nowhere in sight, the smell was still extremely potent. Isma thought of the cards, of the strange fortune teller. The thirteenth arcane, and now this smell. Could this be a warning, a telltale sign? Isma shook her head and moved forward with her companions. No, this could not be. These were just superstitions, little tricks used by merchants to make more money.

As they reached a deeper tunnel, they met a round ladybug with a cart. The cart contained the corpses of seven wild bug. Given the odor emanating from them, they had already begun to decay.

“Excuse me, sir.” Isma asked. “what happened here? What about these dead bugs, and this smell?”

The ladybug gave her a tired look and answered:

“Hello adventurers. The dead bugs? That’s an awful accident. A guy from the caverns below came one day, he began to slaughter wild bugs with no reasons. He was completely crazy, he even killed an old man and a snail shaman.”

“What?” Dryya interjected. “But that’s awful! Where is he now, so that we stop his destructive rampage!”

The ladybug chuckled.

“I admire your spirit, adventurer, but there’s no need for that. Apparently, his colleagues from the archives have already dealt with him.”

Ze’mer took a step towards them.

“The archives? Do you know more about this, le’mer? Che wants to know, che thinks, che thinks…”

“Yeah, I know a little about those archives. If you want to go there, follow the caverns until you reach a place where everything is lush and green, and then, go down. You’ll find a place with a lot of weird jellyfish. The archives are down there.”

“We… we would like to explore this place, do you think they have a map of the area?”

The ladybug took a second before answering.

“I have absolutely no idea. I just know they’re available if someone is injured or sick, but that’s all I know. Besides, I don’t advise you to come there if you don’t absolutely need to.”

“Wai !?” Ze’mer exclaimed, he curiosity visibly frustrated by this turn of events.

“They’re a weird bunch down there. Doing weird things. They’re suspicious. Besides, the one that turned crazy and did all this mess was with them to begin with.”

Dryya nodded.

“That’s definitely suspicious. Maybe we should investigate them, to check if they might be dangerous.”

“I agree.” Ogrim exclaimed. “Maybe they’re doing evil experiments!”

“Do you remember the so called master of knowledge in the city of Sickath ?” Hegemol added.

“I remember him well! It was a good thing we stopped his twisted research!”

“Thank you very much for this information, sir.” Isma concluded. “We will make sure no other menace come to your city!”

“Very well, very well. Don’t overwork yourselves.”

On these words, the adventurers departed, following the directions given by the ladybug. This was the first mystery, and probably the first chapter of their adventure. After a lot of effort, the party finally found the green caverns the ladybug was talking about. This had proved surprisingly difficult, both because of the old bug’s unprecise indication and of the labyrinthic nature of the caverns. However, their tenacity finally paid off, and they began to make their way in the greenery. The place was filled with a serene atmosphere, there was something peaceful about it. The variety of smells, the diversity of the flora, it all added to a sense of homeliness that made them want to stay longer in this part of the caverns.

However, there was something else. A creeping presence under the moss, the strange shapes of blue roots in the shadows, the remote sighs behind heavy leaves and long vines, the bubbling of acid below… They felt that something powerful was alive in here, something that may have been awoken not so long ago, the influence of which was creeping in grass and dew, making itself known in the hearts of wanderers.

Besides, there was something else. For a moment now, the adventurers of the silver troupe felt like they were being observed.

Chapter Text

The teacher’s eyes could not turn away from the book, neither could her mind. The arcane hieroglyphs, the figures which shapes defied the laws of Euclidian geometry, the strange symbols adorning the page… All of it exuded an air of deep mystery, something tied with history, religion and truth, something that, she could tell, had to do with the very nature of reality. In the margins, and in many papers left between pages, she recognized the doctor’s tiny handwriting. Many pages of notes, other figures, calculations. Far from helping the reader to unravel the obscure glyphs, these made it even more hermetic, the doctor’s scribbles were hardly decipherable, and the few words she managed to make out confronted her mind to the vast expanses of the unknown. Amidst those, one came out more often than the other. A name, foreign, foreboding, something she had never seen and yet, had an air of disturbing familiarity. “Nay’Heth”; very ancient word, no doubt, maybe even older than the book.

As she examined the pages, the teacher’s heart was slowly overtaken by a strange feeling. This was different from the simple curiosity she had felt towards most things since the earliest days of her life. It was there, for sure, but there was something different in it. Something darker, something that would spawn passions and wonders of the mind she had never dared to desire before, something that had sometimes made her uneasy around the doctor. This was utter fascination. She did not resent him for hiding such a wondrous artifact, she did not even think of the incident with the soul master. Now, the only thing she wanted was to know, to discover. The bud that for so long had been dwelling within her mind was blooming, filling her reason and senses with awe inspiring wonder. It had awoken within her, and it was ravenous. The thirst for mysteries. The obsession of knowledge.

From the moment it appeared, she was able to sense its danger. This was because she did not hear Quirrel’s call at first, when he tried to make her look away from the book, because she did not heed Lurien’s look of fear and worry, because, when she saw Grimm walking towards them with the doctor passed out in his arms and his cloak full of blood, the only thing she cared about was their secrets.

“What have you been doing for these past days? What is this book?”

Now that the initial flame of this new obsession had receded, she could understand the strange way Quirrel had looked at her, Lurien’s muffled remark about priorities. Sure, she had helped them patch up the pale scholar’s wounds, she had seconded Lurien for Grimm’s interrogatory, but as they were doing all this, there was only one thing she was waiting for. The key for the doctor’s laboratory was in her pocket, and she was dying to see the other things he had been hiding down there for all those years.

When Grimm was rambling about him and the doctor knowing each other for a long time, and working on this new project, swearing he told nothing to the soul master about killing for soul (“ but maybe I’ve been careless. If it’s the case I sincerely apologize. I did not know about this problem, so I might have suggested it unintentionally.”) He could get away with those excuses, it did not concern her anymore. She cursed herself for being so careless, for not showing more curiosity for the doctor’s suspicious activities. She had always thought he was plunged in some kind of esoteric philosophy, concerns far away from reality, ideas that were of no interest for her. Now, she realized the full extent of her mistake.

Finally, she had managed to convince Lurien to come with her to inspect the doctor’s laboratory. Even if the watcher acted more reasonable, she had seen it, the spark in his eye when he saw the book, the way he kept examining its pages, is face often turning towards the doctor’s basement. The fascination that had struck her at this moment had reached him too, she could tell. Perhaps it was less potent with him, or perhaps he felt some kind of shame about it. She knew the watcher had a lot of moral standards. He probably thought it inappropriate to think about these mysteries in such a time, when they were still dealing with the aftermath of the soul master’s sudden madness.

And yet, even repressed, the flame of his fascination was burning bright as they went down the stairs, towards the pale scholar’s basement. She saw his eye struck with wonders, as they discovered the other books in different scripts, all antique and equally filled with notes. As they went through the mess of the laboratory, they understood why the doctor had kept so secret about his research. These were all forbidden subjects. Arcane geometry, sorcery, alchemy, inquiries about things that were ancient and godly, the nature of life and matter, the nature of time and mind. As they went through the books and the notes, trying to decipher it, their fascination grew. Both scholars’ minds were filled with wonders, in the sight of these lanes they had never dares to explore, of these things that indicated a consciousness lurking towards the limits of their realm, things that in their disbelief, in their fear, they had deemed unreal. They wanted to be a part of this, they wanted to see, to understand, and as they stared with awe and desire into the piles of antique codex, Grimm watched them from the corner, in his eyes, the dance of red flames.

Grimm delighted in seeing this. At first, he had deemed them too shallow, too concerned for safety, but now that he could observe the way the books could influence them, how easily their mind could be seduced by the frightening call of the unknown, he knew those two would be no hindrance in this quest. Though they hardly shared the doctor’s recklessness and general disregard for his own wellbeing, their minds were similar to his in many ways. Just gazing upon these scripts and figures had them bewitched, and surely, they would follow along in this mad research, their eyes set too tightly on the knowledge they sought to see darkness rising around their journey.

Grimm followed Lurien and Monomon to the infirmary. In order to earn some geo, the scholars of the archives often worked as healers for other bugs who passed by, and this room was made for these kind of occasions. From a messy pile of sheets on one of the beds, the doctor was staring at them. The burn had left a visible mark on his cheek and the bag under his eyes were even more noticeable than usual. Monomon floated towards him, her curiosity barely concealed, and settled next to the bed.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

The pale scholar paused for a moment, looking at nothing.

“You went in my lab.”

“Yes.”

“… Shit.”

“Will you tell us, now?”

The doctor let out a painful sounding sigh.

“I guess I cannot refuse…”

“No.”

“Thought so.”

The tip on the teacher’s tentacles wiggled, Lurien stepped closer and took a seat on a nearby bed.

“What do you want to learn first?”

“Nay’Heth” the teacher whispered, with intent fascination.

“There’s no way around it, isn’t it…”

“No, there’s not. Now tell us, and once we’ve learned everything, we might think about forgiving you for hiding all this great knowledge from us.”

“As you like it. But first, give me a glass of water. It’s a long story.”

Monomon went to the kitchen and came back with a big glass, while the pale scholar tried to take a more comfortable position. Hidden behind the door, Lu and Quirrel were listening too. In a silence filled by the scholars’ concentration, the doctor began.

“This began long ago, when I was still travelling alone, on the borders of the wastes. I was desperate at the time. I knew I wanted to pursue knowledge, to learn about the secrets of nature, but I never had a master, and I did not know how to proceed. I had begun to think I was just wandering around with no goal, and that my life, my search for something, anything… all of it was slowly fading away. It was around this time when I found it. A strange village, on the outskirts of a forest of blue trees. This was a hidden village, with a people of storytellers, astrologists, historians, sometimes adventurers. They let me spend the night, and I slept at the house of an old bug. They were all centipedes, but this one was the oldest of them all, hence the largest. The old man asked me where I came from, and what I was looking for…”

A pause: something like a grey cloud passed by the doctor’s eyes. A hesitation, a memory, perhaps. Grimm, who was listening from the back of the room felt it. These pale scholar’s words had the smell of truths and lies, a familiar fragrance, now, to which he had grown attached.

“I told him about my inquiries, my travels. Then, the elder told me this:

• I will not tell you how to proceed in your research, nor will I tell you the subjects you should study. These, you will find along the way. But I can tell you one thing. If you want to know the truth about this world, and if you’re not afraid of death and darkness, you should look for the city of Nay’Heth.

The elder did not know much about Nay’Heth. He said it was the most ancient city in the world, and that in here resided the origin of all truth, the answer to old questions. This was when I began my quest. I went in many towns and settlements, looking around their libraries, their archives. This was a tedious work, with most trails leading nowhere. However, some of them were interesting. It led me to abandoned places, high ruins in mountains, dead cities. This is where I found the first books… This is where I found the map. After several years, I had determined the position of this city, and I crossed the wastelands, taking with me the books that mattered the most. This is how I ended up in here.”

“So…” Monomon began. “You mean… the city of Nay’Heth… is here?”

“Yes.” The pale scholar pointed downwards.

“It is somewhere, beneath us. However, accessing this city is not an easy task. First, the only entrance I know of is barely accessible. To get there, we have to go through Deepnest, and I don’t plan on figuring on the menu of the beast and her people. And Deepnest is not the main hassle. See, the entrance of Nay’Heth is sealed by a complicated magic. For the past few years, I have worked on undoing these seals, but some of them remained a mystery, because of a book I couldn’t decipher. However, thanks to Grimm, I reached a breakthrough, and I know how to break the last seal, and find the information that should allow us to pass the door of Nay’Heth. It is a tablet in Greenpath, by the temple of stones. By now, I should be able to decipher its geometry.”

Monomon thought a little, and said:

“You know what I will say next …”

The pale scholar sighed.

“Yes… You will say you want to come, and look for the lost city with us…”

“Well guessed!”

“You know it will be dangerous, right?”

“You’re in no position to talk about danger, pale scholar. From what I can observe in here, I’m not the one who is bedridden with burns and wounds!”

Grimm laughed in the background, and the doctor threw him an angry look.

“At least we managed to deal with soul master’s tantrum.”

Monomon giggled.

“Yes, Grimm told us about this. Your plan for this was stupid though.”

“At least I had a plan! And it worked. Proof is, he didn’t attack you!”

The pale scholar struggled to get out of the bed.

“Now, I’ve no time to lose with all this, I need to get to this tablet.”

As he said these words, he tried to stand up and walk towards the exit… with no effect. Were it not for Monomon’s reactivity, he would have fallen on the ground? The pale scholar winced at the sudden pain as the teacher helped him sit on the edge of the bed. Grimm could imagine his frustration, being slowed down by the wound when he wanted to continue his quest so badly…

After having Lurien convince him to stop trying to walk and to rest, the two scholars left the room and began preparing for the expedition. The moment they left the room, the god of nightmares turned towards the pale scholar. He was looking away, and judging by his frow, he was visibly frustrated.

“Shit!”

Grimm stepped closer and sat on the bed next to the doctor.

“Why are you so rude, pale scholar?”

The doctor turned towards him, throwing him an irritated glare.

“I can’t believe you got away with it!”

“Got away with what, dear doctor?”

“Don’t play the fool with me, Grimm, I’m obviously talking about this whole soul master tomfoolery!”

Grimm morphed his face into an expression of innocent shock, relishing in the doctor’s growing irritation.

“It’s just that your friends are sensible people, they knew the soul master was already on edge, and that if my words triggered something, it was unintentionally!”

“As if.”

The nightmare god’s expression morphed into an obnoxious grin.

“They believed me though. And you should be happy of it. Imagine, if they knew the truth about me…”

“They know too much already!”

Grimm got closer, and soughed:

“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”

A pause. Awkward feeling, something heavy in the air.

“Shit!”

“What again?”

“Without all this stupid… without your stupid plan, I would already be deciphering the tablet!”

“I can use my magic to heal you, you know, if you give me- “

“No.”

“Tcht ! Not even your origin? I mean, the real one?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

They stayed silent for a moment. The pale scholar let himself fall on his back and looked at the ceiling. However, Grimm could not hold his tongue for long.

“It was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“What you told them, about Nay’Heth.”

“No, it is not.”

“I’m sure it is. At least some of it.

“You can believe what you want.”

They paused for another minute. Grimm was thinking, trying to entangle the possible truths in the pale scholar’s story. He looked around the room, listing the small details in his mind. He imagined the different moves he could make from here, the different ways in which he could prolong his entertainment. It pleased him, in a way, to have so little at stake, when the doctor had so much. It reminded him of his place among gods, even if he himself had to be consumed by nightmare’s flames. Mortals, their lives, their destinies… from his viewpoint, they were still just a game. Grimm uttered absentmindedly:

“I’m sure the thing about centipedes was a lie.”

No answer.

Grimm looked at the pale scholar next to him. He was sound asleep. The god of nightmares stood up slowly and left the room, before disappearing in a puff of red smoke. Now, he was surrounded with the familiar hue of his realm, as well as the steady rhythm of the pulsating heart. Grimmkin floated about around him, a crimson mist hid the hidden layout of a tent.

Suddenly, the grimmkin all hid behind him, as his realm was briskly invaded by the radiant light of dreams.

Grimm laughed wholeheartedly. This was the very first time his sister ventured in his realm. Usually, she despised his flames, and would do anything to stay away from them. However, she was here, now, and judging from her expression and the burning orbs around her … She was pissed.

Chapter Text

Grimm let out a low snigger, looking at the furious expression of his sister. She was shining with all her brightness, her eyes radiating untamed ire.

“I find you at last, Grimm! You cheater!”

The nightmare king tilted his head and looked at her ingenuously.

“Good day, sister! What a delight to see you here. I had begun to think you did not appreciate my little kingdom.”

“Stop messing around, brother! You know very well what this is about!”

Seeing her fulminating like that filled Grimm with delight. Making his sister see red was one of his favorite activities.

“I’m not sure I can see what you mean, dear Radiance. Could you please enlighten me?”

The god laughed a little at his own wordplay, while his sister was shaking with rage.

“You pitiful excuse of a god! Is this how you find your fun, Grimm, by purposely getting on my nerves?”

The nightmare king mimicked the stance of someone thinking seriously.

“Mmm, yes. Wait, is it only now that you realize?”

“No. Don’t humor me, Grimm, I’m tired of your antics. Stop making me repeat myself, you cheater!”

Jumping from flame to flame, the god got closer.

“Cheating you say? But I did not cheat! When we made the bet, nothing stated that we could not influence the events.”

“This is the principle of a bet, nightmare king! You can’t intervene to change the outcome, it’s cheating!”

“It was not stated in the rules, and I did not cheat. I must say, I am surprised, sister, I thought you were going to be a better player. How boring of you, just waiting for the outcome, when doing it the other way is so much fun!”

“You should not be so confident in your taunts, Grimm. Don’t forget that if I were to find this game too taxing, I may put it to an end prematurely.”

When he heard these words, Grimm’s mocking expression left his face altogether.

“Wait, you don’t mean that- “

“That I could just put an end to your doctor’s pitiful life? That’s exactly what I mean.”

“But, why would you do that ? That’s unfair, and-“

“What now Grimm? You seem rather alarmed. I thought the life of mortals had no value in your eyes, that if I were to break your toy, you would quickly find another one, could it be… you care for this one, don’t you ?”

Grimm felt anger rise in is flames. How dared she! He was the one supposed to have fun at her expanse, not the other way around. And now, she was the one taunting him, insinuating that he could care for the life of mortals? He, the master of the dread troupe, the terror of sleep, the nightmare king … and he would lower himself enough to make the same mistakes he made back then, when he was but a young, ignorant fool? Impossible.

“The only thing I care for is my game.” He snarled. “This one just happens to be more entertaining than the others, and it would be a pity to stop in the middle of such a delightful play. Why do you do this, sister? Are you afraid of losing the bet?”

“I am not afraid. I just like to play on even terms. Which means that if I shall intervene in this in one way or another… you will have no right to complain.”

Grimm’s anger receded, and his face morphed back into the obnoxious mask he usually wore.

“But you can play, sister. As much as you want. This will add to my fun, and to yours, and all in all, this will make my victory even sweeter.”

“Don’t fool yourself, Grimm, you’re not the only one who knows how to play.”

On these words, the goddess shrouded herself in blinding light and disappeared, surely flying back in her realm. Grimm liked this. He wondered what his sister’s next move would be. Things now were surely going to be even more interesting.

Behind him the heart was beating, calm and steady, surrounded by its aura of nightmares. For the god, this heartbeat sounded like a countdown. Seconds before the end of this life, seconds before his rebirth. The nightmare king let out a low giggle. In this life, he was determined to get as much fun as he could.

…

The pale scholar pushed the book in the already stuffed bag. If they managed to finish the preparation, they could be of this morning, and he would finally be able to decipher the tablet, and hopefully, undo the last seal. Given the state of his leg, he could hardly walk ( this was a little less than one week after their confrontation with the soul master), but he had decided to use his wings instead. Generally, Greenpath had enough room for flight, and this was a good alternative solution. The doctor knew he could not wait much more anyways. Curiosity consumed him, and now that he had finally managed to get out of the deadlock he had found himself in for so long, he did not want to wait.

Next to him, Monomon had already finished packing, while Lurien tried to  fit his big spyglass in his bag. The teacher turned towards him, her tentacles curling in sign of amusement.

“Lurien, do you think your spyglass will really be useful for the place we’re going to?”

“Of course, a spyglass is always useful. They’re like baskets!”

“Baskets?” The pale scholar jumped into the conversation.

“Yes, baskets. Baskets and spyglasses are the two things people don’t take because they think they won’t need them, and the two things they always end up needing in the end.”

“For baskets, I understand”, the teacher mused, “but a spyglass, on the other hand…”

“Well, imagine you’re going about the caverns, and then, you see something strange in the distance, but it’s too far away to recognize what it is. And then you say: too bad! If I had a spyglass I could have looked !”

“However, Lurien,” the doctor interjected, “you’re forgetting about the theorem of mushrooms.”

“The theorem of mushrooms ?”

“The fact that when you go looking for mushrooms with a basket, it’s likely that you won’t find any, but if you just go on a walk, it’s likely that you’ll find mushrooms, but then, you will not have a basket to harvest them.”

“That’s stupid.” The watcher deadpanned.

“No, that’s mathematical. It’s a simple effect of probabilities.”

“I see where you’re going with this, doctor,” Monomon interrupted.  “However, the paradox of mushrooms is a biased formula, it relies on the assumption that people go on walks more often than they go looking for mushrooms.”

“But that’s a fact.”

“This fact means that your paradox only has meaning with a presupposed set of variables, hence, it is not a real law of probabilities.”

“But then, I can just twist it and say the reciprocal is true when you invert the variables, and then we obtain a linear function…”

As the talk began to drift away from his comprehension, Lurien became more and more desperate, staring at his spyglass, looking for answers.

“Basket or not, the probability of finding mushrooms is a fixed variable, the function has to describe one’s ability to harvest them!” the doctor exclaimed.

“Your theory is not accurate unless the first probability is randomized!”

“Not if you’re working in groups of one hundred instances!”

Lurien sighed.

“Hey, what does your theorem say about me taking the spyglass?”

The pale scholar turned towards him.

“According to the theorem, you should take it every time you get out, so that the probability of you being able to observe something will equate the probability of having something to observe.”

“So that’s it, I’m taking it!”

Monomon tried to sound indifferent but failed to conceal the amusement in her tone.

“That’s not what your supposed to do doctor, now he will have to carry this big thing around!”

“As long as I’m not the one carrying it, I don’t mind.”

They looked around, went through the list of materials one last time. Finally, they were ready to go.

The three scholars greeted Quirrel and Lu, who were to guard the archives in their absence, and made their way towards the entrance. Grimm was waiting for them next to the door, looking absentmindedly in the distance.

“What took you so long?”

“Sorry, Grimm.” Monomon began. “Some people wanted to take too many things.”

Grimm looked at the overstuffed bags of Lurien and the doctor and gave her an understanding look.

The pale scholar spread his wings and took off, rising awkwardly because of the weight of books, and the troupe departed towards the stone temple. Following the mossy tunnels, in a combination of flight and hops, the doctor felt his heart racing. At last, he was going forward again, advancing towards this secret he had so long sought, new cards in hands, new words, new keys. Something told him the door would no longer be closed, that they could move forward, and finally discover the lost city. The sense of anticipation, the exhilaration, all of this made him forget about the pain throbbing in his leg, he did not think about the wound, or other events, setting his sights towards their goal.

Finally, they reached it. Under an impressive arch of stone covered with vines and moss laid the entrance of a tunnel. This one was different from the other tunnels in Greenpath. It looked more ancient, and yet, it was not a natural cavity. Under the chunks of fungi and diverse plants, one could make out the traces of a strange architecture, the curve of vaults disappearing mysteriously in the darkness above them, with engravings reminiscent of the one the pale scholar had seen on the forbidden altar, in the temple of Unn.

In a tense silence, they made their way in the tunnel, sculped eyes below the moss seemed to be observing them, and the regular sounds of water dropping from the ceiling, as well as something akin to a low breathing coming from below made them uneasy. Monomon and Lurien advanced slowly, looking around them with curiosity, while the doctor stepped forward resolutely. He had crossed this tunnel many times before, and every time, that was in vain. However, now, the book of the green prophet was deciphered, and no matter the riddles this place had in store for him, he was ready to solve them.

The scholars reached a spacious room leading to a great door, on which was a stone tablet overgrown by moss. The tablet was surrounded by pale flowers that glowed in the cave’s half light, shining with preternatural purity. The tablet in itself was covered with the strangest engravings. A mix of runes and mesmerizing geometry, shapes turning and twisting in every direction, a maze for the eyes and the mind. Just by looking at it, Monomon and Lurien felt a little dizzy.

The pale scholar moved closer and sat in front of the tablet, the book open on his lap, ready to take notes.

“The last seal…” he whispered. “At last…”

His mind was entirely focused on the problem. This was an enigma, a code, something born of twisted minds that strayed from the usual paths of reason. Lurien and Monomon’s comments quickly faded, as his earing was replaced with white noise. He did not think of anything, except for this riddle, his hands furiously scribbling on parchment.

Lurien watched as the doctor swung back and forth, mumbling incomprehensible things. He knew this would probably take a while. More than a few hours, surely. He spotted Monomon examining the tablet and the flowers around it, she, too, was completely absorbed in her observation, in a way that was less noticeable than the pale scholar’s, but still very easy to spot for one that knew her well. The watcher finally made his way to the back of the room, where Grimm was waiting, looking at them with an undecipherable expression.

Lurien cleared his throat.

“So, Grimm the scholar … Is there something bothering you? You’ve been awfully calm since we left the archives.”

Grimm glanced at him quickly before answering.

“Nothing in particular. I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking about what if I may ask?”

The watcher stared at Grimm, trying to see a hint on his face. Despite his excuses for the incident with the soul master, Lurien was far from trusting with this new scholar. No matter how long he stayed in the archives, how much time they spent together, he was still surrounded with this impression of otherness. They were many things. Power, secrets, lies.

“About many things.” Grimm answered. “Our quest… the books.”

“Do you have doubts?”

Grimm’s expression shifted a little. Lurien could see his usual smile returning.

“Doubts? Not at all. I’m glad we’re finally able to come this far… And I cannot wait to see what will happen next.”

Lurien nodded. There was a strange note of sincerity in Grimm’s voice, but also something else, something sinister.

They spent a long time in the cave. They could not tell how many hours, but that was enough for Monomon to make a comprehensive inventory of the flora in the room, and for him to document at least fifty engravings. They were beginning to think about eating when the doctor suddenly stood up.

“That’s it !” He exclaimed.

With no explanation, the pale scholar begun to count elements on the tablet, before touching one shape in particular. He pushed it, and slowly, the block of stone began to move. The doctor continued moving many elements, until they formed a solid pattern, something that looked more and more like a circle, or a long serpent, coiling on itself. At last, as the doctor pulled the last piece of the huge puzzle, the scholars heard a click above them, and the thunder like noise of stone moving around. Slowly, before them, the door opened, letting out a yellowish mist as well as a stale odour.

Without waiting for the mist to clear, the scholars stepped inside. This was a smaller room, shaped like the inside of an egg. The architecture was a disturbing mix of biological forms and intricate machinery, all covered by a pale fungi that had the appearance of a thin veil. On the center of this structure, there was a device, something like a cup, from which an obscure material was flowing upwards, disappearing in the ceiling. The substance was cold, and yet, the scholars felt it. In one way or another, this thing was alive.

The pale scholar, slowly, ceremoniously, took another book out of his bag. A codex with a black cover, its pages made of ancient papyrus covered in convoluted glyphs. He looked for a page and began to move pieces of the mechanism. Another click. The atmosphere in the room changed once again, it was filled with the impression of a presence around them, something breathing from the uttermost depths of the earth, something that was still sleeping and shall ever sleep, and still, this thing, in one way or another, this thing was listening to them.

His voice trembling with passion and fascination, the pale scholar began to recite the incantation.

“Nyogtha xheil lä, n’gai n’gha’ghaa, bugg-shoggog y’hah”

A feeling of dread felt the room, which appearance seemed more and more abominable, as strange shadows appeared along the walls twisting into indescribable shapes. The scholar’s hearts felt with terror.

“Ya na kadishtu nilgh’ri stell’bsna Nyogtha”

The darkness flowing from the artefact seemed to swell, and, was it their mind, their terror or something real… for a quick moment, it looked like obscure tendrils reaching for them.

“S’uhn-ngh athg Nay’Heth !”

All at once, the darkness disappeared, and the mechanism slowly receded into the earth, with the disturbing noise of something that was both mechanical and wet. The artifact disappeared beneath the earth, and something, something very far below them resounded with a terrifying echo.

The pale scholar leant down and took something that was laid on the ground.

It was a black key.

The doctor looked at it with intensity, and as Lurien saw a glimpse of his expression, it frightened him. That was a look of passion and obsession, something very close to madness, that passed as quickly as a heartbeat.

The pale scholar turned towards them. His hands were shaking, his voice too.

“That’s it…“He whispered. “Now, we have the key.”

Still shaken by the ritual, the scholars left the temple in silence. The moment they left the room, the great stone door closed behind them, and the flowers and the moss around it grew, covering it almost entirely.

They walked away. As the tension of the moment slowly faded, the doctor remembered he was not supposed to walk on his injured leg, as a sharp pain went through his whole body. With a quick move of his wings, he went to another platform, one that was hidden behind big leaves and gave a great view on the green caverns below. Turning towards the others, he asked:

“Do you mind if we take a break here?”

“Not at all.” Lurien answered, sitting next to him. “I must admit, after seeing this… thing, I need a moment to make everything clear in my mind.”

“I agree” Monomon added. “This was a little scary. These incantations, do they come from a book you found in your previous travels?”

“Yes, indeed. I took me a long time to be able to decipher them.”

The scholars paused for a moment, and Grimm joined them on the platform. As he was about to sit down, he paused for a second.

“Oh… there’s something over there.” He remarked.

Lurien was the first to react, immediately taking his spyglass out of his bag.

“Where is it?”

“On the other side of the cavern, just below the acid lake.”

The watcher turned his spyglass in the direction indicated by Grimm.

“Oh… I see! Who are these people, I never met them before…”

The pale scholar got closer.

“Let me see !”

“No, I’m observing them!”

“Let me see too !” Monomon complained.

“Not yet, I’m examining them.”

The doctor tried to push Lurien a little to be able to look in the spyglass, but with no effect.

“Please Lurien, let me see!”

“Oh, so you actually know the word! Say it once again and I’ll let you look!”

“Please, let me see!”

“Well then, I guess I can let you have a look.”

The pale scholar looked in the spyglass and saw what this was about. Walking in Greenpath, there were five strangers. He had never seen them before, and given their looks, and most of all, their weapons, they seemed very different from the bugs that usually went through these caverns.

“That’s strange, indeed… “ the doctor began. “But something about this is bothering me… Look: if they keep going this way…”

“Oh no…” Lurien said. “They’re headed straight to the hunter’s den!”

In the mossy tunnels they had just discovered, the adventurers of the silver troupe looked around them. They all shared the same impression. They were definitely being observed.

Chapter Text

“Dryya …” Have you noticed?”

Isma whispered, as they advanced through the lush caverns.

“Yes. I hear it. Because of the plants and the echo, I’m not sure where it comes from but…”

“Something is following us.” Hegemol completed.

“ Is che hostile ?” Ze’mer asked.

“I don’t feel any bloodlust, but still.” Isma began. “Ogrim, what do you think we should do?”

Ogrim thought for a moment, looking around in order to find the source of the mysterious presence.

“I say we continue on our way, and if it gets confident and comes to close, then we’ll capture it.”

Dryya acquiesced.

“This sounds like a good plan. Let’s go.”

On these words, the silver troupe continued on their way, though, their footsteps became more discreet, and they kept observing their surroundings. Given the intricacy of the caverns, it was possible that someone was trailing them from a higher point, or some secret tunnel they could not see from their current position.

The adventurers jumped down a platform and entered a tunnel full of green bushed, from which one could see strange structures emerge. Stone, bone… or teeth. A root cracked under Dryya’s foot. A roar behind them, something huge was coming in their way with a high speed, carrying a deadly weapon.

The five jumped forward, all successfully avoiding the blow. They landed with the skill of experienced fighters and were finally able to take a good look at their foe. This was a tall, lanky creature with a black body, disturbingly similar to a skeleton. It had a mouth full of sharp teeth, and… But was that a mouth? What creature can have eyes in their mouths? Whatever it was, this was surmounted by a mane of green leaves. Seeing its precise moves, its stance, its look, the adventurers understood it easily. This creature was a predator, and a fierce one.

The five took their combat stance, ready to fight. First, the creature went for Isma, its claw breaking the rock with a loud crack on the exact place she stood in a second before. Thankfully, the fighter managed to avoid the blow, she jumped towards Ze’mer, who, using her massive nail, propelled her in the air, right above the creature. In the meantime, Ogrim was attacking it from underneath, while Dryya and Hegemol were on its flanks. Trapped between four attacks, the predator had to chose which one it would parry. It chose the sides, successfully stopping both Dryya and Hegemol’s attacks with its hard claws. However, it did not manage to avoid Ogrim’s blow, that hit him just under the thorax. Neither did it manage to parry Isma, who landed nail first on the top of its head.

The creature snarled and fiercely shook them of with its massive limbs. Its strength was so great that it sent them flying a dozen feet away, and even Hegemol, with his massive armour rolled far enough for the predator to prepare its next attack.

“Unusual prey …” The creature snarled. “You know how to fight!”

The creature stepped closer, its eyes fixed on the five adventurers, as it continued.

“It’s been a long time since I had been granted such a great hunt. As a token of my appreciation, brave prey, I will let you know who I am, before you are dispatched.”

Sliding even closer, the creature let out a low growl.

“I am the hunter. Now, fight for your lives!”

The hunter launched towards them, fast enough for Ogrim to be unable to move out of the way. The razor-sharp claws where about to meet his shell when a white flash appeared before him. This was Ze’mer, who blocked the blow with her massive nail, before being sent away by the hunter’s push. The other members of the silver troupe did not lose this occasion to attack and jumped towards their foe from different directions.

This time, the hunter managed to block all of them, and attacked once again, with a blow that was violent enough to tear off a piece of Hegemol’s armour.

“I must admit, hunter,” Dryya exclaimed. “You really know how to fight!”

By way of answer, the hunter swung his dark claws at her, almost hitting her in the face, but the adventurer managed to avoid the blow just on time.

The fight continued like that for long minutes, as no side managed to take the advantage. Claws, nails and mace clashed in a frenzied dance, as they parried, jumped around, managing to land some blows, but taking them too, never enough to seriously injure their adversary, but always sufficient to fill them with even more adrenaline.

They kept fighting, and little by little, their movements became slower. They were tired, their attacks were becoming sloppy, and they had to catch their breath. Both sides of the confrontation could see it. Now, it was certain that this fight would end up in a stalemate.

Finally, the adversaries stopped, looking at each other with burning eyes, but panting heavily.

“Who are you?” The hunter asked. “You are skilled fighters, and yet, you are not mantises.”

“We are the silver troupe!” Ogrim announced proudly. “Adventurers from faraway lands!”

“Who are they, Le’mer ? The mantises, by you, good fighters deemed?”

The hunter sat down and answered calmly, looking at his injuries. All of them were shallow and would be quick to heal.

“The mantises live in a village, below us. This is a territorial folk, and I don’t advise you to cross their territory without their consent.”

They stayed silent a moment, catching their breath. After this pause, Dryya was the first to speak.

“Well, hunter, it was a great fight. It had been a long time since we had not been challenged like that. You are a worthy adversary.”

The hunter shifted a little, visibly pleased by the compliment.

“And so you are, silver troupe. Shall we meet again, I will hunt you once more, and this time, I shall emerge victorious, and …”

“And what ?” Ogrim asked.

The hunter stayed silent, as something in the atmosphere shifted. This was not like the omnipresent force they had felt from the moment they entered the green caves. This was something more defined, something close, with intent, and, for a moment, it looked like there were circular symbols floating around them, shrouded in golden light.

The silver troupe turned towards the hunter. His eyes had changed, and the foreboding white had been replaced by a golden glow.

Then, the hunter spoke. His voice was different, less raucous, with a disturbing calmness.

A shiver ran through their spine. Fear. Awe, before something they could not comprehend.

“Find the one with seven horns. Burn the black book.”

As the words resounded in their minds, they stayed immobile, mesmerized by the strange apparition. In their many journeys, this was the first time they experienced such a thing.

The hunter growled. The foreign aura faded away. The adventurers came back to their senses.

Dryya looked around her. The apparition had let an uncanny feeling in the air, and she had a hard time telling if what just happened was a dream or reality.

“Hunter…” Dryya began. “What did you just say?”

The creature looked at her dumbfounded.

“I said I will hunt you once more, and this time, I shall emerge victorious.”

“But what did you say after that?”

“I cannot see what you mean, adventurer. These words are the last I said.”

Dryya looked at her companions. Judging from their worried expression, they had experienced the same thing she did. However, for some reason, it seemed the hunter did not recall anything. As they thought, the predator slowly began to make his way towards them.

“Now, Silver troupe…” He hissed. “I advise you to leave. This is my den. And even If I did not kill you back then… this does not mean I will spare you the next time we meet.”

The adventurers quickly made their way out of the den and were finally able to breathe for a moment. They walked farther from the hunter’s lair and settle on a cavern just above.

“You saw it too, right?” Isma asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Hegemol answered. “I did. I suppose you did as well?”

The other three nodded.

“Do you have any idea of what it could be?” Dryya asked.

“No.” said Ogrim. “I never saw anything like that. It looked like some kind of magic, but it differs widely from everything I have seen in my travels.

“Le’mer is right. Che has never seen such magic.”

The silver troupe stayed silent for a moment, thinking. They did not know why, but there was something worrying about this. During their travels, they had seen many kinds of magicians. Some who wielded fire like swords or spears, other who whispered dreams in perfumed smokes, musicians whose instruments could lull anyone to sleep, tamers of great beast who controlled their bodies with hypnotic moves. Yet, this was the first time they felt something that was so powerful, so pervasive. This was something that in a second, had took hold of their minds and senses, something, they knew it, but did not dare to say it out loud, something that could not come from a mortal.

The adventurers of the silver troupe repeated the strange message in their head. The one with seven horns… the black book. This looked like an enigma, or the beginning of a quest. Something that surely had a deeper meaning, but that they could not understand. The words were as cryptic as the apparition. Was it an order? A vision of the future? A warning? None of them knew what to do of such a strange message, and yet, they felt its weight, still heavy on their consciousness.

After this moment of silence, Isma was the first to speak.

“I guess we will understand the meaning of this later on. For now, we should continue.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Dryya added. “Besides, it appears that we may have other things to worry about.”

Indeed, once again, they had heard a noise in the leaves above, and the presence they felt earlier was still there.

Slowly, they resumed their journey, still moving towards the right side of the cavern. The hustling in the leaves followed them for a time, then, it was heard a dozen of feet forward before it faded in the distance. The noise had faded amongst the other sounds of the green cavern, the bubbling of acid, the movements of the small mosskin and other little creatures hidden under the leaves, the droplets of water falling from the vines above, the water currents underneath. The feeling of the nature around them helped them to calm their hearts, to steady their breathing, which was much needed, after the fight with the hunter and the mysterious apparition.

Walking in the seemingly peaceful caverns, they began to feel the exhaustion accumulated in this long day, and looked around to find a place to sleep. These archives could wait. Anyway, they were too difficult to find, and it was better to explore after a good sleep and a full stomach. The thought of a well-deserved rest was enough to distract them, and for many second, they failed to notice the figure that was looking at them from a rock in the middle of the cavern.

Ze’mer was the first to notice it. Seeing it, she jumped, showing it to the other members of the silver troupe.

Sitting cross legged on the rock, a small bug with clear shell was staring at them. The stranger’s appearance was unusual, but this was not the thing that struck them first. Indeed, the moment they noticed the stranger, all members of the silver troupe all looked at the same thing:

Seven horns.

Before they could say something, the stranger spoke.

“Good day, adventurers. You are quite new in these parts it seems. Could you be in need of directions?”

The members of the silver troupe looked at each other. There was something suspicious about the stranger, but none of them could pinpoint what it was. Dryya was the first one to step forward.

“Good day sir. It is true, we are foreigners. Right now, we are looking for the scholar’s archives.”

The stranger looked surprised for a second, before coming back to his previous enigmatic expression.

“The scholars’ archives? And why are you looking for such a place?”

“You see,” Isma said, “we are adventurers, that’s true, but we are also guardians of justice. When we entered these caves, we heard one of these scholars had committed murders, so we decided to go investigate on his colleagues. We suspect them of doing evil experiments.”

The stranger let out a weird little laugh. Visibly, what Isma just said had him surprisingly amused.

“I can take you there if you want. But only if you tell me who you are, and what you’re looking for in these caverns.”

“We are the silver troupe.” Hegemol began. “We are a group of adventurers, and we met each other on our journeys. Since then, we are travelling, discovering new places, looking for mysteries and adventures.”

The bug with seven horns shifted a little before asking:

“And what guided you here? This place is not easy to find.”

“No, it’s not.” Ogrim agreed. “We found it thanks to a map we bought to a cartomancer. He told us they were many adventures to find in here.”

The stranger nodded and let out a humming sound.

“Whoever this was,” he said, “this cartomancer was not wrong. But first, let me take you to the archives. I am a man of my word after all.”

The stranger stood up, failing to conceal a small wince as he did so. He spread his white, translucent wings and, flying from platform to platform, guided them towards the entrance of fog canyon.

The adventurers of the silver troupe found that finally, their initial suspicion was probably unfounded, and that this stranger was being very helpful on their quest.

However, had they seen the satisfied smirk the bug displayed when he was facing in the other direction, they might have been more circumspect.

Chapter Text

As the pale scholar looked into the spyglass, an idea began to take form in is mind. This was a little complicated, a little risky, and not very moral, but if he managed to pull this off… This would mean he could be one step ahead in the game. The doctor turned towards Grimm. From the beginning of the day, the god had been strangely quiet. It was clear that something was bothering Grimm. He often stared into the distance, meaning that the god was unfocused. Lost in thoughts, he was not paying attention to him. Which meant this was the perfect time to make his move.

“I think I should go and warn them. Let’s meet later in the archives.”

Lurien looked at him dumbfoundedly.

“You want to go alone? With your injury?”

Damn this Lurien! The pale scholar knew he meant no harm, but if he kept worrying like this he would ruin his plan.

“It will not be a problem. I just have to fly, and besides, I know secret tunnels and alternative routes. Now let me go or it will be too late. We will find each other in the archives.”

On these words, the doctor took off, not letting Lurien or Monomon object. The tunnels in these parts were a complex maze, but he knew them well, having searched for relics countless times in this zone. As soon as he was out of Lurien’s sight, he jumped under a cascade of bluish leaves and landed on a root. This passageway was narrow and humid, but it would allow him to spy on the five strangers without being noticed. He limped as silently as he could, cursing Grimm and the soul master under his breath, until he had a good view of the five. They looked powerful, and given the way they were equipped, they probably had experience.

The pale scholar listened to their conversation. One of them had a foreign accent and given the difficulties they had to find their way in the tunnels, they had to be strangers. Adventurers, most likely. Coming in this place in search for sensations and discoveries. Not bad. If they were as powerful as they seemed, it could ensure the viability of his plan. Since they would have to cross Deepnest, having fighters at their side would present multiple advantages. Of course, it would help to grant the other scholar’s safety, but that was not the thing that interested him the most. Indeed, the doctor hoped that with fighters on their side, they would not have to rely on Grimm for defense, which meant that the god would lose many occasions to coerce him into revealing his secrets.

He looked at the adventurers again. They were about to enter the hunter’s den. For a moment, the doctor thought about warning them, but then, he reconsidered. Watching if they could come out alive would be a great way to know if they were as powerful as they seemed. Sure, this was not the best idea, when it came to morality, but the doctor had seen worst. Besides, he had never been against playing a little dirty.

As discreetly as he could, he crept between the tortuous roots that surrounded the hunter’s dwelling. This was a narrow, twisted passage that required one to climb and crawl around, the roots were overgrown with moss and fungi that made them very slippery. With some difficulty, he finally managed to make his way in, and reached a point from which he could observe the fight.

To say the truth, the five’s abilities exceeded his expectation. Their teamwork was flawless, and they had no trouble keeping up with the hunter’s relentless attacks. Even if he knew little about combat techniques, the pale scholar was impressed. If the five had been able to escape the den alive, he would already have deemed it an impressive feat, but being able to stand their ground in front of the hunter, the most terrifying creature he had ever met in these parts, this was unheard of. If he managed to make them come on their side, they would make quite powerful allies, and would be very bothersome for Grimm.

He watched as the fight ended in a draw. The adventurers talked with the hunter, allowing him to glean more useful information about them. They were indeed foreigners and named themselves the silver troupe. They had probably gone through many dangers already and were still roaming the world in search of more sensations.  Excellent.  The more curious they were about the caverns, the easier they would be to convince.

The pale scholar continued to spy on the troupe when something strange suddenly happened. The hunter had interrupted himself in the middle of his sentence, and heavy silence filled the cavern. A beautiful ray of light from above, dust dancing in the warm glow, the troupe, surrounded by the mesmerizing hues of sleep. The doctor’s eyes widened. He jumped back. He knew there was nothing to fear, that he was too far, anyway, well hidden beneath the leaves, that she would not find him, she could not. For so many years, she never found him, hell, she was not even looking, she thought him dead destroyed, burned in the light, burnt, burnt, burnt, burnt… And still, majestic golden light...

The doctor violently put his hand on his mouth. His wings were shaking, he was already panicking and felt the urge to throw up, the urge to scream. How he hated himself for this. Even after such a long time, he was still unable to keep his composure, the mere sight of her light, the mere feeling of her distant presence… It was enough to set him on edge. He was beginning to feel it again, on his mind, the weight of the white seal, the burning sensation in his wings, death, closer and closer in the darkness of a flame that was so bright and so blinding…

The pale scholar took a deep breath, fighting desperately to keep his composure. He focused on the scene in front of him, on the five adventurers’ reaction. Then he heard it. The deformed voice of the hunter, as, for a brief moment, she was taking hold of his mind.

“Find the one with seven horns. Burn the black book.”

After this, the radiance’s influence faded. The pale scholar was shaken, his mind, racing. Seven horns… The black book… Suddenly, he realized the full implication of these few words. The radiance did not know who he really was, but she knew about his research. And she wanted to get in his way. The black book, this was the codex which title could not be spoken, the work of the demented scholar from the city in the desert… This was the source of his incantation, a tool he absolutely needed in order to unlock the doors of Nay’Heth. And she wanted to destroy it…

The doctor steadied his breathing, following the logical steps in his musings. Why would she know about his research? Why would she care? All at once, the pale scholar’s worried expression was replaced by an evil looking grin. To explain this, they were two possibilities. And the pale scholar loved both of them. The first one was that his research, in one way or another, threatened the Radiance. This meant the truths he sought were tied to powers that were great enough to make gods as powerful as she was shake in fear, and that his discoveries were going to be detrimental to her. But this could not be the only thing. If she felt threatened by his quest, the fastest way to prevent him from reaching his goal was to kill him. Destroying his book was a weirdly convoluted way of doing things. She had the power to burn him at will, and yet, she did not… Why ? This tied with the other possibility. Radiance was a goddess of dreams, and Grimm was a god of nightmares. Grimm had said she was his sister, and given the way in which the goddess of light had chosen to intervene… She had probably something to do with Grimm’s involvement in his research.

The pale scholar continued to think. If both of them were involved, what he needed to do was to determine the nature of their relationship. Allies? This was unlikely. Grimm was not the sort to get along with other divinities. Besides, his interest was to see him succeed. From Grimm’s viewpoint, the quicker the doctor discovered the secret he was looking for, the sooner he would obtain his share in their contract. However, given the way she had intervened, the Radiance was actively trying to impede him in his quest. Which meant she was opposing Grimm in some way. Enemies, then ? Rivals perhaps…

The doctor had mixed feelings about this. On one hand, this quest was difficult enough on its own, and he did not need the goddess of light meddling with his affairs. Things were complex enough as they were. On the other end, however, if the two gods were truly rivals in this, it also meant he could be able to use the schemes of the one against the other. This would be a risky move, but one that would come with interesting advantages if he managed to pull this off.

But he would have to think about this later. The silver troupe was already leaving, and  he had to follow the adventurers and continue with his current plan. He also had to do something about the black book. They were multiple ways to protect it. For now, he needed to move forward, and find a way to make the five fighters want to join them.

Using the hidden passages and parallel tunnel, the pale scholar continued to follow them across the caves, then too a shortcut that would allow him to wait for them in the next room. If he was fast enough, this would look a like a fortuitous encounter.

The scene played out mostly as he had anticipated. Sure, he had been a little surprised by the fact that they were looking for the archives, but finally managed to use this information to take them down the caverns. If it was the archives, he could show them pictures, strange contraptions found during his research, things that would awaken their curiosity and entice them into following this dangerous route.

He turned back from time to time, checking if the silver troupe was still following. Now that he had seen the intervention of the dream goddess, the doctor realized it. These adventurers were a double-edged sword. They would be very useful in their quest, but they could be manipulated by the Radiance to get in his way. Grimm was not to be underestimated either. The doctor had learned the hard way how the god could manipulate other beings, and even if he doubted anyone would succumb to his ploys as easily as the soul master did, this did not mean that the nightmare king was unable of more subtle tricks.

On these thoughts, they finally reached fog canyon. That was a good thing. The doctor was already struggling with the consequences of his excesses of the day, feeling tired and lightheaded. The pain in his leg had dulled over time but his whole body felt sore and warmer than it should be.

“So this is the caves with the jellyfish!” Isma exclaimed. “No wonder we missed the entrance, we were going in the opposite direction!”

“These ladybug’s indication were very lacking.” Dryya sighed. “But thanks for guiding us, sir, without your help, we would still be going in circles in the caverns above.”

“That’s not a problem.” The pale scholar answered.” We will be there soon.”

After the many events of the day, the humid air of the canyon felt very welcoming. The jellyfish he usually deemed annoying were now a familiar element, something reassuring, a constant in this strange world they were about to discover.

As they went down the colorful caves, a strange feeling grew in the doctor’s heart. He was standing before a future filled with projects and wonders, a future that was dangerous, a tortuous path with uncertain ends, mysteries, down under, things that were surely terrifying and powerful, things that would change him forever and give a foreboding meaning to his destiny. He also knew he would never stop. Nor for peace or safety, would he give up on the discoveries he had so long craved, the path was set, all he had to do was to follow.

The pale scholar wondered for a moment. When did it really began, this path he had set for himself? When Grimm appeared in the circle? When he peered into the mind of the mysterious seer by the blue forest? When he stole the black book? Or did it begin before all this, in the great cavern, when he saw the shapes of his twisted futures?

Finally, he landed in front of the archives. Turning towards the silver troupe, he announced:

“And here are the scholar’s archives. I can make you visit if you want, though I can swear you will not find the evil experiments you are looking for. And, by the way, you can call me pale scholar.”

The doctor found great amusement in the look of shock on the adventurer’s faces as they understood he too was a scholar. When the troupe seemed to have gone over this surprise, he added:

“Now, follow me, if you please. I want to show you something interesting.”

Chapter Text

Grimm rose his head as the pale scholar entered in the main hall, followed by the five adventurers they had seen in Greepath. For one second, they made eye contact. The doctor looked awfully satisfied with this situation. He was clearly issuing a challenge to the god of nightmares. Well, if this signed the beginning of the second round, Grimm was more than ready to begin, and this time, he would emerge victorious.

“Sit down, silver troupe”, the pale scholar said, in a suspiciously welcoming voice. “would you like a cup of tea?”

Some of the adventurers nodded as they settled down on the scholar’s old couch and the chairs. The pale scholar made his way towards his laboratory, walking past him.

Grimm whispered briskly.

“You’re so obvious.”

The doctor did this weird thing he often did with his eyes.

“So what? What are you going to do about it?”

Smug. Infuriating. Weirdly endearing. Grimm turned away with a scowl, clenching his fist in frustration. The doctor let out a small giggle, as he went down the stairs, disappearing in obscurity.

Grimm turned his attention to the silver troupe. The five fighters were looking around with curiosity, observing the many books and various contraptions that filled the archives. The god of nightmares gauged them. When it came to assessing mortal’s personalities by a simple look, Grimm was a real master. Except for a few exceptions ( shapeshifters, liars), he could make out most of one’s character just by looking at them. With these five, it was surprisingly easy.

First, there was the biggest of the troupe, with his grey armour. A force to be reckoned with, that was for sure, but the way he sat, taking as little room as he could with his huge body, the way he had moved so carefully, not to break anything in the archives, all of this screamed of a gentle giant. Compassionate, shy, but protective. The nightmare king watched him fiddle with the handle of his mace. Shy, kind… unsure. Throwing looks at his friends a little too often, looking at them to know what he was supposed to do. Unsure, Indecisive, shallow. The god could see easily what he desired. The approval of his peers, their acceptance, their love. Excellent. This one had a lot to lose, a lot to give… and a lot for nightmares to play with.

Then, there was the white explorer. She had been the first to enter, walking confidently, she never stopped watching the pale scholar, and now she was watching him. It appeared she assumed the position of leader of the group. This one, on the first glance, could be a little difficult. Strong-willed, inquisitive… Strength, confidence, leadership skills… And pressure. Grimm could easily guess from the group’s dynamic. They probably looked up to her, making no secret of their admiration, and given the way she carefully assessed everything around her… she knew it very well. She was carrying the invisible charge of responsibility, and, if anything was to happen to one of the group’s members… she would blame herself for it.

Grimm observed the dung beetle, comfortably seated on the couch. His… remarkable odour was reaching the god’s senses now and he hope it would not have the time to permeate the whole building. This one too was rather easy. He had not paid a lot of attention to him, too focused on making childish jokes and inspirational comments. He was the jolly fellow of the group. Not smart enough to be a jester, he was just the funny strongman, kind, for sure, and always looking in his companion’s eyes to see the sparkle of laughter, of joy. The god of nightmare smirked. This one… his companions were everything to him. He was defined by their laughter, by their happiness. They were everything to him, and he knew it. Grimm had often observed it. Those with the strongest voices, those who talked the most were the most afraid of silence. They laughed with their friends, plunged themselves fully into the delights of companionship, because they feared solitude above all. The idea sent a thrilling sensation through the god’s mind. The three of them were so willing to please, so eager to protect… and so likely to sacrifice.

Then, they were the other two. These were more difficult, less defined. First, there was the foreigner with the massive nail. They were many contradictions within her. Softness, strength. Head turning in every direction in childlike curiosity, wisdom, but not her own, one of old words, respect. There was a desire within her, but the god could not tell what it was. Then, there was the last one, with her green dress. Keen eyes, attentive, and patient. She looked less often at her companions, more often at him, but it seemed the main thing she took interest in were the stairs leading to the doctor’s laboratory. She seemed resolute, but also full of curiosity. There was also something else about her. She had been the last to enter the archives, her eyes filled with suspicion. Wary, then. Prudent. She was the type to think. Think a lot, probably more than she should… And if an idea could make its way into her mind, then …

Grimm’s musings were interrupted by the return of a pale scholar, with five cups of tea placed on a large book, which was protected by a cloth. Seeing this made Grimm feel an imminent catastrophe, and given the lack of balance of the cups, the fact that the doctor couldn’t even walk straight… as a reflex, Grimm took the whole perilous accumulation in his hands before the worst could happen, and walked proudly towards the troupe. The incident had them visibly amused.

The doctor sat in front of them, and Grimm did not miss his expression of relief. He made himself comfortable on the rather formless couch and opened the book. Grimm took a peek. This book was different from the other obscure sums the pale scholar owned. No unknown scripts, no weird geometry, no calculation. The pages were filled with the doctor’s handwriting, as well as many sketches, some of which had even been coloured, though the watercolor work was quite sloppy.

“So, silver troupe…” the doctor began. “You said you came in here in search of adventures. Well, it happens that I have one very special adventure to propose to you.”

Dryya took a sip of the tea and asked:

“And what is this adventure about?”

“My colleagues and I are planning an expedition to the deepest parts of these caves, they are many secrets to find here, even treasures, perhaps, but there are also many foes standing on our way, and as you may have guessed, none of us is particularly equipped for combat.”

“So you request our services.” Isma deadpanned.

“I offer you an occasion. It’s for you to take… or to refuse. However, I bet you will not find an adventure more thrilling than the one I propose.”

“Could you describe us your expedition more precisely?” Dryya asked.

“Of course. Look.”

The doctor turned the pages until he found a hand drawn map of the caverns. It was one of those that could be purchased in the encampment above, but it had been enlarged and a number of different zones and tunnels had been added. The margins were filled with notes and doodles.

“We will depart from here…” he began, pointing on the little face on the map that represented the archives. “Then, we will go down until we reach the noxious dens, and then… the trouble begins. We will have to go through the territory of the mantis tribe. We should be able to negotiate with them, and if we bring something to use for bartering, they might let us pass. So, if we manage to cross this first obstacle, then, we will have to enter Deepnest, and from there, go all the way down to… here.”

He pointed at a big black cross on the bottom of the map.

“And then… it’s the unknown.”

Grimm settled behind the pale scholar to take a better look at the map.

“Tell me, doctor, how did you manage to write the location of the door so precisely? I cannot believe someone like you managed to explore Deepnest and not be turned into spider snack.”

The doctor turned to him with an outraged expression. The god found it hilarious.

“What do you mean someone like me ?”

“Wait.” Isma interrupted them. “What do you mean, spider snack ?”

This was enough to make Grimm unable to contain his hilarity. The god burst out laughing, while the members of the silver troupe looked at him dumbfounded.

“Oh, about this.” The doctor explained. “You see, the tribe that dwells in Deepnest has… let’s say… a peculiar regime. Their main diet is comprised of lost wanderers and adventurers who were too reckless for their own good.”

The five explorers looked at each other in shock, which was enough to make Grimm lose his breath in laughter once again.

“Oh no!” He panted. “Pale scholar, why do you have to phrase it like that, I can’t! A peculiar regime! God!”

“What is so funny in here?” A voice asked, coming from behind.

This was Monomon, she had come in with Quirrel, visibly lured out of her lab by Grimm’s laughter.

“Oh, what a surprise!” She continued, as she noticed the five explorers. “So you’ve finally invited them for tea? I was unaware of you being able to show such hospitality, pale scholar.”

She turned towards the silver troupe and continued: “So, did he manage to warn you about the hunter?”

The doctor froze, as the five turned towards him.

“No, he did not.” Isma said. “we met him after we fought the hunter.”

Dryya glared at him.

“Wait. Does this mean you were supposed to warn us?”

The pale scholar looked around before answering:

“Sorry about that… I wanted to, but I was too slow, and when I arrived, it was too late, you had already entered his den.”

“This is what happens when you don’t listen to us and just do as you please despite your injury.” Monomon sighed, with a tinge of satisfaction in her voice.

“Anyway, as I was saying, before being interrupted,” the doctor continued, glaring at Grimm. “Going through Deepnest is when we will really need you help. This is a fierce people, with fiercer appetite.”

The god of nightmares looked at Isma. Her gaze was one of suspicion. From the moment Monomon hinted at the fact the doctor was supposed to warn them about the hunter, it was clear something was bothering her. She did not trust them, but she seemed too curious to back off. A configuration that could have it advantages, from the god’s perspective.

Dryya was the next to speak:

“Now that you’ve presented your itinerary, tell us about your party. We want to know who we will have to deal with, since it is an escort mission.”

“Of course. There will be four of us in total, myself included. We’re all scholars, we have experience in exploration, I know a bit about survival, and Grimm knows how to fight.”

“Is there anyone with problems in your group? Illness?” Hegemol asked the question trying to look methodical.

“We’re all clean!” Monomon began. “Except for this one who’s still injured, and awfully pigheaded about it!”

The pale scholar glared at her. She returned the look, with a mocking expression.

“It’s not that bad.” The doctor scowled.

Isma frowned.

“I warn you all, I refuse to begin an expedition with anyone who’s injured, and I forbid to hide any wound or illness you might have. It can put all of us in danger.”

“I get it…” the doctor sighed. “Anyway, I still need some preparation before we go. And we also need to find a present for the mantises.”

The five explorers looked at each other, before nodding in perfect coordination.

“Then, it is decided!” Ogrim announced. “As the silver troupe, we shall partake in this mission!”

“However,” Isma added, “if you’re hiding anything from us… Don’t count on us to save you from the spiders.”

The conversation continued for a bit. Monomon proposed that the explorers could stay in the archives until they were ready to go and guided them in a tour of the building. They finished their tea, and the doctor came back to his laboratory, with Grimm following closely. The moment he closed the door behind them, Grimm asked:

“Why did you take them along? I thought you did not want to have more people involved in this…”

The pale scholar did not answer, at first. Sitting on his desk, he was working on something that had to do with the cover of his black book.

“I did not want Monomon or Lurien to know. Didn’t want to put them in danger. Now it’s too late, and if I try to go without them, they just follow behind my back, which will make things even worse. That’s why I asked them. To ensure their safety.”

“Are you sure that’s the only thing?” Grimm said, sprawling on the armchair.

The doctor smirked again. The annoying, smug smirk. Grimm realized he might be staring at the other’s face a little too much. Not that the pale scholar seemed to realize, though.

“Oh, nothing at all. I just think that if the silver troupe is willing to give us their protection for free, I will not have to pay the price and buy yours.”

Grimm clicked his tongue with annoyance.

“Anyway, you did not answer my question earlier. How did you manage to get that mark on your map?”

The doctor made himself more comfortable, taking a cover of whitish leather.

“You’re curious tonight, Grimm. But if you want me to tell you this badly, you know what to do.”

Another click of the tongue. Something surging in his flames. Irritation, but there was something else. There was something about them talking like this, so casually, and there was some hypnotic effect in watching the scholar’s hands working on the cover, weird tiny claws that…

Grimm shook his head and looked the other way.

“Then don’t make me wait, doctor. Ask your question.”

“Let me think … I think I have a good question. In our first conversation, you spoke about your sister, the goddess of dreams. What kind of relationship do you have with her?”

The nightmare king looked at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh.

“You’re taking me on a wide subject… So… how I feel about my sister … I don’t like her. She’s a pain in the neck. Boring. Annoying. Always gets he way. A spoiled brat. She’s entitled, thinking she’s the most powerful and the best in the world, and no sense of humor!”

The doctor nodded, now, he was stitching the leather to make a new cover for the book. It looked solid, but a bit unnecessary.

“Ah, just thinking about her, it annoys me! But I must admit, I love pissing her off. That’s one of my favorite pastimes!”

The other nodded again. Visibly, he was quite interested in the subject. A good reason not to tell him more. Grimm concluded:

“Now, your turn, pale scholar.”

“So… I entered Deepnest. Once. It was by mistake. I met weavers, they almost got me captured and I barely managed to escape. Since then, I never returned to this place. However, during this… very disagreeable adventure, I found one interesting artifact. It was a scroll that surveyed all the ancient contraptions in Deepnest, as well as their location. I found it on the half-digested corpse of an unlucky traveler. By comparing it with the rest of my documentation, I managed to find one in particular, that is, in all likelihood, a possible entrance of Nay’Heth. “

“That was a lucky find.”

“I would not say that; I almost got eaten for this scroll.”

They stayed silent for a moment. Then, Grimm moved closer and sat on the desk next to the doctor.

“What are you doing?”

“ I’m making a new cover for my book. The old one is too fragile.”

“That’s the book you used in the strange temple, isn’t it ?”

“Yes, it is.”

Grimm glanced at the pages, but the only thing he saw was cryptic figures and undecipherable scripts, with the occasional scribbled note.

The god of nightmares looked around the desk and noticed one book he had never seen before. This one was new, with only white pages, and a deep black cover.

Under the colorful lamps of the laboratory, Grimm watched the doctor work. He found it funny, the way he mumbled incomprehensible things while dozing off, before waking again in a start. This was just a small room buried under the ground, with lamps and book, working on something mundane like a book cover, just waiting, doing nothing, and yet, for an unexplainable reason… Grimm was not bored.

…

She turned about in her sleep. Her dress of green leaves was creased.

Her mind, in a dream. Gentle and calm, herself, beside the green tree, with the green jar of sacred tears, acid dripping on her uninjured shell.

Vines and leaves, and more vines, like the cavern yesterday, seven horns, pale wings…

The sky was golden, it was full of beautiful clouds and a light, soft, fluttering wings, majestic crown, orbs of light, the radiant sun.

Her name. Mother. Dear mother of the dream. She loved, feeling born in sleep, in this sweet, sweet slumber, where she was there to protect her, with her warm light, her velvet wings, dear dear mother…

Mother whispered with her voice that was soft and could not be forgotten.

She whispered in her voice that was so beautifully earnest and powerful.

She whispered in her voice that was so wise and resounding with all the world’s truths…

“Find the black book”

“Burn it, for it is evil”

“Burn it, for it is a doomed artefact.”

“Born of ill mind, reeking of death.”

“Burn the black book, the evil artefact…”

“And you will be safe. Your dear friends will be safe, he will be safe…”

“I will protect you.”

Chapter Text

The moment the room’s door closed behind them, the adventurers of the silver troupe looked at each other in silence. Their eyes wandered along the room, one that had three beds and two windows of green glass. The room was not dirty, but it was obvious it had not been used for a very long time. The quaint little picture on the wall, a painting of a basket of mushrooms, the dust under the beds and on the self, the foreign looking tapestries on the walls… all of this reminded them of spare rooms in which they had slept in great houses, in the heart of the countryside, near a river, or in a big tree, the hospitality of old denizens of older places, guardians of brooks, guardians of leaves, guardian of books… From the moment they entered the archives, they had perceived it. The impression that often preceded great adventures. The air heavy with untold truths, old contraptions, dusty vaults, mystery.

Hegemol sat on one of the beds, while Ogrim tested the solidity of the others by letting himself fall heavily on it. Ze’mer was looking at the little painting, but quickly turned towards Dryya.

“What do you think, le’mer ? Ze’mer has felt many things. A great adventure che senses, but a dark one too.”

Dryya sighed.

“I agree. They’re all shady as hell. This jellyfish woman? She did not seem evil, but I would not put my bet on her when it comes to helping us. The doctor ? We definitely can’t trust him. The third one, with the red eyes. I fear he’s even worse.”

Isma sat on the last bed and yawned.

“I agree with you. Remember what the jellyfish said, about the doctor warning us?

Hegemol got closer.

“That’s what I was thinking about. Even if he failed to catch up with us, there were other means to catch our attention.”

“And there’s also the way he reacted when she said this.” Isma added.

Ogrim rolled on the bed and looked at his companions.

“I agree they’re a suspicious bunch, but the adventure they propose still looks great! I wouldn’t want to miss that!”

“Besides,” Hegemol added, “If they asked us to come, it means they need us, so they will not do anything against us.”

“They might not.” Isma admitted. “But they’re still hiding things from us. And we shouldn’t forget about the strange thing with the hunter. Seven horns. It was about him. And a black book… maybe they’re up to something evil.”

“Burn the black book, it said…” Dryya mused. “That’s annoying, they’re too many books in here !”

“Le’mer should not trust just a voice!”

“I know! I’m just trying to understand it!”

“If you’ve nothing to add,” Ogrim muttered, “I’m going to make full use of this room. It’s been ages since I’ve not slept into a real bed !”

“I guess we could all use a little more rest.” Isma agreed. “Tomorrow, we will be able to think about this with a clearer head.”

On these words, the adventurers laid down, and quickly fell asleep. After so many days sleeping under the stars, on uncomfortable roots of humid moss, so many nights spent shivering, their sleep brushed away by the wind, this was the best rest they had since they left the inn where they had met the cartomancer. As their minds quickly drifted into the realm of dreams, some last thoughts appeared, uncertain images of smoke and cards, of dices rolling on a table, a map, precisely drawn, small scribbles on a book.

A golden aura, almost invisible, surrounded the sleeping explorers. One could have said it was just a reflection on the window, just the peacefulness of their sleep.

On the opposite end of the archives, in the laboratory buried under the ground, the god of nightmares stood up. He could feel the presence of sleeping minds around him, something that always compelled him to visit their untainted dreams and fill them with the horror of his flames. However, this was not for tonight. Doing this could give away his real nature, and besides, he had better things to do. While the doctor was fiddling with book covers, he had finally made out his next move.

Very carefully, Grimm opened the cave’s door, while taking a last glance at the room. The pale scholar was sound asleep, curled up on the armchair. On the desk rested the result of his crafting. The black book’s cover had been replaced with one of white, yellowish leather, and the old cover had been attached to an empty notebook. The nightmare king did not understand the purpose of this, and finally decided it had to be for one of the scholar’s experiments, or just a result of a groundless obsession. Before leaving, he put a blanket on the doctor’s balled up shape and put out the candles.

On tiptoes, he climbed the stairs leading to the archive’s main hall and made his way towards the exit. For his plan to be able to work, what he needed was some prospective exploration.

Grimm had turned the problem of the silver troupe in his head in all possible directions. Their presence during the expedition did not please him in the least. He counted on the many dangers they would face to trade his help for the doctor’s secret, when he would have no other choice but to yield, or it would be the end of he and his friends. The intervention of the silver troupe thwarted this plan, and the pale scholar knew it well. Moreover, they were explorers, adventurers looking for sensations and discovery, which meant it would not be easy to drive them off. Revealing the fact the the doctor was using them seemed very naïve. Besides, they probably knew it already, but still got along because they were interested in the mission. Then, for a time, Grimm had thought of using their morals, making them believe that the doctor’s project was evil, that it would threaten the life of all other citizens. However, this idea was not the best. If he managed to convince them of the scholar’s evil intent, they would not just refuse to accompany them, they would actively prevent them from going, probably try to capture them. The outcomes were too unpredictable, and this would hinder him from getting closer to his victory over his sister.

Speaking of which, this also worried him. She had stated she would intervene in their affairs, and given her temperament, it was unlikely that his sister would slack off, when it came to winning against him. And yet, they were still no sign of the Radiance interference. This could mean to things, and none of them were good for Grimm. Either she could be preparing something big, or… she had already made her move, and he did not know what it was. This last possibility was the more likely of the two, and the one that unsettled him the most. It felt like there were too many unknowns in the game, which made his own play more risky, more hazardous.

Thinking of his own play, Grimm found himself at the entrance of the noxious dens. He crossed them with no difficulty, the fungal people was passive and did not mind strangers crossing their territory. What interested the god was to be found below them, in the territory of the mantis tribe.

Such was Grimm’s plan. If he could not draw the silver troupe away by ways of fear of provocation, what he had to do was to use their own thirst for adventure against them. To present them with another way, another possible story that would fascinate them so completely that they would abandon their mission with the scholars.

Red smoke surrounded Grimm, and, in his incorporeal form, he entered the mantises’ caverns. Examining each individual, the god looked at the village, unbeknownst of its inhabitants. He observed the tribe’s crafts, their art, their customs. Despite their reputation, the signs of their fierce behaviour were few and far apart. A collection of spears, three youths battling against each other, a totem of bones… But making abstraction of those, they seemed a very agreeable people, most of them seemed caring and kind, and they seemed to place great value in traditions and wisdom. As he continued his observations in the village, suddenly, a strong voice caught his attention.

“For the seventh time, Kshaa, I refuse! Such an intrusion would bring nothing to us. Besides, you don’t know what she could do!”

Grimm got closer, still invisible, and finally found the source of the voices. In a high room, four mantises were caught in a heated conversation. Three of them were identical looking females, while the fourth was shorter, but had a more massive body. Given the wooden thrones on the room and the subject of the conversation, the god guessed these were the lords of the mantis tribe. The shorter lord took a step towards the three others and hissed:

“I did not know you were such a coward, sister. How disappointing. Where is it gone, I wonder, your ambition, your desire for glory?”

“We will not put our people at risk in an unneeded conquest, Kshaa. If one thing has to be condemned, it is your insatiable thirst for territory !”

Grimm settled down, taking great interest into the argument. Maybe this was the story he was looking for.

“Sèn is right.” Another tall mantis interjected. “The place you want to conquer is the dwelling of a powerful god, and she will not allow you to take control of it.”

The lord turned towards her, looking aggressive.

“So you’re as short sighted as she is, Gèd! Can’t you see the strategic advantage it would give us if we secure this position? With this new territory under our control, we will be able to make a pincer attack on Deepnest!”

“So that’s your real goal!” the third tall mantis exclaimed. “You still haven’t gotten over it, have you ?”

The fourth lord looked even angrier than he already did.

“Yes, Yaèsh. I still do. And you should still do as well. Such a humiliation, having to close this gate, to abandon a portion of our land, and you three… You’re so afraid of the beast you’re clinging to this stupid peace treaty she probably has no intention of respecting!”

“You have to understand, Kshaa.” Sèn intervened. “We too want to get back at them for what they did. But it’s too early. And your plan is too dangerous. When our tribe will have sufficiently recovered, we will move, but for now, we have to focus on protecting our young.”

The fourth scowled, looking away spitefully. He hissed under his breath:

“Your tardiness will be your downfall, Sèn.”

“And your ambition will be yours, brother. Now, this meeting is adjourned. Go back to your affairs. We shall evoke the subject no longer.”

The lord glared at them and turned back, before leaving the room. Grimm followed closely, a plan slowly forming in his mind. Kshaa made his way to his house, one that was built on the border of the village. He passed by a smaller mantis who was tending to a flower garden, without looking at her. With brisk moves, the lord entered the house and slammed the door behind him. Now that he was sure nobody could see him, he punched the wall with one of his claws, leaving a deep mark on the cement.

“Let them be damned!” He snarled. “So entitled, and yet, so blind!”

He punched again, the movement helping him to vent off his rage.

“Sèn, Gèd, Yaèsh… you may stand your ground in a fight, but you three are so… weak willed, so cowardly. At this point you’re no better than the beast’s lackeys! If only you could understand, if we could take hold of the cavern of the pale roots, then…”

“Then what, my friend?”

The lord jumped in surprise and turned around quickly, taking a defensive stance.

In front of him, Grimm was sitting of his chair, looking at him with gleeful, burning eyes.

“Who… who are you! What are you doing in my house ?”

Grimm smiled in a sinister fashion.

“I am a friend. I heard your frustration, so I came to give you some advice.”

Kshaa gave him a scrutinizing look.

“What do you want? How did you enter?”

Grimm stretched his legs nonchalantly as he replied.

“Oh, I just entered through the door.”

Behind him, the door was wide open, a small draft made it sway back and forth, making a quiet grating noise. The lord lifted his claws, ready to fight.

“What do you want to tell me? Be swift, or I will take your head!”

“How menacing!” Grimm laughed. “I shall be quick then. See, lord, it has occurred to me some of your projects are being stymied by your sisters. A pity, I should say.”

“Your point, intruder!”

“Since the other lords seem so cold on this project, why don’t you undertake it by yourself ?”

Kshaa frowned, giving a hateful look to the god.

“You’re ill informed, intruder. The tribe follows my sister, without their avail, no fighter could join me in my expedition.”

Grimm feigned reflection for a few seconds, before answering.

“A shame, truly a shame… But did it occur to you that without their approval, you could still go, were you to gather some… external help?”

“What do you mean?”

The lord hostility had receded. Grimm could easily tell. It had been replaced by a very strong interest.

“I may know some people that could constitute this external help, you see. Strong fighters. Fought the hunter, came back uninjured. I could introduce you to them in a few days.”

Kshaa stepped closer, no longer hiding his curiosity.

“The things you talk about are quite interesting, stranger, but, admitting that your offer is not a scam, what should you gain from this ?”

“Me ? Oh, I shall gain a lot. First, your gratitude, and the possibility for… further arrangements. Second, if your mission can keep these fighters occupied, it would largely benefit to my own affairs.”

“I see…” the lord said, as if to himself. “I suppose that if I were to ask you how you came here in the first place, you would not answer?”

“A good supposition indeed, dear lord. Now, I’ll let you think of this idea on your own. I must say, I have great hopes for our collaboration.”

On these words, Grimm left the house in a deft jump, not letting the lord answer. He quickly hid behind the door and disappeared in a puff of red flames. Now invisible, he looked at the lord’s bewildered expression with great amusement. As he prepared to go back to the archives, Grimm felt very satisfied with himself. He wondered if the doctor would be able to foil this move.

In a cloud of red smoke, Grimm teleported back in the pale scholar’s laboratory. The doctor mumbled a salutation, before getting back to his current work. This was some kind of alchemic mixture, in which he was letting a number of sheets infuse. The preparation exhaled an acrid smell, as well as a yellowish vapor. It seemed that the doctor had been repeating the process several times, as a number of sheets with the telltale yellowish hue were already gathered into the new black book.

“What is this, pale scholar?” the god asked, pinching his nose. “Why are you suddenly doing chemistry?”

“Oh, this ?”, the doctor answered. “It’s for a surprise. And an experiment. I am testing a new kind of magic that could be quite handy. Something with remote activation. I need this substance so that the spell could be activated by, let’s say… fire?”

Grimm looked more closely at the sheets. Most of them were covered in symbols traced in clear ink.

“And what is this spell, if I may ask?”

For a second, the pale scholar looked strangely satisfied.

“You may not. Anyway, you will find out soon enough.”

“Very well” the nightmare king sighed. “Soon enough, soon enough.”

Grimm did not like that. At first, he thought the doctor was just having fun modifying his books and making experiments, but now, he could swear there was more to it. On another hand, this pleased him. The pale scholar was on the move too, and he could not wait to see who would emerge victorious this time around.

…

In a room far above, on the other side of the archives, the adventurers of the silver troupe woke up. They did not know it yet, but they all had the same dream. They did not know it yet, but in their mind, they all shared the same idea, the same strange feeling of unexplainable urgency.

Something told them they had to find the black book and destroy it as soon as they could.

Something told them that if they did not, something terrible would happen.

Chapter Text

“Isma… I’ve had the strangest dream this night…” Ogrim began.

“I did, too.”

Dryya stood up, with a worried expression on her face.

“I think we all did.”

“It was the same voice as before…” Hegemol began.

“Le’mer is right… But should che listen?”

Ogrim scratched his head.

“That is the question. I don’t know why, but this voice… It reassured me, it was kind, motherly… But it could also be a trap.”

Isma nodded.

“The question is: what do we do about it?”

“What do you think is the better option?” Hegemol asked.

Isma thought for a moment, before answering.

“Let’s theorize. Imagine we don’t do anything. Then, there’s two possibilities. The voice was lying, and the book was safe, so nothing happens. Or, the voice was telling the truth, and it causes something terrible to happen. Now, if we do burn the book… If the voice was right, then we avoid the danger, and all is well that ends well. If she was wrong, then, we have burnt a book, the doctor will be angry about it, but that’s all.”

Ogrim jumped straight and exclaimed.

“I see! So, what you mean is that since we don’t know if the voice says the truth or not, we should look at the possible outcomes, and according to you, burning the book is the safest option!”

“Exactly!”

“But what if the doctor is so pissed about it he refuses to take us in the expedition?”

“He will not refuse.” Dryya said. “He needs us. Besides, he doesn’t have to find out about it.”

“I see, I see” Ogrim mumbled. “Then, what is left to do is to determine which book she is talking about.”

“It has to be important. If its that precious of an artifact, he will probably take it.” Hegemol proposed tentatively.

“You’re right.” Dryya declared. “Then, all we have to do is to wait for out departure, and then, as soon as the doctor is looking away from his bag, we will strike.”

“This is an excellent plan, Dryya, the great defender approves.”

“Che does too !”

“Then, it is decided.” Isma declared. “To me, this looks like the best solution to this problem.”

With a resolute stance, the silver troupe left the room. They still had a few days before their departure, and they would put it to good use. Sparring, training, and preparing for the expedition.

The doctor checked the contents of his bag one last time. One alchemic lantern, a knife, bandages, and a bottle of antiseptics. There was also a small flask of poison, one tool that may prove quite useful in Deepnest, given the voracity of its inhabitants. The pale scholar did not know if the substance would work on spiders, though. He had tested it on wild bugs, and it had proved lethal even on large specimens, but given the fact that spiders also had poison glands, there was no way to know if they could have immunity to this particular substance. Well, on this journey, he guessed he would have more than one occasion to find out. Then, there was his most important book, with its new cover, as well as the new black book. This was an unnecessary weight, but he trusted the adventurers to relieve him of this burden quite soon. Then, there were the rest of his equipment: ink, a quill, a chisel, a leather strap, a rope, and, of course, well hidden in a box he always carried on himself, the black key.

He looked at Monomon, who was still arguing with Quirrel on the utility of acid vials in such a trip. Then, he turned to Lurien. The watcher had prepared efficiently for once, and, of course, he had found a way to make his spyglass fit in his bag. Next to him, there was a canvas, a painting Lurien had made in the past few days, that was supposed to represent the mantises’ glory. This was their bargaining chip to negotiate their crossing of their territory. Lurien was really satisfied of this work: the painting was impeccably made, presented the four lords in an allegorical manner, with symbols of the mantises’ qualities: a spear, a pot with bright blooms, a horn, a builder’s level. To say the truth, the pale scholar thought that this painting was of disputable taste. He much preferred Lurien’s less grandiose pieces, the watercolors he made of landscapes and imaginary cities. This type of painting had appealed to him, and he had tried it for a time, with… less than satisfactory results. He could draw, but when it came to colours, that was a disaster. Not heeding Lurien’s advice, he had taken the bad habit of colouring every small detail individually, which resulted in greyish blurs no one could be proud of. This was a long time ago, though, and for the past year, he never had the occasion to take lessons from the watcher, his research was the main priority, after all.

The doctor looked at the painting once again. He could not help it. The more he looked at it, the more ridiculous he found it. He hoped that at least, this would indulge the mantises’ pride, and that they would not look at it ironically. This was a fine present, and this tribe, despite its fierceness, was also reasonable, and he hoped the canvas could constitute a token of their good will.

Finally, Grimm joined them in the main hall, with a bag that looked quite diminutive in comparison with their impedimenta. The members of the silver troupe were there as well, and the pale scholar had made sure that all of them saw him putting the black book in his bag. The doctor was very satisfied of this little trap, and whatever Grimm had been scheming for the past few days, he hoped this would help him to counteract his plan.

Even if the looming presence of Radiance unsettled him, it also had positive consequences, mainly that the two gods were prone to get in each other’s way, which greatly arranged the doctor’s affairs. Let childish gods squabble together, this gave him more time to make his moves, and more occasions to strike.

“Is everyone ready?” he asked.

A general agreement in the room.

“Then, we can go!”

The troop left the archives, Monomon a share tearful farewells with Quirrel, while the watcher gave a few last instructions to Lu. Finally, the last goodbye was said, and they were off. The doctor’s heart was filled with exhilaration. At last, they were going. These days of waiting for his injury to heal had been a torture, and finally, it was over. The wound had closed, and even if it had left a mark, the burn on his cheek was completely healed. His leg still hurt a little, not that he would let anyone know. He had already been waiting for too long, and now that they had finally departed, he was determined not to let anything, or anyone, get in the way of his discoveries.

As they made their way through the fungal wastes, the pale scholar observed Grimm. He seemed to be looking forward to their arrival in the mantis village. His eyes were glowing in an unfamiliar way, and he had this sort of restlessness about him that betrayed a hidden intent. To say the truth, now that they had spent some time together, the doctor realized how bad the god was at concealing his excitement when he was crafting a new plot. His body language exuded childish excitement, genuine fun. The pale scholar could have found it cute, were it not for the sinister nature of his ploys. Grimm hopped between moss and stone, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his cloak.

They reached the noxious dens and began their descent. The idea of slowly getting deeper was very exciting. With each step, passing by clusters of mushrooms, he felt the call of the thing that waited for them down under.

The mushrooms proved no hindrance to their journey, most of them were dozing off, pretending to meditate, giving little attention to the travelers that silently passed by.

Finally, they reached an impressive arch decorated with bones and empty shells. This was the entrance of the mantises’ territory. Whoever stepped in this place unannounced would face the fury of the inhabitants and join the dead carcasses that made the foreboding gateway.

As if the cautionary aspect of the door was not enough, it was also guarded by two sentries: tall mantises that did not need nails of spears, given the sharpness of their massive claw.

“Stop right here, strangers!” the first sentry exclaimed. “Make one more step, and you will join the bugs who make up this arch!”

“Worry not, sentry.” The doctor declared, trying to sound confident. “we do not wish to make an unwanted incursion in your lands. We simply ask for your authorization to pass through. As a token of good will, we have brought a gift for your lords.”

Lurien showed the carefully packed painting.

“Is this a formal request?” the second sentry asked.

“By all means.” The pale scholar answered.

The first sentry turned to her companion.

“Why did you ask if it was a formal request? Do you know what we’re supposed to do if there’s one?”

“No, but I thought you did. Do you?”

“Not at all!” She whispered loudly. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I have no idea.”

“Great! Now, because of you we’re they will think we’re buffoons!”

The second sentry cleared her throat.

“And, since it is a formal request, what do we have to do.”

“One of you has to go and fetch your lords.” Grimm answered, with an amused tone.

“I’m going to go, then…” the sentry said, blushing with embarrassment. She ran away and came back a dozen of minutes later, followed by Gèd, the second sister, as well as Kshaa, the fourth lord. Gèd stepped forward, looking down on the group.

“So, I’ve heard your troupe requests the right to cross our lands. Bold of you to assume we would agree with such sheepish demands.”

The fourth lord turned towards Grimm, with a look of interrogation that did not escape the doctor.

“Sister, at least, let’s hear them out. Why should we let you cross our lands?”

Gèd turned towards her brother, looking surprised.

“what happened to you, Kshaa? Such leniency does not become you.”

“I’m curious, that’s all.”

Gèd sighed.

“Then, have them indulge your curiosity.”

The fourth lord turned to the party.

“So, why should we let you cross our land?”

“Because we mean no harm.” Grimm began. “And because we brought a gift that, I hope, should prove our genuine respect for your tribe. Behold!”

Lurien unveiled the canvass, letting the two lords admire the piece. Both of them tried to appear cold, but their feeling of wonder was badly concealed.

“You made this…” Gèd began, “for us?”

“For you, indeed.” Grimm answered. “Little price to pay, for the trust of a tribe such as yours.”

The two lords thought for an instant.

“We could let them in, sister,” Kshaa proposed, “under strict guard of course.”

Gèd looked rather circumspect. Turning to Grimm, she asked:

“And what proof do you have that this is not a ploy to seduce us, letting you enter our land to attack us from the inside.”

“We have no proof to bring.” The pale scholar said, stepping forward. “However, I call to your consideration that we are scholars, not fighters, and making an enemy of your tribe would be of no interest for us.”

“No fighters ?” Gèd repeated. “Then, what about those five, with mace and nails.”

“They are bodyguards. Coming to help us in our explorations.”

Gèd looked at her brother, her stance showing that her suspicions had not diminished whatsoever.

“Kshaa, you seem quite keen on letting them through our land. I would hate to impede this desire of yours… However…” She hissed, leaning down to face the lord. “These are under your responsibility. Should they escape your watch, you will have to answer for it.”

Kshaa glared at her, unflinching under the aggressivity of her gaze.

“I will sister. With them under my watch, you have nothing to fear.”

He turned towards the arch, where a number of mantids were watching in curiosity.

“Guards!” he called. “Come here. And don’t look away from the strangers.”

On these words, a dozen of mantises surrounded the troupe, and began to lead them through the village, following the fourth lord.

The pale scholar had to admit, walking surrounded with so many mantids was very intimidating, and the glares the guards kept throwing them did not make the place more welcoming. The many totems using bug’s shells, the hostile gazes of the tribe, the knowledge that on a whim, the guards could dispatch them and add their bodies to their collection… A shiver ran down the pale scholar’s spine. As they walked, he threw a glance at Lurien and Monomon. The two scholars did not seem more reassured than he was, and the members of the silver troupe, despite their confident strides, were looking around, ready to take a defensive stance. Grimm was the only one who looked unphased by the situation. This was not surprising, given his godly nature, but the doctor felt there was something else to it. The glances the fourth lord threw him, his smug look… The more time passed, the more likely it seemed that Grimm had plotted something with the mantises.

After going through the mantid’s lands for what looked like a long hour, they finally arrived at an isolated house. A young mantid was looking at them from the training grounds. For a brief moment, her eyes met Ze’mer’s, in a floating instant, one with a light that seemed beautiful and different, a heartbeat shared, a wordless exchange… the moment disappeared as quickly as it came.

The fourth lord suddenly stopped, looking away from them.

“What is it, mantis lord?” Dryya asked. “Is this already the exit?”

Kshaa turned towards them with a satisfied expression.

“You are naïve, adventurers. Did you really believe I insisted to let you enter just to be helpful?”

“B-but… the present ?” Lurien stammered.

“Your stupid painting? This kind of frivolity may please my sisters, but I am not one to be so easily confounded by such blatant flattery.  It is another price I demand.”

“What do you ask for, then?” the pale scholar asked.

“Nothing a grub like you can give. I’m talking to them.”

Kshaa gestured towards the silver troupe. Grimm’s expression was unreadable, but in the flames of his eyes, the doctor recognized great satisfaction. This was when he understood. So this whole situation was the nightmare king’s plan… of course it was. His grip on the strap of his bag got tighter.

“Guards.” The treacherous lord continued, very slowly, tasting each word with great pleasure. “Throw these three in the cell. They’re of no use to me.”

“Wha-“

The three scholars had no time to protest. The mantises forcefully removed their bags and threw them in a corner, before taking them away, leaving the silver troupe and Grimm alone with the lord. The doctor managed to look one last time at Grimm, who flashed him a victorious smile.

Monomon was the first to be pushed in the cell. Then, it was Lurien and the doctor’s turn to be tossed unceremoniously into it. The mantids walked away, leaving them alone. Monomon and Lurien looked around, completely taken aback by this turn of events, while the pale scholar grappled at the cell’s bars, in his mind, cursing Grimm profusely.

He clenched his teeth, whispering to himself:

“Savor this transient victory, god of nightmares… Savor it well while you still can!”

…

Lord Kshaa let the silver troupe enter his house.

“Now sit. The other three are useless, but you, on the other hand… you are my guests.”

Ze’mer looked around, still unsure of what she should think of the situation. Then, she noticed her. In the back of the room, the young mantis from earlier was looking at them. Looking at her. The adventurer felt her cheeks getting strangely warm, and looked away, in unexplainable embarrassment.

“I have heard your troupe is looking for adventures, and strong sensations, is that the case?”

Dryya was the one to answer.

“What do you want from us, mantis lord?”

“Please, answer my question first.”

“It’s true, we’re adventurers. So, what do you want?”

The fourth lord sat comfortably behind his table, while Grimm observed the whole scene with a satisfied look. The lord began:

“What I want is to have you participate in an adventure. One that, I assure you, will be a lot more fun than these scholars’ little trip.”

Ogrim sat too, and asked:

“What adventure do you propose?”

“I want you to help me in an expedition. To the dens of the pale roots. A treacherous way, and many say that it is one that leads to the domain of a god. I want you to help me take possession of this territory.”

“Why would you need us?” Isma asked. “I thought the mantises were the fiercest warriors in the caverns.”

“They are the fiercest, true. But the tribe follows my sisters, and I have but a few warriors that are fully loyal to me. I heard you were powerful fighters. I you were to join my expedition, our victory is assured.”

The five looked at each other, indecisive.

“Lord Kshaa.” Dryya finally said. “Know that we might be interested in your proposal. However, we need to discuss this between ourselves before a decision is taken. Could you let us the night to do so?”

The lord thought for a moment before answering.

“I can give you time. But do not leave this cavern, or you will face the ire of the tribe.”

“Very well. We shall heed this.”

On these words, the five left the lord’s house, while Grimm stayed inside.

As they walked out, they noticed the scholars’ bags, that had been confiscated and left on the ground. Among them was the bag of the pale scholar, with the black book poking out. They realized, then. This was the perfect occasion. Not only could they do the deed without the doctor being around to notice, but moreover, it would be easy to accuse the mantises of the book’s disappearance later on. The five of them understood this simultaneously. They looked at each other and nodded. Ogrim took the black book, and their hurried towards a dark corner of the cavern, where no mantis was looking.

“Should we check inside?” Hegemol asked.

“I’m not sure…” Isma said. “There could be evil enchantments inside. I would not want to trigger a catastrophe.”

“Not even a tiny peek?” Ogrim asked.

“Okay,” she sighed. “But just the first page. And don’t look at it for too long.”

Ogrim opened the book and took a quick glance at the first page. It looked as evil as the voice had made it out to be. Covered in arcane symbols and disturbing figures, a thing that could not have been designed to do good. Dryya closed the book quickly.

“Good.” Isma said. “Now, Hegemol, your lighter.”

The armoured adventurer gave her his lighter, an iron and fling contraption that could produce a lot of sparks. Using it, Isma set the pages on fire.

Quickly, the book began to burn, its pages and cover being consumed in strange, twisting flames.

Then, the five noticed it. Dancing in the smoke, there were strange red runes. The runes shone brightly for a moment before disappearing, and, all at once, a dense cloud of acrid smoke escaped from the burning book, surrounding the entire silver troupe.

“What ?” Ogrim stuttered.

They rubbed their eyes and coughed, as the smoke slowly dissipated. In front of them, the book had turned to a small pile of cinders.

“What was that ? “ Dryya exclaimed.

Suddenly, a heavy silence laid on the silver troupe, as they all looked at each other with an expression of surprise and worry.

“Friends…” Isma said, “ there… there’s something wrong with your faces .”

Chapter Text

Monomon watched as the doctor was climbing on the cell’s bars with a disabused air. She might have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, were it not so deadly. This was but the first day of their expedition, and they were already captive in a squalid jail, waiting for the mantids to come and probably execute them. The teacher cursed her own curiosity. Had she not been seduced by all the hidden knowledge they could uncover, she would never have taken part in the pale scholar’s disaster expedition.

Speaking if which, the doctor was now trying to fit between bars, with no success. Faced with such a pitiful spectacle, she sighed and turned to Lurien. From the moment they had been shoved into this sell, the watcher had not said a word. He just sat on the ground, hugging his knees, looking down. The teacher put her tentacle on her friend’s shoulder, only to realize he was shaking. Feeling alarmed, she moved closer and noticed how the watcher kept fidgeting with his fingers, trembling slightly.

“Lurien, are you all right?”

He did not answer, just shook his head, letting out a small whimper. The teacher strengthened her embrace, now feeling the full extent of her friend’s condition.

“Look at me, Lurien, try to breathe.”

The butterfly turned towards her, trying to breath out, but only managing to let out a loud sob.

“Please, try to tell me what’s wrong. Is it the cell?”

He nodded, as a big tears began forming in his eye. The teacher sighed, looking in the other direction, as she felt a sudden ire.

“Doctor, stop fooling around with those bars, can’t you see Lurien is having a panic attack?”

With a painful looking contortion, the pale scholar managed free himself from his compromised position between two bars and trotted towards them. Monomon tried to accompany him in deep breathing exercises, and it seemed the shaking was slowly receding. Meanwhile, the doctor fumbled in is cloak, before revealing the black key.

“Lurien, want to look at something interesting?”

The watcher nodded weakly, before examining the key. His natural curiosity for such artifacts helped him focus on the strange engravings adorning the object. Though his hands were still shaking, he managed to steady is breath a little. Monomon’s tentacle curled around his left hand, stroking it gently to the rhythm of is respiration. With his right hand, he grabbed the doctor’s, who stood next to them in an awkward position.

The stayed like that for long minutes, until the watcher finally managed to regain is composure.

“Are you feeling better?” Monomon asked.

“Yes, but… I’m afraid… What a fool I was, wanting to follow you in this… and now, look at us. They’re going to kill us and add us to this… dreadful totem of theirs.”

“Don’t worry, Lurien,” the doctor began, trying to sound reassuring. “We’re going to escape. I’ve prepared a plan that should make the silver troupe come to our rescue very soon.”

“What plan are you talking about?” The teacher whispered, tilting her head.

“One I prepared in case the loyalty of those adventurers was not as strong as it seemed. If my ploy worked as intended, they will be here soon, and they will have to break us out.”

Lurien moved closer, fear being slowly replaced by curiosity.

“What did you do?”

“I left a little gift for them in my bag, one that, I am sure, they will find very soon. Once they’ve touched it, they will think of their loyalty to our cause as a question of life or death. Now, if they come, please stay quiet and let me talk. For this plan to work, I need to trick them into thinking they depend on us for their survival.”

On the other side of the fourth lord’s domain, the five explorers looked at each other dumbfoundedly. On their shells, zones of reddish irritation had appeared. It felt itchy and uncomfortable. However, it was not the most disturbing thing: indeed, the irritation on their shells took strange shapes, arabesques and weird runes, suggesting that it was more than a natural reaction to the product that had probably been infused in the book’s pages.

“What… what is this?” Ogrim panted.

Isma frowned, looking at the irritation that had appeared on her hands.

“Looks like the doctor had placed a spell of protection on this book. At least, the good thing is that it proves the book was important, if it was protected by something like that.”

“It still burned, though.” Remarked Hegemol.

“Surely a trick to take revenge on those who would damage the book. And a way to identify them.” Dryya answered.

“Le’mer is right. But what if che gets worse?”

Ogrim, too, was starting to feel ill at ease.

“Yeah, what if these are, like the first symptoms… for something worse …”

“Damn it !” Isma swore. “Worst thing is that it’s definitely a possibility.”

Hegemol rose his finger tentatively.

“Maybe… maybe if we tell the pale scholar, he will know what to do about it.”

“But the mantises? Che fears they will not let us see them!”

“We need to find a way! Who knows what this infection could be!”

Ogrim sighed.

“Darn it. The situation is going more and more complicated. I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do now!”

“And what should we say to the fourth lord?” Hegemol asked.

Isma nodded.

“I fear he will not take it well if we refuse.”

“But we have to get rid of this infection thingy!”

“Ah! This is driving me crazy!” Dryya exclaimed. “Damn this voice, damn this stupid book, damn the doctor!”

She stamped her foot with frustration.

The silver troupe looked around, feeling utterly embarrassed. They had been played. By the voice in their dream, by the pale scholar. They were adventurers, not investigators, or conspirators, they never had to deal with tribe’s politics and shady individuals’ personal strategies. As they had always sought the simple essence of adventure, those that were made of fights, explorations and discoveries, they felt ill prepared to face such intricacies.

As they reflected on the matter, the heard a rustling sound in the leaves behind them.

The five adventurers all turned at once, ready to fight the intruder. They had already drawn their nails, when a small, shy voice came out of the bush.

“Wait, wait, I’m not an enemy.”

From behind the leaves and chunks of moss emerged the graceful figure of a young mantid. She was the one Ze’mer had noticed upon entering the domain of the fourth lord.

“Who are you?” Dryya asked. “Why were you spying on us?”

“My name is Xhaila…” she responded in her timid, melodious voice. “I am the daughter of lord Kshaa. I followed you by curiosity…”

The moment she said the word, her gaze wandered towards Ze’mer, but she quickly averted it, looking at the ground.

“But then, I happened to overhear your conversation.” She continued. “You want to go meet with your three other companions, right? Because of this… weird infection.”

“Yes!” Ze’mer intervened. “Does Le’mer know a way for che and her friends to meet the scholars?”

“I know of a secret way, one that will let you avoid the guards, but if I show you, in exchange… Could you teach me how to fight?”

“Le’mer, are you not already a good combatant? Che thought all mantids were.”

Xhaila seemed strangely upset by the remark and looked away. Without knowing why, when she saw the young mantis’ contrite expression, Ze’mer felt her heart twist in a strange way.

“You see, “ the fourth lord’s daughter explained, “unlike the others, my claws are not so sturdy, and, I really struggle with a spear so… I wondered if you could teach me how to wield a nail.”

Dryya stepped forward.

“Of course, we can teach you. Do not worry, anyone can become a good fighter, when they find the weapon and the style that fits their body and personality. As you can see, we’re all very different in this troupe, so we can teach you how to find your own fighting techniques.”

Upon hearing this, Xaila’s face brightened, he eyes felt with new excitement.

“I can’t wait for you to show me! But first, follow me, I’ll lead you to my father’s jails.”

On these words, Xaila guided them through a secret passage, hidden behind a pile of mushrooms. This was a narrow pass that took twists and turn, sometimes letting appear the rather sinister things that were to be found underground, namely huge bones and rests of shell that did not remind them of any bugs they had seen before. Finally, the young mantid dislodge a slab above them and jumped up. The silver troupe followed her, finding themselves in the prison, faced with the cell in which the three scholars were held captive.

As soon as they appeared, the pale scholar grabbed the cells bars, looking intently at them. The explorers thought it was just a look of hope, thinking they were coming to save them, but the reason for the doctor’s satisfied expression was a completely different one. Indeed, as soon as he saw the red marks on the adventurers’ shells, the pale scholar knew his plan had worked.

Isma walked close to the cell, losing no time, she hailed the doctor, pointing on the marks on her face.

“Pale scholar, what is this?”

He feigned a horrified expression.

“Oh dear… You’ve touched to my books! What a terrible, terrible thing!”

Hearing these words, the five felt a shiver running up their backs.

“Yes, we might have… made a mistake with one of our books but, please, tell us, what is this?”

The pale scholar sighed, making an active effort not to laugh, lest it shall ruin his whole act.

“Under normal circumstances, I would be mad at your for messing with my precious grimoires, but seeing your predicament, I don’t have the heart to feel anger. I am deeply sorry, silver troupe. This book was protected with a powerful curse… First, it manifests with a simple irritation, but if not treated, the symptoms get worse and worse, the curse takes over your organs and your nervous system, until you become incapable of anything, except… suffering.”

The silver troupe’s eyes widened with horror, as the doctor felt a rush of satisfaction, seeing the effect his dramatic depiction had on the poor adventurers.

“Please, pale scholar,” Dryya asked. “Is there a way to get rid of this curse ?”

“Fortunately for you, there is. However, in order to break this curse, I need a very special relic, one I will only be able to find in the deep caverns we were supposed to explore. Of course, with remedies, I could delay the effect of this curse, but eventually, we will need this relic, or you will suffer an abominable death.”

Ogrim got closer too, examining the bars.

“Very well, I get it. We’ll break you out of this cell, and we’ll be on our way to find this relic as soon as possible.”

“Please, do so, and as quickly as you can. We will also need our bags for the rest of the journey, so one of you will have to pick them up before we escape.”

“Che will do it.” Ze’mer proposed, before turning towards Xhaila. “And do not worry, as soon as we’re out, we will fulfill our promise.”

Xhaila did not answer, looking unsure. She just retreated back into the secret passage, followed by Ze’mer. While they did so, the four other adventurers began to work on the cell’s bars, using mace and nails as a lever to dislodge them. Lurien looked at them feverishly, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere of the cell. He did not even notice how hard his hand was clasping Monomon tentacle.

One thing mattered to him, now . Soon, they were going to be free.

…

“So, with this set, Lord Kshaa, I hope you will let me and my friends continue our journey.” Grimm purred, looking at the fourth lord with slitted eyes.

“Of course,” the mantid answered. “I will not go back on my promise. For the honour of my clan as well as my own.”

“Then, let’s go meet with our adventurers. I hope your proposition had them seduced.”

“I hope so. With their strength on our side, we will finally be able to reclaim the land I so long craved.”

The two of them walked out of the house. Grimm’s heart was brimming with confidence. This time, he knew it. His strategy was going to be a success. He looked around, expecting to see the silver troupe waiting for them, but then… no one was there.

Grimm looked around failing to understand what had happened.

Then, he saw it. On the ground, beside lord Kshaa’s house, the pale scholar’s bag was still open. Inside it, the new black book was missing.

All at once, Grimm’s feeling of superiority was replaced with fiery ire. Feverishly, he began to rummage through the contents of the bag. After a few seconds, he found something. A small vial, containing a bluish substance. There was something engraved in the glass, almost illegible for someone who was not used to the doctor’s scribbles. However, Grimm managed to decipher it.

It read: “Irritation remedy.”

The god’s fist clenched around the vial. It all made sense, now. The changing of cover, the crafting of the new black book, the weird alchemy. The doctor had prepared an elaborate trap. One he probably used in order to coerce the silver troupe into helping him. This infuriated Grimm. Not only had the doctor almost managed to fool him once again, but to add offense to injury, with a trick that was so silly… The god did not know if he should rage or burst out laughing.

The nightmare king whispered between his teeth.

“Too bad doctor. This time, I found out about this trick! I will be the one to win this round.”

The moment he said these words, lord Kshaa’s daughter appeared in front of them, followed by none other than Ze’mer.

Grimm turned to the lord, only to find one thing in his gaze.

An utter, unabashed feeling of betrayal.

Chapter Text

“You will pay for this treason, Grimm!”

Lord Kshaa lifted his claw, ready for combat, while multiple guards appeared alongside him. With surprising celerity, given his massive stature, he attacked, slashing the air violently, and the nightmare king barely managed to avoid the heavy blow, still holding the vial of irritation cure in his hand. Grimm took a quick look around him, assessing the situation. They were a total of ten guards, the lord, another youg mantis, and Ze’mer. The adventurer was running resolutely towards the bags, while the young mantis looked at the whole situation dumbfounded. The traitor lord advanced towards him, while the guards were closing in. His claws were scraping the ground, creating bluish sparks, and his mandibles twitched in a spasmodic way. The lord was furious.

“How dare you, stranger! Promising me a troupe of fighter, only to enter my territory, betray my trust, and then run away? Did you think I was so easy to fool?”

Grimm avoided another attack, but as he did so, he felt a sharp pain in his left arm. One of the guard’s spear had touched him, leaving a deep wound. Flames began to appear from the cut, making the guard back down in surprise. A heartbeat echoed the pain.

On the other side of the cavern, Ze’mer was surrounded with three guards. They fought fiercely, but with the advantage of number, the guards were quickly getting the upper hand. Grimm did not know what to do. Having to fight the mantises had never been part of his plan, and now that a battle had begun, he found himself ill prepared. He avoided the blows, still taking some, while his vision was getting redder and redder, awoken by the heat of combat, the heart’s sinister beating was pounding in his ears.

“Come to me, silver troupe!” Ze’mer yelled, with an impressively sonorous voice. The guards had her cornered against a wall, and himself was in a dire situation, unable to escape the guards, with lord Kshaa getting closer and closer.

Grimm smacked his tongue in frustration. How infuriating! With the power of his flames, he could easily vanquish the mantises, but if he did so, his real identity would be revealed. True, in this form, death was not something to be feared. This body could be destroyed and rebuilt at will, so his life was completely safe. The secret of his real nature, however, was now facing serious danger.

A mantid’s claw brushed past him, almost piercing his right eye. In retaliation, Grimm scratched the guard’s side with his own sharp claw, letting blood flow out profusely.

“I will end you, disgusting traitor! This is what you get for trying to make fun of lord Kshaa!”

A quick glance to the side. It seemed Ze’mer’s call had been answered. For a brief moment, he saw Ogrim pushing back two guards, while Dryya was affronting a third. Isma and Hegemol jumped up from behind a bush. He also saw Lurien, Monomon and the doctor trying to get around the fight and reach their bags.

His eyes met the pale scholar’s. Black eyes, wide, and the movement of his mouth. Open, close, open. In the tumult of the mêlée, the god did not hear anything.

A crushing pain went through his thorax.

Looking down, he saw the fourth lord’s massive claw, shoved deep into his chest, Kshaa’s vicious expression, and the flames, like liquid ambers, leaking from the wound. The burning fluid flowed from the wound and fell on moss, emitting a strong smell of burnt fungi. Grimm clenched his fist around the vial. A glimmer of hatred went through the lord’s eyes, as he hissed:

“This is combat, you vile liar. You better pay attention!”

Pain surged into his flames, the heart was beating in mad frenzy, feeding off the fight’s energy. The heat emanating from his core was becoming unbearable, similar to the heat of the ritual, the one from which he had emerged as a Grimmchild, flames that were so passionate and so terrifying… And the fact that despite his form, he could feel everything, the flames running up his throat, the fourth lord’s claw violently pulling out, his chest ripped apart… And always, red flames, bright flames twisting around him as he slowly realized. Despite his godly nature, despite his overwhelming power… he was afraid.

The lord looked down at him ready to strike once again, and he still hesitated, not knowing what to do, and he felt the Grimmchild hidden in his flames feeding on the scarlet essence… Soon, it would be able to take form, and then…

The lord claw slashed down, Kshaa’s eyes were brimming with confidence, he was convinced he would finish him off right now… And it would be so easy to stop this masquerade, to let his real power lash out. Anyways, did it still make any sense to hide it? With the flames already escaping from his wounds, the fire burning in his pierced chest, the gazes od incomprehension of other mantids around them…

Hell with this secret, let it be flames!

Upon the impact, Grimm’s body disappeared into a puff of scarlet smoke, to the mantid’s immense surprise. The vial he was holding fell on the ground with a clear sound. All the flames that were laying around took off, gathering in one spot from which the god emerged, completely unharmed.

All eyes were fixed on him. Everyone, be it mantis or adventurer, was taken aback by this turn of events.

Lord Kshaa tuned towards him, his eyes filled with fury.

“How can you still be alive, traitor! I should have crushed your heart!”

Grimm let a devious smile slowly for on his face, as he saw the other mantises looking at him in terror and awe, as well as the silver troupe and the two scholars. He realized he had missed it bitterly, the feeling of his own power, the awe a god could inspire in the hearts of mortal, this terror mixed with profound admiration he had seen on the doctor’s eyes, the day of their first encounter…

The god let himself be surrounded with a sinister aura. He saw a few of the guards stepping away, their legs slightly shaking. The nightmare king spoke, with a deep, terrifying voice that resounded around the whole cavern.

“Now flee, poor mantises, lest you shall all burn in my flames!”

The guards, letting go of their usual fierce demeanor, all ran away, the only mantises that did not leave were lord Kshaa himself, and the young one that had appeared earlier with Ze’mer.

The lord stepped forward, growling.

“I don’t care for your power or your flames! Prepare to taste my wrath!”

The nightmare god’s eyes turned into incandescent slits, as he whispered.

“Very well, lord! Since you are so intent to burn…”

Two gushes of fire appeared behind the god’s back, similar to great wings spreading. Red light filled the cave, covering its walls with ominous shadows that all smiled dreadfully at the lord. Then, all at once, the god lashed out, a scarlet, burning slash ready to take down Kshaa.

Time slowed down before him, as he saw the lord ready to be cut in half by the attack. There was nothing he could do, and soon, his blood would water the moss- but it was not longer the lord, in front of him. It was his daughter. She had jumped in, pushing her father out of the way of the attack, ready to undergo the devastating blow with full force. Many things happened in this fraction of an instant. The fourth lord’s look of horror as he saw what was happening, his daughter’s expression of dread and fulfillment, a white gown catching fire… a silver flash just in front of him.

With incredible violence, the god’s attack hit something solid, creating an explosion of golden sparks. Grimm realized he had just hit Ze’mer’s nail. She stood between him and the two mantids, her nail blackened by the flames, and her arms still shaking with the force of the attack. She looked up at him, her eyes full of determination.

“Che will not let you!”

Grimm scowled in frustration, snarling.

“Very well, explorer. Then, you and your troupe, begone, as we continue on your way.”

Behind her, Kshaa stood up with the help of his daughter, this time, backing away from the god.

“But,” Ogrim interjected, “I thought you wanted us to continue with you? Please, let’s just leave this place!”

The god hissed.

“I said, begone!”

“But we can’t!” Isma exclaimed, pointing at the irritation on her face and arms. “We have to go so we can heal this infection, or we will die!”

“Nonsense. The doctor’s lying to you! The remedy for this small itching it right here!” He said, pointing on the place where he had let the vial.

However, it was no longer here, and the doctor was slowly walking away with one hand behind his back. On the other side of the cavern, Lord Kshaa was ready to fight, with a defensive position, while his daughter was scurrying towards the main exit. Grimm frowned, letting the savage light of his gaze fully transpire.

“Don’t even think about…”

Still carried by the feeling of his own power, the god launched on the pale scholar, easily pining him on the ground. The heartbeat in is ears grew even louder, and he grabbed the doctor’s wrist, forcefully snatching the vial from his hand. He was so crazed by his own flames, by the heart, that he did not even noticed the other’s cry of pain and the smoke that appeared the moment he grabbed his wrist.

Still surrounded by his flames, the nightmare king got up and looked at the silver troupe with an air of derision. He tossed the vial to them, and thankfully, Dryya managed to catch it.

“This is your remedy, silver troupe! Now take it and these marks will disappear. All the rest is a lie devised by the doctor to force you to come along. Now take it and begone!”

The silver troupe did not move, still looking at the god in complete shock.

“I said begone!”

Silently, the five backed away, as the sound of more mantises arriving in reinforcement was to be heard. With a wide movement of his cape, the god turned to the scholars. During the fight, it appeared all of them had equipped their bags. Now, the teacher and the watcher were looking at him silently, paralyzed by terror. The doctor was clasping his own arm, wincing in pain. Now, the heartbeat in Grimm’s hears was so loud he could not hear anything else, except for the painful tinnitus slowly settling in. In his peripheric vision, he saw mantises’ reinforcements slowly coming towards him, guided by the fourth lord. Lurien was shaking while Monomon held him close, and the hue of nightmare essence around them was so bright… and the heart was so hungry…

This view. It was so awfully familiar.

Memories began flashing through his mind. Very early memories, from one of his first incarnations, when he did not yet know the pain of constant rebirth and death.

Her eyes, wide open, as she stared in terror.

Bright flames taking over the water mill.

The troop in arms, convulsing in pain, their armor melting in crimson fire, the horrid, horrid smell of burning bodies, boiling to death under their shell.

Bright flames taking over the mead.

Her smile, her smile of giving up, a smile of despair and tragic love that was so beautiful and so sad at the same time.

Bright flames burning the clear, delicate blooms on the mead.

The tears running down her cheeks as she spoke and yet, no sound came to him, except for the heart, beating.

His own burning tears, so painful in his eyes.

Wings devoured by flames and scattered in the wind.

The pale, fragile bloom, stunt and blacked, before falling in cinders…

The mantis warriors were getting close, and the scholars were still immobile, unable to do anything, facing his flaming, crimson wings.

The mantises were so close, now, and…

Grimm grabbed the three scholars at once and disappeared in a puff of red flames. The warriors’ spears hit nothing, just slashing the air.

The god of nightmares reappeared at the exit of the mantises’ territory, behind a heavy, closed door. They were in front of the entrance of a great, deep cavern, in which complete darkness reigned. There was a large quantity of old, empty shells in front of them, as well as many spider webs.

Grimm turned to the three scholars. As the heart’s excitement receded, he slowly regained his senses. The watcher was panting heavily, still trembling with fear, while Monomon was taking a defensive stance, ready to protect her friend despite the terror he could easily see in her eyes. The doctor was staring at him, though his gaze was not one of hostility. It was resentment. And worst of all, disappointment. There was a painful looking burn mark on his wrist and his forearm, at the exact emplacement where the god had grabbed him.

This was when the reality of what he had just done hit him all at once. Sure, he had succeeded in his primary objective, which was to separate the knights from the scholars, but at what price… This did not feel like a victory at all. It was forceful. It was crude. He had revealed his real nature, he had lost the little trust Monomon and Lurien could have in him, he had let himself be overwhelmed by the heat of the battle and had lost sight of his primary objective… Flashes of her face appeared again. The horrible yet poetic image of her burning wings. A strange feeling grew within him. Something he thought he could never feel again, something that required a heart. He had shown his flames, and even if it was unintentionally, he had hurt the doctors with his flames. The flames destroyed everything they touched. Everything he thought he could have. The game, but, not just the game, his friend- But that could not be true, for gods have no friends. It was his dear game, his long-craved entertainment, the game he liked so much….

Right now, Grimm feared he had ruined it completely.

Chapter Text

The pale scholar looked down on him, and yet, did not utter a word. He just took bandages from his bag as well as the antiseptic, beginning to treat the burn methodically. Monomon and Lurien were still gazing at him with wide eyes, still struggling to process what just happened.

He felt stupid, so incredibly stupid. His own plan had backlashed against him, and he had failed to improvise a solution, he had panicked, giving in to the heart. His sister’s words echoed through his mind. “How pitiful.” He was a god, the nightmare king, one that could not fear death, one that was more powerful than any of them, and yet, he panicked. He felt so incredibly idiotic, losing their trust like that, exposing his identity… For the first time since the beginning of the game, the god felt at loss. He had no idea how to repair this terrible mistake.

In front of him, the doctor finished to apply the bandages, wincing in pain. Grimm, with a voice that sounded uncannily shy and quiet, one that seemed so ill fitting for the god of nightmares, broke the silence.

“Your arm… Is it all right?”

The pale scholar looked at him with an expression that was a mix of boredom and annoyance.

“It’s okay. I have seen much worse… in terms of burns.”

Heavy silence again, one that was so full of thoughts it was almost unbearable. Lurien was still shaking a little, gazing at him in fear, but it seemed Monomon was slowly regaining her senses.

The pale scholar sighed, before speaking. His tone was venomous, but Grimm felt a strange tinge of satisfaction in it.

“Why are you looking so gloomy, Grimm. You’ve got what you wanted, isn’t that marvelous? You should rejoice and laugh to your heart’s content.”

For the first time in all his interactions with the doctor, the nightmare king flinched. The doctor continued ruthlessly.

“You’ve separated us from the silver troupe, you’ve showed us how powerful you are. Are you satisfied?”

He did not know what to answer, what to do. He was the god of nightmares, he could take them down so easily, and still… Why was he unable to say anything?

Behind the doctor, Monomon’s tentacles were curling in frustration. He was about to continue, when she snapped:

“Are you serious? Are you really not going to address this… this… Grimm, what in the world was that, and who- what are you?”

The pale scholar sighed:

“He’s the god of nightmares.”

“The g- Wait, what ? Are you kidding me? Are you really telling me that for all this time, we’ve been doing this… this… this whole thing, with a god?”

The doctor nodded, looking resigned, and ready to face Monomon’s lashing out, which was, he had to admit, fully justified.

“You are completely crazy !”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been told.”

The teacher rubbed her forehead, slowly processing the insanity that had just been unveiled before her.

“So,” she began. “I will try to go about it methodically, but I can’t guarantee anything. And it’s your entire fault, pale scholar! First, you keep up in the dark about your research for years, and now, I learn you were doing…. I don’t know what with a freaking god this whole time! So…”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

“Were did you two meet, and why is he following us.”

Next to hear, Lurien seemed to have fully regained is wits, and was staring at them with the same mix of shock and curiosity as Monomon.

“You, see”, the doctor began, “ I was practicing spiritual evocation, when-“

“Hold up a second, you did what ?”

“Spirituat evocation, that’s-“

“I know very well what an invocation is, and I also know it’s forbidden magic, and for. Good. Reasons !”

She exclaimed, while pointing at Grimm, like he was the ultimate proof of the evil nature of all magic, and just looking at him would deter even the wildest researchers.

“He used one of my circles to come to this realm, there was no way for me to anticipate this!”

“Okay, I see, I see,”, Monomon said, rubbing her temples. “This much, I can understand. But why is he with us now? And why is he suddenly getting in our way?”

The pale scholar leant on the cold stone behind him, his tail curling around his knees. There was no way for him to avoid this conversation, so at least he tried to take a somewhat comfortable position.

“He is following us because according to the contract-“

“Stop right here! You made a contract with a god? Really? And I thought it could not get worse. You’re not crazy, you’re downright suicidal!”

“Listen, Monomon, please, I know it’s a little hard to believe, but-“

“No. Coming for you, that’s not hard to believe, mister ‘I test the proprieties of acid by putting my fingers in the stuff’.”

They heard Lurien let out a small giggle.

“Don’t remind me of this, teacher, it was a long time ago.”

“Exactly. And with time, you got even worse!”

The pale scholar looked at the ceiling, feeling defeated and tired.

“So, anyway, I made a contract with him so he would help us in this research, since it is very dangerous.”

“I understood that. But this does not explain the whole mess he just stirred up!”

“This, I fear, he will have to explain for himself, though I’m pretty sure I know what he hoped to achieve by doing this.”

He turned towards Grimm and continued.

“Now, explain yourself, nightmare king! I do not recall you trying to impede our progress was part of the contract.”

The god lowered himself, unable to find the words to answer this. The pale scholar scoffed and continued:

“Or… could it be that you lost control of your plan? Shame on you! A god, like you, having a strategy backfire, and now exposing yourself in such a crude way? How tactless, Grimm, how base! Using violence to reach your goals, with the same subtlety as a vengefly king… I thought you were a better player than that!”

The god of nightmare felt his chest tighten. With his poisoned words, the doctor was twisting the knife in the wound, shattering the little pride he had left into million pieces.

“I…”

“I know what your plan was, Grimm! After all, it was not that difficult to make out. You wanted to separate us from the silver troupe so that you could be our only way of defense in Deepnest, in order to make us pay the price for it!”

The god nodded, feeling the shame of his plan being completely exposed.

“I must say, using the mantis Lord to try and separate us from the silver troupe was an interesting idea, but you completely messed up the execution. Had you been a little more patient… well, your plan would have failed, but at least, you would not have yourself exposed. A shame, truly, a shame.”

Grimm did not like the direction this was taking. He realized, now, for what goal the pale scholar’s words were designed. He could feel it, in the hint of satisfaction in his tone, the faint glimmer in pitch black eyes. The doctor’s intent was to make him feel how badly he had played, and how his strategy catastrophically crashing down like that had put it in a compromised position. He had flinched. And the pale scholar knew. He knew everything, and he was determined to show it.

“And yet, you could have managed so easily, had you kept a cold head. For a god like you, a mere mantis lord should not be so terrifying. A fight with them, it should not make you lose control! What a pity, that you let yourself be governed by your feelings. What a shame, really, that all your pretty plans crumbled under the weight of the heart.”

The doctor stood up; letting out a grumble of discomfort, before slowly walking towards Grimm, until they were but inches away from each other. The god did not understand. This made absolutely no sense, he was powerful, immortal, with godly might, and the being facing him was small and weak, and so fragile, as they all were… How could he feel so intimidated?

The doctor smiled, his eyes filled with fake compassion.

“You fear it, don’t you? Because eventually, it will take you too. Because it is the beast that made you act like you did right now.”

The pale scholar made him the sign to crouch, so he could look at him directly in the eyes. His voice was very soft and mellow, almost like a whisper, and his seemingly benevolent face made the whole thing even scarier.

“Poor god…” he soughed, “how tragic, for you, Grimm, to have a heart beating like this… And to be so afraid of your own flames.”

The pale scholar got even closer, and the god felt an unwelcomed heat rising on his cheeks, with the strange urge to grab him and hold him down like he did during the battle, but- He heard the whisper into his ear.

“Pretender.”

The doctor took two steps back, looking at him with a derisive smile. Then, the realization hit Grimm violently. The pale scholar knew. He had seen it, in the ritual of Unn, and now, the god’s idiotic behaviour har revealed him the meaning of these visions.

The doctor knew. And Grimm knew nothing.

The pale scholar got back to his former place and began to rummage through his bag, until he found the alchemic lantern. Meanwhile, Lurien and Monomon stared at him in an awkward silence neither of them dared to break.

After a few minutes that felt like hours, Lurien was the first to speak.

“So… I know it’s a lot to take, like, everything that just happened, the fact that you’re a god. Oh no. A god… Yes so, all these… insane things that you did, with all these developments, but… I’m sorry to address the question so soon. What do we do now ?”

“Do you think the silver troupe may still join us if they manage to escape the mantids?” the doctor asked.

“I doubt it.” Monomon answered. “Given what they just saw, and I mean, a god lashing out, that was quite a lot to see, I’d say it is highly unlikely that they will want to have anything to do with us anymore.”

Lurien looked worried, as he fumbled in his bag, his anxiety was showing.

“So, does this mean that we have to… to continue?”

“We have to.” The doctor declared. “As a matter of fact, thanks to Grimm’s catastrophic handling of the situation with the mantises, I doubt we will be able to go back.”

“But… the spiders!”

“How are we going to do, then?” Monomon intervened. “It’s not like we can trust Grimm now. And I also have a lot of doubts about trusting you.”

“About him… I think we still can manage.”

He turned to the god.

“Grimm, I just wanted to remind you. If you do not agree to protect us through Deepnest, it will make the whole contract invalid.”

The nightmare king gnashed his teeth in frustration. He hated it, but the pale scholar was right. Now that he was out in front of Monomon and Lurien, he had no bargaining chip to force the doctor to give something in exchange for his services.

“I will come with you. If you let me, that is.”

“Wait!” Monomon exclaimed. “Are we really going to let him come with us so easily, with everything he’s done?”

“It’s not like we have much choice. Or would you prefer going through Deepnest with just the three of us? Going back to the archives by facing the mantises once again? And even if we wanted to escape, taking another route, it would still require us to go through Deepnest anyway.”

“When you present it this way…”

“I tell you, he’s bound to help us, by contract. Though I must admit, Grimm, you’ve not been very invested in this task lately.”

The god looked at the ground, feeling the weight of his mistakes.

“I told you already. I’ll do it.”

“Then, we should go. I wouldn’t want to attract a beast by staying here for too long. And since we’ve been rather noisy…”

“We’ve no choice but to go, do we ?” Lurien asked.

“No, we don’t. But think of the secrets awaiting us at the end of this journey.”

Monomon threw him a suspicious glare but began to follow them anyways.

The pale scholar activated the lantern, that filled the tunnels around them with a dainty, white glow.

He regretted deeply to have lost the support of the silver troupe. What could they be doing, on the other side of that door? He hoped the mantises had not executed them, or their deaths would lay heavy on his conscience. They walked slowly, his white, flickering light guiding the small group, the red flares of Grimm’s flames behind them. For a second, the pale scholar’s gaze met the god’s, and he saw an expression he would never have thought possible on a face he had always seen twisted in mockery. Had his words touched him with such violence? For an instant, he almost felt bad about this, before remembering that no one should ever feel bad for a god. A god? Was he really, though? He had called Grimm a pretense, and he knew there was some truth in it. Could it be the eyes of a real god, looking with such despair into flames? And could a god’s mind commit such a mistake? He thought his heart would still be filled with grudge, right now, with a resentment as powerful as the pain that throbbed in his forearm, with disappointment for a god that ruined his own game… And yet, none of them prevailed. The only thing he felt regarding Grimm was a very deep curiosity.

As they made their first step in Deepnest, he thought of the hostile land before them, of the god’s goals, and most of all, of his newly revealed weakness. Despite the danger, despite the pain, the exhilaration that had pushed him fore so long came back, more powerful than it ever was.

This was going to be very, very interesting.

Chapter Text

« Stranger… Why ? »

The fourth lord slowly rose his head, looking at the fighter before him. The moment he was about to die, the moment he saw is daughter pushing him, making herself the pray of terrifying flames…. These few seconds had been so short, and so long at the same time. The monster’s flames had hit the fighter’s nail with such violence, and the sparks, golden sparks that had surrounded them were so bright, with the look of wonder in his daughter’s eyes… And the long strands of grey hair, the adventurer’s cloak, flowing beautifully in crimson light.

He was still unable to comprehend it fully. The conviction of his death. His daughter’s courage… But also, her lack of attachment for life… The creature that had appeared before them, how it had lashed out, with the power of his flames… Lord Kshaa cursed himself, for trusting the words of the stranger. But appealing words were so easy to trust… Things that accorded themselves so well with his desires. He did not dare to doubt, he did not dare to deny them… He did not want to lose this opportunity.

The clouds of dust from the fight, the red smoke, all of it slowly faded, letting the fighters dumfounded in the center of the cave. The three scholars had disappeared with the burning beast. Now, it was just them and the silver troupe. The five fighters had proved their worth in the fight. Not only standing their ground against his troops, but also in front of the incandescent being that had threatened their lives. They had regrouped in the center of the cavern, taking a defensive stance, while his guards slowly surrounded them. They were so brave, too, looking decisively at their foes. Chances of victory for them were so slim, and yet, they did not give up, ready to fight with all their strength. To say the lord admired their spirit would be an understatement.

The mantis fighters now formed a circle around them, ready to strike. The air filled with this very specific tension that always swelled in the atmosphere just before a fight; eyes gauging, waiting for the other to make the first move. Even if the bright-eyed stranger was a traitor, it seemed this part of his story was completely true. They were truly great warriors, and could make a great addition to his crew. Besides, if the fight was to break out just now… It would be a carnage. So, lord Kshaa did something he had never done before. He took a step, and exclaimed:

“Stop all at once. It is not necessary to fight! I demand a negotiation.”

The guards and the silver troupe lowered their weapons in perfect synchronization, still watching out for the other’s every move. Then, they looked at each other, and Dryya took one step towards the lord.

“Talk, lord Kshaa, I believe we can come to an agreement.”

The lord steadied his posture and began to speak in a less hostile tone.

“First, silver troupe, tell me. Was the things that just happened of your doing, or are the flaming beast and the scholars to be held accountable for this ?”

“It is the latter, lord Kshaa. The one you call a flaming beast and the scholars are both at fault in this. Using strange ploys, they pushed us into this situation against our will.”

“And our resentment towards them proves this.” Isma added. “If this can reassure you, after such a betrayal, we have no intention to associate with them.”

The fourth lord nodded.

“I believe you. Your reactions during the fight and your general behaviour give me no reason to believe otherwise. It appears we’re beginning this discussion on even ground, hence-“

“Brother.”

Lord Kshaa’s words were cut abruptly. He turned back, to see his three sisters looking at him in contempt.

“What is the meaning of this? “Sèn asked.

The fourth lord felt the coldness of her tone, as freezing as the other’s glares.

“It’s just that some of them betrayed us and-“

“Is your memory so short, brother?” Gèd cut him. “Have you forgotten our agreement already?”

“No, but-“

He was cut once again, this time, by Yaèsh.

“Let me refresh your memory. We said These were under your responsibility. Should they escape your watch, you would have to answer for it”

“And here,” Sèn added, “I count one, two, three, four, five… And yet they were nine to enter. Where are the other four ?”

“I told you, they betrayed me, and-“

“Where. Are. They.”

“I don’t know! They escaped!”

Sèn walked up to her brother, her eyes burning in fury.

“So what you’re saying is that they could be anywhere !”

Gèd followed her, with a scowl that was not less aggressive than her sister’s.

“Probably running lose in our territory!”

Yaèsh also stepped forward, completing the accusatory trio.

“With all your guards, you failed to handle them !”

“You do not understand, sisters! One of them was more than a simple bug, he had great powers, red flames! My guards here and even those five can testify of it!”

“Flames or not, you still lost, brother! They still escaped! The only thing those words you just said can achieve is to worsen your case!”

Gèd spat these words with a venomous tone, before being joined by Yaèsh.

“If the ones wandering free were just feeble scholars, your mistake, though unforgivable, would only cause moderate damage. But now, you’re telling us that there’s a beast with the control of flames?”

Lord Kshaa took a step back. He felt it, now, the ire he had induced in his sister would be unlike any other he might have seen before, and though he still ignored the consequences of this, he knew they would be dire for him and his men.

Sèn took another step, her wrath turning to contempt.

“Remind me, brother, how many times have we indulged your mistakes? Your fickle projects, your mad demands? How many times have we forgiven you for putting our tribe in danger, for challenging our authority? How many times have you tried to act behind our backs, only creating disaster? Ho, do not answer, brother, I already know it anyways. The answer is… Too Many.”

Gèd joined her on the indictment.

“Is this how you repay our patience? Is it how you treat the many chances you received? I see it all to clearly, now. Our leniency was wasted on you!”

“This time was the last of your mistakes, brother! We shall tolerate your treachery no longer!”

Lord Kshaa lifter his head, looking at them with pride, and somewhat of a challenge.

“Then do not waste more time in vain declarations, sisters! State your punishment, and I shall face it.”

“Very well, then. Listen: Your punishment is indefinite exile! You’ve tarnished our honour and our reputation too many times already, so you and your goons will leave our land, until we judge your return to be possible.”

The lord squinted in rage and defiance, but kept his burning emotions within. He just answered, with a cold tone:

“Then, I will leave. This place had become unbearable to me, anyways. However, these five are still my prisoners, so they will leave with me.”

“This condition is acceptable. You can take them with you, as well as all your possessions. But within an hour, your will have cleared this nest of your presence!”

“I will, sister. I will.”

The mantises did not own much, and the traitor lord, as he was now called, as well as his acolytes, were quick to prepare for their exile, all while standing watch on the five adventurers. Then, head down, in front of the unsurprised eyes of the rest of their people, they left the mantid’s lands, on the exit that was in the noxious dens. It was the only one after all, for the door towards Deepnest had been sealed long ago, and it represented a barrier no one should be allowed to cross.

The lord looked back, and hissed at his sisters, his voice, full of scorn.

“You will regret this, sisters! When you will see me and my tribe rise to greatness while your still wallow in your pitiful, everlastingly defensive stance, your will pray, and wish to go back to this moment, when you could have given me a crown! Now, for the years to come, behold! I swear my lands will in no time become bigger and richer than yours, and that I will vanquish the foe in front of which you quiver in fear!”

Gèd clicked her tongue in irritation.

“We’ll see that, when you will come back here crawling, begging for our mercy. Now begone, traitor, and never dare to disgrace these caves with your presence ever again!”

Lord Kshaa turned back proudly and walked away, followed by his ten faithful guards. They travelled for little more than an hour through the dens, until they found a place in which they could set camp.

During the whole confrontation with his sisters, the silver troupe had stayed silent. But now that an apparent calm had returned, they seemed eager to continue their negotiations, that had been so brutally interrupted.

“So, Lord Kshaa”, Dryya asked, “will you let us go?”

“Well… I guess you are free now. But if I were you, I would not leave yet. Not until you’ve heard my proposal.”

“Is it the one you’ve told us about earlier?”

“Precisely, yes. My sisters think they’ve upset me, by chasing me away, but in truth, this exile aligns perfectly with my designs.”

Isma seemed to think for a little, before she declared:

“It is true your proposal seemed interesting to us… And now that we’ve been betrayed by those scholars, it is the only adventure that’s available for us right now.

The lord seemed satisfied.

“I hope we can spend a little more time together, then. I respect your strength, and I respect your quest for challenges and discovery. I believe our mindsets are not so different. Besides, my daughter seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Xhaila looked away, visibly embarrassed at the fact her father had noticed.

“It is decided, then!” Ogrim exclaimed. “The den of the pale roots seems an interesting place to explore. Besides, I’d much prefer having an adventure along brave fighters like you than these horrible scholars!”

His hopeful declaration echoed on the caverns, as the adventurer’s felt themselves regaining this sense of certainty, this straightforward, honest longing for the unknown they had failed to sense around the scholars. And even if it was not the one they planned, something in their heart told them that this journey was a kind of salvation, that these unforeseeable events had pushed them away from a destiny that was made of darkness.

…

In the kingdom of warm sun and clear dreams, the young moth priestess felt an unusual agitation. The beautiful clouds, that were always so calm, so appeasing, were now swirling in a tempestuous way. The bright star of sleep itself seemed to be moving, its light, sharper than usual, sending bright rays all around the peaceful realm. In fact, the star in the heart of dreams, the light, loved with such passion was itself the source of the unusual unrest that troubled the otherwise serene land of dreams. Letting herself be pushed in visions in her soft wings, she wondered what event could have made her dear god so restless.

The young priestess was not wrong, for her god was indeed very agitated. The Radiance’s heart was burning with fury. Not only had the scholars she wanted to stop escaped the mantises, but Grimm had intervened directly with them, using his unexplainable access to the physical realm to cheat once again! The only thing she could find relief in was the fact that the black book had been successfully destroyed. And even this seemed to be turning against her. She had assumed this book was necessary for the pale scholar’s progress in his research, but his lack of interest for the book’s disappearance strongly suggested otherwise. But this was nothing compared to Grimm. How dared he, this unsightly vessel of nightmares, this despicable pretense of a god, a mere sacrifice for the horrid, burning heart… How dared he rig the game like that, and how dared he step into the mortal’s realm so casually? She had to find out, and them, banish him in his kingdom of nightmares, hoping she would never have to set her eyes on him again!

Her rage gave her a new vigor, it strengthened her will, as it did her mind, and, looking from far away at the scholars entering Deepnest, the goddess conceived a new plan.

Chapter Text

Deepnest.

A place that filled the bugs living above with the most dreadful feeling. A place that was well known, but feared by all. Few had dared to venture in these narrow tunnels. Fewer had returned, and those who did often had a weird air about them, jumping at the slightest noise, waking up in their sleep with cries of fear, often with deep scars, a missing arm, and hearts forever trapped in the memories of these caverns. Their scarce speech, however, had not prevented the rumors. And there were many rumors about Deepnest.

Bugs talked of their fierce inhabitants and their well-known propensity for eating unlucky trespassers. About these, one could ear the most dreadful things. For some years, the word had been spreading that spiders came out of Deepnest to kidnap young children, took them to their den and sacrificed them to a foreign divinity, after forcing them to participate in obscene rituals that could not be described without turning the stomachs of the most stoic listeners. The bugs that lived around the blue lake said this people was so ferocious and so lacking in morality that, were they in want of travelers to consume, they resorted to the most horrible forms of cannibalism.

And then, there were the weavers. The most mysterious, and a subject that fueled the imagination of gossipers. They talked of their queen, named Herrah, and of her foreboding nickname, the beast, they made wild hypotheses about the origin of the weavers, as well as their mysterious abilities. Some said their silk could turn people into puppets, that they would turn bugs into slaves before eating them. Others recounted that they were sealers of doors, and owned dungeons so immense they reached the uttermost center of the earth, a horrible well of death and agony in which they bred bugs to use them as food or prey. They said their queen was as big as three elder baldurs on top of each other, that she had a wild fire burning in her eyes, and that her appetite was insatiable, others asserted that she could crush the strongest shells with her mandibles and any male she would take as a mate would be devoured just after being used. They said the place was imbued with some kind of dreadful silk, that it was littered with traps set by the weavers, and that they had turned the entire territory into a huge web, at the center of which Herrah was waiting to sense her prey.

Even if he knew most of those were probably unfounded rumors, a product of the imagination of old idlers and boastful incompetents, Lurien could not stop himself from thinking about them. The ground was damp, the tunnels extended in a labyrinthic way, and all around them, he could hear things moving, creatures crawling with terrifying sounds, water dripping from stalactites, things skittering away as they advanced, ominous breathing coming from other passages. And it was so dark! Even with the pale scholar’s lantern and Grimm’s flames lighting up their way, the tunnels were so narrow, and the turns they took were so sharp, and the darkness was so pervading that they could not see farther than a few meters away. And with every step, with every move of Monomon’s tentacles, with every strange rock they passed by, with every creature sneaking away from the light, twisted, fantastic shadows appeared on the walls, everchanging, monsters birthed every second by the flickering lamp.

The watcher shivered with fear. Suddenly, he felt something cold on his neck! He let out a small yelp, and before he even knew it, he was hugging Monomon. The teacher sighed.

“Calm down, Lurien, this is just a water drop from a stalactite.”

The watcher nodded and stepped away, however, he did not let go of her tentacle.

“Do not be so afraid,” the doctor added. “we’re not in the dangerous part yet.”

“You mean… It will get scarier?”

“Scarier, I can’t tell, but deadlier… for sure.”

“Shut your mouth, doctor! This is not how you will reassure him!”

“I’m only saying the truth.”

“That’s for a change!”

“I already said I was sorry.”

“And I will make you repeat it until you mean it.”

The continued, taking turns and strange passages, getting deeper and deeper into the hostile nest. The place was awfully labyrinthic, one could even think it was designed to trap inexperienced explorers in eternal despair. Lurien wondered if they would get lost too…

A strange noise seemed to come from under his feet.

The watcher stopped, paralyzed in terror.

“Watch out!”

Grimm pushed him away from the spot just on time, as a dirtcarver crawled out of the ground with crackling mandibles. The nightmare king put it down easily with a sharp flame, as Lurien watched, still terrified by the occurrence.

“Oh no… they even come out of the ground…”

Another horrible burrowing sound, this time, coming from the front of the group. Then, he heard the doctor calling:

“Help, Grimm, there’s more of them on this side!”

In a puff of flame, the god appeared before them and the five dirtcarvers, easily chasing them away with his flames.

“Crap…” Monomon muttered. “I hope we did not stumble into a nest! Hey, pale scholar, I hope you know where you’re taking us!”

The doctor struggled with the map, that had unfolded when the dirtcarvers appeared, trying to fold it in a more or less manageable way.

“I know the general direction, but there’s only so much I can do with this map. It’s second hand, and very, very old. And you’ve seen how these creatures dig! I would not be surprised if the entire geography of these tunnels had changed over the past few years.”

“But, then, that’s awful !”

“It’s still okay, I swear. For now, we just have to go down. Then, when we have reached the weaver’s territory, I will have more precise indications. The lost vestiges of the ancient civilization will guide us.”

“This is not reassuring at all.” The teacher deadpanned.

Lurien took one more step towards them, he was already very closed, but now, he was simultaneously holding Monomon’s tentacle and tugging at the doctor’s cloak.

“Can I … can I see the map?”

“Of course, if it can make you feel better.”

The pale scholar gave him the map he used for navigating Deepnest, and, as one could have expected, it was not comforting at all. The Deepnest section was an ugly palimpsest of roughly sketched tunnels, with corrections and notes added in a least three different handwritings, and this was not even mentioning the weird warning signs that had been placed on specific sections of the map. Lurien gave it back to the scholar. The situation was so bad he could have laughed, were he not experiencing it.

“Try to breathe, watcher. Soon, you’ll grow accustomed to it. Besides, there’s a god acting as our bodyguard, so you have nothing to fear.”

Lurien nodded, looking back at Grimm. The god in question had been uncharacteristically silent from the moment they entered the caverns. Did the doctor’s words hurt him this much? He turned his mind to this problem, trying to push his fear away. They walked for a few minutes with no major incidents. Slowly breathing in and out, Lurien was starting to feel a little better. His eye had accustomed to the darkness, and while it made him more aware of his terrifying surroundings, it also meant his mind became less prone to the suggestions of shadows.

However, this moment of respite was short-lived, as they heard the noise of something crumbling behind them. A thunder like noise echoed through all the neighboring caverns, as a huge, repugnant mass fell from the ceiling just behind them, making a repulsive, squishy noise. They all took a step back, staring in terror. In front of them, there was a monstrous wild spider, some sort of tarentula, with a sickly pale, vaguely translucent shell that let them get a glimpse of her organs throbbing horribly in her abdomen. Drops of heavy, thick poison dropped from her disproportionate mandibles, leaving a small, yellowish pool on the ground, and her eight red eyes of albino were locked on them. With no warning, the creature launched at them.

The three scholars felt a rush of adrenaline, as they began to run. From the noises behind them, it seemed Grimm had managed to land a few blows, but that it had little effect on the creature, that was still pursuing them in full speed. They ran as they never thought they could be able to run, feeling the mephitic breath of the beast behind them, mixed with the nauseating smell of burnt flesh and burnt shell.

“Darn it!” Grimm swore. “This one is sturdy!”

“Grimm, in front of us!”

This was the worst thing that could have happened. In front of them, six dirtcarvers had emerged from the ground. This was a pincher attack, and there was no way for Grimm to destroy all these foes at once. The doctor looked around in desperation, to find what he was looking for. An opening, a slit behind a stalagmite that seemed to lead to another way. Too small for this monster to fit.

“This way!”

He jumped towards the small opening, taking Lurien and Monomon along, Grimm following close behind.

The massive spider hit the wall, unable to go through the opening. It killed three dirtcarvers and ate them immediately, letting out a horrible noise of crushed shell and blood being swallowed. The other three dirtcarvers entered the cave behind the scholars and were quickly disposed of by Grimm.

They tried to catch their breath, looking around them, ready to face another danger. However, no foe was waiting for them in here. Only a harsh realization: this was a dead end.

They looked back at the way from which they entered. The hideous, pale spider was still there, waiting patiently for them to come out. And if the tings the pale scholar had heard about such creatures were true… they had a lot of patience.

Grimm cursed under his breath.

“What is it?” The doctor asked.

“That thing… its regenerative abilities are scary. I landed two heavy blows, earlier, and look, it’s already stopped bleeding!”

“I see. We’re in a pickle, then.”

“I still can burn it all the way down, though…”

Grimm, saying this, was already raising his hand, conjuring up the deadliest of his flames. However, before he could begin the attack, the pale scholar grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

“What? Don’t you want to get out of here as soon as possible?”

The god made a discreet sign towards Lurien, but was quite surprised to see that though he was shaking, the watcher was still standing up, and was not holding onto Monomon anymore.

“This is a good occasion”, the doctor declared. “I want to conduct an experiment that might prove useful later.”

“An experiment?” Lurien mumbled. “do you really think we have time for this kind of whims?”

“An experiment?” Monomon asked, a familiar spark shining in her eyes. “What is it?”

The doctor and the teacher share a conniving glance, most to Lurien and Grimm’s dismay. He fumbled in his bag, before taking out his vial of poison, proudly showing it to the other three.

“This is a poison I have created a few years ago. A deadly thing, even for the largest creatures. However, I do not know if it works on creatures that have poison glands.”

The teacher nodded knowingly.

“I see. Then, this ugly specimen would make an excellent test subject.”

“That’s what I thought. Let’s put a few drops of this mixture in this grilled dirtcarver and give it to our Guinea pig, as an offering.”

“Excellent. Let me recover the dirtcarver, I will let you handle the dosage.”

They went about this task with great enthusiasm, while Grimm and Lurien watched, stupefied.

“Watcher…” Grimm asked. “What has taken hold of them? Are they unaware of the situation we’re in?”

Lurien turned to him, a desperate look in his eyes.

“There’s nothing we can do. This is the mad scientist mood. I’ve seen it before…”

“I’ve never seen anyone looking so happy to pour poison in a dirtcarver.”

“Have you ever seen people putting poison in a dirtcarver?”

“No. And I wish it could still be the case.”

“Unfortunately… it is not.”

Letting out a small giggle, Monomon used her tentacle to push the grilled dirtcarver towards the beast. The creature did not wait a second. It devoured the poisoned prey with otherworldly celerity.

Then, nothing. It continued staring at them through the whole, with its unsettling, predatory glance.

“Nothing happened.” Monomon said, disappointed.

“Wait a moment. It will need some time to take effect. You’ll see, it attacks the nervous system.”

They waited a whole minute, during which nothing happened. Then, the creature started to be shaken by violent spasms, and light green foam appeared on the corners of its mandibles. The shaking intensified, until the spider’s whole body was shaken by convulsion, twisting horribly in front of them, its limps taking uncanny angles, as it let out a sinister roar, followed by a gurgle.

The creature dropped down, clearing the way. With many precautions, the pale scholar approached it, ready to back down if it were to suddenly awaken. But the spider did not move. He got closer, while the rest of the troupe got out of the dead end.

Very carefully, the doctor touched the creature’s abdomen, before taking it off a few seconds after. Slowly, as silently as he could, he took a step back, and whispered to Monomon:

“Let’s get away and make no noise. It’s still alive.”

As he instructed, the small troupe walked away from the spider, descending into a tunnel that seemed even darker than the previous ones.

“Do you think it’ll die eventually?” Monomon whispered.

“I do not think so. This poison is supposed to have immediate effect. If it doesn’t die after the spasms, it is likely to survive.”

“That’s not good for us.”

“That’s true… But thanks to this experiment, we still managed to obtain an important information.”

“Which one?” The watcher asked.

Even if he had dismissed it before, he was still very interested in the result of this little test. Denying it would mean being dishonest with himself.

“Even if this poison will not kill the spiders, it can still put them down for what should be a long moment. I’d say, something like forty-eight hours. Which means it can still be a useful tool, were we to find ourselves in an unexpected situation.”

“Hope you won’t need it, though…” Grimm muttered, as if to himself.

After this conversation, the small troupe went silent, pursuing their descent.

The doctor looked at his maps. The weird engravings on the wall matched the sign that was indicated next to a chunk of text. According to the traveler who had written it, these engravings were the sign that they were entering dangerous territory.

The pale scholar glanced back, and he could not help but to feel the shiver running down his back. If the zone they had just crossed was “relatively safe territory”, then… he did not dare to imagine what awaited them, going forward.

…

From the realm of golden light and soft dreams, the Radiance looked at the troupe making their way into Deepnest. The arachnid she had manipulated to make it exit its territory and come to the higher tunnels had not been able to stop them, but she had many, many other ways to intervene. After all, now that her brother had been unmasked, she had no reason to hold back. The quiet times of dreamy evocations was over. Now, she was determined to intervene more directly.

She spotted the small weaver, standing guard at the entrance of their den. How easy it was to possess her, what a child’s play, to chase away her consciousness, trapping it in a very sweet dream, while she had full control over her body.

The goddess let out a strange laugh, as she thought about her plan. This time, it would not fail, and she would feel it, with all its delicious implications… the delightful feeling of victory.

…

A small weaver entered the meeting room of the weaver’s queen. She appeared restless, feverish, and there was a strange, orange hue in her eyes.

Herrah turned her stern face towards the newcomer.

“What do you want, little guard. Speak.”

“My queen! A troupe of four strangers has trespassed into our territory. I know their location. What should we do?”

Chapter Text

The beast stood up, irritation building up within her. They never learned, did they… These foolish bugs from the caverns above, who depicted her kingdom like a hellish place, who painted her out as an ogre, and her whole people as a tribe of uncultured cannibals. They feared her so, and yet, they still trespassed. What could they be looking for in her land, she wondered? These pathetic cowards, these liars, she was well aware of the fake rumors they spread about her. At first, she had deemed it a good thing, all those stories would instigate fear in their hearts, and they would never dare to enter her kingdom. But then, she had slowly realized that these legends did not only birth fear. It also fueled hatred. She knew she should have realized sooner, as the two were always close companions. Moreover, it hurt her. True, they were ruthless, but they were brave and true, true, they were still attached to traditions that, from the standpoint of other cultures, could appear terrifying and gruesome, but these were born out of piety and respect, these were the ways of her culture, the things they had taken with them from their former home, the thing she could not afford to lose.

She frowned in rightful anger. These hypocritical bugs of the surface, who claimed that her domain was the Tartarus itself, what did they want, what did they seek? With the full knowledge of what would happen to them if they were discovered, they still dared to enter. Were they fools? Madmen, perhaps? Did they think they could do something against her? Deeming themselves more skilled in combat? Cleverer? Asinine pretense! Utter idiocy! They should be aware of it by know, that no bug from the caverns above could claim to be more powerful than a beast, or more cunning than a weaver!

She lowered her gaze to her young subject, who was waiting for her answer eagerly.

“Find them and bring them to me. Tell the cooks to prepare for a great feist.”

The young guard bowed, and stepped back, with a clumsy display of respect that made the queen giggle. She could not wait to see those intruders come to terms with their own stupidity. It had been a long time since she had not had the occasion to enjoy the fat meat of the bugs from above, to admire the looks of terror and misery they would have, becoming aware of their fate, as she described to them how their flesh would be accommodated.

“Oh, and, before you leave, one last thing.”

The guard turned back.

“Take them alive.”

“Very well, my queen.”

The weaver exited the meeting room and went to find a group of experienced fighters. The five of them were massive spiders, wielders of short daggers, the best weapons for these narrow tunnels. The showed them the way to find the intruders, and they went off, silently, moving like skilled predators.

The moment they disappeared in the tunnel, the radiance released her grip over the young weaver, who looked around, completely disoriented. The first part of her plan had been completed flawlessly. Now, she could move on to the second step. She looked forward to this phase, as she knew she would have a lot of fun enacting it.

…

The scholars walked silently in the dark tunnels, looking around with suspicious glares. In this place, anything could be an enemy, and they did not want to be the target of a surprise attack like the last one. In this place, the tunnels had gotten narrower, Grimm and Lurien had to bend down, and Monomon was forced in a weird horizontal position. What made things worse was the horrible stench that permeated the tunnels. It smelled like death, as well as something else they could not identify, and from time to time, they almost stepped in a sticky substance that was laid on the ground, a purplish goo that seemed to be the source of the strange smell. Grimm hoped they would soon find the exit of this section. Even for him, the claustrophobic atmosphere, the stench, and the strange echoes coming from below were frightening.

“Doctor, are you sure we’re on the right way? These tunnels are getting narrower and narrower.”

The scholar did not answer, but he stopped in his tracks, took the map from his bag and began to examine it. Then, Grimm noticed the parchment in his hands was shaking. Lurien looked over his shoulder.

“You know, you can be afraid too, there’s no reason to hide it.”

“I’m not afraid.” The pale scholar sighed, in a tired voice.

“We will not judge, though.”

Grimm frowned. He walked to the head of the group, and with no warning, put both of his hands on scholar’s cheeks.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the other exclaimed, pulling away.

“I knew it!”

“What?”

“You have a fever.”

“No I don’t.”

Lurien grabbed the doctor’s hand.

“Yes you do.”

They heard Monomon approaching behind, mumbling.

“Shit!”

The teacher sighed.

“And we thought the situation could not get worse… But I had forgotten doctor, you always find a way to make things worse, don’t you?”

“It’s not like I could do anything about this!”

“You could have told us earlier…” Lurien sighed.

Grimm crouched in front of him, with an uncharacteristically stern look.

“Show me your arm.”

He showed him his left arm, with a blank face.

“the other one, moron!”

Reluctantly, the pale scholar showed his bandaged forearm. The god frowned. There was a clear crack forming in the shell, and blood already clotting in the fabric. His sense of guilt from earlier came back in full force, as he measured how much worse the situation had gotten because of him. He looked down and mumbled something that sounded like a muffled apology.

“Why did you not tell us earlier?” Monomon asked, her voice, now, completely serious.

“It’s fine. I used antiseptics, and it’s healing, it will just be a little bothersome for a few hours.”

“You’ve been hiding things from us for so long that it’s become an habit…” She sighed. “Anyway, I hope this is true, because if you’re lying again, then-“

“Shhh.”

“what ?”

“Listen.”

The group went completely silent and listened intently for sound. First, there was nothing. Then, they heard it more clearly. Behind them, the sound of footsteps. Something was approaching, but it was unlike any wild bug they had heard in Deepnest. The steps were slow, hushed breath, sometimes, a metallic sound. Something intelligent was approaching, and it was trying to conceal its presence.

The doctor made a sign, and, as silently as they could, the scholars hurried in the opposite direction. Footsteps behind them became faster.

“Crap!” Lurien muttered.

Hushed breath, feeling closer than they should. The scholars sped up, no longer looking for a precise direction. The doctor glanced behind him for a second, and saw.

Tailing them, too closely, they were five weavers. Warriors, with daggers, calm, predatory looks. They tried to run faster, but they were already at their limit. Besides, they could not keep this up for much longer, Grimm noticed the doctor was having a hard time keeping up the pace. To make things worse, the tunnels they were in had become even more labyrinthic than they already were, with entrances of new caves everywhere, which meant more ways of escape, but also a higher chance of meeting a dead end. Besides, the nauseating stench was getting stronger and stronger, and as they passed by, he noticed corpses hanging from the ceiling, all attached in thick, sticky threads. There was no other way. He had to fight.

Grimm stopped and turned towards the five weavers, ready to fight. However, the moment he did, something strange happened. A presence, a whisper. The scholar’s lantern went out.

The sudden darkness disoriented the god for a few seconds. Now that he had only his flames to provide light, he could only see glimpses of what was happening.  Monomon cursing under her breath. Light footsteps still running away. A flash of the weavers in front of him. But why were they only three?

He launched an attack towards them. The spell lighted the tunnels for a short moment, revealing the shape of a weaver disappearing in a nearby tunnel.

The spell faded. Half a second of complete darkness before Grimm made another flame.

The tunnel appeared in front of him. It was completely empty. They were many openings in it, leading to other tunnels. He heard the slithers of weavers scurrying away, then… Nothing. He turned around, looking at the tunnel he believed the scholars had taken. The tunnel was empty.

Under the dancing light of his flames, the caverns seemed to be moving around him, and he could not even remember which way they were going in the first place. Above him, the dilapidated corpse of a wanderer was hanging from the ceiling, staring at him with its empty sockets, as the tunnels filled with eerie silence.

He could not believe it. He had failed, once again. He was determined to do good, this time, to regain their trust, but now… They were gone. How come the light had been put out like that? It was not supposed to, it was an alchemic lantern, not something that could just be extinguished by a draft. He hoped that at least, the sudden darkness had allowed the scholars to put some distance between them and their pursuers.

Grimm looked around once again and called:

“Doctor?”

No answer.

He began to walk in one of the tunnels that seemed more negotiable.

“Monomon ?”

His voice echoes through the tunnels, the reverberated sounds deformed and mixed with each other, forming an ominous croak.

“Shit…”

Something passed quickly in the corner of his eye. Light grey. Grimm turned around and entered the tunnel in which the shape had disappeared. He walked for a dozen of second, before seeing it more clearly. The pale scholar was there, but he had not noticed him. Once again, the clear shape disappeared in another passage.

Grimm followed him as quickly as he could. The god was so eager to find the scholars again that he did not notice how the number of empty corpses had increased since he was following the doctor. The chase went on for who knows how long, before the nightmare king caught a better glimpse of the pale scholar. He was waiting for him in the center of a circular cave, filled with dry husks and corpses.

The doctor stayed silent, staring at him with empty eyes. Grimm stepped forward. Something felt wrong about this, but he could not tell what it was. He took a better look at the individual in front of him. There were no bandages around his right wrist.

“I see…”

The god frowned and prepared his flames. Ready for any attack, he walked towards the impostor. He was so focused on it that he did not notice the pentagram awkwardly carved in stone under his feet.

The impostor was shaken by a spasm. Its head turned in an unnatural way. Then, it emerged from the ground.

The creature was terrifying, its shape, shell or bone, twisted in unnatural proportions, powerful mandibles, spikes, deformed limbs, and a horrible roar.

However, this was not the reason why Grimm stood in shock before the creature. What he was staring at was the orange substance dripping from the thing’s infected organs, and the bright light in its eyes. Reflexively, he attacked the creature with everything he had. Flaming blades lashed on its body, successfully beheading it. The thing fell lifeless on the ground, in front of him.

“Sister…”

Even if it was dead, the light in the creature’s eyes had not disappeared. It was staring at him, almost mockingly.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared from the carvings under his feet. Bright, golden chains erupted from the ground and ensnared him. Dread rested heavy on his heart as he understood. He had fallen right into his sister’s trap.

The light intensified to blinding intensity, chains burning painfully in the god’s soul. The moment it receded, he was in the dream realm, still in chains. In front of him, his sister was looking down at him, her glare filled with horrid irony.

“My poor little brother… How embarrassing, falling in my trap like that!”

“What do you want?”

“Me? Oh, I do not want anything. In fact, I am quite content right now. I just want you to stay here so I can thoroughly enjoy your defeat.”

“Let me go! That’s not how you’re supposed to play this game, sister!”

The goddess flew closer, staring at him viciously.

“But Grimm, were you not the one who said playing by the rules is boring? You should be happy; I am following your example. Besides, after what you’ve done in the mantises’ den, you have no right tell me how to play.”

“You said you would not kill him!”

The radiance let out a bright, sonorous laugh that filled the entire realm of dreams.

“But, my silly little brother, I am not killing any of your little scholars.”

She approached and continued, whispering into his hear.

“The beast and her weavers can do that without me.”

“Let me go! If I cannot act, this game is entirely meaningless!”

“How hypocritical of you, Grimm. You intervened in this early on, you used your godly powers on the mortal plane, you did everything you could to make me lose… And now, you blame me for making my move?”

The nightmare king growled in burning ire.

“Do you know what you are, Grimm?”

She took her time, saying these words, savoring each syllable, filling each of them with poison.

“You are a sore loser.”

“Damn you!”

“But brother, this is not my fault! You just had to be a better player. Now, they will die a horrible death, killed and eaten by spiders, and this will be your entire fault. You failed to protect them, that’s all. You pride yourself in your cunning, but it appears you were not smart enough to last long against me.”

The god struggled, trying to escape, but her chains were too powerful.

“Now, my dear little brother, all we have to do is sit back and watch, as your little friends meet their demise.”

He growled, lashing out at the spell, surrounded with scarlet flames. But it was not enough to escape from the cage Radiance had prepared for him.

She looked down on him, her features twisting in a sick expression of pleasure, while she soughed, in a sing song voice.

“I can’t wait to see the recipe they will use.”

…

In complete darkness, the pale scholar was running. He could hear Lurien and Monomon’s breath in front of him, and the weaver’s footsteps, following close behind. Grimm had disappeared, and there was no way to escape now. He just had the time for one thing, one action before the pursuers were on him. With this one action, the doctor decided to take a bet. If the spiders had decided to catch them alive, this could be their salvation. But if they didn’t… It was over.

Hoping that it was the former, the pale scholar used the few seconds he had in front of him to take the vial of poison from his bag and hide it in his interior pocket.

Half a second passed.

He felt a huge weight landing on his back, pinning him to the cold ground.

A sharp pain in the back of his head.

One could have said that everything went dark, but they were already in complete obscurity.

Chapter Text

At first, it was just darkness and pain. There was the burning in his forearm, the incessant drone in his head, the feelings of constraints, too tight, everything was spinning, and everything was so dark. Breathing was difficult too, something was leaking in his throat and he was this close to choke on it, before coughing it out lengthily, bringing in new pain. A least, now, he could breathe again. In his mouth, the taste of iron, the taste of mud. Quite familiar, ironically. The taste of burrowing and death, the weirdly nostalgic taste of his youth.

He felt the cold pressure of the poison vial, still hidden in his clothes. A small reassurance. A fickle hope, surely, but at least, he had something to latch on to. He struggled a little in the restraints. Spider silk, of course. The sturdiest thing out there. The feeling of balancing. Hanging from the ceiling, then, like dried tiktik in a cellar. What a way to find one’s end…

He could hear Lurien and Monomon’s breathing, not too far away. Probably still unconscious. Jumping innocently into the darkness, with nothing but child-like curiosity… The price of such things was to be learned the hard way, it seemed.

Why was he doing this, again? It seemed he had been going on for so long on this path he had forgotten the door that led to it. Of course, there were many answers to that question. Even as a wyrm, still draped in all his godly ignorance, holding with fierce intent to power and violence, he had been aware of this. That they were certain books that should not be read. Certain questions that should not be answered. Certain minds that should not be breached.

He knew something within him had changed, the day he had borrowed the eyes of the high priest Ud-Zeheradab, staring into the pages of the forbidden codex, for the demented musings of the words laid on its pages had found an echo into his mind, one of unquenched thirst, insatiable desire, untamable will, a thing that was its own sort of madness. He knew he had passed another threshold, the day he plunged into the mind of the great songstress in Aabidna, for the first time, putting a name on the thing that was calling beyond the desertic expanse, a shape upon those glimpses of fate he had made out in the wells of visions. He remembered it vividly, the way shadows danced in her mind, as she growled arcane incantations before the bloody altar, the forbidden scripts hidden within her memory, the codes, the black book.

He knew it had enthralled him with its promises, the call of the darkness beyond, he knew, the day he gathered the cursed volumes into the great black book. The obscure references to priests of the green one, priest of the pale giver of life, the ravenous mother, the greater and lesser keys of remote realms, the words of calling, cursed words of doors opening, and every time he had used them, it had deepened his unrest, his utter, irresistible fascination for the unknown.

Even if he knew this mad quest would lead him where he was now, he would still undertake it. Such was his desire for what was forbidden. Such was his passion for the truth that was denied to all others.

He heard Lurien coughing.

Voices behind a door.

One was high pitched. Hyperactive. Irritating. The other was deep and powerful, truly frightening.

“So there’s only three of them?”

“Yes, my queen. There was a fourth one, but the fighters lost it in the tunnels. He could not have gone very far, though, they were on the borders of the Nosk’s territory.”

“Good riddance. Now, let’s see what those idiots' reason was for entering our land.”

The door opened with a loud creaking. A greenish light appeared. The smell of copper. The strange fire twisted on the torch, casting fantastic shadows upon the floor. Then, she appeared, her sharp features underlined by the light. The doctor did not need an introduction to know who this was. The overwhelming size, the sense of power and dread, the confident look in her six eyes. No doubt. She was Herrah the beast.

She walked slowly, her strides filled with regal elegance that merged forebodingly with the wild strength it suggested. The small weaver followed her close, the difference in their sizes forced him to trot behind her in a comical fashion.

He saw Lurien and Monomon next to him, also trapped in spider silk. At least they had not hanged them head down.

The beast approached, gauging them. Her gaze was deeply disturbing. She looked at them like they were chunks of meat. Well, from her viewpoint, that was probably the case. The queen clicked her tongue, with an expression of disappointment.

“Not a great catch. I was expecting some big chubby adventurers, but it seems they were just scrawny grubs. Hardly enough to fill two plates.”

“I’m deeply sorry about this, my queen”, the affable councilor sang, bowing apishly next to her.

“Do not apologize, councilor. What they lack in… substance, I am sure they will make up for in entertainment.”

The pale scholar looked around him. Lurien seemed stunned, and Monomon was still unconscious. This could be their last occasion to see the beast, their last occasion to negotiate. He had to think. Fast. Think of something, anything…

The beast turned towards him, her gaze piercing through his skull. He could already see she would be a difficult adversary. Keen. Ruthless.

“You, with the weird horns. Tell me, what were you doing here? Did you really think you could cross Deepnest and not become our prey?”

His mind raced. He had to find something. Buy time, create an opportunity. Think faster, think. An idea popped into his mind. This was probably not the best one, but he had no alternative solution, so he latched on to it anyways. Now, everything depended on his acting skills. This part was not the greatest for his self-esteem, but at this point, he did not care about presentation. This was a matter of life or death.

“Please!” he whimpered pitifully, shedding fake tears. “do not eat us!”

The beast frowned.

“I said why did you come here!”

“Sorry, sorry, please, don’t eat us, I will confess!”

She raised an eyebrow, surprised by the odd word choice. Good. The beast had bitten the hook.

“Confess? What do you have to confess, you pathetic wretch?”

“Sorry, so sorry, we did not want to do this, they were the ones who…”

The doctor threw a quick glance to the side. Lurien was fully awake, now, looking at the scene with a concerned expression in his eye. Monomon was emerging as well. The beast walked closer, making him jump- or at least, he pretended to.

“Who, They ?”

Herrah was even more scary up close. The scrutinizing look in her six eyes and the way she used physical intimidation was definitely something he could do without.

“They, they… The… the expeditionary corps, they wanted us to…”

The beast drew a knife from her belt and put it right in front of his face. She looked hostile, now, very in control.

“Who are they?” she growled.

“I will tell, I will tell, please, don’t kill us!”

He felt the cold bite of the blade on his cheek, just where the scar was. A very faint twitch in Herrah’s hand. It was obvious she was taking pleasure from this.

“Talk.”

“The… the expeditionary corp. They’re bugs who want to take control of Deepnest. They want to… to… To make a massive incursion, they sent us to… to…”

He felt the knife cutting in shell. It was a strange sensation. The danger, the utter powerlessness of the situation… And yet, the coldness of the blade was such a relief, in his feverish state…

“Talk. Or I will play with this knife.”

A shiver. Real this time. Lurien was looking at him, shaking his head. Monomon appeared strangely calm.

“I will talk, I will tell you everything you want, please don’t hurt us!”

“Why did they send you here?”

“We…we were sent in reconnaissance. Since we know of maps, they wanted to have us identify a route… for their attack. Please, forgive us, we’re not with them, they just ordered us to do it!”

“Why did you accept, then?”

Hesitation. Very well done. Lowering the head in shame. This had to be convincing.

“For… for geo.”

The beast looked at him dumbfounded, before bursting into laughter. Her hilarity lasted a whole minute.

“Ho, what a treat! I knew bugs from above were stupid, but not up to this point! What a bunch of fools you are, risking your lives down here for a bag of geo!”

“Please, I’ll tell you everything, I… I have a map on my bag, I can show you the places they want to attack!”

“Your little bags full of junk? My warriors left those in the place where they captured you. They would never embarrass themselves with such useless things.”

That was bad. This meant no access to the book for now. And that not only had they to escape, they also had to find the exact place where they had been captured. The pale scholar decided to think of a way to incorporate this factor into his plan. For now, he had to continue the performance.

“Please, I will draw a plan… Show you on of your map if you have one. I’ll tell you everything I know!”

The beast smiled, showing her sharp mandibles, glistening with poison.

“You seem quite eager to betray your employer. What a dirty traitor you are…”

“They don’t matter to me anymore. I’m here because of them, so I will tell you everything. Please, let us live!”

The beast let out a low chuckle.

“Very well, then, little traitor. I will take you to my generals. Then, you can tell us all about it.”

She turned to the councilor.

“Go tell midwife and the three generals that I call a strategic meeting.”

With a precise slash, she cut the thread that hanged him on the ceiling, and he fell on the ground with a small thud. Then, she cut is restraints, but kept the silk wrapped tightly around his wrists. This gave him the opportunity to take a better look at Lurien and Monomon. The two seemed uninjured but were entangled in so much silk that it would be impossible for them to escape. Both of them were staring at him in utter consternation. Did they really think his plan was so stupid? But there was something else, too. A hint of worry. A hint of hope.

The beast pulled him up violently, using her silk as a chain.

“Stand up, traitor. We shall go.”

She pulled on the silk again, and they exited the room. The councilor was trotting in front of them, while he followed the beast, struggling to keep the pace, while trying to memorize everything he could see of the place’s architecture. It seemed Herrah made no attempt to prevent him to see the layout of the place. This meant she was very confident about her ability to keep him restrained. And from the elements he had gathered for now, it appeared this confidence was not unearned. The doctor had no illusions about this move. From the very beginning, it was clear as day that the beast had no intention of releasing them, even if he acted the part of the cowardly traitor. She would listen to him, then, take him back to the cell, announcing that now that they were no longer useful to her, they would be killed. However, having her let them go had never been a part of his plan. Not so early anyway. His goal was to create an opportunity, and above all, to buy time. Buy time so that Grimm could come and free them.

He took a better look at the corridor as they went. The walls, the floor and the ceiling were all made of an intricate structure of silk and wood, and decorated with monochrome tapestries, in which figures were formed by the use of different types of stitches. The corridors were lit by lanterns containing the same cobalt green flames that were used on Herrah’s torch. They took many turns, a number of stairs. It seemed the beast’s palace was wide, and that the intricacy of its architecture mirrored the maze-like qualities of Deepnest’s tunnels. Memorizing all of it would prove rather difficult.

After climbing a long stair, they arrived in a wide alley, filled with weavers that bowed respectfully at the queen. They crossed it and entered an oval room. This one had the most elaborate architecture, with vaults of sculpted woods and silken talismans hanging all around. In the center, a lantern, beautifully forged, sent greens rays in the whole room. On the center, there was a wooden table, richly adorned with marquetry work. Four figures were sitting around the table. Three weavers, similar to Herrah in size, and a fourth creature with a deep black body and a strange mask. On the table, there were a number of books, two precise looking maps, a few quills and… Four glasses filled with what resembled rich, red wide. This was it. This was his opportunity. The doctor gauged the size of the four individuals. All of them were massive, a little bigger than the wild spider on which they had tested the poison. This could work. This had to work. He knew the poison would affect them for forty-eight hours before its effects faded. That was it, the perfect occasion for blackmail.

“Hello, midwife, my generals. Sorry for calling you on such a short notice. But it seems we have the occasion to preempt an attack.”

She pushed the doctor in front of her, clearly not caring about measuring her strength. He almost fell down in front of them but manage to catch himself on the table.

“This is an intruder my warriors have captured yesterday. He claims that an army of bugs have prepared a strike against us. Of course, he could be lying, but I thought we could hear him out, just in case.”

“A traitor, then.” Midwife said. “let’s hear what he has to say.”

She sipped some of her wine with a strange elegance, coming from such a creature, and leant back on her seat. The massive weaver next to her pushed the map towards him. Herrah untied his wrist so he could show them of the map, but still held on to the silken chain attached to his left hand.

“Show us, then.”

As they were speaking, the pale scholar had examined every element in the room. The weird little openings under the bookshelves were of little utility to him. However, two elements had called his attention. The fact that the silk between him and Herrah was lying on the floor, and the servant waiting next to the door, with a half-filled pitcher in his hands. Two of the glasses were close enough for him to touch.

He heard Herrah’s voice behind him.

“Show us, he said.”

With voluntarily shaky hands, the doctor began to show a location on the map.

“So… They have made a… a treaty… with the mantis tribe, so they will enter… through here.”

Their eyes followed the moves of his finger on the map. Hesitant tone, shaky hands. Herrah behind him, their presence, menacing. The perfect setting for the scene he was about to play. The shaking of his hands intensified.

“Then, they… they… they want to make two groups, and… They’re not sure yet, since we were supposed to study the route, but… They thought about having one squad going through there, and then, one other squad going through-“

With his shaky hand, the doctor clumsily pushed a glass of wine. Its content spilled on the floor.

His face morphed into a look of utter despair.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

Herrah hit him on the back of the head.

“Look at the mess you’ve done, stupid swine!”

Midwife took her empty glass.

“Don’t sweat it, dear. Look, the poor thing is already terrified. Servant, come and refill my glass.”

The servant approached, respectfully. The moment they passed between him and Herrah, the pale scholar pulled on the silken thread. Not too much, so that the beast would not notice. Just enough to make the servant trip.

One second.

The servant tripped. A scream of surprise. The sharp sound of the pitcher breaking.

One second.

All eyes were on the servants.

The doctor took the flask of poison from his pocket.

One drop in each of the glasses that were still filled.

One second.

Still no gaze on him. As quickly as he could, he put the flask back in his pocket.

One second.

The servant stood up, apologizing for his clumsiness.

Herrah sighed.

“Don’t apologise, Dahn, it happens to everyone.”

“It appears clumsiness is a contagious disease!” Midwife joked happily.

“Yes, it is… You can go, Dahn, you’ll clean it later.”

She turned back to the doctor. He was still shaking, but not more from fear, than from anticipation.

“Continue.”

While showing locations of the map, the doctor threw glances at the three generals. When would one of them drink? When?

“So… the second group want to go through here… And station in one of these tunnels. But they… they don’t know which one yet. Determining this was part of our mission.”

He looked up. One of the generals had a hand on her glass.

“How many are they?”

“A…around one hundred. But… they await reinforcement.”

The general picked up the glass.

“Okay, okay… But tell me, little traitor. There’s one thing that bugs me in what you said.”

The glass was on her lips.

“This expeditionary corps… They must have been really stupid, sending weaklings like you in a recon mission. I know that bugs above are not the brightest, but still. They should have known that there was a risk of us capturing you and torturing you for intel.”

“They… they did not think of that. They’re convinced that you’re a people of beasts. Only killing on sight.”

“Mmm, that’s still suspicious. What do you think, you all?”

The general took a sip.

Chapter Text

“They’re putting up quite a fight, aren’t they. Even in a situation like this, they do not lose hope, they plan to struggle until the end.”

Between his sister’s wings, an orb of visions was turning, like a transparent planet or a ball of crystal. They both stared in it, looking at the waking world through this small, magical window. She turned to Grimm, still trapped in her golden chains.

“I can see why you were so interested in him. I would find this attitude commendable, if the means employed were not so dishonorable.”

She looked at the orb again, before letting out a strange sigh.

“Their struggling is useless, though. They can fight all they want, they’re doomed. No one escapes the beast’s den.”

The crimson god twitched, but the pain inflicted by the burning chains reminded him why he had chosen immobility.

“The only thing he’ll manage to do is to make his death more painful. This queen does not like to have her people messed with, and in revenge, she can show… a lot of creativity.”

He let out a low growl, his flames gnawing at the chains, all in vain, for the gold of the sun could not be melted my anything, even the most divine of flames.

“What a pity. Look how the poor things are trying to buy time, thinking you will come to save them. Will they curse you, I wonder? They will think you’ve abandoned them, and they will hate you so…”

Grimm frowned. Her words angered him, and he hated it. She should not be able to taunt him so easily, and yet, her words were so precise, designed with such malicious intent, so that they would hit his weak spot. The nightmare king gasped at the realization. This was his weak spot. He did not even try to deny it, by now. He was very aware of how attached he had grown over time, and of the pain this would eventually cause him. What more, lately, these feelings had begun to echo something else. It was something deep, buried under many nightmares, something that echoes the heartbeats in his head. How long had it dwelled within him? He could not tell. He had become aware of it after lashing out at the mantises. This was a disturbing desire. He wanted to see the doctor complete his quest. He craved it, the same way the heart craved flames, and that was for a very special reason. Why?

Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ignore

He did not like it. He wanted it, but… this was not important, right now. What he needed was a way to save them. And he needed to act fast.

“I am impressed by your spell, sister. I must admit, I was mistaken about you. I thought you only liked to use brutish strength, but it appears your cunning does not pale in front of your might.”

“Why the sudden flattery, brother?”

“I express my surprise, that’s all. I just think it’s a pity we do not see that side of you more often.”

Her look of idle pleasure morphed into one of suspicion.

“Your point, Grimm.”

“My point is, were they to die now, it would put an end to your fun. Victory is a sweet feeling, of course, but it is short lived. And it does not compare to the thrill of the game.”

“You’re still clinging to that I see. But it is too late, brother. And I would not forsake my victory over you for such fickle reasons. More fun, you say? In this immense world, It is not a difficult thing to find.”

“But still…”

“Give up on this hope, Grimm. You know it is empty.”

He lowered his head, thinking. Now it was clear that there was no way to convince his sister to let him go. She was already savoring her sweet victory, and no promise, no reasoning would be enough to make her change her mind. This meant he had to find a way to break out of these chains on his own. The nightmare king examined the circle under him. This was the origin of the chains. An elaborate spell, and a powerful one too. It required a lot of energy to be sustained, but his sister was in no shortage of it.

The god focused on the flow of energy running through the chains. It was constant, precise. Just the necessary amount to sustain the powerful restraints. It seemed the spell was designed to prevent anything to cut it from its sources of energy. Tightly woven with the essence of dreams, taking light in a solid, steady way. So, it seemed that cutting this circle from its source of energy was impossible. Keen of his sister to foresee he would try to do so. But… what if he did the exact opposite? Slowly, so that his sister would not notice, he poured some of his own essence into the spell. The god refrained from hissing in pain. The burning of the chains on his body had intensified. The flow of magic was still steady. Just a little tense. So it seemed this could work… maybe, if he put enough of his flames into it, the spell would be unable to sustain such a large amount of energy, and it would break. But from his current suffering, he could tell. The more energy he would pour into this circle, the more his pain would intensify. So, there was only one question left. What would break first? The spell, or himself?

The god’s face twisted into a smirk.

It seemed he was about to find out.

…

The pale scholar looked intently as the general sipped her wine. She swallowed. The other general took a sip too, but the third did not. He began the countdown in his head.

One… Two…

His plan was as followed. Poison at least one important weaver. That was done. Then, use it to blackmail the beast into giving them more time. Tell her he knew the antidote. If Grimm still had not shown up by then, use the antidote as a pretext, get out of the den. Herrah would probably keep Monomon or Lurien as a hostage, to make sure he would come back. Then, what he had to do, as soon as he was out, was to use the book to invoke Grimm, and use their contract to force him to free them.

Twenty six… Twenty seven…

As he counted in his head, he wondered why Grimm had not come yet. Why would he abandon them in such a dire situation? This was going against his own interests, for now, what would benefit Grimm was to help them, not to have them killed. The more probable answer was that something prevented him to come. The Radiance? That was a safe bet. To his knowledge, she was the only one powerful enough to restrain Grimm, and given her previous actions, she had a reason to want their project to fail. Besides, the suspicious malfunction of his lantern just when they were attacked tied into this as well. If she had played a part in separating them from Grimm, then, she was probably the one preventing him to come to their aid. Which meant he had to bet on the invocation. He did not know if it would be enough to forcefully call the god on this plane. However, even if it wasn’t, it would still disrupt the dream and nightmare realms in some way, giving an occasion for the god to escape.

Fifty nine… Sixty.

The first general stood up, a look of panic in her eyes. Her eight legs were shaking violently, and a scary cry erupted from her mouth. The second general began to have convulsions as well. The third weaver, Herrah and midwife stared at the scene in shock. Even for them, this had to be a disturbing sight: their two friends, their eyes revulsed in an unnatural fashion, white foam dripping from their mouths, letting out low, painful groans. They shook like that for ten second before collapsing, unconscious, but their body still shaken by the occasional spasm.

The doctor’s feigned terror morphed into a disturbing half smile, as he stared blankly at his work. The move was made.

Herrah turned towards him. She, too, was trembling. But it was from fury. Her queenly attitude was completely gone. The unrestrained wrath, the twitching of her six eyes, mandibles showing. Now, she had a lot more in common with the wild spider that had attacked the earlier than with a dignified queen.

She jumped on him and pinned him violently against the table, her knife already on his throat.

“You treacherous worm! Prepare to die!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If you want them to live, that is.”

Her grip on him grew more forceful, but the knife was put away. Though her wrath was still strong, it seemed the beast had regained her composure. She searched for a few seconds before finding the poison vial. She glared balefully at the bluish substance and gave it to midwife, before turning back to the pale scholar.

“You used poison…” She hissed.

“I did. But they will not die. Not if you listen to me.”

“Speak!”

“I used a poison of my own making. But I know the antidote. If you let me prepare it for them, they will be saved.”

“And why should I believe your words, after witnessing your treachery?”

“I cannot force you to believe me…”

Her grip tightened once again, and despite his compromised position, he could catch a glimpse of the blade closing in.

“… but consider this, Herrah. If you kill me now, they’ll just die. But if you chose to believe me, there’s one chance out of two that I am saying the truth, and that they’ll survive. What do you prefer, Queen of Deepnest? Abandon your subjects to a painful death, denying them their only chance of survival, or betting on the truthfulness of my words? Turn it in your head all you want. You will see. If you want them to have a chance to live, you have no choice but to listen to me.”

The fury in the beast’s features was slowly replaced by hatred. Despite her shaking, her arms had not lost their strength. The doctor feared he would not be able to conceal the pain much longer. He felt her tying his wrists once again, even tighter than they were before and slammed him onto the ground, letting out a cry of frustration.

“What do you need for the antidote?”

“They’re a lot of ingredients. Some of them are minerals that are difficult to recognize. Let me go and I will fetch them myself.”

“Do you really believe I will let you go like that, fall for such an obvious trick?”

“When I have them, I will come back, I swear. I would never abandon my friends like that.”

The beast frowned.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? As long as they’re still your captives, there’s no risk of me escaping.”

The beast got closer and pulled on the silk to force him to stand up.

“No. From what I gather, you’re a dirty traitor, a murderer. I know you will abandon them the second you’re freed.”

“But I’m the only one who can do this!”

“No. I am sure you and your friends are of the same trade. Filthy drug makers.”

The pale scholar tried to calm down, despite the situation. This was not the moment to panic. He knew the beast would be difficult, he had to find a way to maneuver around it, or it was over.

“They don’t know the recipe. And I you really don’t trust me to do this, why do you not have one of your guards to come with me?”

“A guard? That’s a good idea. But not with you.”

“I told you they don’t know-“

“Make them a list, then! I know the moment you’re away, even with one guard, you’ll find a way to trick them, or assassinate them with underhanded means.”

The doctor hesitated. This was bad. It appeared the beast would not yield, at wanted to send Monomon and Lurien in his stead. And given how cautious she was of him, now, it would be very difficult to tell them about the plan.

Herrah turned towards one of the servants.

“Go fetch the two other prisoners!”

The servant scampered out of the room. Herrah leant down, staring right in the pale scholar’s eyes.

“Now, you filthy liar, you are not allowed to talk to them. And if you try anything funny with them, I’ll dispatch the three of you this instant!”

She pushed him to the table and took a piece of parchment and a quill.

“Now, write your list. And as you do so, be sure that my eyes are on you each and every second. I must admit the contempt I hold for the bugs from above made me blind to your first treachery, but you will not fool me a second time.”

His hands shaking, for real, this time, the pale scholar began to write. Herrah loomed over. He knew that if he tried anything, he would feel he knife planting in his back. Now, the only thing he could do was to play along, and trust Lurien and Monomon’s intelligence.

He finished writing the list. Herrah took it from his hands and examined it, before walking to the door. It opened, and two guards entered, pushing the other two scholars in front of them. They looked terrified, but seemed to be in full control of their faculties, as they seemed to be examining each and every detail around them. They looked at him with worried faces, but stayed silent. The doctor guessed they were instructed not to talk to him.

“So, you two have a mission.”

The beast gave the paper to Lurien.

“Gather all the items listed in here and come back.”

The two looked up with a blank expression.

“I will have two guards coming with you, so do not even think of escaping.”

Monomon and Lurien nodded, looking unsure.

“And do not loiter while you’re at it. If you do not come back within the next ten hours, your friend will die a painful death.”

They nodded again, visibly trying to understand what was happening.

“Now go!”

The guards pushed them out of the room. The doctor’s gaze met Lurien for two seconds. He could see the watcher was trying to understand, looking intently for signs. So the pale scholar looked down, guiding Lurien’s eye to his hands. He made a very quick sign with this fingers. One that Herrah could not notice, given their current position. The signs were two, three, one. He looked at the watcher with pleading eyes. Surely, surely they could understand.

As the door closed behind them, the pale scholar realized. This was the first time he really trusted them with something. With a plan. With their lives. This was the first time, in such a situation… A feeling of complete powerlessness crashed onto him. Now, the only thing he could do was wait. Wait and hope that somehow, he could be saved. This was incredibly frustrating, almost stifling. This was a thing he had never accepted willingly, letting go of the control he had on a situation, letting things depend on circumstances that were outside of his power. Such doubt, such uncertainty, this sense of dread, as he could only wait… To him, it was one of the worst things that could ever be.

Herrah turned towards him, her mandibles still showing.

“Now, filthy little liar… You don’t have to tell me. I know I need to have you prepare the antidote, so do not worry. I will not kill you… for now.”

She leant in and whispered very slowly:

“However, this will not prevent me from doing other things. You will regret hurting my friends, and wish for the death you could have had, were it not for those terrible schemes.”

…

The two scholars walked out, trying to understand what was happening.

Lurien looked at the list of ingredients, trying to understand what they could be for.

The list was written as follows.

Five blue fungi; one ionian root; thirteen nodal fins; three embrechites; thirteen orogenesian flint; one kadish leaf; three blue centipede eggs; two asurian barks; two hematites; twelve mandibles of tiktiks; three algae; two milligrams of yeast; eight bits of ocre; two acrid roots; twelve irises; three racadae; one lepidoptera’s wind; three green rocks; one caudal fin; three aranean silks; five rock lilies; two alma leaves; two agar stems; six white radicels; one itching stem; three ormon seeds; seven nuts of muscade.

Chapter Text

The scorching heat of magic and flames surged through his entire being. He could still breathe calmly, controlling his shaking so that she would not notice, pouring more of his essence into the spell. How familiar, it was, this pain. It was the pain of the sacrifice, of burning entirely for the child, the small flying child still hidden within his chest, the reminder that he was approaching the end of his cycle… And those flames, and this pain… He felt how the child took it in, hungrily. He would not be able to hide it much longer. And still, with all these flames, with this maddening agony, the spell did not break. It was weakening, but at such a slow rate…

“What’s the matter brother? You’re strangely silent. If I knew this method could shut your mouth so efficiently, I would have used it earlier.”

Grimm gave little regards to his sister’s taunts. Her voice seemed distant, to him, like static in the background, something he could barely make out beyond the overwhelming pain. The only thing he paid attention to was her orb. The things he saw in there filled him with hope, but also with worry. The pale scholar had managed to put his plan in motion, creating a situation that gave them a lot of time, enough time for him to escaped and to save them… But at what price?

“Look at that, the poor doctor made this plan with so much faith in you, and yet, the only thing it will bring him in the end is more suffering. Were I a mortal, I would do anything to avoid facing the beast’s wrath.”

His sister revoked her orb of visions, staring down at him with an arrogant smile. She knew very well that leaving things up to her brother’s imagination would only hurt him more.

The god of nightmare said nothing, he kept focusing on the spell. However, as much as he could focus, he did not manage to tame the powerful anger that was steadily building up within him. Anger at the pain, at his own flames, but above all, anger at the beast for exercising her revenge in such a crude way, at his sister, fomenting such a cruel plan. They should not be able to do something like this, they could not, the scholar was his, by contract, she could not do this.

“Still silent, Grimm? Your flames are shaking. I did not think this would affect you this much, I thought the foolishness of your youth had gone away, but it appears I was mistaken. Quite delightful, I must admit, to see you make the same mistakes over and over again”

I was at this moment that he noticed. His sister was so confident in her victory that she had let her guard down. All absorbed that she was in taunting him, she had completely forgotten about watching the scholars. From her viewpoint, they had already met their demise, noting could be done to save them. His flames become even more painful; the stability of the spell was already compromised. Now, enacting his revenge was but a matter of time.

His sister turned to him with a look of dreadful pity.

“Rejoice, god of nightmares. When all of them will be dead, you will have some essence to harvest.”

…

As soon as they were far enough from the palace, Lurien looked intently at the list. He remembered the signs of the doctor. Two, three, one. A key? No, it couldn’t be, having messages written in key to take the form of normal words was difficult, and he doubted the doctor had the time to make something this elaborate. It had to be a code, he knew it. And as a code, this one needed to fill some requirements. It needed to be simple and efficient, but also to conceal its nature so that the beast would not notice the message. Something that used the normal features of a list to code meaning inside it. Something simple. Item numbers.

Lurien decoded the message in his head, discreetly showing the letters to Monomon. Given her attitude, he knew they shared the same reasoning. From the moment they had stared had the book, he had felt a special bond slowly appearing between him and the teacher. Their situation was very similar, both of them were blinded by their own curiosity, taken along for a mad quest, a dangerous adventure of gods and secrets, something that made them both regret their simpler days at the archives. He knew she missed her son like he missed his butler, he knew that both of them had passed the thresholds of their own fears, that their minds were clear, focused on survival.

They looked at the list together, as if they were assessing which item to retrieve first, in order not to arise the guard’s suspicion. Once one had understood how it worked, the code was very simple:

Five blue fungi; one ionian root; thirteen nodal fins; three embrechites; thirteen orogenesian flint; one kadish leaf; three blue centipede eggs; two asurian barks; two hematites; twelve mandibles of tiktiks; three algae; two milligrams of yeast; eight bits of ocre; two acrid roots; twelve irises; three racadae; one lepidoptera’s wind; three green rocks; one caudal fin; three aranean silks; five rock lilies; two alma leaves; two agar stems; six white radicels; one itching stem; three ormon seeds; seven nuts of muscade.

They both nodded, communicated to the other that they had deciphered it. From what they had gathered from what the beast had said when they were still in the cell, the book had been abandoned with all their other possessions in the place where they had been captured.

“Guards,” Monomon asked “could you please take us to the place where you found us? We already had some of these ingredients, but they were in our bags.”

“Very well,” one of the guards nodded. “I was part of the expedition that captured you. We can take you there.”

They began to walk across the labyrinthic tunnels of Deepnest, Lurien and Monomon occasionally throwing glances at each other. From her body language, Lurien could tell the teacher had a hard time keeping herself to ask questions to the guards. Finally, she failed to contain her curiosity.

“Tell me, sir, why to your people eat the bugs who come to your land? I don’t mean it as an insult, I’m asking from an ethnologic perspective.”

The second guard turned to her, looking quite surprised.

“Honestly, it’s the first time anyone asks us. Usually, bugs are too busy shitting their pants or calling us savage beasts.”

Lurien observed the teacher a little more. Her tentacles were twitching in satisfaction, like when they played cards and she had guessed his hand. The watcher smiled under his mask. Monomon was a smart one wasn’t she? An interesting conversation, enough to draw the guards attention to herself, a diversion that would allow him to do what he had to do with the book. However, the watcher wondered how the doctor expected him to be able to perform a spell like this one, when he had no experience in this kind of forbidden magic. For now, he listened to the conversation.

“Prithee, tell”, Monomon continued. “I was sure there was a deeper meaning to this, and from what you’re saying, it appears I was not mistaken.”

The first guard grumbled something unintelligible, but the second answered, with a rather surprising enthusiasm.

“You see, the nest is not just a place. It’s a whole being, and we’re its people. We’re all connected by the threads of life and death. It’s a great web, and we’re all part of it. It has a spirit. But the foreigners who come in here… They do not belong. They’re noxious for the spirit of the den. They have to be chased out or… assimilated.”

The teacher hummed in genuine interest.

“So, when strangers are eaten, they become part of this spirit of the den?”

“That’s it. I told you, we’re all connected, and It’s also true with you. One’s death become the other’s life, one’s life becomes the other’s death. This is a simple rule down there. Well, I guess it is a simple rule everywhere, but you bugs have forgotten about it.”

Lurien began to find the tunnels in which they walked a little familiar. It seemed they would soon be able to find the book.

“What do you mean, forgotten?”

“The bugs from above are liars. They think they’re superior to other lifeforms. Their moral compass is full of double standards. They think that because a bug does not have the gift of higher thought or speech, it is fine to hunt and consume them, but that it’s wrong to do the same to those who can communicate in a language you can understand.”

The guards torch lighted the tunnel. Lurien saw their bags and the lantern abandoned on the ground. He walked towards it calmly, discreetly checking if Monomon still had the weaver’s attention. He got to the doctor’s bag. The book was in it. He heard the weaver continue behind him. It seemed this one really liked the sound of his own voice.

“But us, down here, we know there’s no difference. We’re all life, none is superior to the other.”

“I agree with you on this point.” Monomon said.

“And life needs life to be sustained.”

“But still,” the teacher pointed out, “you would not consume your own people, your own family.”

“Of course not! Just because our outlook on life is truthful does not mean we have no emotions. We love our families, we love our people, so we would never eat them. However, we are all aware that it is not for a rational reason, but for an emotional one.”

The weavers seemed really absorbed in this explanation, happy, it seemed, to be able to explain their worldview. So Lurien took the book and opened it. This grimoire was an absolute mess. It was obvious the doctor had made it by putting different volumes and pages together, the whole thing was covered in scribbles and tiny bookmarks, and some of the pages were covered in a script that had such a hypnotic effect on him that it made him physically ill. The watcher felt less and less calm and went through the pages feverishly. How was he supposed to understand this gibberish? How was he supposed to invoke Grimm using this? He heard the weaver continue.

“But we have no emotional attachment to strangers, which mean they can be consumed, like the rest. I told you before. One death for a life. One life for a death.”

“From a logical standpoint, I think you’re right, but what about strategy? You’re making enemies of everyone with this behaviour.”

“We have our boundaries. We have our lands; we do not get out of it. You people are the one who trespass.”

As Lurien went through the pages, he suddenly remembered the pale scholar’s signs. Two, three, one. His hands shaking slightly, he went to the page 231. This page was an envelope that contained a folded parchment. On the opposite page, instructions and incantations were written in a script he could understand.

“Yeah,” the first guard added. “You people are just fools. Don’t want to get eaten? Then don’t come in Deepnest, that’s simple.”

“You said you were content with your territory, but then, what was the reason for your feud against the mantis tribe?”

Lurien unfolded the parchment. It was a very wide one, on which a complicated circle had been drawn. Some of the runes were undecipherable for him, but other letters he could recognize. Symbols of the cardinal points, and the word, “tetragrammaton”.

Sadly, the watcher could not pick the right orientation for the pentagram, for lack of a compass. He hoped he could do without. He began to read the instructions. First, one symbol had to be traced in blood in the center of the pentagram. For this, he had to refer to a list of seals on the next page.

It was there. Seal of the Alp. A great king. The one that brings nightmares.

“Don’t bring us on this subject, jellyfish! You know nothing of our feud with mantises!”

“But they claim you took territory from them.”

“We took what was rightfully ours, by the great seal of the silken one!”

“The great seal?”

“Shut your mouth, you idiot! We’re not supposed to talk of the great seal.”

Lurien was thankful for the altercation, this would successfully keep the guards from noticing what he was doing.

Unfortunately, the watcher did not have a knife, so he rose his mask and bit in his thumb as hard as he could. This hurt more than he anticipated. Lurien knew he had a low tolerance to pain, and this further proved it. He watched as a small flow of dark blood appeared, and used it to draw the seal, hoping that the guards would not notice the smell.

The seal was ready, so he began to whisper the incantations.

“Thee I invoque, the borneless one,

Thee that dwellest beyond the earth and heavens

Thee that with each wing roams both night and day

Thou, who art the bearer of many names and lord of many realms

I am thy servant and prophet

I am the caller from darkness beneath the earth

Ho, thrice winged, grant me the power

So I shall command upon the spirits of day and night

And call them by my side !”

Grimm twitched in pain and fury. He felt it, more than his flames, something else was disrupting the Radiance’s spell. A call, from the mortal plan. If he was not in so much agony, he would have laughed.

“Well done, little scholars.”

“I invoke thee, the terrible and invisible God who dwellest in the void place of the spirit,

Arogogorobrao, Sothou,

Modorio, Phlarthao, Döö, Apé, the borneless one, hear me!”

“Hey, what is your friend doing? He should have found the ingredients by now.”

“Sorry, they’re in the white one’s bag, and it is very messy. But what about this seal?”

“You’re not allowed to know!”

“This is the lord of the gods,

This is the lord of the universe,

This is he whom the wind fears

Come thou forth and follow me, and make every spirit subject onto me,

Those of the firmament and those beneath the earth,

Those of brightest and darkest dreams,

Allow me to make my call !”

Grimm’s flames began to swell. He was burning, making one with power, making one with the flames, he reached towards the call, letting himself be pulled out by this arcane and forbidden magic. He felt it. A few more seconds, and her spell would break.

“What are you doing, brother? Stop this all at once!”

“I call the Alp, the terror of sleep,

I call you, spirit of nightmares,

Make your shape real and manifest before me,

Grimm!”

Radiance gasped. The spell broke.

The two guards jumped in surprise.

From the invocation circle, he appeared, filling the cavern with the foreboding light of is flames. Both scholars jumped and took every item that had been abandoned, while they heard the god roar in fury and pain. As he breathed in and out, flames came out of his eyes and mouth, the cavern was brimming with godly magic.

The two gards stepped back staring at the god in terror.

Grimm took a step and growled.

“Show me the direction of your den, and you will live.”

The poor weavers, failing to understand what was happening, showed him the right direction, before running away. The god, using his flames to make himself faster, launched in the direction they had just shown, with Monomon and Lurien following as quickly as they could, though keeping up with a god was very difficult.

At least, his magic and his rage were so frightening that the creatures that could have attacked them had all run away, seeking security in the darkness of deeper dens.

Finally, they arrived at the weaver’s den.

All the guards were wise enough to recognize the power of a god. Fearing for their life, they just moved aside before him, staring at his flames with wide eyes.

He stormed through the beast’s palace, letting the bound he had formed with the contract guide him. He  went as fast as he could, but still, he was afraid of what he was about to find.

Finally, he got to the meeting room. He kicked the door open, to be met with a rather surprising sight. The pale scholar was standing on the table, with the vial of poison in hand. In front of him, Herrah was immobile, but her whole body was shaking with fury. In the corner of the room, Midwife was watching the whole scene, looking ashamed and mortified.

The right side of the doctor’s robe was soaked in blood, and a small pool of it had begun to form under his leg. It was very clear he was struggling just to keep standing up. And yet, he was staring at the beast with an air of sick victory.

Seeing Grimm appear, the pale scholar smiled widely, which could have been charming if the whole situation did not make him look completely crazy.

“Hi, Grimm. You took your time.”

The god jumped on the table, the flames around him preventing the beast and her weavers to approach.

“Sorry about that. I was trapped in a family meeting”

He walked to the doctor and turned back towards Herrah to have one last look at the queen’s complete fury. The god smiled mockingly, and they both disappeared in a puff of red flames.

The queen stood motionless for a few seconds.

Then, she slammed four fists on the table, hissing in rage.

“You will pay for this!”

The queen did not know it yet, but her wrath found an echo in the dream realm, where a proud goddess just had her victory snatched away from her.

Chapter Text

The door closed. Lurien and Monomon were gone, and it was just the beast staring and midwife giggling next to her.

“Now, you shall pray for your friends to be quick…” the beast began.

Her voice merged with a low rumble, asserting intimidation and power.

“For the longer they loiter in this search, the more time I will have to make you regret your misdeeds.”

The pale scholar weighed his options. Just wait? Just retire in the back of his mind, not thinking of his body or the beast, just let things go and wait to be saved? He could take it, right. He probably had known worst, besides, he was good with pain. The beast took a step towards him. She knew she had time, she probably intended to take things slow, finding more entertainment in his terror than in his suffering. He scanned the room again, looking for anything to say, anything to do. Struggling now was probably not even a good option, but he still intended to do so. He refused to stay passive in such a situation, he refused to just wait.

He noticed the poison vial was still in midwife’s hand, and that the creature was idly contemplating her queen, not paying attention to him at all. This could be it. Even if it was a dangerous thing to do, even if it had a non negligeable chance of making everything worse, he had to act, and then, he had to try, at least, to regain control.

Abandoning the last bit of dignity that remained, the pale scholar suddenly jumped towards midwife and bit one of her lower arms with all his strength. The arachnid let out a cry of pain and surprise, letting go of the vial. It fell, he just had to jump forward to get it. However, Herrah was reactive. She was not in position to catch the vial directly, so instead, she made a sharp move, putting the knife in his way. This was a tough choice the beast was imposing on him. Get the poison but get hurt, just let it fall and avoid an injury… He did not think twice, and jumped forward, feeling the knife tearing though his side. He caught the vial before it could shatter on the floor, and jumped back, before climbing on the table to put a safe distance between him and the beast.

His side throbbed with pain, he felt the blood beginning to flow. Not a deep wound, but one that could induce problematic blood loss… Little price to pay, for the agency he got in exchange. He uncapped the vial and stared at the queen of weavers.

“Do not make a single step, beast, or I will drink this whole flask, and the only chance of survival for your generals is gone!”

Midwife wiggled in embarrassment.

“Sorry, my queen, I did not expect… I was taken by surprise.”

The beast began to shake with fury. However, despite her obvious anger, her voice was very calm, frighteningly so.

“This is not your fault, midwife…”

She turned towards him, with a strange ironic expression.

“Do you really think you can stop me like this?” she asked. “I know you are too cowardly to act on your words”

She moved forward, but the moment she did so, the doctor prepared to drink. The beast stopped in her tracks, before settling down.

“So you actually are able to do it? I don’t care. What I have to do is to wait until you lose enough blood to pass out, and then, there will be nothing you can do against me. And I have a lot of patience.”

He did not answer, just stared at her, while putting pressure on the wound to keep the blood from flowing out. This was a test of endurance. Was this situation better than being tormented by the beast? Slightly better, perhaps, but that was not what matter to him. This situation was one he could control. Hold on, don’t surrender to fear or pain, rejoice in her anger, hold on, by will, if not by strength.

It was an excruciatingly long wait. The beast did not move, neither did midwife. She was not lying about her patience. The more time passed, the more difficult it became to stay focused. He hoped he could come quickly. They should have found the book, right now, he just had to hold on, just a little more. Black spots were appearing in his vision and he felt incredibly lightheaded. He was feeling very cold. The beast, while still furious, let out a predatory smile, unveiling her mandibles. She had noticed. She knew she would not have to wait much longer before he collapsed.

He felt his limbs trembling, the headache and nausea intensified. The beast was ready to move again, he didn’t even know how long they had been staying like this. Then, he saw a red glow appearing behind the beast. The flames, no longer frightening, offered warmth, the certitude, at last, that he would be saved. He mustered the last bits of energy that still remained.

“Hi Grimm. You took your time.”

Grimm said something in answer, but he did not hear what it was. A red blur surrounded them, and he suddenly felt very tired. The urge to let go was pressing. He finally gave in.

Herrah clenched her fists. They still hurt from slamming the table, but she did not care. How was it possible, a prey, escaping? Such a thing had never happened to a weaver.

She heard the activity in the dens around her. Weavers working restlessly to put out the fires that had appeared on the tracks of the flaming creature. She had seen how powerful it was. She knew it was much more than a mortal.

Two small weavers came in, looking surprisingly happy about something, despite the dangerous state of her den.

“My queen, my queen !”

“What is it?”

“The two generals, they woke up, and now, they say they feel fine!”

The queen did not answer. She just stood there, dumbfounded. She knew the news should make her happy, that she should rejoice that her generals were alive, and yet, none of these positive feelings managed to make their way to her heart. The only thing the news brought her was more rage.

Herrah let out a grunt of frustration, while breathing in and out, trying to calm her rage. She felt Midwife patting her back, trying to make her calm down.

“Breathe, my queen. See, the generals survived, it is good, isn’t it?”

“Can’t you see, Midwife? The fact that they survived, it means that the whole thing about poison and antidote was a lie! Can’t you see what a humiliation that is? They escaped me! These pitiful creatures escaped me!”

“Do not be so upset, my queen. This is not a victory they have over us, they used underhanded methods, base lies, treachery, our honour does not have to be sullied by their actions.”

The queen answered in an emotionless tone.

“They’ve tricked us. They’re part of the foolish people from above, and yet they tricked us. I cannot suffer such a humiliation.”

On these words, the queen left the room, and joined the rest of the weavers to help them put out the fires.

From her calm attitude, one could have thought the rage within her had receded. However, it was not the case. The flames of her fury had turned into a cold stone within her heart, one of resentment and hatred. The beast knew it very well, unless she could find revenge, this powerful grudge that gnawed at her mind would never disappear.

The queen spent the rest of the day helping her subject repairing the damage that had been inflicted upon the nest.

Then, she got to her room, and settled in her cocoon of silk. It had been a long time since she had not felt so exhausted.

She fell asleep, her mind drifting amidst the golden mists of dream.

This dream was rather strange for the beast, empty of blood, of silk or seals, it had a strange sweetness about it, something benevolent and unknown.

A very soft voice echoed though her mind.

“Noble monarch of the weavers, dear queen…

Do you want revenge?”

…

A sharp pain jolted him awake.

He thrashed around in panic, thinking he was still in the beast’s den. Everything was spinning and he felt completely disoriented. There were the walls of a cavern, softly lighted with reddish hues. A low voice, strangely soothing, trying to calm him down.

“shh, it’s okay now, everyone managed to escape…”

He felt someone’s hand stroking his back gently. The warmth was very welcome, but it reminded him of how tired he was. For now, he just wanted to sleep.

Blurred visions and fragments of speech passed by.

Strange shadows dancing on the cavern’s walls.

“I knew about it, yes. Still think this method is a bit extreme.”

Tentacles of a soft greens, someone was turning the pages of the book. He was holding onto something warm.

“Why don’t you this for his arm too?”

“I don’t think burn on burn would be a good idea.”

The blur around darkened, as voices lost themselves in distant echoes, leaving only the warmth. He held onto it.

When he woke up again, it was to the sound of Lurien complaining.

“How I am supposed to know what this means? This map is completely illegible, ninety percent of it is just scribbles, and the rest is creepy drawings!”

He looked around, it appeared they were still in Deepnest, but the tunnel was different from the ones they had crossed before. Those did not appear to be natural cavities, nor to be galleries dug by centipedes. It was sustained by regular vaults, and the walls seemed to have been carefully carved in stone. The architecture was very reminiscent of the strange egg in which he had found the key, in the disturbing softness of its curves, its strange angles, all of it uncannily reminiscent of something organic, like the inside of a body turned to stone, and yet, in its still coldness, one could feel that something in this was alive.

As he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized that Grimm was carrying him and that he was clinging onto the god’s forearm with both hands. He felt a sudden rush of embarrassment and let go of him.

“Ho, you’re finally awake!”

Grimm stopped and made him sit on the ground. Though he hated to admit it, losing the warmth provided by his flames was very disagreeable.

“How are you feeling?”

There was something unusual about the way he asked. The god said the words earnestly, with no hint of provocation or irony. Even on his features, that he always remembered to be somewhat mocking, he could only see genuine concern. Was it this unexpected display of honesty, or just the fact that he way to tired to care about appearances, he answered simply, without trying to hide anything?

“Like shit.”

“Well, that was to be expected. Now drink and eat those.”

Grimm handed him two rations of dried tiktik and a flask of water. He grimaced at the less than appetizing food but still devoured it in a few seconds. He turned to the others.

“Are the weavers on our trail?”

“No, there’s been no sign of them since we escaped. I supposed they must be too busy putting out fires to come after us right now.”

“Have I been out for a long time?”

“For quite a while, yes,” Lurien answered, “though it is difficult to tell how long exactly. This place is not the best for keeping track of hours and days.”

He looked around once again.

“From the look of this tunnel, I assume we are quite deep already. Have you spotted any of the landmarks? They’re supposed to be strange sculptures and other contraptions around here.”

“We saw some weird things.”  Lurien answered. “Mainly engravings in the walls.”

“Can you show me the map?”

“Of course. Looking at it was giving me a headache anyways.”

The doctor examined the map, trying to find some landmarks they could have come across. This section of it was hardly complete, and from the aspect of it, it appeared that the original author was not in their right mind when they drew this part. He was thankful Lurien could not decipher the strange, half written words they had scribbled hastily. Something like “dark takes over”, “he sees”. For a moment, the scholar stopped in his musings.

“Monomon, Lurien… I forgot to thank you for what you did. You managed to call Grimm with the book, right? Was it difficult?”

“Not too difficult.” Monomon answered. “The guards were easy to distract, and Lurien managed to use your weird pentagrams. Grimm also explained us why he was not able to come, being trapped in the dream realm. At first I thought I would lose my mind, hearing about another god, but in fact, it did not even surprise me. This whole adventure has been so crazy that I doubt anything could, at this point.”

The pale scholar stared at her, completely dumbfounded. He turned to Grimm.

“You told them? About… her?”

“Yes. I had to, it was that or being accused of betraying you.”

“Ah. I see…”

Something had definitely changed about Grimm, he had told them the truth, not another lie, not another attempt to continue with his little game. The doctor wondered if it was because of his sister’s involvement. The nightmare king probably preferred a godly opponent. The thought reassured him. It meant that it would make the rest of the journey much easier. And yet, although he had difficulty admitting it to himself, he regrated it a little. He hoped that despite this change, he could still spar with the god, in one way or another.

He continued to examine the map, while asking:

“Did anything else happen?”

Monomon got closer, behind her mask, her amusement was palpable.

“Grimm used his flames to cauterize your wound. It woke you up and you panicked, you even tried to bite me.”

So that was it. He vaguely remembered something painful and scary happening and given the pleasure the teacher took in telling him, he had made a fool of himself. He hoped things would not get even more embarrassing.

“And then,” the teacher continued, visibly pleased to have fun at his expense, “he had to pet you so that you would finally calm down.”

So, things indeed got even more embarrassing. The worst thing was that Grimm was laughing about it. Openly. The pale scholar decided he had been wrong about the god’s sudden change of character. His hilarity was a definite proof that his treacherous nature remained unchanged! He decided to focus on the map and try to forget about this.

“Have you seen an engraving that looked like a scarab with very long horns?”

“Yes”, Lurien answered, “not so long ago.”

“Was it on the right or on the left?”

“I reckon it was on the left.”

“Good. This means we’re headed in the right direction.”

He stood up, failing to hide a wince of pain. From what he could feel, the injury was nowhere as severe as the one inflicted by the soul master, but it was still painful. The good thing was that it should not impede their progress.

“Are you sure you can continue in this state?” Lurien asked.

“Yes. Besides, we’re to far gone to abandon now. We’ve not escaped the beast just to let ourselves be stopped by an injury.”

He walked a few steps, still looking at the map. It did not feel good, but he was not about to collapse. Which meant they could continue. He refused to let something like this deter him, when they were so close to the goal.

“Let’s go. If I have correctly assumed our position, we should not be very far from our objective. Besides, we shall not loiter. Sooner or later, the beast will send her troops after us, and given how furious she was about our escape, I doubt we could pull this off a second time.”

The others nodded, but it was easy to tell from their attitudes that they were worried. However, they were scholars too, after all. Scholars who had gazed in the forbidden book. Their fascination, though not as old, not as strong as his, still should compel them to continue despite the odds, despite the danger.

Their path lighted by red flames, the group continued through the tunnel for a few minutes, before reaching a round room, in the center of which a disturbing artifact was placed. The thing, though the strange dark cables that attached it to the ceiling showed that it was some king of machine, still appeared to be a living being. A massive, antediluvian creature, embedded with the fabric of the caverns itself. It had been made part of a mysterious contraption in which it had fossilized, forming the disturbing thing in front of them.

The doctor checked on the mad once again, before turning to Grimm, who was carrying his bag.

“Can I have the book?”

He looked into the pages, the same pages that had given Lurien such a frightening sensation of enthrallment, and, going through the ancient, cursed script, found the detail he was looking for. He walked to the wall of the room, and began feeling it. Even for stone, this matter was unsettlingly cold. What more, it had a strange softness about it, something that was both repulsive and fascinating at the same time. A dead thing, and yet, to touch, so reminiscent of shell or bone… That was when he found it, a lever hidden in a crack. He pulled it with no hesitation.

They heard a low rumble coming from what seemed to be the uttermost depths of the earth, something like a sigh, profound breathing, coming from the oldest of times.

The trilobite moved ever slightly, making Lurien shiver.

Then, a circular shape appeared on the floor below it.

The hidden trapdoor opened, revealing a stair that descending even deeper.

There was something very disturbing about those stairs. Perhaps was it the fact that their scale seemed off, the steps too high and too far apart, as if it had been designed for creatures much larger than they were. Perhaps was it the fact that it had been dug from the bottom upwards.

With almost religious silence, the group descended. The darkness became even thicker as they went, and Grimm had to make his flames more powerful. They descended from what seemed to be a very long time. Then, the doctor felt one of the steps sink very slightly under their weight. A loud rumbling above. The sound of the trapdoor closing.

They looked at each other, unwilling to say anything, and continued their descent.

The stairs led to a great room, shaped like the inside of an egg. On the ground, they found the long decayed corpses of two bugs. From what was left of their equipment, they seemed to be explorers, probably looking for the same thing as they did. However, it was obvious this group did not have the key. The trapdoor had closed behind them, and they ad been trapped here, unable to progress, left to succumb to hunger and madness.

Slowly, with a strange sense of respect, but most of all, with unabashed fascination, the doctor lifted his head, for the first time, casting eyes on the cyclopean door. It was covered in arcane symbols and strange engravings, especially one in the center, representing some sort of long forgotten divinity, an abyssal thing of antediluvian age, with features so abject and yet so awe inspiring that they were unable to look away.

The doctor couldn’t believe it.

That was it, the thing he had sought for so long.

Beyond this door lied the goal of all his research.

Beyond this door lied the truth he craved.

Beyond this door lied the antique city of Nay’Heth.

Chapter Text

Lord Kshaa turned back, feeling mildly irritated. Once again, his daughter and Ze’mer were lagging behind, too busy sparring to see that the rest of the group was already at a good distance. It did not bother the lord to see Xhaila begin to train with a nail. In fact, he was thankful that she could at last show her real abilities thanks to these techniques. However, his daughter and the grey adventurer enjoyed their sparring so much that they often forgot about their primary objective, and often delayed the group’s progress. What more, they seemed to have a little too much fun together, and the mantid feared that the explorer’s imposing presence would stir up some… bothersome feelings in his daughter. She was supposed to be a true mantis lord, an honorable heir, not to run away with some foreigner of who knows where.

“You two, stop sparring and hurry up! If you keep this up, we’ll never reach the den of the pale roots!”

The two stopped and ran to catch up with the rest of the troupe.

“You could let them train a little more,” Ogrim proposed. “It’s not as if we had a schedule!”

“Besides,” Isma added, “The den of the pale roots is not so far away.”

“Perhaps it’s not so far away, but it’s not the next door either. We still have to cross at least two caverns to reach it.”

Suddenly, the vanguard stopped. Dryya, who was walking up front, turned back towards the lord with an unreadable expression.

“Still two caverns to cross? Then, what about… this?”

She stepped aside, showing the tunnel in front of her. It was overgrown by vegetation, strange flowers and fungi of unnatural size given their species. Behind those, crawling on the ceilings and the walls like immense serpents half coiled, were long, pale roots.

The explorers shivered. Even if it was brimming with life, something in this made them ill at ease. The air was heavy with spores and pollens, it was filled with the overwhelming smell of flowers and ripe fruit, they could feel many creatures slithering behind the leaves, clutches of eggs in unnatural numbers. On the ground, they noticed patches of a pale, slimy substance, slowly being sucked by hypertrophied mosses.

Lord Kshaa swallowed. He had heard about it, about an ancient influence in these caverns, something primeval and godly, one of these arcane powers that rested beyond the usual ways of mortal, but still exercised their influence in their reality.

However, the lord did not expect it to be so powerful, nor so disturbing in nature. He could feel it, the power of life that overflowed in these caverns was unwholesome. It denied the usual rules of ecosystem, the balance of species, of life and death. It was something overdeveloped, monstrous, a thing of great power that was slowly spreading across this domain, filling it with life.

He hesitated a second.

“Let’s continue.”

Looking around them in discomfort, the group entered. The moment they stepped in the cavern, their senses were overwhelmed by smells and sounds. Things moving under the leaves, mating calls of maskflies, flying in unusually large flocks. It seemed the rock had been corroded by the decomposition of large amounts of organic matter, making it hollow like pumice stone. The chemical reactions had produced thick patches of soil in which larger plants developed, as wall as moss and grass. They could hear water flowing in small brooks and cascades, colorful lights coming from a variety of bioluminescent organisms. Dryya looked around her. It was so beautiful, this den of perfumes and colours and sound, it was like a hidden paradise, so peaceful, so tempting, and yet… In each cavity of the rock, behind each leave, surrounded them with their foreboding presence, the pale roots… Sometimes, they seemed to be moving…

And from every corner of the incredible garden, she felt like she was being watched.

She continued with the rest of the group, feeling her paradoxical emotions intensify, in equally intense fascination and disgust.

They continued like this for a long time. None of them dared to speak, as if the sound of their voices could disturb the slumber of the roots. After a while, Lord Kshaa stopped.

“I think this is… the entrance of the central cavern.”

They approached and were met with a surprising vision. There was a door, made of stone and roots, but a strange artefact had been added to it, something that seemed to me made of sark metal or bone, covered in twisting reliefs and hints of machinery. From this structure, a cascade of thick darkness was flowing, making it impossible to pass this door. Lord Kshaa took a step towards the dark substance, feeling strangely enthralled by it. He raised his hand, preparing to touch it. It did not hurt. However, it pushed his hand back with a preternatural force. The ghost of this touch remained on his palm. An unexplainable coldness. Something that seemed to be a creature, and yet, was utterly lifeless.

“What is this thing ?” Ogrim asked. “Do you think it’s meant to prevent us to get in?”

Isma looked at him and answered, in a soft voice.

“Or to prevent something from getting out.”

Dryya turned to the traitor lord.

“What shall we do, then, Lord Kshaa? Do we really have to enter tis place, or could we take another route?”

“We shall find a way to enter. I intend to take possession of these caverns starting with the center. And it seems that other than this strange presence, nothing seems determined to prevent us to do so.”

“Do you have the slightest idea of how to open this door, then?”

“Not at all. For now, we will set camp here and explore until we’re able to find a solution to this problem.”

The mantises began to set camp, while lord Kshaa examined the door of darkness once again. What could this substance be, he wondered. What was its purpose? Was it to prevent trespassing? Or to contain something inside?

…

The pale scholar took the key from his bag. The black key had always seemed strangely light, strangely cold. Now, the unnatural feeling he got from holding it had become even more potent, as it seemed to resonate with the room, with the door.

Solemnly, he walked towards it, his heart filling with anticipation.

Then, he realized the keyhole was far above the highest point he could reach. This was to be expected, after all, for the door matched the size of the stairs, and was made to the measure of the place’s inhabitants.

He turned towards Monomon and handed out the key to her.

“Teacher… the honour is yours.”

The teacher took the key and floated up until she reached the keyhole.

Slowly, she put the key closer to the lock, when suddenly, the artifact dissolved in her tentacle: it became a patch of intangible darkness that plunged within the lock and disappeared.

She floated back.

They all looked up in anticipation.

Then, the twisted runes and symbols that adorned the door became filled with flowing darkness. The black substance swelled in long tendrils that began to cover the whole door, until it was completely covered by darkness.

An otherworldly growl echoed from all directions. It did not come from beyond the door. It came from every direction, from each and every cavern, from their own mind. It was like the call had propagated through the whole caves, with effects still unknown to the scholars.

Then, darkness receded. It flowed down, leaving an obscure patch on the ground, until it disappeared between stones.

The scholars realized.

The door had been opened.

Far above, a very similar door was going through a very similar process.

In front of the flabbergasted mantises, the door of darkness opened.

The pale scholar took the alchemic lantern from his bag. Thankfully, it seemed to be working again. He lighted it, and stepped forward, in complete silence. The others followed him, ready to discover the lost city.

The traitor lord stepped into the wide caverns, which walls were completely covered by pale roots, his troupe followed him, looking around in fascination.

The scholars walked a few meters. Despite the lantern and Grimm’s flames, they were still surrounded with complete darkness.

After a few more steps, they realized they were standing on a ledge.

Grimm made a wider, brighter flame that he launched forward. Finally, with its burning light, they were able to see it for the first time. Nay’Heth. The forbidden kingdom of darkness, the lost citadel… The place where all truths lie.

The scholars gasped in awe.

Before them laid the measureless caverns of Nay’Heth. A city, like a dark, deep well, stairs and vaults twisting like otherworldly arabesques, losing their immensity into the darkness beyond. The place was so vast that it could as well be the uttermost center of the earth. It was vey cold, and from its depths, darks orbs, like bubbles, were heaving slowly before falling back in the dark mist that prevented them to see what was below.

“So…” Lurien whispered, “this is Nay’Heth…”

Monomon answered, her voice filled with admiration.

“I would never have believed that there was such a place, under our feet…”

Grimm looked around, unlike the scholars, the discovery had not made him forget about the place’s potential dangers.

“Pale scholar, do you think that this place is still… inhabited?”

The doctor thought for a moment.

“I cannot tell.  From the silence and the state of this place, it seemed the civilization has disappeared, but who knows what could remain of such a people…”

He looked around before pointing at something at a short distance.

“Look, a stair!”

They made their way towards it, while heeding the frightening figures sculpted in stones above them, foreboding gargoyles adorning the cyclopean arches that twisted horridly in the darkness above, staring at them with their empty eyes of stone.

They got down the large stairs, and fond the entrance of one of the immense buildings that emerged from the obscurity bellow like the trunk of an ancient tree. The inside was as majestic as the rest of the place, crafted to huge proportions, with engravings evocative of unexplainable customs and frightening creatures.

The doctor noticed something and skittered towards the corner of the room.

Grimm followed hastily, mumbling.

“Don’t wander off in a place like that!”

The scholar did not register his complaint, instead, he showed him a dozen of small, obscure orbs that laid on the ground.

“Look! Arcane eggs! This is supposed to be the rarest type of relic from the ancient civilization, I never managed to find one despite all my research, and now, look, they’re so many of them!”

The teacher got to their sides, visibly sharing the doctor enthusiasm.

“These relics! Incredible!”

Both scholars looked at each other and nodded, before putting all the arcane eggs in their bags. Grimm looked at the scene with no expression, before sharing a knowing glance with Lurien. They both knew that there was nothing they could do; these two were a lost cause.

The doctor sighed.

“I can’t wait to open them and decipher them… If only I had the tools here…”

They continued through the building, before finding another stair, leading bellow.

They made their way under the wondrous vaults, on bridges over endless obscurity, through immense rooms sustained by pillars sculpted into the shape of unknown entities.

They walked through a corridor wider than any cave they had seen before. On both sides laid strange trapdoors. The doctor approached one of them and examined the material in which it was made. It appeared to be some kind of metal, but of a density higher than any matter he had seen before.

The trapdoors were covered with arcane runes he had already come across during his long years of research. These were runes of binding, powerful seals that should prevent any door to be opened.

The pale scholar wondered. What did they fear so much, to create such seals? This civilization, it seemed had been so advanced, so well versed in the dark arts… What power could have led to their disappearance? What entity could they have been unable to tame?

They continued on their way, before reaching the end of the long corridor. The doctor turned to the right and stopped all at once, grabbing Grimm’s hand to make him stop as well.

“What is it?” The god whispered.

The pale scholar did not answer, only pointing towards the right side.

In front of them, surrounded with deep claw marks that even scratched the dense metal, the trapdoor was open.

Chapter Text

They stared at the open trapdoor, then turned away and hurried forward. There was something about this that frightened them, understandably so. As they reached another great staircase, coiled on itself like the bones of a dark snake, it felt like they were far enough from the trapdoor to speak again.

Monomon was the first to break the silence, her voice quivering slightly.

“Doctor… Do you know how this civilization disappeared?”

“No. Very little is known about them. All I could find is that they worshipped the darkness itself. They saw a great power in it… Judging from the state of this place, it is very possible that this selfsame divinity was the one to cause their ultimate demise.”

“You think they all died?” Grimm asked.

“If they hadn’t, we would have met them, by now.”

The god looked around, before saying softly, in a voice that lost itself in a distant echo.

“If they all died, then… Why are they no corpses?”

The pale scholar lowered his head, feeling the frightening implications of this mystery.

“I… I have no idea. But we might find out if we continue.”

They pursued their descent, getting closer and closer to the darkness below. What they at first thought to be an effect of the distance, of their light’s inability to reach deeper was in fact an immense lake of pure darkness. It stopped all light. It even seemed to be able to absorb it. It was the same substance that opened the door for them. The same substance he had seen upon finding the key. For a moment, the thought crossed his mind. What would happen if the goddess of dreams were to be plunged in this darkness? Would her light push the obscurity away? Would she be absorbed as well? The pale scholar shook his head. He did not seek revenge against her. He knew very well the foolishness of such an endeavour. Besides, the untimely demise of the wyrm was not the fact of her malevolence; it was the consequence of its own foolishness, of its pride, and seeking revenge would only be a way to go back to his former ignorance.

It was not might he wanted from the darkness. It was not the power to vanquish her or anyone else. He wanted knowledge, he wanted the secrets that had been promised by mad prophets and ancient books, the secrets, that, he knew it, would finally reveal the meaning of his existence.

The scholars reached another door. This one was circular, and surrounded by a crowd of strange statues, that, from afar, resembled dark, howling wraiths. Unlike the rest of the city, that had been completely silent, there was a sound coming from beyond this door. The sound of something dripping regularly, small drops, probably, but in this perfect silence, this sound seemed loud and frightening.

Slowly, they crossed the threshold. The dancing light of flames, the pale, flickering light of the lantern reflected upon obscure structures that supported the building, things akin to roots, great worms, deformed caryatids crushed by the pressure of the city above. On the center of the room was a huge shadow, something massive and immobile, that seemed to be the source of the sound.

They made one more step, and their lights reached the thing. They stopped all at once, overwhelmed by fear and awe. In front of them, still perfectly immobile, was a very large creature. One, that in shape, resembled a bug, but its sheer size, the number of its limbs, the features of its head showed that it was a very different creature, one that was more ancient, whose species probably dated back to the beginning of times. The doctor had read about these antediluvian eras, when all creatures were immense and dreadful, of frightening might and great powers, a time when the limit between gods and bugs had not been set yet, a time of furious fights and death.

The creature did not stir.

Tentatively, the doctor took a step in its direction.

The creature was holding a wide cup in its claw, the cup was full of the obscure material they had noticed before, and it was slowly overflowing, forming the drops they had been hearing upon entering the room. The creature was still immobile. They were traces of a dark matter flowing from its eyes and from between its joints, as well as black tendrils that came from under its shell and disappeared into the corners of the room. The creature appeared to be fossilized, and yet, the scholars could not tell if it was alive or dead.

The doctor took another step, fascinated by the creature’s appearance. He wondered if he could learn them from it, the secrets of this place, the cause of this great civilization’s demise, the nature of their god…

“Watch out!”

He suddenly felt Grimm grabbing him from behind, forcing him stop.

“Look.”

The pale scholar looked down. Under the creature, there was a large pool of the dark material, probably coming from the overflowing cup. Were it not for Grimm’s intervention, the doctor would have stepped in it.

“What… is this?” Lurien asked.

“It’s one of them… Of the ancient civilization. It’s partly fossilized, I know, and it looks like this dark material has been taking over it and yet… It feels like it’s alive, isn’t it?”

“I really wonder what this matter could be…” Monomon mused, looking as fascinated by the creature as he was.

“The lake below, you saw it, right?”

“Yes.”

“It seems to be made of it. We could use your jars to take samples.”

“Are you not afraid of how it could react, though? This thing… it feels alive.”

The doctor unsheathed his dagger and crouched in front the black pool. He touched it with the blade. It was a very strange sensation: this matter gave no resistance to the touch at all, it was as if it did not even exist, and when he examined the dagger, it seemed that none of it had tainted its edge.

“It appears this material does not react to touch. To touch by something inanimate, at least. Let’s continue.”

The group got passed the strange figure of the cup holder and entered another corridor. From what they gathered of their surroundings, it appeared they were not far from the bottom. As they headed towards what seemed to be the last staircase, they noticed something like a window and a balcony that seemed to have a view on the obscure lake.

They went in its direction, hoping that it could give them a better view of the place. The guardrails were too high for any of them to take a peek above, so they just looked between the bars of stone.

Lurien gasped and stepped back, Grimm did too, but silently. The doctor and Monomon continued to stare, in a mix of dread and fascination.

This was a deeply disturbing vision. The balcony let them gaze at a wide shore, in front of the lake of darkness. On this shore, a huge crowd was gathered. Creatures like the one they just saw, immobile, in a posture of adoration, all holding cups towards the dark material.

“Lurien, can I use your spyglass?”

The watcher, still shocked by what he just saw, wordlessly took the spyglass from his bag and handed it to the doctor. Using it, the pale scholar took another look at the scene. After a long minute, he handed the spyglass to Monomon.

“Look, teacher, do you see the black tendrils coming from their shells?”

“Yes… They all seem to be coming from… this lake.”

“Don’t you find it strange? It looks like these tendrils have been taking over them, and yet…”

“They do not appear to be struggling.” The teacher said, completing his sentence.

“It could be that this substance had been taking over their mind as well, but given their posture of adoration…”

“It looks like they’ve been taking it in willingly.”

The teacher gave the spyglass to the pale scholar, who once again examined the disturbing scene.

“What could they have gained from this…” the doctor mused, talking to himself.

“A sacrifice, to obtain the help of their god? A ritual, to attune themselves with their divinity? What could they have seen? What could they have known, or thought…”

He felt Grimm’s hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t gaze at this for too long, doctor.”

He put the spyglass down and gave it back to Lurien.

“Let’s go.”

They continued towards the staircase and got down. The air was full of these strange, dark bubbles, now, and they deeper they got, the more clearly the strange feeling that had been creeping in the doctor’s mind seemed to manifest itself. It felt like he’d already been to this place before. But it was impossible, wasn’t it, he had toiled during so many years to find this place, to unlock many doors, to find the key… It had to be a vision. It felt like this place was tied to this terrible event he had not been able to see in the elder’s lair, the thing that was for sure the heart of his destiny.

He could not wait to discover it, and yet, a strange feeling was rising in his heart, anticipation mixed with fear, something he had never felt before, for his mind was too curious, too hungry for the truth. The realization unsettled him deeply. There was a part of him that was afraid. Somewhere, very deep in his heart, he was afraid to know.

The doctor shook his head. This was pure folly. He would continue, no matter what. He was so close to the truth, he could not let this stupid fear interfere with his quest. All his life he had dedicated to the quest of knowledge. If he abandoned now, it would mean it was all for nothing. If he abandoned now, it would mean that all along, his existence was meaningless.

They finally exited the staircase and arrived on the obscure shore. On this side, there was no trace of the fossilized praying crowd. Just the walls of the caverns, the narrow shore, and the lake. It did not move. Not the slightest ripple, not the tiniest movement on its surface. It was all pure, undisturbed darkness. A shiver ran through his entire body. Something was there.

Briskly, the doctor turned back, and illuminated the cavern’s walls with his lantern.

Nothing.

That was strange. For a fraction of a second, he could have sworn he had seen two small shadows flying towards them. Despite the deep unease the thought brought him, he brushed it off, deciding that it was just an illusion produced by the movements of Grimm’s flames.

“Doctor, are you okay?” Lurien asked.

“Yes. Worry not. I just thought there was something, but… It was just a shadow.”

Monomon took the jars of acid in her bag and emptied them.

“So, looks like we can take samples in here.”

“You’re right, teacher, but wait a moment, I’ll make the same test as earlier with this lake, in case it reacts differently.”

He took the dagger again and walked towards the lake of darkness. He heard Monomon behind him.

“Be careful! If you see anything strange, just run back to us.”

He nodded, and continued until he reached the bank. He was able to take a better look at the lake from here. It was just pure, undisturbed darkness. Just laying, like this, in the very bottom of the world, unshaken by winds or currents, it seemed… Almost peaceful.

The doctor knelt in front of the substance, ready to make the test with the dagger. It had not reacted before, so there was no reason why it should be different now. Slowly, very carefully, the tip of the dagger approached the dark substance. There was nothing, just silence. His friends behind him were holding their breath.

The tip of the dagger touched darkness. A small circle formed, got bigger, before fading away. Nothing happened.

Reassured by this first contact, the pale scholar prepared to dip the dagger deeper in.

He did so. The moment the dagger was half plunger in darkness, a tendril shot out of the black lake and coiled around his arm, pulling him in. It was all so fast he didn’t manage to process what was happening. It was just darkness. The sudden, unexplainable sensation of cold. A call, in a sharp panicked voice. “Doctor!”. Was that Grimm’s voice? He could not tell. The voice faded.

There was nothing. Just the cold, darkness all around. No other sensation, no sound.

Then, suddenly, he felt a horrible pain in his chest, a sharp burn, but it was worse than a burn, it felt like being stabbed and taken apart at the same time, like his heart was slowly reduced to cinders.

He heard a strange voice, a voice shaken by despair and pain.

The voice had no precise source.

The voice was in his mind.

Listen, Wyrm !

You will do exactly as I say, and you will not question my words.

Obey, lest the sin of this world’s destruction shall weight on your heart forever!

Obey, lest every creature you cherish shall die a horrible death!

Obey, lest you shall lose the mind you pride yourself in!

Heed these instructions.

Create the circle.

If you don’t, this world will die.

Then, all at once, images and words flashed through his mind. These were the instructions to create a spell he could not comprehend, one that included this matter, this matter, the voice called it… void. The spell was ancient and powerful, something far beyond the borders of his current knowledge.

And each and every of these instructions came with a sense of urgency, of necessity, in every fiber of his being, something repeated, you have to, you have to.

The unbearable pain seemed to fade.

The panicked call, again.

Someone was shaking him, calling with a loud, panicked voice.

“Wake up, pale scholar! Wake up, I said, dumb doctor!”

He gasped for air. His eyes flashed open. He panicked immediately as he realized, he couldn’t breathe. His body was shaken by a violent fit of coughing, and a worrying amount of the dark matter- of the void- flew out of his mouth. He could hear the others panicking around him, but at least, he could breathe again.

Grimm was just in front of him, shaking him by the shoulders.

“Doctor, can you see us? Say something!”

“Yes…” He sighed. “Please stop shaking me, Grimm.”

The god stopped, his panic morphed into an expression of genuine relief. He saw Lurien and Monomon appear behind him.

“How do you feel?” The teacher asked. “Any side effects of… drowning into this?”

“I feel… cold. But first, I have something to do.”

He took the dagger that had been rejected on the shore by the sea of void, and hurried to a small cavern nearby, where he feverishly began to carve a strange figure on the stone.

Grimm followed him, still looking very worried.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

He continued carving the symbols, not heeding the fact that his hands were shaking, that there were small droplets of blood on the stone from the way he mishandled the blade.

“I don’t know… But it’s important, I feel it is.”

“Are you possessed ?

“No, just let me do it, please. I can’t tell why, but I have to do it!”

“You definitely look possessed.

“No I’m not!”

The dagger slashed again on the ground, completing the circle.

“Then tell me why you’re doing this!”

The doctor snapped.

“I don’t know! I have absolutely no idea, the only thing I know is that I have to do this, I am convinced I must, I must, because…”

The doctor felt a tear run down his cheek. What was it? Just fear? The feeling of utter incomprehension? Was it this unexplainable sense of responsibility and guilt? Just the panic? Just the influence of void?

“Please, trust me, just on this, Grimm, just on this thing. I don’t know what it is, I can’t explain, I don’t understand myself, but I have the feeling… I heard a message, instructing me to do this. I don’t know what it is, or what purpose it serves, but… the only thing I know is that it’s the right thing to do.”

“How can you be so sure, how do you know you’re not just being manipulated by this… this thing.”

The doctor clenched his fists. Grimm was right. Listening to this voice was a very bad idea, every part of his reasonable mind screamed at him to stop, and still… he could not help it. It was like a vision, but the feeling of a vision, unlike those he had in his previous form. He could not explain, he just knew. And he knew there was a very clear reason why he should do this, one that was far beyond the grasp of his mind, but one that had found its way into his heart. He had to do this. He had to pay the price for it.

“Listen Grimm”, he whispered, suddenly feeling calmer than before. “let me do it and… I will tell you. What you wanted to know, since the beginning.”

Grimm seemed taken by surprise by this, looking at him with incredulity.

“Is it that important?”

The doctor lowered his head.

“Yes.”

Grimm pondered for a moment, before nodding to himself.

“I’ll let you do this.”

“Really? Then, when it is done, I shall tell you-“

“No.”

The doctor stopped, staring at him with a blank face for long seconds.

“What? But… why, you wanted to know so badly, why suddenly-“

“No. The fact that you were ready to give up on this secret for this… It proves how important you think it is. I am willing to trust you on this. But I will not take this secret. Not like this.”

The pale scholar still stared at him with incredulity.

“But… Why? I thought that-“

“I’ve changed. I no longer want to learn about it because of a bargain.”

The doctor tilted his head, looking at the god in utter incomprehension. A little awkwardly, he continued, in a lower voice.

“I want to learn about it because you trust me.”

Now the doctor looked like he had heard the most incongruous thing in the world.

“Ah.”

Grimm slapped himself internally, while thanking the gods for the doctor’s obliviousness. At last, he was the only one who realized how awkward this situation was.

“Will you let me finish it, then?”

“Yes.”

“I need void to complete it. We could get some safely from the creature above.”

“Void?”

“I believe that’s what this thing’s called.”

They got back to the shore, only to be met with an unexpected sight. Lurien was standing, in utter shock, while Monomon, the crazy teacher, was taking her fourth sample of void in her last jar.

They both stared in consternation.

“Monomon,” Grimm asked, “in the name of all nightmares, what do you think you’re doing?”

The teacher smiled mischievously, before answering:

“But, I am collecting samples of course! The pale scholar survived literally drowning in this stuff, so I figured this matter was not that dangerous!”

Grimm facepalmed.

Chapter Text

When Lord Kshaa entered the room, he was seized by an unusual feeling, things that a warrior such as himself  had never really understood. It was a mix of fear, something that whispered that he had to run away as fast as possible and never come back, but he could not, for this fear was mixed with something like religious adoration, awe before the incomprehensible presence of the divine.

The room was completely covered in pale roots, and in its center was an ancient altar covered in strange symbols. With uncontrollable curiosity, the troop approached the center of the temple. Dryya took a closer look at the altar. It was made of a strange material she could not identify, it seemed to be stone, and yet, in it she could see traces of a living organism. A fossil, perhaps? An accumulation of them?

As she stepped closer, she noticed something else. Half buried in those white roots, tangled in them, and crushed by their power, there were a large quantity of dark bones. She gasped, taking a step back. It was not only the bones, but there were also the traces on the altar, black, dry traces that stemmed on the middle and seemed to flow on the sides, as if, very, very long ago, atrocities she could not describe had been committed here, in the name of the divinity that inhabited this place.

She turned towards lord Kshaa, and the expression she saw on his face frightened her. The mantid was fascinated, and it seemed he had not fully grasped the sinister nature of this temple. What frightened her even more was that herself was but steps away from being enthralled by the place’s beauty.

“Lord Kshaa, we should leave this place at once. There’s something unwholesome in here, something dangerous.”

Instead of heeding her warning, the mantid took another step towards the altar.

“Do not be so fearful, explorer. There is a god in here, I can feel it. Imagine the power we could reach, were this god to lend us its power…”

“Do not fool yourself, Kshaa, the aid of gods always come with a price!”

Lord Kshaa was now just before the altar, close enough to touch it.

“If there is a price, explorer, know that I am willing to pay! I have suffered the humiliation of banishment; I have been betrayed by my own kin. I have little to lose… And a lot to gain.”

Xhaila reached towards, him, her voice trembling.

“Don’t let yourself be fooled father!”

“Silence!” He spat. “I am not being fooled. I am reaching for glory!”

On these words, lord Kshaa touched the altar.

The contact hit him with a wave of repulsion. Instead of cold stone, the altar gave the sensation of soft, wet flesh. He felt a pair of eyes opening somewhere in the darkness.

The rest of his troop stared, horrified, as the roots in front of them began to move. Some were very slow, wide serpents glistening with shining pollens and pale liquids, other, thinner tendrils were shaken by spasms, twisting in unnatural ways, letting fall drops of fluids, filling the room with the overpowering smell of fruits and flowers, a smell oh so enticing, reminiscent of life and spring, and yet, on their  tongues, it let the aftertaste of something rotten, the fermentation of vegetal… the putrefaction of flesh.

A huge, glistening burgeon of pale roots had formed before them, and it began to open, petal by petal, a beautiful, pale flowers with hues of pink and gold, surrounded by the otherworldly glistening of spores and pollens. The flower opened, revealing a creature of unmatched beauty. The second they laid eyes on her, each and every member of the troupe was fascinated. She was there, pale, shining pistil in the center of a flowery crown, with two eyes of deep, serene blue.

The adventurers found themselves unable to look away.

Then, in their heads, they heard a voice, most melodious voice with a sound indiscernible from laughter and music, her voice echoed the clear chants of crystalline brooks, it was deep and hypnotic, resounding with hidden intent.

“Be welcome, little creatures, little friends. What hath compelled you to call me, the earthly mother? What desire hath lead you to my den?”

Lord Kshaa found himself unable to answer anything, he just stared, caught in deep fascination.

“But what is it that I feel, little friends? My sight, far reaching again, so many more hearts beating. The restraint that compelled me to sweet slumber hath disappeared. Are you the ones, dear children, is it you, little children of feud and spears, or you, children of tales and roads…”

Lord Kshaa was slowly regaining his composure, he felt himself able to speak again.

“It is-“

“Do not answer, mischievous one, I see your heart as clear as day. Oh most adorable lies… I know you are not the one. I sense in you the power of fights and adventures, not the knowledge that could have let you undo this seal of obscurity. How I wish I could see them, the one who unlocked this door, how I wish I could show how thankful I am. The darkest seer hath told be once, that my bindings shall be undone by a child of dirt and blood, yet such creature I have never met…”

“Goddess…”

“I do not forget thee, little one. By this liberation, I am deeply invigorated, and you find me in a mirthful humour. Even if you are not the one I await, I can listen to you. Long ago, mortals came to me with offerings, and I would grant their wishes. I cannot wait for the return of those joyful days.”

Slowly, she leant forward, until she was facing the mantis lord.

“So, tell me, dear child of anger and might… What is you wish?”

“I want… I want…” the mantis lord stuttered. “I want to be powerful enough to beat the tribe below… the tribe of Deepnest. I want to become… more powerful than my sisters.”

The goddess let out a low, melodious laugh, as soft and musical as a fountain.

“What an adorable wish to make! I shall grant it, dearest child… when you have paid the price.”

“I… I will… What is it… the price you want?”

The goddess leant a little more, until her face was close enough to the Lords to touch him. Her eyes shimmered with a foreboding light, and she whispered something into his ear.

The lord’s expression changed from one of hope to one of shock.

“Is it really… your price?”

“Yes. And I will grant everything your heart desires.”

The lords was shaken by a shiver. He looked at the soiled altar, at the dark bones. He looked at his own claws, pondering.

“Please… let me think…”

“I will let you child… But do not be tardy, lest my inviting humour should morph into a darker mood.”

On these words, the pale petals closed around the goddess, and the flower disappeared amongst roots.

Lord Kshaa looked at the troupe in front of him. All were brimming with expectation, with curiosity.

The lord lowered his head.

For the first time, his claws were shaking.

…

Far deeper within the caverns, the pale scholar was looking suspiciously at the void in one of the teacher’s jars. Given his previous experience, he did not feel so keen on touching this matter again. However, he still felt the urge to complete the circle, the urge was growing like an irritation, something he could not shake off until the thing was done.

“Teacher, do you mind if I take this jar?”

“No. But do not break it.”

The doctor took the jar and walked to the circle engraved in stone. Grimm was still following him, looking rather worried, despite his final approval of the idea.

He let a drop of void fall in the center of the circle. The obscure matter twisted around, before flowing into the carved figures, perfectly embracing the shape of the pentagram.

“Are you still sure about this?” Grimm asked.

“I am… and, I must admit… I’m curious about what this spell does. Step back, I’m going to pronounce the incantation.”

Grimm did not move, instead, he prepared to retreat as soon as possible if something dangerous emerged from this, as it probably would.

The incantation was transforming into a shriek in his head, being to be set free by the power of words.

He whispered:

“hagn’gn’ia’y Htohtos-goy beg’l-ee’h godorht ai’f haaau”

The moment the last syllable escaped his mouth, void suddenly erupted from the circle, menacing to swallow them whole. They just had the time to jump back.

A terrible sound, like a shriek, or thunder, resounded through the cavern, and a vibration shook the wall, making stones fall in front of the entrance of the cavern.

The voice’s influence over the pale scholar faded all at once, and a sense of dread crept through his mind, as he realized what he had just done.

Behind the rocks, they heard a very long sigh. Then, nothing.

With a mix of curiosity and fear, they approached the blocked entrance and listened intently.

At first, there was no sound to be heard.

Then, a very faint noise. Something breathing. Something moving, a light footstep behind the rocks.

He heard Grimm whisper behind him.

“What have you done, doctor? What abomination did you invoke?”

His hands were shaking.

“I… I don’t know… I have to know.”

On an impulse, the doctor climbed atop the pile of rubble, and moved smaller stones to take a look inside. The lantern’s pale light illuminated the inside of the small cavern. There was… nothing. No monstruous entity was there. Just a pool of void, mixed with something else. The very faint smell of burnt flesh.

Then, he saw it. Emerging from the pool of void, there was a trail. A black trail, going in the opposite direction, towards a tunnel he had not noticed, the trail entered the tunnel before disappearing in its darkness.

He heard the sound of something scurrying away.

The pale scholar climbed down and turned to Grimm.

“There was… something. It got away.”

They turned towards Lurien and Monomon. The two were looking at the scene with immense fear and worry.

“Why did you do this?” the teacher asked, “was it not obvious that you were subjected to the influence of… of this thing?”

“I don’t know, I was convinced it was the right thing to do, I was absolutely sure, but now…not so much.”

The teacher sighed.

“I just hope you did not invoke some bloodthirsty creature that will devour us at the first occasion.”

“Let’s stay on our guards, for now.” Grimm said. “Scholars, take your samples and gather as much information as you can. I have the feeling we should not loiter here.”

“But there’s so much to find still…”

“Doctor, may I remind you that you probably just invoked some abomination of darkness? That it’s probably still here, watching us?”

“But the source of the truth…”

“You will find it later. Now let’s get away from this place.”

The scholars charged the void samples on their backs, and made their way through another tunnel, that seemed to be running parallel to the obscure lake. Through the cyclopean arcades of the great corridor, they could see the other shore from afar, with the crowd of silent adulators, plunged since the oldest time in their eternal prayer to darkness.

“Doctor…” Lurien asked,” what do you mean, the source of the truth?”

“It is said that this place holds the truth about everything. That it can reveal the real nature of the world, the real nature of time. From what we’ve seen, I assume these secrets are help by the darkness itself… by the god they worshipped.”

They continued trough the long passed, still throwing glances behind them, in fear of being followed by some unknown entity.

“Isn’t that bad?” the watcher said.

“It is bad. It looks like this god has been sleeping for a very long time… And from what we’ve seen so far, waking it seems to be a very, very bad idea.”

“But still, with this weird spell,” Grimm intervened, “don’t you think you could have awoken it?”

“I don’t think so. If it had been awoken… we would know it already. Oh, look!”

On their right, a high door was leading to another room, circular, like the previous one, with this same architecture that evoked the inside of an egg. In this high room, they were seven pillars, each sculpted into the shape of a different entity, all terrifying in their own right, so much so that the scholars quickly averted their gaze.

In the center of the room, there was a large, circular table. Unfortunately, it was too high for the pale scholar to see what was on it. Fortunately, in such a gigantic place, there was enough room for flight. The doctor freed his wings from under his cloak and took off, landing silently on the table. He stood there for a moment, fascinated by what he saw.

“Come… you need to see this.”

The rest of the group joined him on the table, Monomon, by letting herself float higher, Grimm by using his flames. Lurien took of his bag to make himself lighter and flew up, joining the rest of the party.

The pale scholar was right. This was truly an interesting sight.

The surface of the table was engraved with a variety of strange symbols, that all converged towards the center. There, there was a high container, something that looked like a vial of transparent crystal, but it was very big. Big enough for all the scholars to fit in it. On the bottom of this huge retort, there was a large quantity of void. However, that was not all. Poking out of the dark liquid, there were strange bones, as well as pieces of clear shell. Both shells and bones seemed to have been… deformed, in a way they could not describe, their shape didn’t hold any semblance to any living creature they could imagine. However, this was not the most terrifying thing about the retort: indeed, though it appeared to be made of the most solid of quartz crystals, gone trough a complex alchemic process, the glass was not completely intact. It bore numerous claw marks that came from the inside, as if something, something powerful and frightening, had been trying to escape.

Then, the doctors saw the runes engraved on the table.

These were not magic, nor coded. From his many years studying ancient scripts, the pale scholar was able to read it.

“Emissary of Darkness.”

Next to the inscription, there were two arcane eggs. He took them with no hesitation and put them in a separate pocket of the bag.

The pale scholar looked back.

The signs on the table, the vials, the words.

“emissary”

In his hunger for the truth, in his frustration, suddenly, an idea emerged in his mind.

He put down his bag, took a pencil and the book. The last pages were blank parchment, so he began to copy the signs of the table as precisely as possible.

The pale scholar did not notice the worried expression on the face of his comrades.

Nor did he notice the was his own features had twisted into a vicious smile.

He was too absorbed in the idea.

The pale scholar knew it well. This was a terrible idea. He could not wait to test it out.

He finished copying the hieroglyphs and put back the grimoire in his bag. Turning towards the others, he said:

“I think we’ve got enough material for now… I suggest we go back to the city’s heights and look for another exit. This way, we will be able to come back while avoiding Deepnest.”

As they got down from the table, Monomon asked.

“What do you think this thing was? I have my own idea about it but it is… very disturbing.”

“I’m not sure about it either. However, I find it very, very interesting.”

Back on the ground, Lurien took his bag, and froze.

“What is it, watcher?” Grimm inquired.

Lurien did not answer, instead, he began to rummage in his bags, looking almost panicked.

“this… This is weird…”

“What is it?” Monomon asked.

“There’s no one in this whole town, it’s dead, but… my spare cloak has disappeared!”

“Don’t panic from such a thing, Lurien, are you sure you didn’t just forget it when we left the archives?”

“I’m sure, I had it, I even used it when you were injured, and I had seen it poking out of my bag just when I left it down there, so it means…”

“It has been stolen.” Grimm completed.

They all looked at the room’s entrance. There was no sound. Absolutely nothing.

The scholars shivered.

In another circumstance, this would just have been a petty theft. However, in the lost city of Nay’Heth, where they were supposed to be completely alone…

The cloak’s disappearance was utterly disturbing.

Chapter Text

The queen stood amongst dancing lights, gazing at the distant silhouette draped in a bright, everchanging blur. The beast was wary of course, a strange voice, a stranger, making her way in her dreams, trying to tug at her anger, at her shame, an unknown entity, visiting her in a moment of weakness… The chance that this was not a trap were scarce, to say the least.

“what do you want?”

The light got closer. Comforting, warm, almost seductive… disgusting.

“I want the same thing you do, dear Queen. I want victory. I want revenge.”

Herrah recoiled from the blazing figure. She could make out her features more easily. A moth, a creature of light, denizen of the sky, above the others tunnel, most foreign people, for an inhabitant of the deepest of caves.

“Who are you ?”

Despite her aggressivity, the intruder did not seem intimidated. This unnerved her even more.

“I am the sun. The goddess of dreams, the sire of dawn. I am the radiance.”

Herrah frowned.

“A goddess? Then you are a liar. How could a goddess share the grudges of a mortal?”

“They are many sides of this story you ignore, dear queen. Just know that your defeat was tied to mine, for you see, gods like to take bets.”

“Bet about my life all you want, goddess, I will not be so easily ensnared!”

“Do not fear queen, your destiny does not concern us.”

“Then why should I listen to you ?”

The goddess sighed softly. Truly, the beast was a difficult one. Weavers, in general, were cunning and untrusting. It appeared their queen was no exception. In another situation, the radiance would have given up, searching for an easier, more entertaining prey. However, she felt she would need this queen, not only because of her grudges, but also because she was worried. The more time passed, the more she feared her brother was right. What if mortals could really contend with gods? What if ancient knowledge could push her away from her queendom? She had a bad feeling about the direction things were taking. Omens, shadows flashing in the corner of her eyes, fear of a thing that was antique and undisturbed, a thing with a name ignored, something destructive and powerful. What more, now that they had opened a strange door into the depths of Herrah’s territory, she could no longer see them. Usually, her powers allowed her to see every part of the world, and yet, when she tried to focus on them, the only sight she was met with was a profound darkness.

The scholars were probably meddling with powers that were too far beyond their grasp. Though she could still play the game, find a way to take revenge upon her brother, she could no longer afford to let them reach their goal. They had to abandon, wallow in failure, or die.

Thankfully for the goddess, she had a plan, as well as powerful arguments to convince the queen.

“You should listen to me, Herrah the beast, because a great threat looms over your kingdom. Did you ever wonder where these scholars were truly going? The excuses they gave you were but a bunch of lies.”

“I will know soon enough. I have sent warrior on their trail.”

“But you will not know, queen, your warriors will come back empty handed. They’ve already left your territory, and I know where they went.”

Herrah scowled at her. Even if she hated to admit it, she wanted to know.

“Where did they go, then, goddess, tell me, if you’re so knowledgeable!”

The radiance smirked behind her fur.

“I assume you know of the strange statues and artifacts that rest at the bottom of your domain?”

“Of course I know. I’ve researched them myself. There is a door, in there, but it is locked, and no magic, no strength will force it open. It’s a dead end. No one can open this door. No one should. I’ve sensed something of great power beyond it.”

“What if I told you then that the scholars went through this door?”

“Are you mocking me, goddess? This is impossible. I’ve tried myself, no magic can open it, even the most complex of weaver seals.”

“What if I told you they had a key ?”

“What? Impossible! Why should I believe such an absurdity?”

“You saw them, right, you underestimated them. That’s why they managed to trick you.”

“You’re rubbing salt in a fresh wound goddess, beware, or my rage could chase you out of this dream.”

“That’s not what I am trying to do. What I’m saying is, they were no fools, for they managed to escape you.”

“No, they were no fools. So what ?”

“If they were no fools, then, why did they enter Deepnest, a place renowned for its dangers?”

The beast thought for a moment. In her irritation, in her urge to make him pay, she had not wondered what the real goal of her former prisoner could be.

“It could not have been to attack us…” she mused out loud. “An assassination attempt, perhaps? No, it that was the case, he would not have blown his only chance by poisoning my generals, so, what were they after…”

“Yes, think, queen of weavers. They were no warriors, they were no spies, but they knew of books, of writings, of poison. They were scholars.”

“So, do you mean, it could really have been… research?”

The radiance pulled herself up, the smile reached her eyes.

“Indeed, queen, indeed. Do you believe me, now?”

Herrah frowned.

“I admit your claims are not as absurd as I thought initially. However, it doesn’t mean that I trust you. I will wait. If in two days, the expedition I sent has not found them, I will listen to your proposal.”

The goddess nodded.

“Very well, queen, very well. In two days, I shall visit you again. I hope I will find you in a more trustful disposition.”

On these words, her silhouette dissipated in light, leaving only behind essence and soft echoes. The queen’s mind drifted towards more familiar dreams, silk passing through darkness amidst shadows she held dear. The shadow of her husband, long lost to the raging fires of war, the shadow of the child they never had.

The queen of weavers woke up feeling sore and with a dry mouth. She went about the usual activities of the day, organizing repairs, solving conflicts, planning for new buildings… However, in all her tasks, she was distracted. She often found herself glancing outside the window, hoping to see the expedition return with prisoners. She glanced often, but they never appeared. She slept again, this time, undisturbed by divinities, and went about her day as usual. This time too, no troupes coming back.

As she was having dinner, grilled centipedes with puff pastries, the expedition finally came back. However, they were empty handed.

“I am sorry, my queen”, the captain said. “We searched every corners of the caverns, following every hint of their presence, but we could not find them. It’s as if they just vanished out of thin air. I don’t understand how it is possible, given the direction they went in, we should have found them, there is no way out from this side, and yet…”

“Do not blame yourself”, the queen sighed, “it is not your fault. Now you can go.”

The warriors were sent away to join their families in the nest. The Queen glanced sideways, feeling both curious and irritated. It appeared that this night, she would have to meet with the suspicious goddess once again.

…

From the obscure depths of Nay’Heth, the small party was climbing up the interminable stairs. How high could it go, how long had they been at it? They were not sure. Though the steps, despite their gargantuan size, had been relatively easy to descend (one just had to jump down, occasionally using wings to slow the fall), the reciprocal was not true. The steps were so high that they had to fly up, which was not an easy task, given the considerable weight of their bags, and the fact that it increased with each new artefact that Monomon or the doctor found on the way.

They went up, and up, and up, and it seemed that the city had no end. They went up spiral staircases for hours, amidst great spires and towers similar to cyclopean horns, arcades and bridges filling the caverns with life-like architecture, giving strange views through great windows, dilapidated machineries made of iron and glass, indescribable tapestries from which the scholars averted their gaze as soon as they saw them, given the horrific rituals they represented.

These motifs echoed other engravings the doctor had seen long ago, they were evocated on the arcane runestones of Dagon, visible only during great tides when the sea retired far away from the land and revealed the horrors that slept beneath its turbulent waters, they reflected the depictions he had red on the legendary books of Pthaa, all echoing an older world, one in which the secrets of life and time were not lost.

The pale scholar rose the lantern, hoping that at last, they would be able to see the cavern’s ceiling. However, the only thing he saw was the darkness above and the darkness below. This was not good. He was exhausted, and he could feel his fever kicking back in. His injuries were hurting again, pain throbbing in his side and his forearm, even in his leg. He felt simultaneously very hot and very cold, and it demanded great efforts just to prevent his vision to become unfocused and blurry. His wings were sore, and the bag was heavy. The fact that he was lagging behind became painfully obvious, and the others had to stop and wait for him more and more often.

And yet, despite all this, the pale scholar still felt the same exhilaration that had pushed him when he was finally able to decipher the book of the green prophet, when he opened the door, when he found the key. He had a plan, a very clear goal, something that he wanted to do with such passion that it helped him push through pain and exhaustion.

He recalled the glyphs on the table.

He recalled the great vial, all scorched by something in the inside.

He recalled the name: emissary of darkness.

If his assumptions were right, it meant that he would be able to learn all the secret he desired, all the truth, through an emissary of his own creation.

He could not tell what exited him the most. Was it the perspective of finally reaching his goal, or the new challenge posed by this creation? Learning the secrets of the abyss, recreate one of their ancient rituals… The perspective was fascinating.

There was one last step until the end of this stair. He mustered the little strength he had left and flew up, before landing on his side on the cold stone. He played the experiments he could make in his head, not even realizing that he was lying face down on the floor while mumbling incoherent bits of sentences.

Grimm looked down at this pitiful spectacle.

“I warn you, as soon as we find an exit, I teleport us back to the archives!”

Monomon turned towards him, looking curious.

“ Can’t you do this now?”

“Not in here… It’s strange, I can use my flames with no problem, but as soon as we crossed this door, I was unable to make a connection with the dream realm. This must also be the reason why I can’t feel my sister’s presence.”

“Does this… prevent your… your mind from reaching dreams or… does it force you to focus… On something else ?”

The doctor asked this while trying to sit up, but fell back to his original position. Lurien tiptoed towards him, visibly worried.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine! Grimm! Answer! Barred from dreams or focused on… the dark?”

The god sighed and knelt beside him.

“It’s both. Now stop thinking about this and stand up.”

“Sorry, I can’t. Things are getting too… swirly.”

Grimm scowled. This was one impractical thing about mortals. Gods could get hurt all they want, and then regenerate rapidly, using power and energy. Demi gods or creatures in between were also capable of such feats, using soul. Even some mortals, using their natural capacities, were able to focus it to heal. This trait, as a natural ability, was only found in the tribe of snail shamans. The scholars were unable to gather soul, and for a normal bug to do so, the price was not to be trifled with. The disastrous experience of the soul master had proved it.

Mortals’ fragility was a thing Grimm had had a hard time to reconcile with. Before, he found it pathetic, somewhat amusing. How easily they could be hurt, and how long it took them to recover correctly. Now, this trait irritated him, especially with the pale scholar, whose propensity to get hurt was absurdly high. If he was a god of life and healing, things could have been much easier. However, his flames had always been on the destructive side, and using his magic for things that were not fear or death seldom held good results. This, he had learned the hard way.

The god sighed.

“Does this mean that once again I have to become your personal transportation service?”

The other snorted, before looking at him with a sloppy smile.

“You’re funny.”

“I guess I can take that as a yes.”

Then, Grimm realized that this development meant that he also had to take the doctor’s bag, that contained far too many ancient relics, without even mentioning this stupidly heavy book. Sometimes he wondered how the scholar managed to carry this thing around.

They continued their way in silence for a few minutes, before it was broken by the doctor’s voice.

“Thank you… for helping us like this…”

“It was part of our deal, you know.”

“… yes. It was.”

This little hesitation made the nightmare king feel a strange kind of worry, tinged with very distant hopelessness. Why was it, he couldn’t tell, but he knew, in a very special way. With time, the weight of lies could shift, sometimes, become light as feathers until they dissolved in the air, sometimes, the other way around. And these few words had made him realize that the lie he had told when they had made the contract, the lie that concealed the goal he had set for himself in the bet with his sister… It had become very heavy. And the pale scholar’s own lie had become even heavier.

They kept jumping and flying upwards, no longer bothering to try to assess distances. Sometimes, they thought they heard something following them in darkness. They turned around, with lantern and flames, but every time, it was nothing. It came to a point that they could no longer tell if it was just their imagination, or if there was really something.

Finally, it seemed that the obscure chasm of Nay’Heth was becoming narrower. Constructions became scarcer, more primitive, in a way, and it continued to diminish in size until they found themselves in a tunnel as narrow as the ones in Deepnest, with the slight difference that this one was almost vertical.

A few meters higher, the tunnel was shut by a trapdoor, made of the same strange metal they had noticed in the great city. There was a rather simple mechanism, albeit one that indicated that this trapdoor could only be opened from the inside.

He activated it and managed to open it. The scholars got out with a sigh, the overwhelming pressure of Nay’Heth finally receding. Grimm shut the trapdoor, but Lurien left a scrap of metal in the mechanism, so that they could open it, should they have to come back.

They looked around at the empty cavern. Unlike the lost city, it was not completely silent. He could hear water dropping from stalactites, crawlids scurrying away. The influence of darkness was still there, of course, but it was not nearly as strong as in the city below.

The god reached for the door of nightmares. Though it was strangely distant and twisting in a suspicious manner, it was back. With a sigh of relief, he connected the door to the archives.

Flames wrapped around them, they disappeared.

The cave was left as wild and solitary as it was. Its primitive inhabitants got back to their usual activity. It stayed like that for a few hours.

Then, a loud metallic noise echoed through the cave. Once again, the trapdoor had been opened.

…

“Do you believe me, now, dear queen?”

“alright, I believe you.”

“Then, do you agree to become my ally, and to finally enact our revenge?”

“I will only agree to precise terms.”

“I see I’ve got a serious business partner. Very well then, here are my terms: I will find a way to have the scholar delivered to you, so you can do with him as you please. In exchange, I want you to tell me about your great seal.”

The beast lowered her head and thought for a moment. Finally, she spoke, in a decisive tone.

“I agree.”

Chapter Text

“Listen, child of hunger and wrath,” she whispered softly in his hear, her voice all the more vicious in its fake benevolence,” the price I ask for is a life. The youngest life in this cavern. Her life.”

The lord felt as if his heart was about to stop. So, this was what Dryya meant, this was the kinds of prices gods asked for. He turned back to his troupe, his gaze meeting his child’s. He could not do this, and yet, the temptation of power was so strong, it overwhelmed his mind with such pernicious power that he could not renounce.

“Give me time, please. I need to think about it.”

The goddess disappeared, and the troupe exited the pale temple. The moment they stepped out, a wave of relief rushed through them. They had not realized how heavy it was, the pressure of her presence, the feeling of ancient power, her overwhelming influence, spreading both in bodies and mind. He heard her, still whispering into his ears, into his head, still infusing his every thought with the alluring tendrils of temptation.

He saw the adventurers looking at him, waiting for an answer, for a reassurance, and strangely, they seemed distant, blurred, every consideration he could have for them pushed away by the overwhelming sweetness of the voice. Her voice? His own voice, driven mad by desire? Did it have to do with the bluish pollens she breathed? Sickeningly delightful, the smell had made its way in his body, in his soul.

Think of this, Lord, she whispered, poor lord, banished by your own kin, your efforts to aid your kind, your honorable goals, all this they have denied.

You have the right, lord, you were in the right, and you could reach such grandiose goals, such happiness for your pride, such power for yourself… Just one life, one life only, for the prosperity of millions, for the greatness of the years to come, of the caverns, all in your grasp, all under your glorious reign…

How long has it been lord, how long since you fancy yourself more than a lord? How many years of torment? How many years of satisfying yourself with such a menial existence, how many years overcoming the condescension of your sisters, those foolish sovereigns, content with so little? And to think that all those years, you fancied yourself a king…

Imagine, lord, for the price of a life… A dear, dear life it is, but so ready to give. What an honour, what a great sacrifice for a child, to grant unending prosperity to the father…

The ghost of her touch remained on his cheeks, their soft light, gleaming, taking over his sight…

Imagine, lord, all the things together we could accomplish. Imagine your victory over your foes, those who have taken so much from your tribe, with the help of a creature so divine… Imagine your reign over these caves, your fist infused with otherworldly might, and time itself marked by your deeds so brave and so great.

 Imagine the things you could do, lord, the heights you could reach… For transcendent history and eternities above, what is the price of a life, what is the price of a love?

Lord Kshaa thought of his daughter once again. She looked so determined when she pushed him away from the flames, she was ready to give her life, for  him… If it was for the greater good of their people, if it was for him… She could accept it, right? When he turned towards her, she appeared strangely resigned. Could it be that she knew, that she guessed? Could it be that she perceived what seemed to be her destiny?

For the greatness of their people, for their revenge over their foes, for so many lives taken from the tribe, for a divine adjuvant that promised so many wonders… He could do it.

The lord turned towards his troupe, unaware of the strange gaze in his eyes, of the hint of dementia in his voice, when he said:

“I have made my choice. For our future, for our honour, we shall accept the offer of the goddess, and we shall accept he price.”

Hegemol stepped forward.

“But what is the price she asks for, Kshaa?”

“It is a sacrifice that shall bring great woe upon our hearts. But think of this, my people, if we accept, the goddess will give us so much more! A home, power, the ability to reign on these lands and great the greatest kingdom that ever was.”

Dryya frowned. The lord’s enthusiasm seemed contrived, in a way, and though his voice sounded resolute, she could perceive the panic behind, the idea of fleeing forward, with no knowledge of one’s destination, of one who had lost grasp on himself.

“What is this sacrifice, Kshaa? Name it!”

The lord looked down, as if hesitating for one second.

“It is the life of the youngest member of our troupe. It is-“

“Che knows very well who this is!” Ze’mer interrupted, jumping in front of the lord with her nail ready.

“Le’mer proclaims itself father and chief, but now che realizes Le’mer is but a monster!”

The lord scowled and took a fighting stance.

“Don’t jump in like that, stranger. It is her decision to make.”

On these words, he turned towards his daughter.

“Will you do it, Xhaila? For a god, for our people?”

“Don’t speak another word!” Dryya exclaimed. “Don’t try to manipulate her like that!”

“Do not oppose our ways, adventurers. If you do not agree with this, begone, you have no say in this decision!”

“Che has every say in it!” The grey explorer shouted, her fist shaking with unhidden fury.

“Wait, Ze’mer…” Ogrim tried, “It has to be the influence of the roots, if we wait, perhaps…”

“Che cares not for influences, and Le’mer has no right to be father!”

On these words, she jumped on the lord, ready to hit him with her massive nail. The lord parried it with might, though his whole body was shaken by the impact.

“So you’ve decided to betray me?”

“You don’t deserve our oaths.” Dryya answered coldly, taking a fighting stance.

The other mantids hesitated lengthily, before finally siding with their lord. Xhaila, on the other hand, just looked at the scene, dumbfounded. Despite her lack of movement and inability to intervene, one could guess the internal turmoil she found herself in. all her life, she had been raised following the ways of the tribe, she had been taught that her life was a part of her family, a part of her people, a part of a greater entity known as the mantis tribe, and that she only existed for its sake, to perpetuate it. Were it a few days before, she would have accepted this sacrifice: giving meaning to her life, letting her take part in the great destiny of the tribe.

However, this very special adventurer, this very special day had changed her greatly. Ze’mer had saved her. She had put herself in a deadly danger just for her sake. And Ze’mer was a stranger, she did not care for the rules or the future of their tribe, she did not care for her role as an heir… She only cared for her. Just for her, she had braved the flames, and just for her, right now, she was braving her father.

If felt so strange, and yet so incredible to have someone who was so obviously ready to protect her just for herself, just for Xhaila, the shy but fierce wielder of nail… And yet, she could not help but feel the guilt. Her father’s plans failing because of her, a fight breaking out because of her, once again, putting everyone in danger… She did not know what she should do, what she had to do…

“No!” the foreigner’s voice resounded in her head.

Right, she thought, she did not know what she wanted to do.

But what should she want, then, in the fight that was ready to become a bloody feud, mantids, on one side, on the other, her dear friends, who had taught her so much in so little time, and the one she loved. She did not know what she wanted to do. On one side, her family and her duty. On the other side, her first love, powerful love, her freedom… The choice was terrifying, and the young mantis had no idea what to do. So… she did nothing. Not for ill intent, nor for cowardice… Just because she was afraid, afraid of consequences of her choice, a choice she found herself unable to make.

She stepped back, looking in fear at the battle ensuing before her.

Ze’mer was ragingly lashing out at her father, the two fought with powerful blows, claws hitting nail with devastating impacts, creating flashed of olden sparks all around. The other members of the silver troupe fought the mantises. While Dryya was going at it with all her might, not worrying for the fact that she could kill someone, the other three were trying to calm down the mantis warriors, but with little effect.

Left and right, everyone was fighting, both parties letting their quick temper get the better of them. Nails clashed against spears, masses against claws, and the more intense the noise became, the more they echoed though the caverns, the more it seemed that the roots hidden all around them were glowing strangely.

Ze’mer’s nail brushed against Kshaa’s cheek, leaving a deep cut. A drop of dark blood flew in the air, before landing on one of the pale roots.

The moment it did, all fighters stopped. It felt like a horrible deed had been committed. Something sacrilegious, forbidden. They had offended the one beyond greatly, in a way they felt even in their shell and bones.

All the caverns were suddenly filled with a feeling of impending dread, roots vibrating very softly, under rock and under moss, and from every corner, thousand eyes observing them. Was it the fight? Was it the blood? Was it his indecision, their resistance to her poisonous suggestion? They could not tell. The only thing they were aware of was that this place -her place, her temple- this place had been soiled.

No words resounded in her head, not a thing that could be expressed in their language. However, they understood it very well.

The wrath of this god was unlike anything they could have imagined. No great cry, no body twisting in unsightly fury. Just the heaviness hanging in the air, pollens, making it hard to breathe, something nauseating, and still, with the same impression of a softness infinite…

The pale tendrils heaved slowly around them, higher, like bars, the humidity grew, and soft, pinkish petals appeared all around, dripping with a strange substance. The feeling of life around them became more intense, as well as the feeling of being trapped. Being trapped? No, this was not it they were part of the flow, yes you are part of the flow of the sap in the great tree, of the life, the unending and beautiful life that will not be taken away from you, my child, the endless threads all around, mellowing in sweetness and dreams, oh luscious dreams of the gardens, blue gardens, green gardens, and the boughs, so high, almost reaching the sky… Just sleep child, just sleep in the soft cradle of pale boughs, give up on this hurtful will, just be body, body, life, blood, earth, just be…me?

Ogrim’s eyes flashed open, with all his might, he clasped his consciousness, he wanted only one thing, to stay aware, to see. And what he saw was the terrible tendrils ready to close around them, to close around Isma and Xhaila. He had no time. He felt it, the weight of air and fragrances, the invisible strings pulling him down. Resist! He thought. Resist! With one last move, Ogrim managed to push Isma and Xhaila out of the closing trap. The two were unresponsive, watching the scene with a horrified expression.

With an unfathomable effort, he managed to speak.

“Fetch help! Save us!”

The trap closed, roots barring the entrance of the cavern with a wet, disturbing noise.

The young mantis and the adventurer sat, unmoving, looking at the scene in shock. The two still had a hard time processing what just happened. They looked at each other, then at the roots, still coiling in front of them.

Suddenly, a great, uncontrollable fear took over their heart. They stood up and ran away. They ran as fast as possible, they wanted to be away from these dens, from their danger, from their seduction. They ran across the labyrinthic gardens and impressive outgrowths; they ran until they reached the limits of her domain.

They felt so much lighter. Without her influence, they felt they could really be themselves again, that finally, they could think. Xhaila thought of Ze’mer, of her father, of Ogrim saving them with such bravery and strength of mind… She thought of his call, she looked at the adventurer in front of her, wanting to ask something, anything, to show that she was ready to act and save them… However, this was too much. The things that had happened had ripped her heart apart.

As she tried to speak to Isma, the traitor’s child throat became unmoving and dry, and big tears began to flow on her cheeks. Small sobs shook her light frame. The adventurer pulled the youth into a tight embrace.

“Do not worry, Xhaila. We will save them.”

…

A drop of water crept on the window’s glass. It looked like a serpent, or a transparent worm, slowly making its way amongst the other drops, leaving a strange maze-like line. Quirrel passed his fingertip in the condensation, drawing some of the runes he had learned with Monomon. Other, small droplets formed, and began to flow down. It looked like tears; the apprentice mused. Blue, blue tears.

Quirrel let out a long sigh before taking a sip in his cup of tea. He was tired, feeling both restless and exhausted. These past few days had been filled with boredom and worries. Since the teacher was gone, the one he loved so much, the one he considered to be his mother, he felt unusually cold, taking more covers for his bed that he did usually; sometimes, small shivers would run down his spine, and he would stay for long minutes, looking in the distance, feeling his mind slowly drift away, drift towards thought he did not want to haven towards a darkness he did not want to let get to his heart.

He turned towards Lu, who was serving him another cup of tea. The small butler was trying to cheer him up, taking him along for tea parties and games in the watcher’s greenhouse. Of course, Quirrel knew it very well, despite his forced optimism, Lu felt the same as he did. The apprentice knew how close he was with the watcher. They came from the same place, after all, they had grown up together, and without Lurien around, it was easy to see that the butler felt purposeless, empty.

They counted the days, made cake, drank tea, made games of riddles, or chess, or drawings. Often, the riddles repeated themselves, and Lu always lost at chess, so he did not want to play anymore. So, they ended up in the greenhouse, looking at the paintings, they told themselves, looking at the plants, though they knew very well that this was not true. They went to the greenhouse because from here, they could see the cavern’s entrance, from here, they could see it if the scholars were to return. They drank, and then, without talking, they looked out, they waited. They did not like it, of course. Him, feeling so alone without the teacher, Lu feeling so restless without Lurien. Sometimes, he thought this was pitiful. It was in moments like this that he realized how much she meant for him, and, most of all, that without her, he did not know what to want, he did not know what to do.

In fact, Quirrel could not hold it in much longer. The casual conversation they had sounded empty and meaningless. He knew that he would hurt, but he did not care. He could not continue like this. So he began to speak, in a voice softer than usual, still looking through the window.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“what do you mean?”

“Us, still waiting for them, like this… Like we can’t do anything without them.”

Lu turned to him. His usual jolly look was gone, giving way to a deeper expression.

“You’re worried.”

“Of course, I’m worried! They’ve been gone for a week, and we don’t know what could have happened to them, and…”

“It’s normal that you feel this way. You are her apprentice, her son. Of course, you will feel empty without her. This is the way I feel without the watcher. But they will come back.”

“Do you really think they’re okay? I mean, it’s the scholars we’re talking about… And it’s not like they are particularly… reasonable.”

“Master Lurien can be reasonable at times. It is just that he gets taken along by others very easily. He doesn’t like to say no, and sometimes it can be… a problem. But maybe, with Monomon, they could have avoided trouble. The teacher is very intelligent after all.”

Quirrel sighed.

“Unfortunately, intelligence does not equate wisdom. The teacher has a brilliant intellect, but when it comes to actual, practical common sense, well…”

“I see what you mean.” Lu answered. “Maybe the doctor, then?”

“Are you kidding? He’s the worst of the bunch! It’s his fault if my master- if my mother is going who knows were in weird caves! I swear, if anything has happened to her, he will taste my revenge!”

“When you say it like that, it’s difficult to argue.”

“Of course! Oh no… They got into trouble, didn’t they…”

“I’m sorry to say that, Quirrel, but… the probability is quite high.”

“I don’t even want to think about this.”

The moment Quirrel said this, the air of the greenhouse suddenly felt hotter. Bright flames appeared in the center of the room, and, appearing out of them, were the scholars.

Quirrel and Lu looked in utter disbelief.

The scholars they were looking for had just appeared before them in a gush of flames.

And said scholars were truly a sorry sight.

Chapter Text

She walked to the center of the great den, a torch of green fire burning in her hand, and in the corner of her eye, flickering lights revealed an ethereal presence. Shadows danced on the silken walls, a complex tapestry made of the finest artistry of weavers, they changed and twisted in fantastic ways upon the complex architecture of the room, revealing the depths of its motifs. The lights vibrated a little, like sun dust in her eyes. The voice whispered in the back of her head, full of excitement.

“Is that it, Queen? Is this the great seal?”

“Be patient.” She grumbled. “This is but the basis of the seal. Now take a look above. This is the great seal of weavers.”

The sparks trembled, and Herrah raised the torch, revealing the great web above. This was an impressive artifact, a seal of ancient magic, the finest instance of the weaver’s skill. This was the result of months of toil, the greatest realisation of their magic, the heart of the web that went through their territory like nerves and veins. It was brimming with the power of their tribe; this was the great seal.

The light of gold flickered again, reacting to the magic imbued into the tapestry.

“What does it do?”

The beast’s eyes twisted into a smile.

“Can’t you guess, goddess? I though being such as yourself had an innate comprehension of magic.”

“Only the magic of my element. My domain is of dream and light, not of silk and seals. Those are foreign to me.”

The beast turned her head to the side, very slightly.

“I had no idea such limitations were placed upon gods.”

“Higher beings all have their own domain. For some, it is dreams, for other, it is life… For others… I have no idea.”

“So this means I’m about to teach you something, goddess. I’m going to brag about this, teaching something to a god…”

The sparks shook angrily.

“Get to the business, beast, we have a revenge to prepare.”

“You’re very impatient, Radiance. Let me begin, then.”

The beast walked to the great seal, touching one of its delicate thread. It made a short note that vibrated lengthily into the air, letting behind fragments of magic and breath.

“The magic of our people is one of silk and songs, of protection and bindings. We have great knowledge of history and doors, of the things that were before, on the things that can be known and the things that cannot.  Our science spreads through rumors and music, and our silk creates links between all things real. We can open, we can close. This is the goal of this great seal. Its magic spreads through our webs and empowers all our bindings. It is especially powerful when it comes to closing things. Erecting barriers. Its influence is great. Were we to create spells very far from our territory, it would steal reach this.”

The sparks shone brighter, dancing in the corner of her eye, like dust in sunlight.

“You say your magic can seal and close? Could it prevent all access from very special doors?”

“Exactly. I assume the doors you speak of are those that have been opened by the scholars?”

“You’re quick to understand. But you get what I mean. There are two doors I want you to seal. The one under your den, and another one beyond the rainy cave, quite deep, too. I saw them get out through it.”

“If you give me your word that the vile liar is delivered to me, I can have those doors sealed for you.”

The lights began to glow warmer.

“I have already promised. You have my word, queen beast.”

“Very well, then.”

She turned back and climbed a small stair that led to a corridor. One of her hands brushed on the wall, emitting a strange music.

“Yvek.” She called. “Come out, please.”

A slit between the threads of silk opened, and a small weaver emerged from it. He was wearing a blue cape, and his eyes were all covered by a greyish veil. His cloak was adorned with multiple necklaces with many kinds of needles of all sizes, as well as many patches of fabric hanging around his head. From his outer appearance, one could easily guess that he was a magician. He spoke with a low, melodious voice, something that was both like a whisper and a song.

“Yes my queen. Do you want something from me?”

Herrah smiled fondly, looking at the small magician.

“I have a mission for you Yvek. A perilous one, I must admit. I want you to place closing seals on two doors. The first is the trap you already know about, under the trilobite.”

The magician tilted his head to the side.

“I know about this one, my queen, strange it is, but perilous? Hardly.”

“There is another seal to make. Beyond our land, beyond the rainy cave. To reach it, you will have to cross the caverns above.”

The small weaver’s features shifted into a malicious smile, as two shiny, razor sharp daggers appeared in his hands.

“An easy path to cross, dear queen. Easy way for people such as ourselves. Harder for those I am to meet. Tell me where it is, precisely, and I will find it and seal it with no fault.”

“I will tell you in detail. When it comes to seals, you are the one I trust the most.”

“This trust I will do my best to honour, queen beast. Come in and tell me everything I ought to know.”

Yvek let the beast into a wide room, one that resembled both a weaving room and a library. Everywhere, one could see silk paper and tapestries, webs woven in many, phantasmagoric ways, shapes mixing with each other, as well as the colorful smoke of incense that filled the room with a twisting mist, gave to the place a feeling of deep mystery, vastly evocative of the mind of its denizen.

Herrah sat on the doorstep, the only place that was not filled with entwined threads, and, heeding the sparks still in her vision, the soft void in the back of her head, she told him all about the second door, and the way he should take to reach it.

Yvek listened to her words with enthusiasm, nodding and acquiescing from time to time. Then, the beast left, letting him prepare for this mission. The magician began to gather the things he would need for his rituals. Even if he acted compliant with Herrah, now that she was not there anymore, he could not help but wonder about her goals. Why suddenly seal these doors? Why one so far from their territory? And, most of all, for her to be in such a hurry to seal them, so unexpectedly, and so suddenly… There was definitely something beyond. The magician could not help it. His mind was bustling with curiosity and desire, the same question repeating ceaselessly in his mind: What could it be?

…

When she left Yvek’s room, Herrah felt the looming presence of the goddess become less distinct. The sparks disappeared, as well as the echoes of the voice. The Radiance had pulled away, her orb of vision closed, she was now fully into the realm of dreams. As she floated calmly, surrounded with her golden clouds, she mused at her own doings. It would have been so much easier if she just used her powers to destroy them, it would put an end to this whole thing, and free her of the disagreeable sensation she had since the scholars had passed the door of the unknown. However, she did not want to do this. This would mean admitting her defeat, giving up on her bet, by becoming unable to see the outcome. This would mean giving up, admitting that she was afraid that he was right, giving up in front of her weak, pathetic brother. This, she could not afford. Besides, she was still confident, she knew the scholar’s mind would soon reach its limits. From the doctor’s general behaviour, she knew that madness had already begun to take over him, in a slow, silent and pernicious way. It was still time for him to lose himself in darkness, in this strange darkness had taken from the caves that laid beyond, this powerful, incomprehensible darkness, she was confident that it would break his mind, like the hermetic, unspeakable thing it was.

This, on the other hand, shall not prevent her to play. The Radiance had to admit, though the recent development had frustrated her immensely, she still found a great delight in this, it took her away from the usual boredom of her perfect realm, offering ways to spar with the nightmare king, using mortal pawns instead of light and flames. The Radiance thought of her next move. Now that she had obtained the help of the beast, she had to give her what she promised. Doing such a thing, with some scheming on her part, should not be too difficult. She had her people, after all, her servants, faithful and obedient. Though the idea of sending her dear moths into battle repulsed her, having them sent on a mission to capture a scholar and deliver him to the beast did not seem too difficult. The only thing she had to do was to find a way to distract her brother with a good diversion. Fortunately for her, the god of nightmares had recently exposed some of his weaknesses, many of which, quite ironically, had to do with his heart. Such diversion would be an easy feat, given the new element that had just been introduced in the game. One noisy little thing, destined to be his genitor’s demise. She saw many, many ways to use it.

…

“Nyeh !”

Something moved under Grimm’s cloak. The little creature had been sleeping, still indistinct and unreal, but now that they had exited the darkness of Nay’Heth, the contact with flames had been enough to make it wake up. The scholars stared in complete shock as the little creature flew lazily around the greenhouse, before curling in a small ball on Grimm’s lap.

Monomon and Lurien looked at it with curiosity, while Quirrel and Lu were positively flabbergasted. Not only did they just see the scholars appear in front of them in flames, but now, Grimm had some tiny, flying version of himself? This was enough for them to want to abandon all exigence of reason and just accept the absurd events that kept unfolding in front of them.

The pale scholar, however, looked at the little creature with worry. His gaze met the god’s, which was enough for Grimm to understand that this too, the doctor had seen into the temple of Unn, and he probably knew about the implications of this creature’s presence… Of this child… his child.

His train of thought was interrupted by Quirrel’s voice. The poor pill bug was trying to make sense of what just happened in front of him, with little success, it seemed.

“I… I don’t know where to start. Did you find it, this, weird city you were talking about? And what have you made of the silver troupe? And, why did you just appear like that, in flames?”

The moment the question was asked, the doctor shamelessly abandoned them to Quirrel’s curiosity by falling asleep on Grimm’s side. Lurien was not more helpful. He just sighed:

“I don’t want to have another adventure! Never ever!”

The watcher let himself fall back on the ground, staring at the ceiling with a mix of exhaustion and complete extasy. The stress from the previous days had crashed on him all at once, making him a mumbling mess.

It was finally Monomon who answered. The fact that the teacher had somehow saved enough energy to remain coherent after their disastrous escapade was a miracle on its own.

“Oh, hi Quirrel, how do you do? We found Nay’Heth, and we brought back souvenirs! As for the silver troupe… they ditched us. Or did we ditch them? I’m not sure, this was a messy situation. And the flames? I guess you two do not know yet. So… It turned out that Grimm is a god of nightmares.”

The apprentice stared at the teacher silently, trying to process the information. After a few second, he gave up on trying to make sense of any of this, and just walked to her and hugged her with all his strength. Hardly listening to the stupidly worrying things she said:

“It was weird! And we got captured! Twice! The second time we were almost eaten. And then we invoked something at the bottom of Nay’Heth!”

These things did not matter to him, now. The only thing that mattered was the fact that she was there, that she was still alive even after everything they had done. She laughed a little, seeing his reaction, before collapsing in front of him as well. The sudden release of the tension that had kept them going all this way had been enough for their exhaustion to come back in full force.

Grimm was now the only one who was not snoring loudly.

He looked at the two bugs in front of him.

It seemed that once again, he would have a lot of explaining to do.

He touched the small Grimmchild on his lap. The creature was warm, with a very small heart, beating fast with the energy of flames. How he wanted to love this child, like mortal loved their own kin. How he wanted to be able to look at it with nothing but fondness… Sadly, this warmth was corrupted by the echoes from beyond, by the heartbeat in the realm of nightmares. And the god hated the way it rang in his hears, cruel and unavoidable, the dreaded countdown before the sacrifice of the nightmare king.

Chapter Text

The pale scholar stood in the vast emptiness of the white desert. It was the same as every night, the same dream as always: spread wings, no wind, and such a deep, overwhelming sense of loneliness. Just waiting, alone under the sky, waiting for the pain, waiting golden flames, with no escape, just accepting, looking right into the sun. And yet, something was different this time. It was the same place, the same never-ending expanse, but the sky was not the same. This was not her sky, her sky, with its vibrant sun, its pale light, coming down, bearing hatred and fear. Her sky, that was so bright, her sky, that was so clear.

This sky was completely dark. No star, nothing in the distance. The only reason why he was able to see anything at all was that it was a dream.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, like being stabbed and burnt at the same time. This pain was worse than the usual pain of the dream, it felt more intense, and yet, more distant, less real. He slowly looked down. On, his chest, a black spot was getting bigger, spreading in the fabric of his grey cloak. He had not touched it, he would never touch it, so, why were his hands marred with a similar darkness? The pain did not stop, more darkness, thicker than blood, flew from the wound, so much so that an obscure pool was growing under his feet.

A shiver. The pale scholar looked up. There was something in the distance. He walked towards it, the pain becoming unbearable. He left a black trail behind. This was something vertical, planted in the pale ground. He got closer. The taste of blood in his mouth. This was a sword. A strange sword covered in mysterious symbols. Darkness got closer. He did not know what he was doing. Fire spreading through his veins, a different fire, poisonous, horrid. The sword was too big for him to wield.

He took the handle. Pain, even sharper, red flames all around. Flames surrounding him, of dreams and nightmares.

The pale scholar woke up with a start. His eyes flashed open. He felt his brow covered with sweat, the smell of medicines, new bandages. He managed to catch his breath. There was something unusual about this room, it did not feel cold like the infirmary, and it had a real bed, so it was not the laboratory. Drawings on the walls and mobiles hanging from the ceiling. This looked like Lurien’s room. In fact, the watcher was just in front of him, still asleep, with fresh bandages around his hand. He also felt the weight of someone's hand on his waist as well as a familiar presence just behind him. Usually, this kind of situation made him very uneasy, like most forms of physical contact, and yet here, perhaps was it his exhaustion, perhaps was it the warmth, so unlike the dreary expanse of the dream, he did not want to move. He tried to shift a little to see if the god was asleep, only for him to tighten his embrace.

"What are you doing?"

Grimm sighed.

" Sleeping."

" Do gods need to sleep?"

" No."

" is it a consequence of your... Predicament?"

"Not currently, no."

The doctor checked on the watcher just in front of him. Apparently, their whispers had not waken him.

" Then what are you doing?"

"You're annoying. Go back to sleep"

" Not until you've told me."

The watcher grumbled and turned to the other side, his breath whistling a little.

" I can sense nightmares. All of them. Even if they ´re concealed by a Seal... Now your turn."

"You ´re still playing this game?"

"Of course. So, what was it?"

A silence. For an instant, the doctor felt very sad for no particular reason. A special kind of regret. Regret for things not lost yet, for things that were never found. 

"Different. Weird. There was darkness, and then, a sword."

"A sword?  An idea of what it could mean?" Grimm asked, still whispering.

"no idea" he lied.

Regret felt heavier. He wanted to stop. He didn’t want to leave. He felt sore and tired once again.

" Your turn."

"Ask"

"In theory, is there a circumstance in which you would need to sleep... Or have to?"

"Could we get up? I don ´t want to wake Lurien."

They got up as silently as they could before exiting the room. On the way, the pale scholar wondered why the watcher 's bed was so big in the first place. Since he had decided long ago that cushions and a blanket on the corner of his laboratory was enough to rest, he did not really brother to learn about other accommodations. Perhaps the real purpose of such a disproportionate artifact could be revealed later.

They got out silently and sat on the floor of the green house, just under Lurien ´s collection of orchids. Grimm spoke, without the confidence he usually had in his words.

"This is one thing I wanted to tell you about."

The tiny devilish moth flew towards them and landed on Grimm's hands, letting out à soft purr. The god asked:

"How much did you see, into the temple of Unn, when you used the book of the green prophet?"

The doctor thought for a moment, looking at the small creature, at the delicate colours of orchids.

"I saw the heart. I got a glimpse of some kind of succession...”

" Having to do with this?" The god asked.

He stroked the Grimmchild, who responses to his affection by letting out a weird little croak.

" Yes. I saw that there is a limit to your ... Immortality. As well as a strange kind of cycle."

" have you come across... More information about this, in your research?"

"Not that I know of. With more information, though, I could come up with something... Perhaps this truth could be revealed with all others if my plan succeeds."

" So ... You would be ready to help me if you could?"

"Yes. "

A silence. The doctor thought for a moment before speaking again.

"Is that why you did not use the occasion I gave you to learn about my secret? "

Grimm sighed. 

" You really don ´t believe there can be something genuine, do you?"

"I'm not good with trust. Besides, you gave me enough reasons to be cautious. Let me remind you that you have a responsibility for seventy five percent of the times I got hurt. And a direct one for twenty five percent of them."

"You 're being petty."

"I'm stating facts."

" I 'm sorry about this. Things changes since then; I would not do it again."

The doctor looked in the distance for a few seconds.

"I know... I will try to help you. But only if you promise me one thing."

“What thing?”

"If something unexpected and dangerous happens because of what we´re doing, promise me that you will use your power, and do the right thing."

"The right thing? I didn’t know you cared for that."

"I don´t really care. I´m not à good person, I´m selfish. My whole life, I have acted for my own benefits.  It is not a moral dilemma. Just a safeguard in case things get out of control. "

"You think they will?"

"I think they could."

" I may do it, then. Only if you give a more precise definition of the right thing. "

"It's mathematical. Take the decision that will save more people, not the one that pleases you."

"Just in terms of numbers?"

"Yes"

"You're just asking me for your own sake, aren't you?"

"How did you know?"

"Not a hard guess. You just wanted to be able to do all the dangerous science you want without worrying about consequences."

"You ' re not letting me fool you… This time at least."

Grimm scowled.

"You’re still feeling smug about last time. What a bastard. But still, this time, I can see through your game."

"Will you promise, still? It’s a real thing you know."

"I might, but by giving my word, I’m giving you my trust. And I will not give you mine if you don’t give me yours."

"And if I do?"

"I will make a true oath. It all depends on you, now, so ... Your turn. "

The pale scholar pondered. Accepting this was a risky move, but it could have benefits proportional to its costs. Making the god a real ally, simplifying the game, with Radiance as the main adversary, and perhaps.... But there was something else. As if something was wrong with not doing it. Something unfair, and that made him feel uneasy. What more, unbeknownst to the god, he had two secrets. The second, the scholar knew he should definitely keep for himself.

"Before, I need to know one thing."

" What is it?"

" If I were to tell you something very important ... Would your sister know?"

Grimm thought, taking a glance at the window. The telltale hues of dreams were absent from the place, his sister, probably busy somewhere else. Surely, she was up to not good, but at least, she was not spying on them.

"As long as it just known by me, it will belong to my realm. Not hers. She will never know. She may be able to see us, but she can 't hear us "

"If I tell you, you ´ll tell me everything, about the heart, your nature and this ..."

"Grimmchild."

"It's a stupid name."

"Just tell me already"

"I'll say it in your ear."

"Don't dare to blow!"

"You just gave me the idea."

"Seriously, say it."

"Come down"

The god leant down, and the doctor whispered something into his ear, two short sentences. Different emotions passed through his scarlet eyes. Disbelief, surprise, the comprehension of something. Then the god of nightmares burst out laughing, he laughed for a whole minute, hardly able to catch his breath. Meanwhile, the doctor looked more and more vexed.

"What´s so funny about it?"

"Nightmares ... Oh no, that´s hilarious!"

"What? You're making fun of me!"

"Sorry, it´s just too much! You, a w-"

"Don't say it out loud"

"You have to admit, it´s rather ironic, knowing your current form ..."

"I didn’t have much choice in the matter."

" To be honest, I don't mind your current form. in fact, I like it."

"It´s dumb, though. weak. So much so I’m surprised you believed me so easily."

"Not so hard to believe. it makes a lot of sense. Still, you are a good liar. I was never able to figure it out."

"You too. Don’t complain about it. it was your game, too."

"Fair point."

"Your turn. "

Grimm sighed and looked at the ceiling.

"There’s no way around it right? "

"No."

So Grimm looked into the distance and explained. Things he thought he would never say out loud. Things he had never realized he needed to say, things that had rested heavy on his soul for so long he had begun to think that this weight was just part of his being. He talked about the heart, about its ravenous hunger for flames, of the troupe, still laying dormant in his realm, waiting for a great tragedy, to harvest the essence of the desperation they spawned. He talked of the ritual, of his child, of the memories that remained from his previous deaths, the fact that every time, he was not the same. Every new time, he was this child, a small creature born of the essence of flames, a reminder of the father´s sacrifice, of a horrible event to come, somewhere in the world. He talked of the unavoidable destiny of the nightmare king, soon to be called to a sepulcher, or an empty battlefield.

For the wyrm, this kind of existence seemed especially tragic. Not so much because of the sacrifice, the pain of an untimely death, the impossibility to really know one´s child, but because of the loss of control it brought. For him, giving up his godly nature was not so much a tragedy than a necessity, something that had allowed him to continue his quest for knowledge. however, for Grimm, the pain of flames, the sacrifice of his own body, of his precious experiences and memories ... it was just death. loss, the repetition of the same cycle, again and again, always ending in flames. The wyrm wondered if he could ever understand.

The nightmare king finished his story, leaving a heavy silence hanging in the greenhouse. The doctor looked towards Grimm, for the first time, feeling the weight of his own words, when he had talked about the heart, when he had called him “pretender”. Did he intend for them to be so cruel and so true? He did not remember. Now that the pain and the disappointment were gone, it only left the bleak reality of its meaning. What good to be a god, the wyrm thought, what good to be any creature at all, if one cannot be free?

He looked around the room and noticed that all the artifacts they had gathered in Nay’Heth, as well as the void samples were neatly aligned on the table. He stood up, wincing slightly from how stiff he felt, and walked to the strange collection. He examined the void samples. Now that they were detached from their original environment, they did not seem as sinister. This was just some kind of still liquid, darker than ink. Then, he sat on the table and began to examine closely the two arcane eggs they had found in the deep chamber. Without looking at Grimm, he spoke.

“Do you think we can do something about this? Find a way to prevent this ritual you explained?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it is possible to find more information about the heart than we already have. As a god, it is fairly new, and it operates in ways that cannot compare to other divinities.”

“So, this means the quickest mean to learn about it is to use my plan.”

Grimm stood up and began to observe the artifacts. Besides the void samples and arcane eggs, there were two small contraptions made of shell, adorned with tiny etchings that were reminiscent of the horrid scene represented on the tapestries they had glanced at when travelling through the lost city.

“What is your plan?”

“I want to come in contact with the power that lays dormant in here. If the books I read say the truth, it is an entity that possesses a perfect knowledge of all things present, things past and things to come. However, as we’ve guessed from the rather disturbing signs we’ve observed in Nay’Heth, it is fair to say that trying to directly interact with this thing would be a very bad idea.”

Grimm nodded, hands idly wandering through the collection of relics.

“Hence”, the wyrm continued, “my idea is to look further into the traces of ritual we’ve observed in the oval room with the great table, where Lurien’s cloak got stolen. From the few runes I have deciphered, as well as my guess from the things that were down there, the object of this ritual was the summoning of some kind of emissary, that would speak this entities’ truth without waking it, and putting their whole civilization in peril.”

“I see… However, I must remind you that the enormous flask that was down there bore marks of something very aggressive. If you intend to summon this… emissary, you should take measures to prevent it from destroying everything in its path.”

The doctor continued to examine the first layer of the egg.

“I am aware of this problem. If the information I get from these relics is enough, I plan to modify the ritual in some ways to make it easier to control.”

Grimm looked dubitative.

“It sounds easier said than done.”

“I am aware. Now, let’s move to the laboratory to begin this research. I can’t wait to try it. We must also explore another theory I have about this void matter; If you would participate in a little experiment…”

The god turned towards the doctor, with an exaggerated expression of worry.

“I knew it! You want to experiment on me! I’m warning you, if I see any dissection tool coming in my direction, I’ll burn you with all the nightmare’s flames!”

The pale scholar laughed.

“If I wanted to dissect you, I would have done so long ago.”

“This is not reassuring at all!”

“You don’t need to be reassured. Besides, I bet you would find my experiment rather amusing. Its result could give us a way to upset the Radiance.”

The nightmare king helped him gather the other artifacts and void samples, his mood seemed to be lighter than before.

“If it can help us drive my sister mad, I’m on it, tell me more about your theory!”

“ So, when we were in Nay’Heth, you could no longer use your ability to teleport, remember?”

“Yes. That was rather annoying.”

“From what you said, as well as my own observation, I deduced this is because the place prevented you to join the nightmare realm.”

“It is the case, indeed.”

“Though you and your sister are very different gods, the way your realms operate is the same: both dreams and nightmare cannot access reality under normal circumstances, and both are submitted to the same limitations, am I right?”

“Yes, for now, your theory makes sense.”

“Now, you said that your sister could observe us from the dream realm, and given the things that have happened in Deepnest, she can interact with minds and light magic, as well as spy on us.”

“That’s true, I saw her doing this in person.”

“And she could see us, using the dream realm. Which mean that if the access to dreams and nightmares was barred, let’s say, by the influence of void, she would not be able to spy on us, nor to interact with the elements around us, the same way you were unable to cross through the nightmare realm when we were in Nay’Heth.”

During this conversation, the two had went down the stairs, and reach the door of the pale scholar laboratory.

“My assumption,” the doctor continued, “Is that the source of this interesting effect is void. One of its properties is to nullify light. Now, the access to dreams is associated with light, be it the sun, or flames. Could you help me push this desk please?”

The two pushed the desk away, leaving a big, empty space in the center of the room. The doctor took two books as well as chunks of chalk from his stock and began to draw a complicated figure on the ground.

“As an experiment, I will imbue this seal of space with void, to see if it allows its effect to spread to the realm of nightmares.”

He took a very small brush and dipped it in one of the void samples, before adding it to some of the key symbols in the circle. He hummed in satisfaction.

“Now, if the effects of void can be added to magic geometry and runic arts, the one standing in this circle should not be able to leave it and be completely unable to cross towards another realm. So, Grimm, this is your turn.”

The nightmare king looked at the circle with suspicion.

“I don’t trust this.”

“Why, Grimm, you are a god, such a puny trick should not frighten you.”

“Maybe you messed up and this will have disastrous effects.”

“I did not mess up. Just step in the circle already. Besides, the probability that it will not work, and that you’ll be able to escape is high. Don’t you want to know if it works?”

“All right. But I’m warning you, if it explodes, I’ll find a way to make you pay.”

Grimm stepped into the circle, while the doctor was looking with a worryingly passionate expression. The god stood in the center of the pentagram, and nothing happened.

“So?”

“Now try to walk out.”

Grimm prepared to nonchalantly step out, but somehow, found himself unable to move. He felt the energy of the barrier around him, using the ambient air as well as his own energy to provide for the spell.

“I can’t.”

“Excellent! Now, try to use your flames to teleport out of it.”

Grimm tried to summon a gate to the realm of nightmares, but it had no effect. It just made small flames appear around his hand.

“So?”

“It doesn’t work.”

The pale scholar’s crooked smile grew wider, and he let out a sinister jeer.

“What have you done?”

Another laugh.

“Poor Grimm, you’ve fell right into my trap, now you’re my prisoner!”

“What? How dare you?”

Flames around the god swelled menacingly, but to his horror, they did not manage to break through the circles, stopped by an overpowering coldness, like a dark, menacing claw around him. He felt a rush of adrenaline. Was this really a trap, after everything, after they had exchanged their trust, how could he… Wait. The pale scholar was not laughing victoriously, as if he had achieved a great feat. He was laughing at his expanse. The god found the other’s hilarity particularly vexing.

He frowned and used his foot to erase a part of the figure traced in chalk. The spell’s effects dissipated immediately.

“That was a joke in poor taste, pale scholar.”

“I’m sorry”, said the other, in a completely unapologetic way. “I couldn’t resist.”

Grimm turned to the circle.

“However, it looks like this confirms your theory.”

“Exactly. Now, I know how to prevent your sister from meddling with our research. Thanks to this matter, I will be able to protect the whole archives from her influence. This is a good way to preempt her next move.”

“You should still be careful, though. Her power over minds in strong. She will find a way to come at us indirectly.”

The doctor nodded.

“I count on you to protect us from this kind of attack.”

Then, he turned to the relics and the samples, the matter, uncannily, did not reflect any of the light form the candles and lamps. Even away from Nay’Heth, it seemed foreign, cold and dead, and yet, very alive. The pale scholar continued, in a lower voice, his gaze lost in the darkness contained within the vials.

“I am so close to the goal, now… So close to the truth. It would be a shame if something came to stop us in the last moment. But I will not let it happen. It is so close, almost within my grasp.”

The last words, he whispered to himself, in a breath, so low that Grimm was not able to hear.

“I will reach it, at any cost.”

…

All this scene, the Radiance had not witnessed, and with good reason, as she was busy working on her own plan. As soon as her gaze had left the obscure maze of the beast’s den, she had turned toward the brightest place of her queendom, where her statue, adorned with bright flowers, stood proudly under the sky. She felt familiar minds drifting around her, soft wings in dreams, filled with adoration and trust. She knew they loved her. She had protected their sleep as well as their waking minds from many hardships, and still shone with the glow they were irresistibly attracted to, due to their nature and traditions.

With a swift movement of her wings, she flew towards a duo of little lights, floating lazily amidst the clouds. She recognized them easily. Young souls, proud and brave, adventurous, and true, if a little foolhardy. At first, she did not want to include them in her plans. She was too fond of them to risk their lives. However, the sense of urgency that had taken over her since the scholars came back from the abyss pushed her trespass this limit she had set for herself. What more, her pact with the beast allowed her not to have her attention spread between several points. She would protect them from harm, using every means she had at her disposition. Besides, she knew her brother would not dare to hurt them, if he did not want to see her give up on the game and burn everything in rage. They were good pawns. Susceptible to her temptations, her demands lining up nicely with their own desires.

She flew closer to their sleeping mind. Markoth and Thistlewind. Both were exception in the tribe, their thirst for adventure and discovery did not match the peaceful nature of their peers. She knew they had trained; they were strong enough to accomplish this mission, even more so now that she had an easy way to distract Grimm.

The goddess peered into their dreams, filling them with her soft whispers. She felt how responsive their souls were to her suggestions, how eager the two were to honour their goddess, and to finally live the eventful journey they dreamt of. She watched fondly over them, thinking of the things they could do, the members of the most spiritual tribe. She was aware of the risks, of course, even if she managed to drive Grimm away, using the plan she had prepared, the pale scholar, their designated target, could still be dangerous. So, in the dream, she warned them about the doctor’s treacherous nature, about his devious plans and lies. She had enough experience with the game now to know that the scholar played of the fact that most of his foes underestimated him, using their own confidence against them. This would not be the case with her moths. The two were warned, her advice, hopefully, should make them impervious to the scholar’s deceit.

The Radiance leant back, ready to protect and to watch. She had to admit her first two plans were flawed, allowing her adversaries to outmaneuver her using treacherous means. However, this time, she had an ally, and she had prepared in the long term. Victory would be hers, and before his unsightly sacrifice, her brother would finally know the bitter taste of defeat.

As the Radiance was relishing in her plans, deep under the windy domain of moths, a small weaver was making his way through winding roads. Though he had been rather boastful about his ability to cross the caverns above, Yvek had to admit he did not want to meet a troupe of bugs. Given the ways Deepnest had dealt with their comrades that ventured in the weaver’s territory, he could easily imagine what could happen to him if he was found in theirs. Before his departure, the magician had sealed the first door, under the weaver’s den. He was thankful for the fact that Herrah recognized his skill in the matter. The silken seal he had made was neat, powerful, perfectly interweaving with the power of the great seal. This was a door none could pass, and he planned to do as perfectly with the second one. Well, he would do it, of course, as efficiently as ever, but it would not hurt to take a look inside before right? Just a little exploration, a few minutes, a few hours.

Yvek had always been fascinated with the strange artifacts found in the bottom of Deepnest, and if the rumors about those doors were true, then, it would be a shame not to take a look beyond. Of course, it was probably dangerous. And yet, it had been here for so long, and nothing had ever happened. As long as he did not mess with the things that could be found in there, it would not hurt to explore a little.

He continued his way through a narrow tunnel, parallel to the rainy caves. The magician hated humidity, it was bad for his silk, as well as his morale. Besides, crossing the main caves was the best way to run into trouble with bugs, and the weaver wanted to avoid this outcome as much as possible. The tunnel shifted, getting a little bigger, eventually leading to a room that had to be crossed by jumping between platforms above many mineral spikes. Being nearly blind, Yvek decided not to take bets with the platforms. Instead, he climbed easily on the cave’s ceiling and crossed with no unnecessary risks.

He could feel it, the tunnel was slowly becoming a slope, and the smell of dust and deep, still waters was getting stronger. Until now, the mission had been easier than he anticipated. He had made no bad encounters, and it had been relatively easy to find his way. The tunnels above were not nearly as labyrinthic as the ones in Deepnest, so it was not so surprising, after all. The magician was even a little disappointed. He had prepared a special poison for his daggers’ blades, and had had no occasion to use it yet. Perhaps he could take more populous paths on his way back, to witness the effect of his chemical creation. Yvek was very proud of it and thought it would be a shame not to use it at least once.

A sudden change in the echoes around pulled him away from his thoughts. The tip tap of his paws on the ground had suddenly become louder, and he could hear sounds resounding through a wider space. That was it, the deep cave he had been told about. Now, the only thing left to do was to find the door.

Yvek walked through the cavern, humming enthusiastically. He could not wait to find this door. What more, he was in advance, so if he took his time exploring before sealing it, nobody would ever know. One of his legs touched something colder than stone. Something metallic and heavy. It was a round trapdoor, large enough for someone like his queen to pass through.

Yvek was about to examine it further when a sudden sensation of danger stopped him. Even though he could not see it, he felt a presence. The magician took a defensive stance, unsheathing his two daggers. He heard footsteps approaching him slowly. Given the light noise, and the stature of the shape he would make out through his blurry sight, the creature was not big. Even a little smaller than himself, hardly something to be afraid of. And yet, he could not help but step back. There was something unwholesome about this presence, the uneasiness spread through his silk and his magic.

Whatever this creature was, there was something inherently wrong about it. It was not supposed to be here. It was not supposed to be at all, its very existence was a problem, something frightening, overwhelming.

“Who… who are you?” the magician asked.

The creature did not answer. Instead, it seemed to lean down and do something with the mechanism in the trap door. Yvek heard a loud clicking sound that lost itself in the cavern’s echo. The blurred shape stood up and seemed to be looking at him for a few seconds.

“Who are you?” he reiterated. “What did you do?”

The creature did not move, nor did it answer. It seemed to be pondering, for a while, before turning back and running away, disappearing in darkness. Yvek ran towards the trapdoor, feverishly feeling the mechanism and strange engravings on it.

The magician looked up, letting out a hiss of frustration.

Whatever this creature had done with the mechanism, it had locked the door, ruining his hopes of exploring beyond.

“Damn it!” He swore. This damnable creature had ruined all his fun.

With a growl of annoyance, Yvek proceeded to seal the second door. The thrill and curiosity he felt upon arriving in this cavern was completely gone. The only thing he had left was an unexplainable, overwhelming sense of dread.

Chapter Text

Grimmchild flew around the archives, letting out little cries regularly. This was so boring. It had been good, at first, to have little naps with his father, his flames were warm, and he had many friends in nightmares, but this was no longer fun. Grimmchild was not tired, and it did not want to rest. Resting was boring, and he wanted to play with father. He flew around him, chirping with excitement, but father did not want to play. Or to be fair, father did not want to play with him! He was playing a weird game with the unpleasant guy who did weird magic. The two of them were running around the archives, making weird drawings everywhere, and weird drawings were not fun at all! Grimmchild let out a big yawn of boredom, trying to catch his father attention. Unfortunately, it did not work, and he kept talking meaningless things with the annoying whitish bug. Grimmchild decided that he hated him. He was taking father’s attention all for himself, and most of all, two days ago, he looked at him the wrong way.

Grimmchild’s fury grew as the duo kept ignoring him, making their stupid figures on the archives’ wood. That was enough! He could not stand it any longer! The annoying bug would pay for taking his father in games that were no fun! But there was an occasion for him to enact his revenge! The annoying guy was climbing on a shelf to access the ceiling, finding himself in a compromised position. Grimmchild flew towards him, and, with all the strength he could muster in its little jaws, bit the annoying guy’s tail. Victory! His foe let out a cry of surprise and pain and fell from the shelf gracelessly, landing violently on his father. This was what you could call killing two birds with one stone! Now the two were on the ground in an awkward position, glaring at him. Grimmchild chirped in satisfaction.

“Watch your child, Grimm!” The annoying guy exclaimed.

His father turned towards him. At least, he was looking this way. Grimmchild purred happily, relishing in his father’s attention. At last, things were going to be fun again. But why did father look so annoyed? He should be happy, the tings he had done were funny, so why was he frowning like this?

“Behave, you little devil.”

There was a particular fondness in father’s voice when he said this, but also looked genuinely angry. That made no sense at all. Grimmchild flew happily in circles in front of him, wanting to play.

“Your child is behaving strangely Grimm, does it have a problem?”

Damn this guy, saying things again! The worst part of it was that his father was listening to him. Visibly, the previous lesson was not enough to make him know his place. Grimmchild let out a string of angry cries.

“I think he’s just having a tantrum. Soon he will be exhausted and stop this.”

Grimmchild heard the noise of someone coming from the stairs. It was another weird bug with only one eye, and he also looked annoyed. Grimmchild decided that he did not like him.

“What is going on in here, I heard the noise of something falling and… stop it, little moth!”

Grimmchild had flown towards the weird one eyes guy and had begun to whip him with his tail, squealing with delight.

“Grimmchild, stop this at once, this is ridiculous!”

This strange thing again, father looked amused, so why was he scolding him? That was unfair, he should reward him instead for putting all these suspicious persons through hell. He should definitely be more grateful! Grimmchild decided that in fact, none of these people were interesting. The only thing they could do was complain and scold him, and they had a bad influence on his father! Grimmchild spotted an open window. This was great, maybe outside, there could be something more fun than annoying bugs and books! With a happy squeal, the mothling flew out of the window. He heard his father calling, but this was too late. If he wanted to play, he should have said so earlier.

Grimmchild flew enthusiastically above the archives, wondering at the vibrant colours of the place. There were also these weird things that floated around, with pretty colours, and weird kind of little flies that made lightning from time to time. Grimmchild approached them. Bouncing on the floating creatures was fun, so was avoiding the lighting. He felt like a hero going about a great adventure. Surely his father did not know of such amazing things!

But there was something else in the distance. Something glowing, and pretty. Grimmchild wondered what it could be, and followed it, letting out little chirps. The light was warm and welcoming, it looked like a fun friend, and it was surrounded with interesting circles. But why was the thing still floating away? It was so interesting and mysterious, perhaps it wanted to play cat and mouse? This was surely the answer! The pretty glow was daring him to catch it, and he was not going to give up! The Grimmchild began to fly with all its energy, following the golden glow across the cavern, not noticing how far being the archive were already.

…

Far beyond these humid tunnels, many souls were trembling with fear despite the beautiful environment that had surrounded them. The pale roots clasped them like a mother would embrace her dear children, and flowers of many wonders bloomed around them, filling the air with perfumes never felt before, sparks of light and graceful arabesques of scented vapors brushed their bodies like soft sheets, and a distant voice, the voice that belonged to long lost mothers, to the distant villages of their childhood, to the capital in the desert that stood with its brown walls, encompassing the stalls of spices and clay artifacts, this was the foreign tunes she used to sing with her sibling while waiting for the sun to rise on the high, snowy cliffs, where they found many delicate flowers, the voices that called back from before their departure into the unknow, before travel and adventures, filled with a most beautiful form of regret, that, for the first time since they left, reminded them they were far from home.

Dryya looked around her, seeing her friends be plunged into these soft delights, their eyes slowly taken over by a bluish, dreamy hue, mellowing into the soft memories of happy childhoods and distant loves. The adventurer looked up. For now, the goddesses’ power had not reached her heart. It would not, if it tried to latch onto the sweetness of the past. Dryya’s greatest delight was in her present, in her friends, her life before had been plagued by blood and blades, unending training, a cruel upbringing, the dreadful rituals of blood worshippers. She had no fondness for those days, nor for her father and mother. She could not be enthralled this way.

The goddess, surrounded with shiny roots, was staring down at her with fondness and curiosity, a strange kind of affection that she could not help but find comfort in. Mustering all her strength to fight the languid atmosphere of the stifling garden, she managed to speak.

“Why are you doing this? We did nothing to you.”

A smile bloomed in the deep blue of her eyes.

“Why, child of battles and hope, I did this because I love you. I saw you fight, poor children, I saw your hearts, full of distrust and fear. Look at your companions, little fighter. Can’t you see their expression of bliss? Let me rock your heart in flowers and extasy, and you should never feel pain ever again.”

Dryya frowned, the seduction of the goddess’ sweet words did not reach her. All she could see was the horrible implication of her friends being slowly ripped of all agency, lost in the illusions provided by the Lady’s psychotropic spores.

“Why are you doing this? What are the benefits of this for you?”

“I do it all for love.” She crooned. “I want to be a mother, I want to clasp dear little creatures on my bosom, love them ever and evermore, give them all their hearts desires, and finally make them the essence of life, the essence of beauty.”

Dryya though of the fortune teller’s words.

“The path you seek will be filled with beauty. You will meet the source of love and life, something powerful but benevolent awaits on your way.”

Now she could perceive the irony in them, faced with this entity that truly, was all of life, love and beauty. She wondered if the cartomancer knew if they would be of such a deadly kind. Dryya mustered her courage. Se had noticed that while she talked to the lady, her attention was fully on her, and her friends seemed to gain some respite. She sincerely hoped she could gain enough time, just enough time for Isma and Xhaila to fetch help, to let them out of this horrible trap. And if they could not… The adventurer still had the meager hope that her words could convince the entity of the wrongness in her actions, even if it was but a meager chance.

“This is not love you give!” Dryya exclaimed. “It’s a drug, a poison! You’re stripping them of their freedom!”

She felt a root softly caress her cheek. How uncannily difficult it was not to lean into the touch.

“What good is a freedom that brings naught but suffering? Let me take you away, my child, in green lands devoid of sorrow, in gardens of perfumes and flowers, with no worries, no fears, let me fill you with the essence of life.”

Dryya shivered. She felt that part of her being could be seduced by the words of the entity. They were stronger, now, more pungent, the hues and perfumes, and a delicious yet melancholic form of lassitude was slowly taking over her, urging her to give in to the goddess’ temptation. But she could not. For them, for their sake, she had to resist.

“This is wrong…” She snarled.

“This is love. Let me take you, child, over gardens with dewdrops wet, eons away from despair.”

Her sight was filled with the most beautiful colours, her hears, with the song of brooks and the chirps of maskflies, she felt that she could rest, rest her body mad weary by adventures and roads, while her minds was filled wit visions of the most beautiful landscapes she had ever seen, never-ending paths across great flower fields, wondrous cities on top of mountains of gold, the silver cliffs, the fierce and beautiful song of the sea, under the irises formed by the clouds of dawn.

“This is wrong…”

And yet, how to resist it, the call of bliss, the peaceful melody of eyes closed?

Isma and xhaila hurried through the caverns of Greenpath. Now, they were far enough to no longer feel the influence of the goddess, their minds were clear, letting them grasp the horror of their friend’s situation to its full extent.

“Isma, where are we going, what are we going to do?” Xhaila asked, still unsure and frightened.

“We need to find a way to free them from this goddess. Find a way to placate her, or to trick her into releasing them.”

“But how are we going to find this?”

“They’re archives in here. These peoples have a lot of books, so we might find a solution in there.”

“You mean the scholars who were with you when you came to our land? But they disappeared, and they’ve probably headed to Deepnest, they must be dead by now!”

“They were two others who stayed in the archives. I’m going to ask for their help. Surely they must have something about this goddess that will allow us to free them.”

“I really hope so, Isma… But, what do you think she did with them?”

Isma thought, while showing her companion the entrance of fog canyon.

“I don’t think she killed them, it would be strange for her to proceed like this. However, we should not linger, I still fear for their lives.”

The two fighters jumped down the pits of fog canyons, hoping that they could find a solution.

Unbeknownst to them, another duo was making its way towards the archive, although, with a very different goal. Coming from the heights of the caverns, Markoth and Thistlewind were very excited by their new mission. Not only was it a way to finally put their skill to good use, but, most of all, this was a direct order from their goddess. Being able to accomplish something in her name was an honour. Besides, this quest did not appear too difficult. True, in their dreams, the Radiance had warned them about their foe, and the fact that their target could be dangerous. However, it was still a scholar, with no ability to fight, and now that they had been warned about his treacherous ways, the two fighters were convinced that capturing this enemy was not going to be such a difficult task.

“In fact,” Markoth said, “the part that worries me the most is to have to deliver the target to Deepnest.”

“Me too! Honestly, I’m not very excited at the idea of going there… I don’t like obscurity.”

“If our Radiance is with us, though, maybe we could pray for a dream gate, just throw him in there, and then, mission accomplished.”

“It’s a good idea! But let’s not put the cart before the horse. First, we have to make a plan to capture the scholar.”

“The Radiance said she would deal with his protection, so we just have to use force.”Markoth suggested.

“It doesn’t look very elegant, though. Are you sure you don’t want to make a plan?” Thistlewind asked this looking rather amused by the other’s nonchalant attitude.

“Plans are crap. They’re complicated and they never work. When something unexpected happens, you can’t do anything if you have a plan.”

“So you want to improvise?” Thistlewind asked, surprised by the other’s stubborn views.

“Yeah, and I think your idea of a plan will just make our job harder. Let’s just come in and knock him out.”

“I would still prefer to have a plan. Maybe lure him outside so his friends don’t come in our way?”

Markoth sighed.

“And how do you want to lure him out?”

“With honey? Fruit?”

“That’s stupid.”

“You should not underestimate the call of a hungry stomach, Markoth! Remember the time with the apricots!”

“Thistelwind! We swore we wouldn’t mention the apricots ever again! This is the past, I’ve evolved greatly since then!”

“I’m glad I can still tease you with it after four years!”

Markoth wiggled in embarrassment.

“Stop talking about it, I don’t want to think about it!”

“But they were delicious, right?”

“Stop it!”

“So, how can we lure him out if we can’t use apricots?”

“Stop saying the word apricots.”

Thistlewind smiled mischievously.

“Apricots!”

“No! Stop it!”

“Apricots!”

Markoth punched him in the side, the other laughed wholeheartedly.

“More seriously,” Thislewind continued, “he’s a scholar, right?”

“That’s what she said.”

“So, scholars like to know stuff and all, which means they’re generally curious, so we just have to say, hey, come look, there’s something super interesting outside, and them knock him out.”

Markoth thought.

“It does not seem completely unreasonable.”

“So we could do that.”

“But we have to say something more precise than ‘something super interesting’.”

Thistlewind nodded.

“What is super interesting, then?”

“A bug with two heads?”

“That’s weird.”

“A giant crawlid with four heads!”

“Now it sounds completely ridiculous.”

“Then what?”

Thistlewind looked at the cavern’s ceiling.

“Wait, I have an idea!”

“What?”

“A bug with a transparent shell, so we see all the organs and all!”

“Disgusting.”

“This would definitely lure him out, right?”

“This should do the job.”

Thistlewind hummed with satisfaction.

“So, we have a plan!”

Markoth frowned.

“I swear, if something unexpected happens, then we won’t know what to do because of your plan!”

“It’s better to have a plan.”

“We’ll see. I bet you two hundred geo that something we did not think of will happen and your plan will be useless.”

“Bet taken. I hope you have enough to pay me!”

“We’ll see that when we arrive.”

…

Grimm looked out through the window. At first, he had not worried much for his child. The little moth was having fun bouncing on jellyfish, and the god had no problem with it. However, the next time he looked to see how the little one was doing, Grimmchild was nowhere in sight. The tiny devil had probably wandered off somewhere.

So, Grimm had decided to leave the archives, just for a few minutes, to find Grimmchild and then be back. Nothing could happen in such a short time, right? Besides, the pale scholar had finished putting his seals all over the archives, which meant the Radiance could not intervene inside. The nightmare king decided it was enough of a safeguard for now. Even if his sister wanted to intervene indirectly, there was no way she would be fast enough to prepare some mischief before he could find his child. The god could feel the trace of the little moth’s flames in the air, and he just had to follow them.

So Grimm walked away from the archives, unknowingly falling right into the Radiance’s trap.

The god did not search for long. In one of the ways in fog canyon, he felt the proximity of his child. This was rather strange, given the energetic nature of his spawn, that he did not fly further away. Grimm looked up in the direction indicated by the faint feeling of young flames, only to be met with a very surprising sight.

Standing on a step above, there was someone. Someone he had never seen before, carrying in their arms his sleeping child.

Grimm jumped on the platform above to take a better look at the stranger. It was a weird little moth, wearing a hood, some kind of oversized robe, as well as a mask made of shell wood. There was something uncanny about this stranger, something that made him distrusting and uneasy.

The stranger said something, but they spoke in a very quiet voice, so Grimm was not able to understand a single word. Definitely, he did not like the fact that this stranger had is child in his arms, and besides, it was a moth, so maybe…

“Speak louder, I can’t hear you.”

The stranger looked down at Grimmchild, they appeared very nervous about something. They spoke again, a little louder, with a strange voice, one that was disturbingly familiar.

“This child. Is it yours?”

Grimm frowned and jumped in front of the stranger.

“Yes. Give him back to me.”

The weird moth carefully gave him the sleeping Grimmchild before taking three quick steps away from him. The god grew increasingly suspicious. He began to fear this was part of his sister’s plan.

“Who are you?” He asked.

The stranger looked down; an awkward moment passed. Finally, he answered, with the same voice, too quiet, like a whisper.

“Nem’.”

The nightmare king scowled.

“Thank you for finding my child, Nem. Now if you excuse me I’ll be off.”

For an instant, the stranger looked like he was about to say something. However, he seemed to finally decide otherwise, just nodding quickly before scurrying away. This was definitely very strange. If this was his sister’s plan, it had to be horribly convoluted, because he could not understand what any of this meant.

The uneasiness still hanging around him, Grimm jumped into the gate of nightmares, appearing in front of the archives in a bright crimson flame.

There, he was met with another surprise.

In front of him, two groups were facing each other. The first, he could recognize: it was Isma, of the silver troupe, with the fourth lord’s daughter. What on earth were they doing here of all places? Facing this first duo was a group of two moths (at least, these looked normal, unlike their unnerving kith). The two looked absolutely dumbfounded by the situation. They seemed to understand as little of it as Grimm did.

The red moth turned to the green one and said:

“Thistlewind… you owe me two hundred geo.”

Chapter Text

Monomon glanced around the laboratory, not knowing if its aspect pleased her or frightened her. From the short time he had woken up, the pale scholar had been hyperactive, placing seals all around the archives, and now covering the walls of the laboratory in notes and blueprints. He had already deciphered the entirety of an arcane egg, and had already decrypted half of the layers of the other one, all this time having a passionate, yet disturbing expression.

Monomon looked at the transcriptions and blueprints. It seemed the content of the arcane eggs was corroborating their theory about the ritual. It also seemed to echo information the doctor had in many old books, all laid out on the desk behind, opened at the good page, as well as what seemed to be ancient treaties of alchemical science. The teacher examined the void samples once again, as well as the numerous vials and stills that were waiting in a corner. She took a glance at the pale scholar. Laying in an awkward position on an unbelievably large books, he was working on schematics that seemed to include said vials. The teacher floated towards him, taking a better look at the drawing: it looked like the unnatural fusion between elements of the ritual they had observed into the oval room, in the depths of Nay’Heth, and a system of contraption evocative of the most complex kinds of alchemy.

“Why are you making such modifications?” She asked. “I thought we were to recreate this ritual, not make it completely different.”

The pale scholar scraped his head before handing her a pile of notes.

“Look at this teacher, and surely you may understand. Though these eggs and the other elements found in Nay’Heth have allowed me to reconstruct the ritual’s main elements, some parts of it are still beyond my comprehension. They involve a knowledge I do not have, thus I have settled on the things that I already know, and look the most similar.”

“Thus alchemy.”

“Thus alchemy. From what I have gathered, the ritual of the dark emissary is not so much an invocation as it is the creation of a being, from void, and… organic elements.”

The teacher looked both worried and fascinated at the utterance.

“The creation of a being?”

“A creature… Or rather, an empty puppet, acting at the spokesman of the entities below. I see you look fond of the idea, Monomon, but do not let yourself be carried away. It shall not be a real creature. Just a thing to be animated by its will, a tool we will use to grasp the ultimate form of knowledge.”

Monomon quickly looked through the notes again.

“You say it shall not be a real living being, and yet, the ingredients I observe on your list are awfully familiar. Water, carbon, ammonia, lime, phosphorous, salt, saltpeter, sulfur, fluorine, iron, silicon, shell, blood… Those are the elements needed for the most forbidden feat of alchemy. The creation of homonculi.”

The doctor threw her a suspicious glance.

“Tell me, teacher, after you’ve seen my books, the things we’ve done, the paths we’ve crossed… Do you still believe I have a single care in the world for what parts of science a bunch of senile fools have deemed forbidden?”

“I did not imply you cared. What I imply is that the thing you create by mixing sciences so foreign… might subvert your expectations.”

The pale scholar put a bookmark in the enormous volume and began to clear the ground of the laboratory to make room for something. As he did so, he stated:

“It will not be a living being, not truly, just an artificial creature, a vessel. You know it, right, it will have no soul. Soul is the only element that cannot be transmutated. If you do not have a soul beforehand, one will not appear. Nothing is lost, nothing is created. All things transform. The elements that compose bodies and minds are fickle and prone to change. Souls, however… they do not abide by such laws.”

Monomon looked down.

“How convenient a rule for a creation you just intend to use for your own benefits.”

The pale scholar grabbed the dagger and a few blueprints from the wall, proceeding to create a complex circle.

“Do not mistake my intentions, teacher. Creating a living being through such a process, ignoring the usual constraints of procreation… it would be exhilarating. However, I do not expect this experiment to lead to such results. Homonculi, you say the word as if it were a common realization, but have you heard of the results obtained by those who tried this formula without a bug’s soul at disposal?”

“Rather gruesome I imagine.”

“Gruesome, yes, but beyond your imagination. They managed to create simulacra of life, but the things thus birthed were not graced with shape, mind, will or voice. Just horrors twisting in agony before falling back to their separate elements.”

“The thing you will make, then, in what way will it be different ?”

“In every way. First and foremost, creating a living being is not my intent. Whatever the final result is, as long as it is able to act as a vessel to peer into the knowledge stored in such darkness, I am content. Besides, of all the elements mentioned, in this, void will be the most important.”

Monomon glared at the circle. Despite the many ethic qualms that came with this experiment, she had to admit it would be hypocritical of her to chastise the pale scholar for it. After all, she too, felt an overwhelming thrill doing this, and could not wait to see the result.

“Let’s talk hypothetically, then.” The teacher proposed. “So, hypothetically, were this ritual to spawn a living being… What would you do?”

“I would not do anything, because it will not be alive. It cannot. It will be a vessel for darkness, hollow and soulless.”

“And yet, if such a creation were to call you father…”

The pale scholar stopped in his movement, looking as if he felt physically ill.

“You say rather disturbing things, Monomon. This would only happen if we were in a horror novel.”

“Sorry about that. I did not realize how upsetting the idea was until I said it out loud. So, what do we do next?”

“Next, we proceed to-“

The doctor was interrupting by someone loudly knocking on the door and calling him and Monomon. With a scowl of annoyance, he opened the door. It was Quirrel.

“Monomon! And you too, doctor, they are people upstairs, they want to see you, they say it’s urgent!”

“Of course, I’m coming.” Monomon answered, looking far less upset than the doctor by this ill-timed interruption.

“Just when we were getting to the interesting part.” The pale scholar grumbled.

“Hurry up, they say it’s a life-or-death situation!”

The two finally climbed the stairs, almost being pushed by Quirrel, who looked surprisingly alarmed despite the whole thing not really a concern to him. Upon entering the archives’ main room, the scholars were greeted with two familiar faces. The pale scholar’s expression hardened immediately.

“Isma of the silver troupe, and the fourth lord’s child. What an unexpected visit. So you survived the feud with mantises? I am surprised.”

Isma stood up from her chair, looking both angry and despaired. Looking at the scene from the back of the Room were Grimm and Lurien.

“Taunt us all you want, pale scholar, I don’t care, my friends are in danger, and you, the people of the archives are the only ones who can help us!”

Monomon floated forward, with her usual curious attitude.

“Your friends? In danger? How so? I believed you were all fierce fighters.”

“We stumbled upon the territory of a goddess”, Xhaila explained, “she got angry and she captured everyone, we were the only ones who managed to escape. Please help us, they’re probably dying in there!”

The doctor jumped on the formless couch and glared at the two fighters, looking incredibly annoyed.

“The den of the pale roots I presume?”

“Yes”, Isma answered, “that’s exactly it! The goddess in there asked us a horrible sacrifice, and because we refused, we almost got all taken!”

“So what ? Your troupe was foolish enough to venture into this dangerous place, lured, I suppose, by its wanton display of greenery, and then, you were foolish enough to say no to the demands of its divine denizen. How does this concern me?”

Monomon poked him on the back of the head with her tentacle.

“Stop being mean, you can see they need us?”

He turned to her and whispered, so that the others could not hear.

“And where they here when we needed them? They were supposed to help us in Deepnest, and instead, they joined the forces of this stupid mantis lord.”

“That’s not fair, what you say, everything happened because of Grimm, they were tricked!”

“Still, when the mantises captured us and threw us in their squalid cell, they did nothing. And you have to remember the effect it had on Lurien.”

“That’s true, but-“

“Please help us!” Xhaila interrupted. “We need your knowledge to save them. And if you don’t want to help us, at least, lend us a book on the pale roots!”

“Why would I help you?”

“Please help us, they’re going to die!”

The doctor made a small, if rather vicious smile.

“Let me rephrase. How would I benefit from helping you?”

“Doctor, that’s wrong!” Monomon whispered. “You’re taking advantage of the situation!”

“What if I am?”

“Help us,” Isma exclaimed, “ and we will do everything you ask for!”

“Really? If I help you, then, will your troupe abandon the lord and swear loyalty to me, and vanquish all the odds standing in our way?”

“This is very wrong” Monomon still whispered behind him.

“At least I agreed to help them, I think it’s fair to ask for a price.”

“We will.” Isma interrupted. “We will do as you say, and this time, we will not let outer circumstances divert us from our oath.”

The teacher frowned.

“Are you sure about this, doctor?”

“Stop with your righteousness, teacher. Must I remind you that both gods and beasts are still on our trail, waiting for an occasion to take revenge? If I were you, I wouldn’t deny any way to find new allies.”

“I guess you’re right. But still, we have to give everything we have to come to their help.”

She turned towards Isma and Xhaila.

“Could you describe me exactly what happened?”

Isma looked down for a few seconds, then right into Monomon’s eyes. She explained everything that happened with Lord Kshaa in the den, not even leaving out the more unsavory details about the lord. When they arrived at the moment of the opening of the door, both scholars looked at each other.

“Do you think it is…” Monomon began.

“It could be… I’m not sure if the time matches, but from their description… continue, please.”

Isma was the one to finish the story.

“So”, she concluded, “this is what happened. Do you think you can help us?”

“I think so.” The pale scholar answered. “The details you’ve given remind me of a book of rituals I found long ago. Given their similar characteristics, it could be related to this goddess. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to look in it. Hopefully, there shall be a solution. But do not forget about your promise.”

He turned back and began to walk towards the stairs. Monomon did not follow. In fact, she looked quite annoyed by his attitude with the two fighters.

“I’m not coming. I’m going to make them some tea. Look at this child, the poor thing is terrified.”

“As you like it.”

He went down the dark stairs and closed the door of the laboratory behind him. To say the truth, the pale scholar was quite thankful for the teacher’s distaste towards his attitude. This would prevent her from seeing the even more distasteful thing he was about to do.

Indeed, the doctor was not lying of the fact he owned a book about rituals for the pale roots. However, his uncertainty towards its contents and its affiliation with the goddess were a pretense. The pale scholar, for a long time, had been aware of this divinity’s presence. During the first years spent in the caverns, he had gathered information about it, about its disturbing effects on nature, as well as the atrocious rituals performed by her former worshippers. For an unknown reason, this unsightly tribe had disappeared, leaving few traces, and leaving their goddess without adulators. Many details hinted at the involvement of the ancient civilization in this, which was why the doctor had looked in this direction in his inquiries about Nay’Heth. However, from the sources as well as the hints gathered in the caverns, it had quickly become clear that this divinity, unlike Unn, was completely unrelated to Nay’Heth, and that if she shared a relation with its antique civilization, it was one of deep enmity.

The pale scholar climbed on the armchair to access a massive, dusty volume that laid on top of the shelf, and put it down on his desk. The memories he had of its content were vivid, mostly because of its graphic contents. He wondered what the two fighters’ reaction would be, if they were to learn about the pale root’s ways, and the abominable fashion in which she dealt with the sacrifices that were given to her. This was a slow and atrocious process, in which, by the use of psychotropic spores and suggestions of the mind, the goddess lured her innocent victim into an unescapable apathy and paralysis of both spirit and body. The, she would slowly begin to absorb their life essence, her smallest roots merging for a time with their bodies, sucking out all organic matter in a slow and agonizing process, living only the shells or bones of her victims.

The doctor turned a few pages, before finding the one he was interested in. A ritual of adoration, one that could allow a being to ask anything of the goddess, in exchange for a chosen price. That was it, using this, and counting on the goddess’ frustration after centuries without worshippers, he could pass himself as a cultist of white roots, offering long lost prayers in exchange for her prisoners. The plan was already done, but… the two warriors probably thought he would need much more time to find a solution, from the way he had acted upstairs.

His eyes drifted to the stills, then to the circle engraved on the ground. He had time, right, he could try, just one experiment, the first experiment, just to see. It would not take so much time, right, everything was already prepared, he just had to put the installation together and then… The pale scholar looked at the door. The right thing would be to get out already, with the book, to prepare to help them, but… his curiosity was too strong. Besides, something was calling him, the same call as usual, from Nay’Heth, from the darkness… If he were to become a cultist, it would surely be one of void. He looked at the samples in the vials before him. Their darkness, so welcoming, promising so many secrets… He could try, now, just try, just to know…

The doctor pushed the biggest vial in the center of the circle and installed the stills. He then weighed and added methodically very ingredient of the transmutation, before emptying a full jar of void into the great vial. A strange kind of fever had taken over him, and though his movements were mechanical, precise, he did not notice how his hands were shaking, and the strange, half spoken words that escaped his lips with every breath.

The doctor had forgotten about everything else, he had fully given in to his curiosity, to his fascination. He wanted to know, not in a few days, but right away, know what it could be, this dark emissary.

The contraption was ready, now, the only ingredients missing were shell and blood. Since he was acting on impulse, he had not gathered them yet. But it did not matter. It did not. He had some at his disposition. As long as the others did not notice…

The pale scholar grabbed the sharp dagger on the desk and put his third hand above the weighing scale. First, the blood. With a hiss of pain, he stabbed into his hand, letting big drops of pale blood fill the beaker. The time it took for it to reach the desired amount was excruciatingly long, and even this was enough to make him lightheaded. Likely a side effect of his bad eating habits, or, to be more precise, his tendency to forget about eating regularly. The scale shifted. The right amount had been reached. The doctor poured the content of the beaker into the great vial. Blood was done. Then, shell. He looked at the injured hand. The shell was already cracked from the way he had stabbed it. Thankfully, only a small amount was required. The only ting he had to do was to avoid passing out before the process was complete. This whole experiment proved that he was very wrong when he declared, few years ago, that a weak constitution was not a problem for a scientist. He bit into his sleeve and began to carve out a piece of shell from the injured hand. He had often bragged about having a high tolerance to pain, but still, it was all the more difficult to resist it when it was self-inflicted. Were he not under taken in such a craze, completely giving in to his obsession, he would probably have flinched away. With the noise of torn flesh and a horrible pain, the piece of shell was finally carved out. The whole process had been so agonizing he did not even notice how his teeth had pierced through his sleeve and injured his left arm as well.

However, the pale scholar no longer cared about the pain. The bloody piece of shell was there, it had the right weight. It was the last ingredient, before the transmutation could be completed. His features twisting viciously, he dropped the piece into the main vial, closed it, and installed the last still.

He took a step back and gathered his notes, and in an almost demented whisper, he began to recite the incantation.

At first, nothing happened.

Then, all the stills were filled with an obscure fume. The candles in the room flickered, all of them got out, except for one just next to him. This only source of light was enough to witness the horror going on in the main vial.

At first, the disgusting mix of substance did not budge.

Then, it was agitated by small tremors, tremors that quickly turned into convulsions. The matter within began to rise, taking the most horrific shapes, organs and flesh forming and dissolving into one another, bones forming and deforming, letting appear absurd parodies of living beings, fetal forms twisting in horrible yet silent agony. How long did it last? The doctor could not tell. Although the vision was horrible, pushing him even closer to the border between sanity and madness, he found himself unable to look away.

The shapes, sometimes, mouths gaping with teeth emerging from flesh in the most dreadful manner, sometimes, a misshapen heart, trying to beat, but emptying its repulsive content on the inside of the vial, sometime, a hideous pseudopod, horribly reminiscent of his own hand, tarnished with his own blood, hit the glass, before sliding down and merging into other deformities.

Another hit of violent tremors agitated the matter.

The, it was over. The horrendous creation fell back into an obscure, repulsive mix of matter.

With shaking hands, the doctor managed to turn on a few lanterns. He looked inside the vial again. Just the mix of matter he had put in originally. This was a failure. A complete and utter failure. The thing could not stabilize, its conservation required too much energy. And yet, he had checked the formulas multiple times. He was missing something. Something important, something that would allow this creation enough energy to keep a coherent shape.

He glanced around the laboratory, trying to think of something of anything that could prevent him to reiterate this horrible failure. Then, his gaze met the book of the pale root’s cult. A word, on the page.

“Life”

The absolute, overwhelming energy of life.

Slowly, the doctor caressed the page, letting out a low snigger.

Life. This was the solution. The essence of life, with a godly amount of energy. His chuckle turned into a real, evil laughter. It seemed that finally, he was going to gain much more from this trip to the den of pale roots than what he had anticipated.

The scholar washed and bandaged his injured hand and his arm, then put on another robe that was not stained with blood. Unlike his usual grey garment, this one was completely white, and the sleeves, conveniently, were too long. An impractical colour for experimentation, but a great gown for a self-proclaimed cultist. He put the book in a bag, as well as several small vials and the dagger, which blade had been carefully washed beforehand.

With a renewed exhilaration, the pale scholar climbed the stairs and entered the main room.

“I am ready. Let’s go, then, to the den of the pale roots!”

The two fighters stood up, with hope in their eyes. As they walked towards the exit, Grimm came by his side.

“I wonder where this newfound motivation for this quest comes from, doctor.”

“You will know soon enough.”

“Before we go, I must tell you of something however.”

“What is it?”

“My sister is on the move again. Two moths came in front of the archives, earlier this day, but they left when they saw me arrive. And I saw another weird moth in fog canyon. I suspect they have done something to Grimmchild.”

“We shall look into this later, then. If what you say is true, making the silver troupe involved once again could be a good idea. And now, we have a safe way to ensure their loyalty.”

“Very well, then.”

Grimm looked at the doctor from head to feet.

“Why the white robe, though?”

“Because I am going to pass as a cultist.”

…

In a tunnel above the archives, two moths, one red and one green, were arguing.

“I told you it was stupid to have a plan!” Markoth complained. “Now, everything happened as I had anticipated!  Something unexpected happened, and we didn’t know what to do!”

“Then we just have to make another plan.” Thistlewind sighed.

“Your plans always fail! And why was the nightmare king here? Radiance told us about him, she told us she would lure him away using his child, but he came back far earlier than he was supposed to!”

“Calm down Markoth, we have to make a plan that includes the new things we just saw.”

“But plans are awful! Even for Radiance! She planned to lure Grimm away, and then an unexpected element came, I’m sure, and it ruined it!”

“Listen to me, there’s no need to freak out. She will protect us, remember. Besides, the adventure is more interesting if everything does not happen as it was planned.”

“But what do we do, then?”

“We follow them, and we wait for an occasion to strike. Then we get the scholar.”

“No complicated plan?”

“No complicated plan, I don’t want two lose two hundred geo again.”

“Did I hear the words ‘plan’ and ‘geo’?”

The two moths jumped in surprise and turned around with a scream quite unbefitting for manly adventurers.

“Who- Who is there !” Thistlewind exclaimed.

“Do not fear, fluffy fellows, I am right here.”

A small spider emerged from a bush, looking at them with an amused expression.

“Ah ! A Deepnester! What are you doing here? What do you want from us?”

The spider smiled, letting appear thin but deadly looking mandibles.

“I am Yvek, and I just happened to overhear that you were trying to capture a scholar. Now you two look like good fighters, but when it comes to plans, traps and discretion, I am convinced you need some help. And what could be better in such domains that the help of a weaver?”

Chapter Text

“Looks like her domain has extended from the last time I came here…”

Said the pale scholar, as the group reached the entrance of the overly luscious den. Grimm looked around, feeling the intensity of the presence of the other. It was not malevolent, per say, in fact, if one had to link its aura with a feeling, it would be one of deep and genuine love, love for all that lived, for all creatures from here and from beyond, the warmth of something that wanted to clasp them close to her heart for the eternity of times, to make them one with her being, one with her powerful, never extinguished life.

The god shivered. He could feel how her power was different from his. More pervading, more real. He could feel her love, deeper than any love he could ever have… And yet, from the few things the doctor had said on the way, he could feel that this love, with all the beauty it could have, was expressed in a most disturbing manner.

He saw the pale scholar in front of him stray from the way.

“Where are you going?”

“Come here, if you want to see something interesting.”

Grimm approached, followed by Monomon and Lurien. Both of them seemed equally enthralled and repulsed by the bizarre life surrounding them. The doctor showed them a cavity that led to an adjacent cave, in the center of which a collection of engraved monoliths were erected.

“Look at this. Do you see how these arabesques are different from the ones we observed in the totem of Unn?”

Lurien, being true to himself, used his spyglass to have a better look at the stones.

“Indeed… Those have been sculped with different techniques, and the core motif is not one of a circle, but one of a tree.”

“Once there was a civilization in here, as old as the one in Nay’Heth. They worshipped the white roots, the embodiment of the circle of life and death. A frightening entity truly, all birthing and all devouring…”

Monomon’s tentacles curled in interest.

“What could have caused their disappearance?”

“No one knows. My theory is that it has to do with the people from below. Remember what Isma said about a door made of void? And there are also these things hidden in the shadow, these strange totems, they look reminiscent of the statues we saw down there. Were there at war, allies perhaps… Did the people of Nay’Heth take them along in their demise?”

Isma cleared her throat.

“Please, scholars, could you save this for later? My friends are in danger, and we don’t have all the time in the world!”

The doctor turned back from the interesting object and continued. Meanwhile, Grimm looked around, as if looking from something.

“Have you seen something Grimm?”

“No, but I heard the noise of something in a bush. And I have the feeling we’re being spied on.”

“Her?”

“If not her, her envoys. Let us not linger here.”

The group followed the path amidst the overgrown gardens. From the increasingly obvious presence of white roots, they could easily see they were getting closer. The perfumes in the air were becoming stifling, pale spores and pollens glistening in rays of warm light.

“Were they so great, I wonder,” the pale scholar mused, “the benefits of this goddess’ blessing, in face of the sacrifices she craved?”

“Well”, the teacher answered, “her power over life may have saved them for starvation and misery, letting them enjoy this paradise.”

“Paradise only in appearance. Can’t you feel it? Under leaves and behind roots, I smell something rotten in here. The lushness of this place grows of the vilest manures.”

“Don’t be so critical of it, doctor.” Grimm answered. “You want to act as a cultist of roots, right? If so you should get into character.”

“It seems you’re right. Look, we’ve arrived.”

In front of them laid a wide, luminous den, its walls entirely made of pale roots. In the center, a flower of beautiful, translucent whiteness was gleaming, surrounded with mists like silken drapes and dust like petals of gold.

The doctor stopped and opened his bag, waving at the nightmare king to make him come closer. In a discreet gesture, he gave him the empty vials.

“If she lets out spores, or pollens, or another material, try to get some of it in these. It will be useful for later.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“We’re just getting samples for now. When the adventurers are freed, we will have time to study it. I suspect I will need them in the current… project.”

Grimm got up, and in a quick move, the doctor also took the dagger, and concealed it on one of his long sleeves.

“Are we getting to it, yet?” Isma asked.

“We are.”

The doctor stood up with the book in his hands and walked in front of the pale flower. The others took a step back, as the scholar readied himself for the prayer. Grimm felt a strange kind of worry as he looked at the wyrm doing this. Perhaps it was the way light and mist reflected on the white robe, making it look almost transparent, ethereal, the impression of lightness that came from the loose garment, he could have said it was beautiful, were it not for the ghastly impression it gave. Pale petals about to wither, everything in light dissolving… Looking right into the sun…

He heard him recite the words of the first prayer.

“I call thy name, mother of life, thou in the deepest earth rooted,

I call the name of the most ancient bark and most ancient wood by newest sap nourished.

Ever their praises, the white flower of the den, lä, Shub-Niggurath

The tangled root with thousands young!

Answer the call of thy disciple, for this shall be the first prayer of this cult!”

A soft tremor shook the petals, and they opened elegantly, revealing the creature inside, shrouded in preternatural beauty. The group could not avert their eyes from her gentle light. She looked down at them with an expression of both surprise and pleasure, radiating power, raw, unadulterated, divine. The pale scholar could not help but feel in awe, before her magnificence, one that induced both admiration and fright. He felt the urge to step back, to put distance between him and this entity, his survival instincts begged him to do so, but he did not yield. He was not one to abandon out of awe or fear.

The entity leant towards him, her soft voice vibrating through air and minds alike.

“What a delightful surprise! Child of dirt and blood, at last you come to me. Surely, seeking your reward.”

He saw some of her roots creeping towards him, some as fine as silken filaments, others a lot thicker, with the appearance of snakes.

“Reward? What do you mean?”

“Your reward for freeing me, of course! Though this door of darkness did not keep my roots from spreading, it prevented the creatures I love so to pay me a visit. But I felt it across the echoes of caves and the rumors of sound. This door, it was you who brought it down.”

The pale scholar shivered, seeing the roots creeping closer.

“So that was it… With the door of Nay’Heth…”

The goddess continued her speech while the rest of the party still looked at her in awe. The pale scholar felt one of the roots brush against his leg, producing a shiver of discomfort.

“What shall I give you, then, dear child, you who came to me with such words of prayers, and so delightfully adorned… I could give you pleasures out of this world, extasy beyond mortal’s grasp, the most intense joys a mind or a body could crave…”

His discomfort grew. The perfumes of flowers were so strong in the air it was nauseating, and the entity’s presence imbued the atmosphere with such heaviness it made it difficult to breathe. He tried to calm himself down, following the words of the book. The precise wording of prayers, the formulas of adoration and demands, it reassured him in a way.

“Root of all life, thou who bears the names of dusk and dawn, thou who equally enchants cradle and grave… Wilt thou answer to my prayer?”

Her glistening eyes curved into a sweet, yet terrifying smile.

“Pray, then, little seeker, but let me enjoy your presence a little more, while I listen to your demand.”

He felt one of the finer roots coiling around his leg, another slowly sliding along his waist.

“All dirt is gone from your robes and claws…”

She leant down a little more, her head but a few inches away from his shoulder, she breathed in quietly.

“…but you still smell like blood.”

The pale scholar exhaled and looked up. Though his hands were shaking, he still had the will to speak, the will not to yield.

“I heard adventurers ventured upon your temple, white root, I heard you took them for yourself. Are they still of this world, or have you absorbed them already?”

“You must speak of this adorable troupe. How naïve they were, how sweet. But worry not, child of dirt and blood, I have not made them mine. Not yet. For now their minds rest in the most delicious bliss.”

“Then my prayer is that you let them go. Free them, if you truly intend to give me a reward.”

He felt another root brush his cheek, where the scar was. He took a quick glance behind, to see all his companions staring in absolute awe. Except Grimm. Grimm looked like he was barely able to contain his fury.

“Tis a strange price you ask, dear, and for me, one of the less pleasing. My ways are to give and to take, but to give back the things I already received… this does not suit my nature, nor does it humor my wishes.”

The doctor scowled. From the beginning, he knew the negotiations were going to be difficult, and the goddess’ comment proved he was going to enter a more difficult terrain.

“Chose, my dearest servant, chose and forget about them, I have so much more to give, and so so much more you could obtain…”

One root curled around his thighs, another around his waist, he felt his heart beating faster, and found it hard to breathe. Meanwhile, the goddess still cooed in his ear, overwhelming his senses with her many powers.

“I can give you pleasures many mortals would kill for, I can give you power to match one of a god...”

She began to whisper almost imperceptibly in his ear, her words echoing in his soul.

“And to compensate for the divinity you so completely lost, I could bless your soul and body with most godly seed. Give in to me, wielder of books, seeker of truths. The path you thread only leads to darkness and despair, the answers you reach will not bring fulfillment to your mind.”

He barely managed to articulate an answer.

“N- no… that’s not-”

“Give in to me, you’re tired, you’re hurt, you’re in pain. Let me lull you to sleep and take you away from your misery, give in to me, and my gardens shall be your paradise.”

In a movement of panic, the doctor began to thrash about, the dagger scratched one of her filaments, drawing a thick, white, glistening blood. However, that was not enough to sway the goddess. The wound healed almost immediately, and she tightened her grip, making him lose hold of the weapon.

“Since you are so unwilling to offer, dear pretense of a priest… I will take!”

The doctor gasped, red flames appeared in his vision as he felt someone pulling him away from the creature’s pernicious embrace.

“Restrain yourself, pale root. You said you would not give what’s already taken, but then you shall not take what’s already given. And it’s been a long time since by contract this mortal gave himself to me.”

The goddess frowned, this interruption bringing her obvious discontent.

“Scion of flames and fright… I should have known your presence would affirm itself in an unpleasing fashion.”

Grimm took another step back, feeling the wyrm still shaking in his grip. After a moment, the doctor managed to catch his breath and looked up. The goddess’ eyes were no longer curved into a smile, their deep blue shimmering with unsettling coldness.

“You who fancies yourself my priest… You seem quite unwilling to go to the length the others went to in their adoration for me. In the ancient times I have known more fervent worshippers.”

“Very well, pale root”, the doctor answered.

Though from his resolute stance and the sound of his voice, he appeared unwavering even after the disturbing experience, the way his whole body still shook slightly and his tight grip on Grimm’s cloak suggested otherwise.

“Since I cannot make my demand trough prayers or grace, let me propose you an exchange.”

The entity’s head tilted to the side. Rather than being offended by this mortal’s audacity, she looked intrigued.

“I commend your spirit, child of dirt and blood. All mortals I have met before have plunged head first in my temptations, or cowered away in fear, and yet, here you stand, speaking of an exchange. Had your soul not be sullied by a promise of dread and flames, I would have taken it with great pleasure.”

The pale scholar steadied his posture, looking right into the goddess’ eyes.

“You do not answer my question, goddess. Are you willing to trade?”

“Willing? I am, of course, but I do wonder about you, burnt one. Since your soul and body are already taken, what could you have to offer? For I only take payment in kind.”

The doctor scrutinized her with this subtle smile and upwards glance Grimm now knew to be the sign of some treachery.

“You are mistaken, pale root. I have something to give, something you may find very, very interesting. If you release the adventurers trapped beneath your roots, I will give it to you.”

Another spark illuminated azure. One of amusement, and most of all, curiosity.

“And what could it be then? A thing of wonder, I suppose, to be worth the many lives I hold.”

“Wondrous thing indeed, goddess, and one that could quench the grudges you may have for this wall of darkness that so long kept you in your lonesome.”

Grimm noticed how the pale scholar’s shaking had stopped. His previous fright had receded, all absorbed that he was in this deception.

“Pray, tell me more.”

“I can give you a life, white root, unlike all the lives you’ve seen before, one made from the essence of darkness, one for you to possess and own, as darkness has tried to own you, a life so sacrilegious in its nature it shall be an object of wonder even for a divinity of life and death such as yourself.”

The root seemed to think for an instant.

“How strange you do not suppose such a thing to be an offense to my very nature…”

“I knew it could not be. As long as it holds this sacred and mysterious principle, one that makes a moving creature, it shall belong to your domain, no matter the way it has been spawned.”

“I must admit you entertain my curiosity, little seeker, but where this present be?”

“I do not have it yet in my possession. Free your prisoners, and I will come back with it.”

The entity sighed.

“If I release them now, who tells me you will come back at all?”

“You can keep half of them, as guarantee.”

He turned to Xhaila, looking at her with a disturbing king of satisfaction.

“Keep the mantids. I have here one of their kin. Despite her peaceful appearance, I am convinced that if I were to abandon them, her revenge would be a bloody one. Her father is here. Knowing the domain of your godhood, you should feel their bond.”

“Tis true, a bond of love I sense, strong, though spoiled by absence and betrayal. But a true love nonetheless.”

“Besides, I shall swear on my honour.”

“Such terms seem acceptable to me. But beware, child of dirt and blood, the trust I place in you stems from a certain tenderness I have for the service you gave me, and the delight I find in your boldness. Take heed, though, pollens can carry rumors very far, and my roots are far reaching. Were you to betray me… the consequences would be dire.”

“I am well aware.”

The goddess looked down, appearing once again in all her majesty. A whisper vibrated trough the air.

“I will see you soon.”

Her massive shape slowly retracted into a nest of roots, disappearing under the cover of delicate petals. Like the inverted blooming of a pale rose, she recoiled within the earth, leaving only perfumes her breath, the weight of her presence still hanging in the den.

Then, pushed upwards by thicker roots, four body emerged from the tangled soil. Dryya, Ze’mer, Ogrim and Hegemol. The four woke up in a start, looking around them in utter confusion. Isma and Xhaila ran towards them, all their worries pushed away by the joy of this reunion.

However, they were quickly interrupted by Grimm.

“Now, let’s leave this place, silver troupe. I do not want to linger here, and we have things to explain to you.”

Ogrim jumped up, immediately taking a fighting stance.

“Fire wielder! That’s you again!”

The other three imitated the defender, despite the remains of the roots’ drugs still in their veins, they were ready for combat. Thankfully, it was Isma who stopped them.

“Don’t attack, they’re the ones who saved you!”

“Who saved us?” Ogrim asked. “What do you mean?”

“For now, let’s leave this place, meanwhile, I will explain.”

The poor, disoriented adventurers looked at each other and silently agreed. They followed the group towards the exit of the luscious dens, listening as Isma explained the terms of their rescue, the new allegiance they were forced into ( the scholars did not hide the satisfaction they gained from the arrangement, which irritated Dryya greatly.) Still, they did not protest. They were tired, still trying to push away the trauma of their experience. Now, the troupe began to see more clearly through the fortune teller’s predictions. His words they had taken as a dare, when in fact, they were a warning. The hanged man, the emperor, death… It seemed that from the moment they had entered these caverns, they had been pushed away from place to place, from situation to situation, as if an invisible tread had been tangled around them, a thread from other times, times that never were, and still, oaths and allegiances that had no meaning in their world seemed to have made their way into their life, taking away their agency, through means of lies, traps and retribution. Of course, it was still an adventure. They still had it, the passion, the danger, the thrill. But all these had been tinged in bitterness, and given the cartomancer’s words… A deeper darkness seemed to be awaiting them beyond.

Finally, they reached the exit of the den, Grimm and the pale scholar walking ahead.

“I really must thank you, Grimm, that was a close call, without you, I would be… well, I don’t really know where I would be, but probably not a very agreeable place.”

“You should have been more careful. I don’t understand why you did not pull away.”

“I did not anticipate this, the book did not mention such a thing.”

“You cannot anticipate everything with books.”

“You were here, still, so it turned out all right.”

The nightmare king looked behind him, to check if the silver troupe could hear them.

“I would not say that,” he answered, in a lower voice. “that trade you made with her. It’s rotten. We’re in big trouble if she finds out.”

“But she won’t. The thing we will give. It will have life. And this life shall be hers.”

With a feverish smile, the pale scholar showed his hand to Grimm. It was covered by a thick, white, glistening liquid.

“Now you see why I didn’t pull away.”

He let five heavy drops of godly blood into the vial held by Grimm.

Chapter Text

It is a well-known fact about gods that they are not good with choices. These beings of the higher spheres are accustomed to see their desires granted, by worship or by sheer power, and on the rare instances in which they could seem to be confronted with two paths to take, their eternal existence often means that the choice of the former only equates to postpone the exploration of the latter. Besides, like most beings of unending times and flowing magic, most gods are fickle in their desires, and in their wishes, inconstant. Most always feel a sense of deep entitlement to all things, making them complete strangers to the notion of sacrifice.

From this premise, a keen reader could easily imagine that were a true choice imposed upon said god, their final decision would reveal much of their personality. If one god, for instance, were forced to choose between the life of their people and their own prospect of victory, which one would their heart lean towards? About such questions, we are still in the dark, after all, situations in which such a true choice could be made by a divine entity are scarce, and only reach trough complicated paths it would be a painstaking task to explain. When studying such subjects, comparable with the irregularities in certain planet’s parallaxes or gravitational waves, faced with the impossibility to experiment for themselves, most scientist set their views on phenomenons that in the world, are found naturally.

For the sake of science, hence, let’s be patient and observe the variety of scenes presented on this stage, for one may display the situation we look for.

A heteroclite troupe was exiting the gardens of pale roots, one quite similar in composition to the expedition that once made its way towards the mantises’ territory, with only a few changes, the first, being the addition of the young Xhaila, the second the change in the terms binding it members together. This time, it was not kinship in promises made, but true loyalty that bound them, one found in guilt and debt, and in the very particular way the pale scholar would glance at the adventurers from time to time, as if saying: “you owe me.”

They walked in silence, on their guards, and for good reasons. The presence Grimm felt following them as they entered seemed not to have vanished, and the small details of a cracked stem and disrupted bush indicated that some kind of activity had taken place here while they confronted the plant like entity.

The members of the silver troupe already had adopted a fighting stance, while the scholars scrutinized their surroundings. No sound but the faint songs of maskflies and their own breath, and yet, the air was filled with tension. All of them could tell: something was about to happen.

Suddenly, jumping out of bushes, two moth warriors appeared behind them, one wielding a blade, the other a spear, both protected by dreamshield. The silver troupe, who formed the tail of the group, turned back in a jump, ready to fight the warriors.

The two moths, despite their dignified appearance, were attacking in a very strange way. Instead of gauging their adversaries, like most fighters did, they had launched on the troupe while shouting loudly and waving their weapons in every direction, making such a ruckus that it surprised the fighters greatly, making them focus all their attention on them and step back in incomprehension.

The pale scholar frowned, as he too, stepped back, forced to follow the movement of the rest of the group. Two moths. Another plan of the Radiance, no doubt. It was an ambuscade, so this meant they had seen them coming, and yet they attacked anyway, even if they were vastly outnumbered? Strange. These warriors may lack subtlety, but they were not stupid…

Grimm was also focused on them.

“Yield! Yield!” The two cried, making an absurd din.

This was absolutely preposterous, no wonder everyone would look at them, this was ridiculous. The doctor was jostled by Hegemol who had jumped back as well, barely managing not to fall over. No wonder everyone would look at them… Because it was a diversion. Even the fact that they appeared from behind, where the fighters were, and not in the front, where they could have taken some of the scholars hostage pointed towards this. Their goal was not to beat the fighters. It was to have all their attention. Which meant that meanwhile, on the other side… Obviously, they were not alone.

The pale scholar turned to the other side briskly.

However, that was already too late. He felt magic under his feet. A seal. One he had stepped on when Hegemol pushed him inadvertently. They had probably anticipated this surprise would make them step back enough to fall on this trap. Silk flashed into his vision. He tried to call for Grimm, but some heavy silk had already gagged him. The pale scholar cursed himself, this was such an obvious trap, one that could never work without the element of surprise, and yet… They should never have dropped their guard. Despite having escaped the white deity, despite the additional protection of the silver troupe.

He felt the silk pulling him towards a bush. He could do one thing, just one thing and then it would be too late. On the last second, he grabbed a small rock on the ground and threw it in Lurien’s direction, aiming at his back. Of course, his aim being as terrible as it was, he missed. The rock hit moss, making almost no sound at all, not enough to grab the watcher’s attention. He saw everyone’s back for a few seconds, before he was pulled away under the bush.

The silver troupe fought the two moth warriors bravely. After the initial ridiculous ambush, they had grown more serious. Their skill was undeniable, however, Markoth an Thistlewind did not equal them, not in might, nor in technique. As for experience, they were even more lacking. Under normal circumstances, Dryya alone would have been able to overpower them easily. However, as Grimm could see it very clearly, these were not normal circumstances: the two fighters were surrounded by a golden halo, all the might of their goddess was channeled into them, lending more strength to their blows, more speed to their dodges, more agility to their side-steps.  Even the blows they could not avoid were deflected by powerful barriers of light, and burning orbs and nails appeared all around, turning what would have been a one-sided humiliation into an even fight.

“So it seems you’ve abandoned all subtlety, sister!” Grimm hissed.

Into their mind, the goddess’ laughter resounded.

So, he was right. Instead of using plans and traps, it seemed that the Radiance had decided to come at them with might and light. The nightmare king would have deemed it tasteless if he had not made the same thing in the mantises’ lands.

The two moth warriors seemed thrilled; the help of their goddess gave them a disproportionate perception of their own power. This made them hotheaded, fearless, and all in all, fiercer than ever. Blades clashed against each other, filling the cavern with sparks, as slowly but surely, all combatants became drunk in the haze of the fight. Only Monomon and Lurien were kept on the side. The two slowly stepped back, in order to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

The distance put between them and the fight helped them make more sense of the situation.

“I have an idea,” Monomon proposed. “What if we ditch them while they’re fighting?”

“Sounds good to me,” Lurien answered. “I don’t trust these orbs. What do you think, pale scholar?”

There was no answer. The two looked around them. The pale scholar had disappeared. Almost immediately, Lurien spotted a bit of silk glistening on the ground.

“Ah… Of course.” The watcher sighed.

Monomon looked at the combatants.

“Why are they still fighting, though?”

“There must be a reason… but what do we do now?”

…

While the two scholars were wondering about their next move, Yvek was rubbing his hands, looking at his catch with satisfaction. Despite his blurry vision, he could still make out his prisoner’s features by watching up close, and the other looked absolutely pissed. The magician found it delightful. Not losing any more time, he charged his catch on his back. The scholar was conveniently light, but his lack of struggling was suspicious. Ignoring this detail for the moment, Yvek took him through dark passages and secret tunnels, until they reached a small den one the magician had discovered on his way to the second door.

He let out a little laugh and hummed to himself with a deep sense of self satisfaction. His plan had worked exactly as he had anticipated, truly, the work of a professional, no less to expect from Yvek, the little master of seals. This was an idea he had had while spying the two moth’s conversation. The idea had been great, and, without exaggeration, his execution had been flawless. The first step was to gain the trust of the two moths, by offering his help. A lengthy talk with them was enough to confirm his suspicions about their target. This was very obviously the same scholar that had barged into deepnest and caused such irritation to his queen. Which meant this was also the scholar who had successfully passed the mysterious door and entered the dark lands below. The second step was to provide them with a seemingly perfect plan: Markoth and Thistlewind, these fine fellows, were to make a diversion and force the troupe to step back for a few meters, while he himself, using a seal as a trap of silk, would capture their target, and meet with them on a designated point. At first, when he had heard the scholars walk into their ambush with such plentiful company, he had thought this step compromised, but thankfully, it was not the case, as some kind of godly power had been granted to the two moth warriors.

The third step also went without a hitch. This was also the step that brought him the deepest sense of satisfaction. Abduct the scholar, then betray the two moths and run away with the guy and find a nice hideout. Betraying them like that definitely felt very amusing. Now that this step was also completed, at last, Yvek could obtain the things he craved.

He dropped his prisoner on the ground unceremoniously and used some more silk to secure the bindings on his arms and legs. Then, setting his necklace of sharp needles well into view, he ripped the gag from the scholar’s mouth.

“At last, we meet, scholar! Let me introduce myself, I am Yvek the magician.”

The pale scholar looked at him with an unsurprised expression.

“Yvek, is it? At first I found it rather surprising to see a weaver associate himself with moths, but now, this makes more sense, now that I’ve witnessed your betrayal. So go ahead, Yvek, ask your questions, and I shall answer truthfully.”

The magician tapped his fingers with a mix of interest and surprise.

“Wait a second, scholar, you look unphased by this abduction, I wanted you to struggle and be shocked at least! And how do you know I betrayed the moths? And that I want to question you?”

The doctor sighed.

“As soon as I saw you use tunnels in which you fuzzy friends could never fit, your betrayal became rather obvious. As for questions, it is even more blatant. You taking of my gag, and being so eager to show me those needles. I must admit I find the tendency your people have to combine sharp objects with interrogatory to be quite distasteful.”

“If I were in your position, scholar, I would not brag.”

“I’m not bragging, I’ve saving you time, as well as the need to use your needles. As a hostage, I can prove fairly compliant.”

Yvek’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“How so ?”

“You want information about Nay’Heth, or the city below, as you may call it.”

“How do you know? Is it some mind reading spell?”

For a few seconds, the pale scholar entertained the thought to answer in the affirmative, as a corner stone to use the biggest bluff he had made in ages. However, the slightly ironic expression of the weaver, as well as the fact that he was the one who had devised this cunning plan, persuaded him otherwise.

“It is not. Just deduction. Usually, weavers are never found out of deepnest, and thankfully so. Yet, you’re here, which means you were sent on a mission by your queen. At first I thought you were there to capture me, but now, it is quite clear that it is not the case. I presume that was the moths’ mission.”

“Why?”

“If your mission were to take me to your queen, you would not have taken off this gag, nor would you be questioning me. She would have dissuaded you to let me say anything. And she would have sent a warrior, not a maker of seals. I assume you were sent to close a door, but then you regretted not taking a peek at what was behind.”

Yvek took one of the sharpest needles, one that looked worryingly similar to a scalpel.

“You’re good at guessing scholar. I hope for you your skill at answering doesn’t pale in comparison.”

“You weavers really like to play with those things, don’t you?”

Yvek jumped closer, putting the needle just in front of the doctor’s face.

“What did I say about bragging?”

The doctor did not answer. This blade had a shine he didn’t trust, of a pale green, that stood out eerily against the cavern’s dark atmosphere and distant lights.

“So tell me, scholar”, Yvek continued, “you who are so proud of your exploration… What did you find down there, tell me in details and I might refrain from using this needle.”

“Behind the door you sealed?”

“You heard me.”

The doctor hesitated for an instant. He was jealous of his knowledge about Nay’Heth, and the idea of sharing it with the stranger did not please him in the least. However, the perspective of being on the receiving end of Yvek’s rather… stabbing tendencies was not less disagreeable. At least, there were some things he could tell, some things the weaver could not understand. Hopefully, he could find a way to lure him closer to the archives. If he managed to do so, then, they could find Grimm. The pale scholar decided to bet on this outcome.

“I will tell you then. The city that dwells below the doors you sealed… for you sealed, them, right?”

“I’m the one asking the questions here scholars. But yes, these are the doors I speak of.”

“So, behind these doors, lays the city of Nay’Heth, in which once dwelled a powerful civilization. These people were far bigger than we are, even bigger than your queen. They wielded a magic ancient and powerful.”

“Magic?”

“Yes, and one with a most unlikely source. See, Yvek, Inspired or mad, those ancient bugs. They devoted their worship to no lord, or power, or strength, but to the very darkness itself."

“The darkness?”

The doctor noticed the glimmer of fascination in the weaver’s eyes. This magician was not unlike Monomon or Lurien. Not unlike himself. The appeal of the unknown was strong for him, and he seemed easily taken away by his own curiosity.

“I could tell you much more about this place, Yvek, about the mummified husks of its ancient denizens, about the cyclopean vaults and strange trapdoors, about its endless spires and indescribable statues… However, this is a mysterious place. My knowledge of it is limited. But I have gathered clues. Tablets, information, strange circles, artefacts. Do you want me to show you?”

Yvek nodded, his eyes wide with curiosity.

“Show me.”

“Then take me back to a clearer den, and I will take you my laboratory.”

“What guarantee do I have you will not use this as an occasion to escape?”

“Your blades, and the skill I assume you have with tem. If you really want to know, you should take a risk.”

“Or I could deliver you to Herrah and go to your lab on my own.”

The doctor clenched his teeth. It appeared Yvek would not be easy to trick. He was a weaver, after all, which meant he had to put on a convincing act.

“I would advise you against this.”

“Why, scholar, because you want to live?”

“Because I’ve put barriers around, that cannot be undone without me.”

That was not technically a lie, but that was not true either. The barriers he had erected were efficient against the Radiance but would do nothing against the magician. Moreover, the latter seemed difficult to convince.

“How convenient.”

“You should think of it a little more, Yvek. Did you really think a laboratory containing such secrets would be unguarded?”

“You may have a point, scholar, but do not take me for a simple-minded bug. Did you really think I would not see how going to your lab would let you meet with your self-appointed bodyguards?”

The doctor scowled. Definitely, Yvek was a difficult adversary. He would have to adapt, using the magician’s terms, instead of trying to impose his own. A riskier tactic, but the only one that could work against cunning adversaries.

“What do you want to do, then?”

“Show me your seals, doctor, and how to break them. Though the magic I use differs from your ritual, I will be able to understand.”

“To show you? Right here?”

Yvek’s blade moved a little, getting very close to his left eye.

“Show me. Engrave it in this stone. Then you will teach me how to undo it.”

The doctor willingly morphed his features into an expression of worry and fear, like one driven away from their plan and about to panic.

“I… I will, just let me.”

With a swift movement of his blade, Yvek freed his upper pair of arms and handed him another blade that did not seem poisoned like the others. He then took a step back, his twin daggers drawn, both of them with this unnatural, green shine.

“Do it.”

“I will, I will.”

With the dagger, the doctor bean to engrave a circle in the ground. This was a circle he knew very well, and one he had used not too long ago, when he played this little prank on Grimm. He did not know at the time that this circle of bindings would prove so useful. With a last strike, he finished the magical figure.

“This is it.” He explained, feeling the sweet taste of lies on his tongue. “Several of these circles create a barrier. To undo it, you have to step in the center of one of them.”

“Like this?” Yvek asked, stepping into the center of the circle.

“Yes, like-“

The doctor was suddenly pulled into the circle as well, by the weaver who held his wrist with a surprising strength. Yvek laughed at the other’s surprise.

“What, little scholar? You thought you could have me stand in this circle while you are out of it? If this is some king of treachery, I will not fall for it.”

The pale scholar felt his pulse fasten. This was dangerous, the weaver, with a strong grip on his wrist, the trap, about to close, one dagger in his hand, two poisoned daggers in Yvek’s. He could do one thing. A risky move. But he was the pale scholar after all, so risky moves were in his repertoire. However, this time, with the poison… He could not afford to get stabbed.

“It’s not a trap, weaver, but since you want to have me in this with you, have it the way you prefer. Now, once you are inside the circle, you are marked as the caster of the spell. In our case, since you are the one right in the middle, the caster is you.”

“All right.”

“Now I will tell you the words to cast the spell. Repeat them after me.”

“I’m ready.”

The pale scholar steadied his posture, his grip on the dagger grew stronger. With slow, precise words, he began the incantation.

“Sephameris”

Yvek repeated, with a mix of interest and amusement in his voice.

“Sephameris.”

The doctor took a deep breath.

“Al Zahan Medzath”

“Al Zahan Medzath”

He slowly breathed out, and then, said the last word. (Or, at least, what Yvek needed to think was the last word.”

“Rh’Lyai”

Yvek opened his mouth to repeat the last word.

“Rh’”

The pale scholar lifted the blade and stroke violently against Yvek’s hand and his own wrist. A gasp of surprise. The weaver let go in pain of surprise, enough for the scholar to jump back and scream.

“Shayneh!”

The spell activated. Yvek hissed in fury, his own injured hand. He had quickly realized that this spell made him the real prisoner.

“You filthy bastard!”

The doctor smiled victoriously, despite the pang coming from his wrist, and the sensation of warm blood on his hand.

“Good day, Yvek the magician. I am the pale scholar. I hope you’ll remember me.”

The doctor scurried away as quickly as he could, gripping his own wrist to stop the bleeding. Damn this weaver. At last, now he just had to find the others. They had probably triumphed over the two moths, right?

…

There must be a reason. There was a reason why they still fought, even if the plan had been enacted as it should by the small weaver. There was a reason, and the Radiance knew very well what it was. She blamed herself for it. The two warriors were drunk of her power, and they did not want to stop. They did not want to retreat. The only option they desired was to come out victorious.

She could understand it. They had craved it for so long, the thrill of a noble, heroic fight, and now that they had it, now that their lack of confidence, their inexperienced had been nullified by godly power, they could not stop. The only thing they wanted was victory. They did not want anything else, for this was the fate of those who, for the first time, discovered the taste of real might.

This also mean that she could not abandon them. She had to concentrate her power on them, and not stop aiding them in the fight, or they would surely be killed by the more experienced fighters of the silver troupe.

She knew she could not abandon them when she saw Grimm retreat from the fight and listen to something said by the jellyfish scholar.

She knew she could not abandon them when she saw the three of them, Grimm, Monomon and Lurien, move away from the fight.

She knew she could not abandon them when she saw the pale scholar suddenly appear from another tunnel and call for Grimm, the two of them ready to run away in flames.

She could stop them. She could stop Grimm and have this damned scholar finally captured, her goal was so close to be fulfilled, and yet… And yet, if she abandoned Markoth and Thistlewind to stop Grimm, they would undoubtedly die from the silver troupe’s assaults.

The goddess looked at the two groups and realized it with horror. This was a choice. And it is a well-known fact about gods that they are not good with choices.

She looked at the victorious, infuriating expression of Grimm. She looked at the scholar, who, despite looking unwell, had this air of defiance, one so reminiscent of her ancient foes. She looked at her dear moths, still in desperate need of her powers.

She was the one who had them be part of this, she was the one… If she let them, surely… They would die.

Grimm flashed her an ironic grin and the scholars all disappeared in flames.

Once again, her plan had failed, and though she tasted the infuriating bitterness of another failure… she knew she had made the good choice.

Fortunately for her moths, the fighters of the silver troupe seemed to be exhausted. Gradually, she decreased the amount of power she leant to her paladins, following the slowing pace of the fight. Finally, when she was able to retrieve enough of her power, with a whisper of golden breath, she lulled all combatants to sleep.

With a strange mix of frustration and contentment, the Radiance retreated to her realm, swearing that she would stop them.

…

At the very same moment, the scholars arrived in front of the archives. Without a word, they hurried inside, both Grimm and the doctor being aware of the protection it granted them.

The pale scholar was about to seize the vial containing the root goddess’ blood and run to his laboratory, when he was stopped by Grimm.

“Show me your hands.”

Obviously, he had seen the injured wrist.

“That is not a problem, Grimm, I have bandages in the laboratory. I got this when I escaped from a weaver.”

The nightmare king frowned.

“Then, what about these bandages on your other hand and your arm?”

…

Somewhere, lost into a secret cavern, a small weaver was fulminating. Yvek was convinced he had made no mistake, and yet, he had still been played. To be fair, he had made one mistake. He had not anticipated the scholar would try to use violence or make a move that would hurt them both. He looked at the deep cut in his hands and tore some fabric from his coat to bandage it.

Now that he was no longer in the heat of the moment, he realized how foolish he had been. This was a circle engraved in stone. Unlike drawings of chalk or coal, these were not easily undone. Would he find a way to free himself? Would he just die there of thirst, pitifully and alone in a small, forgotten cave? He examined the symbol under his feet. This was not a ting he recognized. Foreign magic, based on shapes and words, very different from the gracious spells of silk and song. He could not see how this could be undone. Maybe through some interaction with his own magic?

He looked again. He had to admit, he did not know.

He sat, looking pensively at his own blades.

Suddenly, he heard the noise of something approaching. Something discreet and light, coming with a small piece of luminescent moss. The stranger entered the den but averted their gaze. It was… a moth? Yvek, with his poor sight, had trouble deciphering the shape. Though it seemed to have the characteristic antennae, it was slight framed, and not fluffy at all.

The stranger crouched near the circle and whispered something in a breath, before running away without even looking back.

The weaver stood at loss, wondering about this creature’s goals.

Then, he noticed. The eerie tension of magic that filled the air before was gone. How strange.

Yvek stepped out of the circle.

Chapter Text

Am Anfang war das Wort.

In the beginning, there was the word. The very ancient word echoed through deep nothingness, bringing about memories shrouded in darkness. They could not understand these memories. They were just the feeling of suffering in the obscurity, in perfect loneliness, a wordless and breathless existence, floating around in complete silence, only interrupted by the occasional cracking of a shell. They knew not what they were. For a few moments, they had been in excruciating pain, a pain with no meaning or reason, sightless, purposeless, the deep hunger for something missing, the horrid impression of not being whole, not being able to sustain its own existence. Then it all went back to nothingness. The next thing had been the word. The word had been the first light they ever had. The first thing that was not obscurity and dread. The word? The words, several words in a strange and distant language, and yet, one they seemed to know from the deepest parts of their being. They latched onto the words with all there power, they felt it, these words were salvation, a power pulling them away from misery, a power making them whole, making them able, at last, to be.

And with the word, came the voice. The voice was passionate, but not tender. It bore fascination and pride, but it was empty of love. They did not care. This voice was the first voice that ever reached to them, the first voice that called them into existence, the voice, that, in a way, sired them, the voice that allowed them to be. The voice made them whole, made them real, it was the only thing they ever needed, the voice had called them from the thoughtless depths of oblivion, and still, it was guiding them towards the light, a very soft flickering light, a candle far away in the distance, singing them to come, softly. And for some reason, they felt this light was somehow weaker than it could have been, but gentler as well, for the boundless echoes of their belonging to darkness evoked a light that was as pale, but harsh and blinding like the sun, a light that felt like sorrow and blades, and one that was so far, so far above… They had looked right into the sun and lifted their hand to grab it, and their small fingers had closed on the air. This light was smaller, yet closer, close enough for them to touch. There was the candle and the lamps, colorful hues and impressions of strange magic in the air, and slowly they realized… It was not just darkness. They were figures in the distance and something transparent around them and things they never saw, things they could not name… And a face, close, looking at them with a strange expression, and a hand, with long bits of fabric around, touching the transparent thing that separated them. The hand and the face had the same existence as the voice, it was the same thing the same being, he had made them whole, made them… Their small hand reached out to the other’s bandaged palm, but when it was about to grab it… They only touched cold glass.

…

The pale scholar looked down with exasperation as Lurien bandaged his injured wrist. He had planned to treat it quickly before getting to the interesting part and finally complete his experiment, but Grimm, the annoying divinity, had decided otherwise. And, now said god was holding him as if he were a grub unable to keep in place.

True, if he let him go, the doctor would immediately run away and lock himself in his laboratory, but this was not a reason to act like this. What more, Grimm’s warmth, his presence forced him to calm down, making him realize how tired he was, which was not a good thing at all. He knew that since the only way he was getting by right now was restlessness due to nervous exhaustion, if he were to release the tension even a little bit…he would become completely useless. And right now, the temptation to nuzzle into Grimm’s embrace and sleep for two days straight was worryingly potent.

Lurien finished wrapping up the bandage.

“Can you let me go, now, I need to do the experiment…”

“No !” Grimm and Lurien answered in perfect unison.

“But why ?”

“We still have things to look at, now stop wriggling.”

The watcher forcibly rolled up his other sleeve, revealing his third hand. The doctor could not help but wince at the sight. The hand was sloppily bandaged, and the fabric was already soaked with blood. Lurien frowned, and he felt Grimm’s grip on him tighten.

“I will have to take this bandage off. That’s a poor job, pale scholar. And to think you call yourself a doctor…”

The watcher took of the bandage, revealing the ugly wound beneath. Lurien grimaced.

“What the …”

“You did this, right?”

Grimm did not even bother to conceal the anger in his voice.

“I needed to, for a ritual. Fresh blood and shell.”

The god grabbed his wrist and growled:

“And this is the only way you thought of to get it?”

The pale scholar did not answer, as he saw Lurien coming back with a large bottle of antiseptics. He clenched his teeth as the watcher applied the solution. This thing burned.

“I can’t even fathom you did such a thing. I mean, I knew you were a bit crazy, but I thought that at least, you would be manageable!”

The doctor sighed. He knew that if one of his companions were to discover these more… unsavory habits, he was going to get scolded. However, he did not expect it to be by two of them at once. When he had finished cleaning the wound, Lurien wrapped a new bandage around it, with a very clean result.

“Is that all? Grimm asked.

“Sorry…” he answered, showing the bite mark on his left forearm.

The god sighed.

“You really are a lost cause.”

“I have to warn you that we’re running low on bandages, pale scholar” Lurien said, while fumbling in a drawer. “So either you stop this nonsense right now, or I sell your books to refill our stock.”

“Don’t sell my books!”

“Now it looks like you care more about your books than your own well-being.” Grimm complained.

“These are precious books !”

The watcher proceeded to clean the bite as well. Despite being made by small fangs, it was quite deep and had cracked shell in multiple places.

“You’ve got sharp teeth…” Grimm mused.

The watcher proceeded to use some of the few remaining bandages for this last injury.

“So, is that all?”

“Yes.”

“For real?”

“For real. Now can you let me go?”

“No!” This time, the two of them were not perfectly synchronized.

“But I told you these were all the wounds…”

“But we’re not finished, and we still have some scolding to do. Now we move on to the next step. How long is it since you’ve not eaten anything?”

The doctor thought for a moment. He had absolutely no idea. At some point, he had been hungry, but he had brushed it off and it had passed.

“I don’t know?”

“Nightmares… I knew it! Lurien, can you go fetch something to the kitchen while I hold him here? I’m worried that if I let him go, he will flee to his lab and we’ll never be able to retrieve him.”

“I’m not that stubborn!”

“Look at me in the eyes and tell me it was not exactly your plan.”

“Well, maybe it was my plan but still…”

“I’m going to see if there’s some of Monomon’s broth left. Don’t let him escape, Grimm!”

“Now you’re both having fun at my expense.”

The watcher left the room, letting out a small giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. As soon as he was gone, the scholar tried to wiggle out of Grimm’s embrace, but the god strengthened his grip.

“Why don’t you let me go? The faster I reach my goal, the faster you’ll get your price.”

Grimm sighed.

“I can be more patient than that… Besides, I’m worried…”

"Worried about what ?"

"Are you that dumb? I'm worried about you. You're becoming more and more obsessive with each day passing and-"

Suddenly, the words flashed through the god’s mind, words from the time he made his bet with his sister, words from the time he still thought of the doctor as another toy to break.

I wager that the doctor’s insatiable lust for knowledge will eventually lead him to your realm, that he will see gods and will desire their powers, I wager that he will fly to the utmost summits of our realms and reach the higher regions we occupy, and that he will try to take our light! I wager that he will disrupt your reign and that he will go far enough to touch your sun, and that the very moment he touches it, he will burn!

“You’re so obsessed with your quest, doctor… I fear you’re already burning yourself.”

He tasted the bitterness of regrets on his tongue, as, for the first time, the irony of this situation appeared fully to him. He should rejoice… He was really going to win this bet if things kept on going like they did. His initial goal… It now filled him with concern, and the scars and bandages he saw on the scholar’s shell no longer filled him with the impression of his own power, of his own necessity, as they now appeared as unsightly reminders of his own betrayals, his own failures. He was a powerful god and still… How many times did he actually manage to protect him? He realized he was clasping the other harder than before.

“You’ve changed, Grimm… When I first met you, you would have been eager to see me burn over and over, if it meant getting hold of my secrets.”

“I don’t want this anymore.”

The  god’s flames felt hotter than before. This reminded the doctor of the Grimmchild, who was sleeping on another bed in the back of the room.

“Is it… Because I told you?”

“No, that’s because… Stop looking at the door like that, look at me!”

The doctor turned towards him. In the god’s crimson eyes, he noticed an unfamiliar glow. He felt a hand on is cheek, hot, almost burning.

“I have a bad feeling about this, doctor. The closer you get to your goals… the more I fear I will lose you.”

The pale scholar averted his gaze.

“I can’t stop. I’m too close, Grimm. I need to know. I have to know, that’s the only reason why I live.”

Grimm looked saddened by this.

“The only thing, really? Could you stop thinking about this for one second, one little second, please, I’m afraid that…”

“But the contract! You said-“

“Screw the contract. Screw Nay’Heth. Just for once, for real… look at me.”

The heart was beating strong into his ears. the damned heart, so hungry for desperation, so hungry for flames, the heart had whispered strange things to him lately, to get it over with, to push him further and further until... And now, the heart -or was it his own reason ?- the heart was trying to warn him.

“That’s a mistake!” it cried.

Her smile, her smile of giving up, a smile of despair and tragic love that was so beautiful and so sad at the same time.

Bright flames burning the clear, delicate blooms on the mead.

The heart knew. His previous selves, they had suffered so.

“that’s a mistake! You swore you would never love mortals ever again!”

The heart beat faster, reminding him that the time of the ritual was nigh, that he only needed that many flames before his child took over.

“That’s a mistake!”

Flashes of his previous selves’ sorrow, of her bright wings burning in flames, of the sun so bright, of the mead… Of time, so little time…

He had so little time left, which meant...

Now or never.

“Screw the heart.” He whispered.

The doctor looked surprised, unsure.

“Wha-“

Grimm kissed him.

It tasted like cinders. Like Iron.

The doctor froze. For a second, Grimm thought he would push him away. But instead, he leant into the kiss.

The god grasped onto the moment. He had not pictured it like this. Fragile, with pain lingering in the back of his soul, and a love tinged blue by a deep sadness, by visions of a bright sun, visions of flames. He felt like if he broke it, if he let go now, his arms would close on thin air, and his whole body would be swallowed by red flames.

He felt the doctor relaxing a little in his arms, letting him take the lead. He deepened the kiss. There was a new taste in it. One of salt. Grimm did not realize it was the taste of his own tears.

They were interrupted by the sound of Lurien clearing his throat. they immediately broke the kiss. The doctor felt his cheeks becoming way hotter than they should be and looked away in embarrassment. Grimm wiped his tears with a quick movement of his arm. Lurien entered the room as if nothing happened, which, somehow, made it even worse.

“There was some broth left.”

The watcher looked unreadable. He walked up to them and handed the bowl to Grimm. The pale scholar did not dare to look up and meet Lurien’s gaze. It was not hard to tell the whole experience had him completely flustered.

Grimm took the bowl.

“Thank you…”

The watcher moved to the door.

“I think I’ll leave you now.”

He closed the door slowly. It creaked, a noise that did not help easing the tension that filled the room.

“Now eat.”

The pale scholar took the bowl and began to eat the broth, unable to conceal the small shivers of his hands. This broth was one of Monomon’s infamous creation, which meant the taste was not terrible, but it included weird ingredients. Still, he was thankful that this kept him occupied. This way, he did not have to talk to Grimm, which was a good thing, since he had no idea of what he should say.

The broth, despite its suspicious taste, was warm, so was the god, still holding him close. He felt incredibly tired, and had a hard time making sense of what was happening. Still, there were some things he knew. The love Grimm had showed, just now, it was not a lie. It was true. He felt guilt growing in his heart, as the last secret, the secret he could not reveal, sat heavy on his soul.

He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to cry.

He put the empty bowl on the bedside table. The guilt grew again, and the urge, the dangerous urge to tell, and he was so exhausted… He felt the coolness of bedsheets under his head, and the warmth of Grimm’s hand. It filled him with sadness.

The god had felt the pale scholar grow limp in his arms and helped him to lie down on the bed. He held on his injured hand, as a powerful form of regret washed over his soul. He heard the doctor’s breath grow more even.

Despite everything, he wanted to kiss him again. He leant towards him , but the moment he was about to touch him, he heard him speak, in a quiet whisper.

“Sorry.”

Grimm pulled away, and just sat on the side of the bed in silence. He waited for a time that seemed very long, heavy with feelings that made him smile while bringing him to the verge of tears. He listened to the soft breathing of the scholar, before slowly standing up. He took the bowl and left the room in silence.

Lurien was waiting for him on the other side of the door, leaning on a wall.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, god of nightmares, but don’t think you have me fooled. I did not forget about the soul master.”

Grimm looked down.

“Think what you like.”

He walked away, disappearing in the darkness of the corridor.

Am  Anfang war der Sinn

In the beginning was the mind. Their mind was so young and new, and to it, these perceptions were so foreign that they struggled to control their brimming thoughts. Their mind, in its beautiful innocence, was chirping wordlessly a soft melody of birth, love and wonder, it bloomed with new ideas and desires, with bright new hopes that came with a new life. They wanted to get out of this transparent thing, to get to the pale creature in front of them, they wanted to show him that they loved him, that they were so grateful for this vibrant life that had been gifted to them.

They saw the pale one move and do things with pieces of transparent material above. An opening? Then, they saw his hands getting closer. The pale one lifted them from the transparent prison and put them on the ground. They had been freed! They were there, real, alive in the world and it made them so happy! They had to show him how thankful they were, they had to show their love. They had instincts withing them, instincts of life and love, instincts of curiosity and brightness. The pale one was looking at them with interest, and they were other figures behind. A floaty one, with tendrils that looked very soft, and another one with only one eye. Then, there was another light, one that was red and distant, and came from two eyes staring at them from the corner of the room.

They walked to the pale one, the one with the light and the word, they stood on tiptoes and hugged him. The pale one looked surprised and took a step back. They heard the voice again. They saw the candle. They decided they didn’t like all these gazes on them, so they hugged the pale one again, hiding their head in his robes. The robes were soft, but smelled like blood.

Then, they felt a hand touching their head. The hand was unsure, hesitant, but still, it was reassuring.

Once again, they heard the voiced. Voices they could not understand. Some of the voices scared them, but they did not care. They held onto the robes, they leant into the touch on their forehead.

...

Chapter Text

Am Anfang war die Kraft

Grimm looked down at the vial. This was a complex contraption, one that mixed ritual magic and alchemy, and its many details, under the trembling lights of candles and the coloured rays from the lamps that casted preternatural shadows on the walls and bookshelves, shadows everchanging and twisting unnaturally like great gaunt spiders. They all knew there was something wrong with this thing, something unholy, something forbidden, for it disrupted all the rules of creation, of life. This arcane power, this frightening ritual… It was both terrifying and exhilarating. So, that was how it felt to play god?

The god of nightmare looked at the doctor walking to the contraption, with the vial of glistening, divine blood in hand. He had hoped some sleep would make him more levelheaded, but from the moment he saw him wake up with a start, holding his chest as if he had been stabbed, with this feverish look he had grown accustomed to, he knew it would not be the case.

He did not like the way the pale scholar seemed so fascinated by his own twisted creation, nor the way he averted his gaze every time he tried to look at him in the eyes. Once or twice, he had tried to stop him, to talk about what happened the day prior, but each time, he had found a way to avoid him, all too eager to finally conduct the experiment.

The doctor poured one drop of godly blood in the vial, adding the pale, shining liquid to the disturbing accumulation of matter that laid in the bottom. Then, he stepped back, and put the vial on the desk, before checking again on the circle. None of the scholars could look at it for too long. This figure seemed to do numbers on their mind, were it for its paradoxical geometry, that seemed to violate multiple Euclidian laws, or the evocative symbols of its runes, they could not tell. This only let them guess how deep the spirit of the doctor had plunged into the depths of forbidden knowledge, to be able to recreate such a thing by his own hand.

The pale scholar made them a sign to step back and began to recite the incantation all over again. Monomon looked at the vial with a fear that equaled her fascination. None of them had forgotten about the disturbing scratch marks on the transparent artifact they had seen on Nay’Heth, nor the corpses of the worshipers of darkness, fossilized in their otherworldly prayers. The words that resounded in the room seemed dangerous, blasphemous, syllables from another time that should not have found their way into their more peaceful millennial, and yet, these frightening words came from the mouth of one they could still call their friend. This was wrong. They knew it with every fiber of their being, and yet, they could not stop him. Or rather, they did not want to. From the moment they had stared into the black book, back then, when Nay’Heth still laid undiscovered in its remote depths, they knew they did not want to stop him. Something had taken hold of their curiosity, of their desires, and their minds, already more open than those of normal bugs, could not resist the temptation of absolute knowledge.

The last word of the incantation vibrated through the air.

Then, nothing.

The doctor hoped. In his head, he silently repeated the old prayers of his people, hoping that this time, it would work, this time, his emissary would be created.

Then something different happened. Instead of the dark lump of matter slowly heaving and twitching in a horrid fashion, the materials gathered in the vial began to levitate, forming a perfect black sphere. The sphere was surrounded by strings of a white power, that sent strange, curved rays of pale light all over the laboratory. The doctor stepped forward, mesmerized by the phenomenon.

Then, from a pale fragment that had emerged from the black sphere, they saw an envelope being slowly constructed. An envelope of perfectly white shell, pale like his own. The strange mix of void and matter also began to take shape, developing from within the shell, forming a small body with four limbs. The body was of a pure black, like void, it seemed to absorb all light, forming a disturbing contrast with the clear shell.

The small creature continued to levitate for a few seconds, still surrounded with a pale glow, before falling limp on the bottom of the vial, as all the light suddenly disappeared.

The doctor dashed to the big vial, both upper hands scratching on the glass surface, as he looked at the unmoving form with panic.

“No, no no no no not this time, no…”

Lurien stepped back, frightened by the demented echoes of his voice. The doctor fell on his knees in front of the vial, hands shaking, his breath uneven.

“No, no, please stabilize, please, there shouldn’t be anything missing, they shouldn’t be, stabilize…”

Feverishly, he grabbed one of the daggers on the desk, not heeding Grimm’s panicked reaction.

“Don’t you dare, doctor, you promised, stop it!”

The tip of the blade touched glass, and suddenly, the pale scholar stopped trembling.

Then, a shrill, disturbing laugh escaped his lips. Grimm stepped back as well. Anyone looking at the wyrm right now would have thought him completely insane.

The laugh grew more sonorous, as the doctor spoke to himself, in a demented tone.

“Of course, of course, what a fool, what an utter fool I am!”

With the tip of the dagger, he began scratching strange symbols on glass, signs that somehow, Grimm could recognize from somewhere. He had seen this before, but where was it?

“You hungry little thing”, the pale scholar laughed, “how many sources of divinity do you need to be born? Threefold scion of godly magics, what a great title!”

The doctor finished the symbol. Grimm recognized it now. Without a doubt, it was half of a seal. Half of the seal he had seen on the doctor’s mind when he had tried to enter his dreams.

The half seal began to shine with a pale glow, as the doctor feverishly looked into the vial.

“Now move. Be born, be born !”

The little thing twitched. Slowly, it seemed to regain the shape it had before. Slowly, with uncertainty, it rose its head, its being feeding into the pale light of the half seal. The small creature, with its horns too big for its tiny frame, with its disturbingly empty eyes, the small creature stood in the center of the vial. The half seal stopped to glow.

A deep, tense silence filled the room. Then the small creature lifted its tiny, dark hand, and placed it on cold glass, as if to touch the scholar’s own. With a victorious smile, the doctor turned towards the others.

“It lives!” he exclaimed. “It lives !”

In this demented euphoria, he did not notice the mix of fear and worry in their expressions.

Since the small creature did not seem to show any sign of aggression, the pale scholar decided to take it out of the vial. He removed the complex alchemic contraptions above and triumphantly took the little being out of the vial. It did not show any sign of collapsing, its body looked solid, as well as its shell. It seemed that finally, it was perfectly stabilized.

The doctor stepped back to take a better look at his creation.

“Look at this, Monomon… A real homunculus. Conceived with no soul, and yet… it lives.”

“Are you sure it’s not dangerous?” The teacher asked.

“I’m sure. If it was, it would have attacked us already. Now, through this thing, we could communicate with it, the essence of void…”

“I guess you intend to do it before gifting it to the root goddess.”

“So it is. Once I have reached my goals, I will not need it anymore.”

Grimm looked suspiciously at the little creature.

“And, are there… limitation to the ritual you want to do next?”

“This was the difficult part. Now we just have to use it to channel the secrets sleeping into the depths of void. This would have been impossible with a real creature, but with this creation, devoid of soul or mind…”

The teacher floated closer.

“How do you know it doesn’t have those?”

“I told you, it was conceived from inanimate matter and magic, a true homunculus with no soul to speak of and-“

The doctor was cut by the sudden movement of the small creature. It walked to him and hugged him, with a surprising strength for its small frame. He froze, completely taken aback by the creature’s behavior.

The teacher chuckled.

“Looks like it proved you wrong!”

The pale scholar seemed about to panic, as he looked at the small creature grabbing his robes.

“No, it’s not supposed to, it was not there before, it shouldn’t have…”

The creature buried its face in the fabric of the robes. The scholar looked down, feeling both a little defeated, a little hopeful. He stroke the small being’s head gently, muttering.

“A mind, isn’t it… It doesn’t matter if this one has it, I guess.”

“This one?” The teacher asked.

“I can improve the process, still. Now that I have learned its requirements. This one can be imperfect. It is only a prototype.”

“A prototype? The only thing I see here is a child!”

He felt the little creature tugging at his sleeves and leant down to examine its face.

“Don’t say this word, teacher… Remember, I made a promise. This creature belongs to her, by oath given, before it was conceived.”

Monomon and Lurien got closer, both wanted to take a better look at the creature.

“How strange…” the doctor mused. “Its features are unmoving, and its eyes are just emptiness. Were it not for its telling behavior, I would have thought it truly hollow. Maybe this imperfection stems from the hazardous ways in which it was conceived. By a cleaner process, free of this trial and error… I may obtain one fit to be the emissary.”

The teacher frowned with concern.

“So… you intend to just, give this one away? It is a child, you know, and it clearly thinks of you as a parent.”

“A child, maybe teacher. And so what? A promise made with a god is not easily abjured. I admit I should have heeded your concerns, but now, it is too late. Your morality has been satisfied by the liberation of the silver troupe, now is time for us to pay the price.”

He further examined the little one’s face.

“I wonder if it can see, with those eyes…”

Monomon looked away. Her expression was unreadable, but one could see she floated a little higher than usual.

“I need to get out.”

She floated away in silence. Despite her stoic expression, Lurien saw that something in what the doctor said had upset her greatly. He ran after her, not even bothering to look behind him. He finally managed to catch up with her in the archive’s main hall.

“Monomon, wait, I understand you’re upset, but you can talk to me!”

The teacher was looking down, deliberately avoiding to face him. He could see the small tremors in her tentacles, he could see the way she readjusted her mask, he could see, for he was the watcher and he knew her better than anyone else, for the moment she acted all the strongest, the most distant, were always the times she felt lost, unsure, for her mind was they brightest he had ever seen, but because of this beautiful glow, all the more easily by darkness it was swayed.

He touched one of her tentacles, very softly, so that she could easily pull away.

“What are we even doing, Lurien?”

“Don’t blame yourself for this teacher, it’s not your fault.”

Her voice was shaking, like the voice of someone young and proud that all their life had hidden uncertainty and tears.

“What a hypocrite I am, acting all high and mighty like this, as if I had the moral high grounds.”

“You’re not a hypocrite, Monomon, your feelings are in the right place. You’re a good person.”

“If I were a good person I would have stopped him the moment we learned about his plans. And yet, I followed. Because I was curious, too, because I wanted to know. What we’re doing, that’s sick… that’s terribly wrong.”

“It’s not your fault, and when this whole thing is finished, everything will come back as it was before. You’re worried for this little creature, I understand, but we don’t really have a choice. And we need to save the mantises that are still held captive.”

Monomon slowly lowered herself and held his hand with one of her tentacles. She seemed to have calmed down, but still, she was not her usual humorous, confident self. Lurien spoke again.

“That’s not because of the small one, right?”

She shook her head.

“Is it because of what he said? Morality and price, I can understand why it has upset you.”

She shook her head harder, letting out a small wince.

“I’m afraid, Lurien. We went so far, we cannot stop. I’m just… scared.”

“That’s not like you, teacher, I’m the one who’s supposed to be afraid all the time.”

She let out a small laugh. They both leant on the archive’s wall, Lurien let his head rest on her side.

“When it’s all over… Do you want to make mossbeer with me?”

“Sounds fun.”

They stayed like this in silence for a few minutes, just looking at bubbles forming in the archives, light dancing with delicate lumaflies.

Monomon whispered:

“Thank you.”

They stayed like this a little more, with no word to interrupt the silence. Their silence.

“When things get too dark for you, don’t hesitate.” Lurien said. “Take a step back. It’s not about running away. It’s just remembering to do things for yourself, to be here, for yourself.”

She nodded.

“I wished we could stay a little more.”

“We can if you want. But I think I’ll go back to the lab. Leaving those two to their own devices for too long is probably not a good idea.”

The teacher laughed.

“I guess we have to go prevent a disaster, then.”

The duo went back down the stairs and opened the door. Lurien snorted, for truly, they were met with a surprising vision: the pale scholar was lying face down on the ground, with the little void creature sitting on his back, looking quizzically at Grimm, who was holding an extinguished candle. The teacher looked incredulously at this ridiculous scene.

“Ah, Monomon and Lurien! Welcome back! It appears this creature can see!”

The teacher did not even want to think of the experiment they had used to come to this conclusion.

Am Anfang war die Tat

As she floated in her golden sky, pondering on her grudges, the goddess of dreams suddenly heard a distant call. A voice very unlike the soft prayers of her moth, full of anger, and devoid of any adoration for her light. She had little doubts about the one calling her in such a disrespectful fashion, and, with a sigh of displeasure, flew towards the source of the voice.

Herrah the beast was looking up at her with her arms crossed, her figure oozing discontent.

“At last, you come, goddess!” She spat.

“What do you want from me, weaver queen?”

“You’ve got some nerve to ask such a thing! I knew gods were unpleasant and full of themselves, but I did not expect them to be perjured as well! Today, my magician returned to me, his mission accomplished. I have fulfilled my part of our deal, and I am still waiting for yours!”

The goddess looked down at the queen’s fury. Now, she wondered if this pact with the beast was such a good idea.

“I’ve heard rumors, goddess,” Herrah continued.” About some paladins, endowed with your power. I’ve heard they failed to capture the price I await. I was expecting more efficiency coming from the divine.”

The radiance scoffed. Yvek, this little traitor, had been careful not to tell his queen about his own failure, but still had found it entertaining to tell her about the plan of her moths when he himself was the cause of this embarrassing disaster.

“You will have him.”

The beast clenched her fist.

“When?”

“Soon.”

“And what tells me you will not fail once again?”

The words displeased the goddess more than a mortal’s should. They could all see it, now, the way her plans had been thwarted, again, and again, and again. It enraged her. The mere idea that mortals had outmaneuvered her every plan, when she was so powerful, when she had vanquished many gods, still powerful, if self-proclaimed. Her eyes shone with a more powerful glow, as she frowned, both in determination and ire.

“Because this time, I will take this matter into my own two hands.”

Radiant light grew in her sky, pushing the weaver queen out of the realm of sleep, and she rose, high and powerful, the sun, the mighty and unadulterated sun. Her resolve grew stronger. This time, she would not be tarnished by defeat. She would see his brother’s failure, and the scholar, this mortal that had dared to defy her with his treacherous ways, he would once and for all contemplate the gap between his condition and divinity!

They would learn, once and for all, the price one had to pay to defy gods.

...

Chapter Text

It was like a strange dream. None of them dared to speak, and the caverns were filled by a sweet smell and a soft wind. The fighters, by the bitter strings of debt bound, looked away, in their hearts, unease, incomprehension and fear. The god of nightmares walked behind them, well aware of the golden hues that followed them, only pushed away by the void seals in their hands. He looked at them, as they stepped silently on moss and leaves, dewdrops, signs of a fresher air, gathered on top of colorful flowers like many diamonds, and he could hear someone humming a strange song, very softly, so much so that he could not tell if it was his imagination, or if it was really there.

The scholar’s white robe swayed slowly into the breeze, the little creature held his bandaged hand, as once again, they approached the luscious dens of the deity. He could feel how difficult it was for the adventurers of the silver troupe to come back in this place. The cavern still had traces of their previous fight with the moths, and the mere sight of the roots curling behind blushes’ leaves made them shiver. The god could not blame them. He did not know what they really experienced as her prisoners, but given the pervasive nature of the entity, it could have been both pleasurable and deeply traumatizing.

He saw rays of pale light coming from between petals, illuminated the ghastly silence of the procession, flickers of gold and rays from something that was not the sun, but the luminous sap of the divinity.

He saw them walk forward, hand in hand, as the small creature, in its innocence, ignored everything of the offering, of the sacrifice. Little did he know that it felt it. And that because of it, it was still happy.

Indeed, into the young, incomplete mind, this procession seemed far less sinister than the countless other ones they had caught glimpses of, when they still belonged to the darkness, abiding by its strange rules. They clasped the pale one’s hand a little harder, not because they were scared, for the beautiful world around them was so enchanting and so bright, but because they did not want to let go. This procession had to it a form of levity, the idea that beyond was the unknown, a gentle light, eyes of sweetness plunged in deep blue. The dread of abandonment seemed unreal to them, for they were so young, so new into the world that they did not have a sense of what things were, of the meaning of words and the changes in faces, they simply followed emotions, the cues evoked by vague visions shrouded in darkness. Hence, they did not want to let go of the pale one’s hand. Because… just because.

The pale roots trembled, opening once again with a disturbing kind of grace, revealing the awe-inspiring form of the goddess. She blinked, her eyes luminous and wet, exhaling her many spores and perfumes, as she looked down at them with a benevolent smile.

“Child of dirt and blood”, she whispered, “You kept your word.”

The doctor showed her the small creature, the creature without a name.

“This is the life I promised you, goddess. You can examine it, it has all the elements I mentioned. I found great difficulty in its creation and had to make some sacrifices to make it live, so I suggest you treat it with care.”

“How amusing, your words, my little priest. For earlier this day, one has said the exact same thing to me.”

The doctor tilted his head in curiosity.

“How so?”

“A child of the strangest kind, truly. His form was deceitful, but his heart was true. He told me he saw a procession coming with a child, asked me how I would treat a life so new.”

He frowned.

“Who was it ?”

“Just a stranger, a passerby. One of this sort whose words seem heavy and blue. But let us come back to this child. How adorable.”

Her root stroke the cheek of the small being, she looked at it fondly, as they retreated shyly from her touch, trying to hide behind the pale scholar’s long sleeves.

“Your words were true. I sense many things into this child. A part of me… a part of you. How I will delight to take this small one under my wing. First, I had considered making it mine as I do with all, but the words of the stranger, and your words too, seeing it now, sharing the essence of what I am, of what you were… How could I ?”

Her root curled around the slightly shaking frame of the small being.

“Come hither, my child, do not fear. Into the aspects of my divinity, you appeal so strongly to motherhood I could never hurt you.”

The doctor looked at the divinity taking away his creation. For a quick second, he felt the urge to stop her. Was it pride, because it was a great feat of magic and alchemy? Sudden possessiveness, a remnant of the sharp instincts of his former self? Was it something else entirely? He could not tell, for he brushed off the thought quickly.

“Now your part, goddess. Free the last of your prisoners, and we shall be even.”

“I will, child of dirt and blood, I will. Look, my roots are already releasing them from their sweet dreams.”

The poor mantids were slowly released by roots in front of the silver troop. They were a rather sorry sight, covered in a gooey material and spores. They were completely disoriented, and it was not difficult to guess that they would need some time readjusting to the real world. Lord Kshaa was especially marked by the days spent in her grip, his usual regal stance and menacing attitude had been replaced by a placid bonhomie.

The pale scholar looked down at this humid bunch, not bothering to conceal his amusement. The adventurers proceeded to retrieve them, and try to shake them awake, eliciting confused mumbles from the mantids.

“Payments have been dealt, pale root. Now I will be on my way.”

The doctor was about to turn back, when he felt a root delicately curling around his wrist.

“Do not go yet, little priest. Wait for a few breaths.”

He looked down. Tiny flowers were blooming in the moss. They resembled distant, wan stars.

“How does my departure concern you, goddess?”

“I know you will never come back.”

“I have to go.”

“You can still stop, you know. The truth you seek, the path you take… It will curse you.”

The doctor threw a glance behind him.

“From the beginning I was cursed.”

He walked away, not sparing a glance to the small creature offered to the goddess. The mantids managed to stand up, still undergoing the effects of the various psychotropics that had been injected into their system, they leant on the knights, still having difficulties to realize it was the end of their sickly-sweet dream.

He walked away with determination, as the breeze that carried the many scents of the cavern seemed to have died down, making the place colder than it used to be. They began to walk towards the archives, as the silver troupe and their hazy companions followed, still feeling around them fragments of dreamy essence, fragments brimming with irritation. He wondered if she would come, this time. He wondered if she could feel it, the weakening of his mind’s seal. If her anger was such, now that she ignored his true nature, what would it be, if she knew it was him, the wyrm vanquished long ago, that he dared to defy her by surviving?

What would she do, now? He wondered. Would she send her envoys once again, despite the protection he now had? Would she try to intervene by herself, letting her powers manifest into reality, as she did with his former self, in the border of her kingdom? But she had to be aware of the destruction it would bring, of the many innocents around them who would be swallowed by the deadly rays of her sun. Was this the reason why she was not attacking? The silver troupe, the mantises, acting as living shield? Was it because of the void seals they carried around to disrupt her influence? Or was it because she was still preparing from something else, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, perhaps, making a trap?

On these thoughts, they reached the archives. The place was protected by void magic, she could not attack them here.

The pale scholar turned towards the mantises and the silver troupe.

“You can go, now. But do not assume your debt is repaid.”

He entered the building without waiting to see their reaction. He had things to do. To learn more from the relics and arcane eggs, to perfect the ritual, to make it perfect, this time. Besides, he was convinced there was one aspect of void he still didn’t grasp, and he suspected that could be the explanation for his first creation’s… imperfection.

He went down the stairs towards the laboratory, that was now plunged in cold darkness, not noticing Grimm’s worried look as he did so.

He heard Lurien calling him from the back of the room.

“Grimm, could you come for a second?”

He walked to the watcher with curiosity.

“Someone went to the archives while you were gone. They asked if I could ask you to come and see them at the entrance of fog canyon.”

This was very suspicious. Grimm wondered if it was another of his sister’s trap. It seemed strangely obvious, and quite out of place, since it had recently appeared that his sister had decided to resolve to more violent ways. Against his better sense, he decided to investigate this. Perhaps it was the wyrm’s insatiable curiosity rubbing off on him, perhaps it was the strange feeling that this was important, more important than anything, and yet, he did not want to go.

Without realizing it, he was already walking towards the spot indicated by the watcher. Oomas and Uomas swayed slowly in the humid air, every strange impression of light in these creatures, every sound coming from lesser things making their way discreetly under the moss made him want to take his time as he walked, to delay the inevitable encounter.

“You came.”

The raspy, quiet voice jolted him from his meditation.

The god lifted his head to see a familiar figure sat on a mossy rock above. It was the strange moth he had seen before with his child, with the unusual silhouette and shellwood mask.

“You again ?”

The stranger through a glance behind him before turning back to the god.

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

The stranger looked about to panic for a moment, before settling down.

“I have something to give you.”

“To give me?”

The strange moth slid from the rock and took something from under a bush. A long object, wrapped in a dark blue fabric. He handed the object to Grimm.

“What is it ?”

“Look”

Slowly, the god unwrapped the object. When he saw what it was, he almost dropped it. This object was a sword, not a simple sword, but one that appeared to hold a powerful magic, its blade, covered with pale runes glistening in the ambient light.

“Why are you giving me this?”

His interlocuter tilted his head on the side, before answering in a whisper.

“You are a god, aren’t you? You are strong. You can wield this.”

“How do you know?”

The stranger tapped on his mask, shellwood produced a hollow sound.

“I know many things.”

“What is it for?”

The moth looked down. Grimm could not help but notice how the long cloak, tunic and hood concealed each and every inch of his body.

“This blade is not meant to kill. It is meant to save. When every life shall be threatened by darkness, the magic in this sword will put it back to sleep.”

Grimm took the handle of the artefact and tool a better look at it. He could not believe something like this could be this beautiful. It looked powerful, massive, and yet, the delicacy of the runes, and the geometry, as well as the material, the purest of pale ores …

“What do you mean, all life threatened by darkness?”

The stranger looked down. His words, tinged by regret.

“It shall arise. Sooner than you think. If it does, please use this sword and save us.”

Grimm frowned. He did not like the disturbing form of necessity that arose from the words of the stranger.

“Why are you telling me this? What is your plan?”

Despite the shellwood mask hiding his features, he looked pained. It made he think of the promise he had made, when they had come back from Deepnest, this vague promise about doing the right thing. He saw the stranger walking up to him, noticing he had a limp. He made him the sign to lean down, and the god did so. The mysterious individual whispered something in his ear.

Grimm jumped back.

“How do you know such a thing ?”

“I just know. You will have to do it. Everyone will be saved. Everyone.”

He felt the heart beating faster. The heart hated this sword, the heart hated the stranger, his plan, in one way or another, went against the ravenous heart’s desires. Grimm did not care, however. To him, now, the heart’s will did not matter. He had defied it already.

“If what you said is true, then…”

In an unexpected move, the stranger seized his hand through his sleeves.

“Please…”

The moment he said the word, he let go of the hand, in an almost fearful way. By jumping back, he stepped on the hem of his cloak and fell on his knees. The god’s flames twisted in a painful way.

“I have to go. If something as dangerous as you suggest happens, then I shall make use of this sword. However, if this is a lie, or part of my sister’s devious plans… You will suffer the consequences.”

The stranger stood up, nodding calmly. Grimm prepared to walk away, but stopped at the last second.

“By the way… Thank you for saving my child.”

The god looked away, and began to walk back to the archive, when he was interrupted by the other’s voice.

“Wait…”

“What?”

The stranger lowered his head.

“Nothing.”

The god sighed, and this time, effectively walked away. With each step, he felt the dread filling his mind becoming more intense. The handle of the sword in his hand was burning, and the simple fact to look at the artefact for too long gave him a headache.

He threw a quick glance behind him. It seemed that the stranger had disappeared.

The god continued on his way feeling fear and uncertainty in his flames.

As he got closer to the archives, he decided to hide the artefact from the scholars. Given their curiosity, this could be the cause of a great catastrophe. With care, he rolled the sword in the blue fabric. There was something familiar about this colour, something that made him think of the archives.

This was when he realized.

This piece of fabric had the exact colour of Lurien’s cloaks.

Chapter Text

Through the magnifying glass, the pale scholar scanned the minuscule engravings on the many layers of the arcane eggs. Some of the elements he could grasp from the hermetic text confirmed his suspicions. He always knew this was impossible. No matter the divinity of the essence used for the creation of the homunculus, no element he had used into the process should have allowed it to have a mind. Which made absolutely no sense. From the moment it was born, this creature had been capable of affection, it had recognized him as its sire of sorts, which was not completely wrong.

Had they been misreading its behaviour, interpreting it from the reference offered by their own minds, their own feelings, while failing to grasp what it truly was? Was this the result from the half seal, a recipient of mind magic? This was unlikely. The seal, while incomplete, could only be a source of magic and energy, its effect only came with the full thing. The blood, the shell, the spell, the chemicals… All these elements were unlikely to be the source of a new soul, which left only one thing: void.

From the beginning, it had been very obvious that void, though plunged into a deep slumber, had a conscience of its own. But still, what they had observed in this homunculus, its clear lack of experience, its affectionate demeanor… It could not be the arcane spirit of the ancient power of darkness. Maybe it had several minds, then, smaller instances of consciousness, came from… But where could they come from?

The doctor reread the line from the arcane egg.

“The power of the darkest seer, all reaching, beyond the limits of choices and eons”

An idea appeared in his minds. With a quick gesture, he grasped another half read arcane egg he had left on the side.

“Could it be…”

The egg was an almanac of spells and prayers, most of which he did not understand. One thing, however, had caught his interest. A figure, runes, and incantation. The doctor fumbled into one of the drawers of his desk, before finding a small mirror. He looked at the reflection of the symbol. This was the exact shape of the pentagram he had created in Nay’Heth, while being possessed by the unknown force.

Two symbols, one and still the same. Both the real thing and the reflection of the other. His eyes grew wider, his hands began to shake very slightly, as he feverishly turned the pages of the old book of the mad seer in Serapherid. They talked about this, in enigmatic words, using the symbolic codes of hermetic sciences. The power, all reaching, the whispers of demented prophets, the psalmody of sighs into the dreaming mind of the songstress. All evoked a power unlike any other. A power over fate. Was it the empty musings of demented researchers, or the echoes of a truth?

One, thing, one power, something that could be enacted only by channeling the existence of the ancient one … He looked at the mirror, seeing how it reflected the candle’s flickering light. His soul shivered at the very idea of jumping to the other side.

Could this be the explanation of this imperfection? Maybe the process itself was not perfectly stabilized, maybe, instead of a real emissary, his doings had conjured a being from the other side, one with a soul, conceived through the unions of body and mind, instead of the unnatural alchemy he had used. The doctor examined the now empty vial. Maybe something had been missing, something that had to do with the mirrored pentagrams.

A cycle, perhaps, unfinished. An open door. A circle, incomplete. Maybe…

He began to mumble, but the more his voice, the clearer his voice became, and the more evident the tone that revealed the madness creeping under thoughts.

“Therefore myself to magic I give, In hope, through spirit-voice and might, secrets now veiled to bring to light, that I no more, with aching brow, need speak of what I nothing know; that I the force may recognize, that binds creation's inmost energies…”

The dull light of candles waved around, caressing the mesmerizing shapes of the pentagram. The doctor looked at the arcane egg once again.

“Was it a god who character'd this scroll, the tumult in my spirit healing, o'er my sad heart with rapture stealing, And by a mystic impulse, to my soul, the powers of nature all around revealing.
Am I a God? What light intense in these pure symbols do I see, nature exert her vital energy. Now of the wise man's words I learn the sense;

"Unlock'd the spirit-world is lying,
Thy sense is shut, thy heart is dead!
Up scholar, lave, with zeal undying,
Thine earthly breast in the morning-red!"

How all things live and work, and ever blending weave one vast whole from Being's ample range!
How powers celestial, rising and descending, their golden buckets ceaseless interchange! Their flight on rapture-breathing pinions winging from heaven to earth their genial influence bringing, through the wild sphere their chimes melodious ringing! A wondrous show! but ah! a show alone! Where shall I grasp thee, infinite nature, where? Ye breasts, ye fountains of all life, whereon hang heaven and earth, from which the withered heart for solace yearns, ye still impart your sweet and fostering tides--where are ye--where? Ye gush, and must I languish in despair?”

The pale scholar felt too hot, the atmosphere of the laboratory was stifling and unwholesome, and yet, he shivered from cold. He failed to perceive time accurately, unable to tell if he had been at it for days, or for hours, sometimes struggling to tell the difference between what he had already done and the things he planned in imagination. Even in this state, he could tell. Those were the symptoms of dementia and fever.

“Keep going…” he whispered. “Keep going, for within my reach this goal lies, the greater truth to be revealed in its full nakedness exposed before my eyes, just a few more steps, a few more steps, and then…”

The doctor took one of the plates of copper he intended to use for spiritual evocation. Strictly following the instruction of the arcane egg, upon it, he etched the pentagram. The exact mirror of the one that was still in the bottom of the abyss. He was not sure what to do with it. A reassurance, perhaps? Or something more? As delicately as he could, he imbued the engraving with void. The dark material seemed to merge with the pentagram with frightening precision. If this was it, he could succeed. No more fumbling with darkness, as he did with the previous one. He needed to be precise. Perfect, not a single mistake.

He was about to reach for absolute knowledge, and he cared not for the price.

The pale scholar muttered.

“No cost too great.”

First, he checked the circle, and all the details of alchemic contraption. He was not about to let his whole endeavor be ruined by a simple mistake. Then, with painstaking precision, he weighed the chemical elements to be added to the vial. He added them methodically, watching the accumulation of matter form in front of him.

Then, came the next step. Shell and blood. The promise made to Lurien and Grimm flashed through his mind. He could not keep his word. Not this time. Using elements coming from another creature than himself would make him stray too far from the process tested with the first homunculus. He could not afford to make room for mistakes. Besides, the doctor suspected that the use of his own blood and shell played a key part in the use of the magic for his mind seal. Since he intended to use this last remnant of power from his former self, this meant he had no choice.

Well, he thought, breaking the promise did not matter, as long as neither Grimm nor Lurien found out about it.

He took the blade and lifted his robes, exposing his leg. He should have thought of doing this earlier, he mused. No one would think of checking down there anyway. He did the job quickly, more efficiently than the last time, and managed to retrieve the amounts of  shell and blood necessary for this second attempt. Both were placed into the vial swiftly, and the scholar tore bands of fabric from his grey cloak to serve as a bandage. Then, with equal feverish intent, he slowly let drops of the goddess’s blood into the great vial. The blood illuminated the inside shortly, before disappearing in the earthlier materials.

The dagger firmly in hand, its blade still soiled with his own blood, the pale scholar completed the seal placed upon the vial. Now, this was the full seal of protection, the last drop of power he still held, the last barrier protecting his mind.  The sign shone in front of him with the last remnant of the wyrm’s pale light, sacrificed for his greater goal, sacrificed like the rest. The pale scholar had little concern for what shall happen next. Only the goal mattered, only the truth. What laid beyond this moment? He did not care.

The doctor pronounced the first words of the incantation, while placing the pentagram of copper and void just in front of him. This was the first step, the summoning of the emissary. This time, it had to be perfect.

“How all unlike the influence of this sign, empty vessel, thou to me art nigher, e'en now my strength is rising higher, e'en now I glow as with new wine; courage I feel, abroad the world to dare, the woe of earth, the bliss of earth to bear, with storms to wrestle, brave the lightning's glare, and mid the crashing shipwreck not despair. Clouds gather over me--The lamp is quench'd-- Vapours are rising--
Quiv'ring round my head flash the red beams-- down from the vaulted roof, a shuddering horror floats, and seizes me! I feel it, spirit, prayer-compell'd, 'tis thou art hovering near! Unveil thyself!
Ha! How my heart is riven now! Each sense, with eager palpitation, is strain'd to catch some new sensation! I feel my heart surrender'd unto thee! Thou must! Thou must! Though life should be the fee! »

From the shapeless mixture inside the vial, the shape rose. This time, not twisting horribly as a failed life, not letting power escape in uncertainty. The shape appeared like a circle, like perfection. It took form with shell and void, shrouded in fantastic light.

Then, the thing took shape.

It had the exact shape of the previous one. Face of white shell with no mouth to speak, empty eyes, black body. Unlike the previous one, however, it had thin, curved horns that ended by two little spikes. And, most important of all, unlike the previous vessel, this one did not move. It just stood in the center of the vial, eerily immobile, as if gazing into nothingness.

The pale scholar retrieved this new creation from the vial. Even freed from glass, it did not budge. It did not display affection of any kind, nor affection nor fear. It just stood there, with no mind to think, no will to break, no voice to cry suffering. This was it. A success.

The doctor’s legs gave out under him, and he fell silently on the ground, eyes fixed on the immobile homunculus. He was so close, now. So close it made him ill, as the only feeling that, in intensity, rivaled his exhilaration, was one of dream. The vessel was just in front of him, meaning he had one last incantation to recite. He would speak the call of the emissary, and then… The truth shall be reached. He felt his breathing grow uneven, and it seemed that the vaults of the laboratory were getting closer, ready to smother him, under cold rock. His limbs shivered uncontrollably, and silent hiccups shook his frame.

That was it; the end. After so many years spent in ceaseless research and dangerous adventures, he was finally able to reach his goal. The meaning of everything was there, ready to be seized, the meaning of these years of toil, the meaning of his life… All laid there. And this, this was the last door he had to open.

His gaze met the empty eyes of the homunculus. The creature had something dreary about it. The coldness, it exhaled, its silence, its chest unmoving, not even heaved by the subtle movements of breath… This creature was like a ghost. This was when the horrible realization hit him. He could not move. He was so close, and still, he was afraid. Because this was the thing he had desired for so long, the thing that had determined his actions and thoughts, the endeavors of his mind in forbidden realms, the loss of this divine self, the innumerable sacrifices that had littered his way up to this point. Now he was about to learn what it was for, all the things his quest had made him pay.

“Just a minute…” he whispered to himself. “Just a minute to breather and gather my thoughts, and then, I will do it.”

With great difficulty, he managed to stand up, almost falling down from how light-headed he felt. He painfully made his way to the armchair and collapsed onto it, barely managing to settle into a position that let him look over the unmoving homunculus. How strange, the doctor had not seen it move, and yet… How come the creature was still staring right at him?

The doctor tried to breathe, letting the panic attack dissipate.

“This is a good choice,” he whispered, “I will wait here until I have gained enough control over my own mind to do the ritual properly. I cannot afford to make a mistake. Not now.”

He heard the door open with a loud creak, making him start. What was this? He was sure he had locked it! He saw Grimm enter with a long object in hand. The god almost jumped in surprise at the sight of the homunculus. He looked at it for long seconds, before finally turning towards the doctor, looking unsure.

“You’ve done it?”

“Not yet. I’m trying to regain concentration before moving to the last step.”

Grimm through a glance towards the homunculus.

“And this one?”

“It’s perfect. No sign of a mind. The ritual should go without a hitch.”

Grimm examined the immobile creature once again.

“I don’t like it. It looks like… it’s staring at us.”

“It’s not. It’s just… standing there.”

Grimm thought for a moment, looking around the laboratory. How unlike the first time he had seen it, when there was still warmth in there, a sense of obsession, sure, but mixed with playful eclecticism. Now, the foreboding shame of void vials and alchemic contraption felt it with a sense of coldness and dread. The pale scholar heard the god leaving the thing he carried around on the ground. The god walked up to him.

“Are you going to do it? Now?”

He averted his gaze.

“Yes. I’m already feeling better, I shall do it now.”

“You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I can hold on.”

On these words, he tried to stand up and walk again to the circle, but were it not for Grimm holding him the moment he did so, he would have fallen down.

“Shit.”

“I told you so.”

The doctor clenched his fist.

“How pathetic.”

“What are you talking about?”

The scholar grasped the god’s hand, feeling a sudden tightness in his throat.

“Even now, Grimm… I’m afraid. I craved it for so long and still…”

He clung to the nightmare king’s cloak with shaking claws.

“If afraid of the things I may find.”

“Will you-“ the god began, with a tinge of hope in his voice.

“But I will not renounce. Our contract binds me to this task, and still, I want to know.”

“Is that so…” Grimm sighed.

The doctor looked up at him, with an uncharacteristic shyness in his eyes.

“But before I do… Can I?”

Somewhere in a scarlet realm, a heart skipped a beat.

“Of course you can.”

The god pulled him into a tight embrace, forgetting about the disturbing glance of the homunculus behind them. It felt strangely reassuring, to feel that he was still here, that he had not disappeared, that despite how slight his frame had gotten from exhaustion and obsessive research he was still there. He felt small claws tightening their grip on his hand.

“I’m very sorry, I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay. It is such a heavy thing. Anyone would be afraid.”

The other’s brow was damp, he stilled shivered regularly, and fever made his eyes shinier than usual. But still, he was there. Still there, with nothing between them. Nothing like the godly magic of a mind seal. Grimm looked behind them and saw the sign. The complete mind seal. Its magic, used for the creation of the second vessel. He could feel the other’s mind, less distant, more real than it ever was…

“Wyrm… Your seal…”

“It’s gone.”

In the tense atmosphere of the room, and in his exhaustion, or was it, perhaps, because of all the pentagrams and seals around them, though he was not sleeping, his mind was strangely close to the realm of nightmares and dreams, gleaming softly, a pale flower of passion of dread, with nothing, nothing keeping him away.

“I feel your flames, Grimm. What are you doing ?”

The god could not resist. It felt like he had no other choice, by necessity or desire, he reached, the scarlet hand of his nightmarish might inches away from the faint, wan orb.

“Grimm ?”

The pale scholar looked at him. He was so close. No doubt, he trusted him. He could, right, he could? And what if it was the last time? He reached towards it, not thinking.

“Don’t !”

It was too late. The god’s scarlet hand brushed the flickering light of his mind, making its reality echo beyond the void seals that protected the archives. As a whisper, for the smallest instant, before it was to be smothered by the magic of void, before Grimm would pull away, the reality of his mind flashed through the realm of nightmares, and henceforth, through the realm of dream.

And despite how faint and weak it was, just a heartbeat, not even a vision… I did not go unnoticed.

A powerful ray of light, filled with anger and betrayal, filled the land of dreams.

A shriek cry resounded through golden clouds.

The Radiance hissed, in untamed ire.

“Wyrm !”

Chapter Text

The three green towers of Serapherid heaved their summits of gold and jade through the thick mist that came from the marshes of dawn, the great expanses of peat moss that laid for miles and miles towards the east. the city, a place millennial in age, had been carved into the sharp cliff of malachite that loomed over the marsh, the savant bugs that had built it had sculpted walls and minarets, and domes crowned with statues of silver and gold, endless casements and wondrous gates leading to the fantastic caverns that laid within, with their titanic vaults adorned with  flowery capitals and gargoyles alike, sculpted with admirable skill, with their walls of quartz crystal clear that let the visitor contemplate the labyrinthic detours. it was truly a city of wonder, praised across the land for its arts and its riches, its secret tradition, its mysterious streets, and so many bugs came from far away to contemplate the city in the green cliff...

the purpureal mist that came from the putrefaction of calavidalas, those heavy flowers that bloomed in the marshes, petals of lavish blues and violets mixing amidst a crown of circular, black leaves, the mist still overpowering, despite the heights and winds, and its strange smells that inclined those who breathed to very long reveries, the mist, evocative of the darker seduction of this wondrous city, brushed the nostrils of the great priest Ud-Zeheradab, a tall scarab with a shell of deep green and bright gold. Zeheradab looked far into the east, where he had seen the great shape in his dreams, a divine visitor, one that seemed unwilling to approach the city and leered beyond the purple fog.

As he looked for too long, too far into the horizon, searching for the godly yet elusive presence, his eyes slowly became clouded with paleness. unbeknownst to him, he was slowly dragged away by a distant spell, words in a mysterious and unspeakable tongue that resounded beyond the marshes of dawn. Zeheradab never became conscious of the spell. If felt like almost nothing, just a presence barely noticeable. he looked away from the seductive arabesques of the misty horizon, and came back to his temple, with its curved walls of obscure crystal.

through the eyes of the great priest, the nameless wyrm stared, admiring the architecture of the city. how a people so menial, so short lived, could have created a place that claimed in vanity so bright its dreams of immortality, a place that even to him, whose existence (for now) was free from the bane of death, seemed the epitome of endlessness. yet, those wonders were not the ones he craved, the things he looked for were hidden in obscurity, behind the door of heavy ebony pushed by the great priest, beyond thousands of books and labyrinthic stairs, into the forbidden heart of the temple. in this small chapel, the shape of which was strangely reminiscent of the inside of an egg, the book was laying open on the table. that was it, the thing the wyrm had been looking for so long, the ignoble writings of the demented scorpion of the rusty wastes, Abdul Ibn Hayyan. The ignominious hieroglyphs, in their hypnotic curves, were about powers so great, the powers he looked for. for a long time, it had been a legend he had followed, tales of the blind bard near the monoliths of Dùnedale, tales told around campfire by the scholarly nomads of Sidurian steps, mysterious words and hermetic symbols engraved into the walls of the great cave of R'lyeh, but now, the words of the mad scribe gave him one thing; a name. The name was Nay'heth.

Into the narrow streets of Aabidna, an oval door adorned with turquoise mosaics led to a back alley illuminated by colorful lanterns, signs leading to dens from which one could smell the fumes responsible for delicious moments of extasy, with squalid ground and numerous beggars, the eyes of many of whom had the characteristic bluish veil hinting at the overconsumption of black lotus. Behind one of these many doors, narrow stairs led to the colorful den of the songstress, whose spirit, inspired by the use of trance inducing smokes, drifted across the abandoned dreams that still lingered into the necropolis below. through feats of mind magic, his own godly attribute, the wyrm followed her wanderings, until he found visions from the oldest of tombs arisen, vision pointing towards the northwest, towards the wastes. this was the first hint he had found about the location of Nay'Heth. 

Many other moments of this long quest flashed through his mind. the game of riddles with the guardian of the white crypt, the perilous journey through the dense rainforest in the center of which was hidden the book of the green prophet, the maze amidst the gothic ruins that led to the secret library in which he had found the Lemegeton...

" I have to do it now. "

He perceived the Radiance's presence, her fury. He had searched and toiled for so long, and now that he could reach his goal ... he would not let her stop him in his quest!

He pushed Grimm away and shouted the last invocation. He could feel her power outside the archives, she was close, but not close enough, besides... he had already said the word .

Suddenly, it was as if everything around him had been frozen, Grimm, with his hand extended, was but a statue, and even the dark vapors in the room were fixed in place . and what was even more frightening was that the power of the Radiance seemed frozen too, loke everything else... he was the only one still moving.

Slowly, the pale scholar turned towards the vessel. the small creation was still immobile, staring at him with its empty eyes. An aura of terror and dread filled the air, as the creature took a step towards him. A small shadow appeared under its tiny legs . Then, the shadow grew larger and larger, until it filled the entirety of the room. It was both cold and stifling, and the pale scholar could only see the obscurity around him, like that time when he thought he would drown into the void, everything was dark except ... for the small vessel in front of him. how could a thing be so foreign, and still be his creation?

"Darkest seer ..." the doctor whispered, his voice trembling with terror and awe.

The vessel took another step towards him, and sat, his head tilted sligthly, as he himself would often do when feeling curious or impatient.

" Can you hear me? god of Nay'Heth?"

The darkness felt colder, and he sensed a presence creeping around him, darkness on darkness, invisible, but still there. 

In the vessel ´s eyes, a white light began to shine, as the small creature shifted slightly. Despite its expressionless features, the light in its eyes and its position, the way it loved showed a potent impression of scorn and irony.

The doctor mustered his courage and took a step towards the small yet frightening creature. 

" Lord of Nay'Heth… “

The darkness did not budge.

“Lord of Nay’Heth … Do you hear me? Through this emissary I humbly- “

“Spare me those empty words of worship, worm.”

The pale scholar jumped, looked around to locate the source of the voice. It did not come from the vessel, even if it had shifted a little, nor from under or from above, it came from everywhere, like a monstrous echo, it was as if it was in his own mind. The presence, with its voice that he could comprehend, despite how foreign it sounded, like a rumble and a lament, like a laugh and a battle cry, like the sea and the wind and storms and thunder, like the most ancient voices of all things that should not be heard by mortal creatures, the forbidden sound ringing into is hear, so unlike a creature like himself, so distant in its nature, in its language and in its thoughts, and yet, how could it be… In the voice of the god of gods, the doctor perceived a nuance of cruel irony.

“God of gods…” he began, stumbling on his words. “I came to seek-“

“The truth.”

Slowly, eight white eyes began to open in the darkness, behind the vessel.

“I am the lord of shades, the god of gods, I know everything. I know the pitiful defeat that led you to take this pitiful mortal form, I know the years you spent looking for me and my city, I know your desires, your fears, and I know all your deaths, worm. “

The awe-stricken wyrm did not answer, both fascinated and frightened by the feeling of power that surrounded the god.

“So, you who dared to bother me in my sleep, cowering away from my grasp thanks to seals and magic tricks, you who came crawling from the cold wastelands of the east, looking for me, even performing the rituals of demand of my worshippers… Let me ask you, just for the form, for I already know what you will say, word for word…

What’s your wish, worm?”

The pale scholar strengthened his grip on the copper plate on which he had created the pentagram. His heart beating fast with anticipation, he said:

“I want to know. The truth about time. The truth about the world.”

The moment the words were said, a deep laugh resounded around him, a powerful laugh of pure amusement, and something one could even call joy.

“You’ve seen what became of those who asked, worm, you’ve seen them in Nay’Heth… Did you ever wonder what happened to them? Did you ever wonder what caused the death of this civilization? “

The doctor nodded; his eyes wide opened in curiosity.

“They gave themselves to me, willingly, to honour me with their sacrifice. They came to me in the darkness and gave me their life. You might even call it a suicide. Now you may wonder what led this people to such an extremity.”

His mouth moved, pronouncing a silent “yes”, overwhelmed by the idea that finally, he would reach the goals he craved. Perfect knowledge, first, learning about the fate of the ancient civilization.

“They did this because they asked me. Like you, they asked me about the truth. They could not bear the answer.”

A pause.

“Your heart is full of fear, worm, and yet, not a hint of doubt in your mind. Did it even occur to you… the answer you seek… it will not please you. “

The god continued to taunt him, finding great delight in playing with the scholar’s desires.

“Do you want to know, still, knowing what it will do to you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Then, let me show you! The truth about this world. The truth about time.”

Suddenly, the pale scholar felt a great power taking over his mind, it was as if the whole world was turning around him, too powerful for his senses or his reason. It was poured in his mind like a crown of melted gold, burning everything on its way, leaving him wriggling on the ground, crying in pain. And still, the toil this awakening took on his body and his mind was nothing in comparison with the terrible wound it would leave on his soul.

His mind broke. Fragments, sent in every direction of time and space, on every version of reality. An infinite number of eyes, filling his mind with the most dreadful visions. He saw the bottom of the abyss. He saw the catacomb. The sepulcher, the tomb bearing no names… for no stone would de tall enough to bear the names of all that laid within, for no language would be rich enough to give a name to all the dead that laid there. He saw the heart, the eggs falling into darkness, the times it happened, the many, many times it happened, and every time, it was for nothing.

Then, he took a step back, to see the nature of time. An endless route, with choices all set, all of them littered with murder and betrayal, many parallel routes, an infinity, perhaps, all traced in blood.

“And they’re all real.”

The lord of shades whispered into his hear.

“This is the true nature of time, scholar.”

The doctor shook his head, still overwhelmed by pain. “No, that’s not…”

“Look, scholar, these times, the time you killed more than a thousand of your all children… It is real. It is all real, all is already woven into the tapestry of the universe, all times that could have been… All of them are real. They died, each time. Each time, because of you, they died. Ho, do not hate this monster you see wearing the crown, scholar. After all, why do you think your horns are shaped this way?”

“No… That’s impossible, that’s… The choices I made, It couldn’t…”

The vast expanse of darkness resounded once again with the laugh. Mighty. Dreadful. No doubt, this situation brought the god a pleasure that matched their hilarity.

The lord of shades whispered with razor sharp softness.

“Oh, poor, poor little worm, could it be… All this time, you thought you were free.”

The doctor was not able to answer, his body shook, as black tears were already flowing from his eyes. Were they from pain, from despair, from rage? He could not tell. All he could do was contemplate the horrible vision of the shape of time, a vast, cruel tapestry, with everything written in many versions, many tragedies already played, and while he was seeing this, the dreadful image of the hollow knight being slowly consumed by the infection, while the absolute knowledge he had craved filled his mind with dread, seeing their lives, following a path already made, their choices, meaningless, seeing their many civilizations trembling like infants on their little black planet rolling without aim, in a space populated by creatures so great and limitless they made the oldest of wyrms look like wriggling grubs, he saw the cries of gods and bugs and other creature so much greater, making him grasp how small, how ridiculously small everything was, that even for mortal things tat roamed their planet, they were nothing, and that these giants themselves were but dust on top of a planet that was a grain of sand to the larger things that drifted silently though galaxies. Now he understood their despair. Now he understood why they had wished to give themselves to a great old one, the ancient people of Nay’Heth. If they had seen this… If they had grasped the measure of their powerlessness in the face of the world, if they had realized they were but the toys of the cruel twists of fate…

Once again, the great old one laughed.

“Do you realize, now, worm, the vanity of your quest? Did it never occur to you that there was a knowledge a creature like you is too weak to bear? See, scholar, liberty… what a delightful illusion, caused by ignorance, and yet, it was it, wasn’t it, will, choices, freedom, all these things you valued so.”

The pale scholar desperately try to keep hold of his reason, not to let his conscience be completely broken, while the god continued to mock him.

“You came to me, worm, you came looking for the meaning of your existence, so now, do you see? There is no meaning, nothing. How unfortunate you failed to grasp it earlier. And still, they told you so, your peers. If there’s one thing you can be, worm… It’s a curse. Look, in this tiny place, every road is doomed, everything ends in death. It ends, because of you.

Relishing in their own cruelty, the lord of shade showed him once again these accursed times, the variety of the nuance in these forms of suffering.

“Because of your pride…”

The doctor did not even notice how he was scratching at his horns and brow, trying to fight the indescribable pain in his head.

“Because of your ignorance, of your foolishness, your folly…”

The words of the god pierced trough his skull like thick blades, ripping apart his conscience, his heart.

“How amusing, little worm, how hilarious, that in these many threads woven for you by the blind god of fate, all end in tragedy!”

With almost otherworldly effort, the wyrm managed to hold down, not to let his sanity escape, though he could feel his mind falling into despair.

“Not this one…” he whispered “not this one too, not this one…”

“This time? This route you have taken? Look: like the rest, it is doomed!”

The lord of shades showed him, in time, frozen, the archives. He saw Lurien and Quirrel frozen in fear, and in front of them, the goddess of light, ready to manifest her powers in reality.

“Once again, you’ve angered her, see. This time, she will burn everything here. Your friends, innocent, they will all die, and it will be all your fault.”

“all your fault”, A silence voice echoed, the voice of tiny hands moving. It was the vessel.

“Let me clear your doubts, scholar. Despite the less conventional way in which they were created, this one… They’re still a child. And this child, like the rest, will burn.”

The wyrm looked up at the eight frighteningly mirthful eyes.

“Please, just this time, please, they’ve nothing to do with this, why should they-“

“How curious. Despite having seen them die, despite knowing how meaningless their lives are, you still want to save them?”

With great effort, the pale scholar managed to stand up.

“Just this time, I cannot give up, I have to try, I really have to.”

“You’ve seen all this and still, you do not give up? Other might call it courage. I call it utter foolishness. But just this time, I could grant your wish…”

Once again, the voice turned into a soft whisper.

“But do not believe this will help you to escape your fate, for it is already written.”

“I beg of you, god of gods, let me stop her, let me save them, and if, as you say, I can’t, at least, let me try.”

The lord of shades chuckled.

“You are lucky you find me in a good mood scholar. I may grant your request, but as for all things, I will ask for a price.”

“I will give it.”

“See, a magician has placed two bothersome seals in the entrance of my domain, preventing me to manifest my full power here. However, if a third gate could be created …”

“I will do it, just tell me how.”

“How desperate… And all this for those who are already doomed… Excellent. My third gate, scholar… It will be you. Let me possess your body, and I shall come and stop her.”

With this proposal, the god let out a sinister snigger. The pale scholar knew he was about to be tricked. And yet, he could not refuse. It was the only thing, his only chance. He had to seize it, or truly, it would e all for nothing. He clasped the copper plate harder and answered:

“Do it.”

The doctor felt something cold on his feet. It was a dark water, rising. Not water, though, void, void rising around him and slowly seeping through the cracks of his shell. Soon, it reached his waist, and not long after, his head. He tried to move, finding it difficult to breathe, but dark tendrils coiled around his arms and legs prevented him to do anything.

“Do not panic, worm. It will only be… a little painful.”

He gasped. A fatal mistake, as it allowed the liquid to enter his mouth, making him drown in this cold darkness. With horrible pain, he felt the matter taking over him, it was like his flesh was burning, but worse, for the very moment this sensation seemed to dull, the pervasive emptiness, the absence of any feeling, a sensation so close to death itself was the only thing left. Soon enough, he did not feel anything. It was just cold. Cold, with the lightness of a feather.

He felt his wings spreading. The three wings, pale and diaphanous, had turned to black.

“Now listen to me, worm, if you want them to leave, you will jump into her realm before she can truly enter yours, you will rise through the highest spheres of her godhood and then… You will take her light. Be ready, for the moment I free the course of time from my grip, you will have to do it!”

The god of gods clicked their fingers.

Once again, time flowed.

For Neither ever, nor never

Goodbye

Chapter Text

In the beautiful fields that bloomed by the banks of the Faladrin, the poppies blew. Taken by the delicate breeze, red petals flew above the dancing stems, as her wings spread, of black, white and bright red, she danced so gracefully amidst petals, above the mead. Her black, shining eyes glanced down softly, as he looked up, standing in leave’s shade, basking in the sweet heat of the sun, in the sweeter heat of her love. She danced with red petals, ignorant of the darker fate of her land, she danced with pure joy and innocence, her wings were so beautiful, even more fragile than poppies.

He had not told her. How could he. If she knew he was a god, and a god of a thing as dark as nightmares, she would not love him anymore. Or she would not love him the same way. He thought he could save her, when the bloody tides of war would come to her peaceful land, he would take her with him, far away, somewhere with another mead, with another field of poppies. He thought they would run together, away from the fate of this land, away from battles and death, oceans away from despair…  He thought he would take her hand, and then the two of them would fly gracefully into the midnight breeze, they would fly towards the moon, and then dance together, in the moonlight, silver, not heeding the swords below. He thought he would go one night, while she slept on the petals of a water lily, that he would go very silently, harvest his flames and then come back, take her in his arms and kiss her, if she was cold, share with her the heat of his flames. He thought their love would be absolute, he was young at the time and still believed in perfect stories were love could replace anything, he thought they would need nothing if they were together, that she could be the only thing for him, that he could be the only thing for her.

Then he had seen the fires of war taking over their mead, taking over their field of poppies, he had begged her to come, to come and take his hand, to fly away with him, to begin the journey of lonely lovers, he had called her again and again… And yet, she did not come. She stood there, amidst the poppies, in the fields by the Faladrin, because this was her people and her land, because her mother and her father lived there, because her little brother and her two sisters lived there, because it had her favorite flowers and her favorite tree, because she cried, saying she couldn’t come, because she said:

“Our love was just another thing.”

And then, new flames joined the flames of war in the field, and still she stood, before running towards her home, and he could see her wings, her beautiful wings burning… they turned to ashes like the petals of poppies.

“Our love was just another thing”, he had said, as he took the flame, red like a flower he no longer wanted to name.

Everything dissolves in light.

And he was gone in the morning, far far away from the land of rivers and meads, far away from the banks of the Faladrin, where flowers still insolently grew over the battlefields.

This past self looked at Grimm the time of a heartbeat, his mouth moving as if to say “again ?” , before he saw something jumping through space in front of him, something with black wings, leaving a thread of dark liquid behind. Using his flames, the nightmare king followed it, and found himself in front of the archives. There, the beginning of the sun, his sister’s power, about to manifest into reality, was burning, and in front of this sun, the shape of the doctor, recognizable, and yet so different, with long black wings and tendrils emerging from his cloak, a white light in his eyes, as he readied himself to jump on the Radiance.

Failing to grasp the full extent of what was happening, as everything had happened so fast from the moment the pale scholar has said the words, Grimm felt a familiar weight in his right hand. It was the handle of the sword. The runes and pentagrams on the blade seemed to resonate with his sister’s light… with his own flames, their design, so strange and beautiful…

He saw the doctor possessed by void launching towards the radiant light of his sister, pushing her back to the realm of dreams, and following her into it. Grimm followed too, as a growing feeling of dread settled on his heart. He jumped through the closing door, and found around him the familiar hues of the dream realm.

He saw the creature facing his sister. Was it the pale scholar anymore? He could not tell, for if it kept part of his frame, its attitude and its power were completely different.

“Ignoble wyrm!” the Radiance hissed. “In pitiful disguise, you escaped me for all those years, and now you hope to seek revenge using the power of darkness?”

The doctor did not answer, his eyes looked empty, and other void tendrils appeared behind him.

“But this is useless!” she continued. “Useless, useless, useless! Since you seem to have forgotten the power of my light, pitiful wyrm, let me burn you a second time!”

Suddenly, a terrifying coldness filled the air. Everything went silent. The goddess stopped her taunts, trying to grasp what could have brought such a change in her kingdom.

“How vain…”

The voice echoes through trembling clouds, like a terrifying thunder. Grimm saw a dark silhouette growing around the scholar.

“It seems that during my sleep, many self-proclaimed gods have begun dallying in my domain… I thought to come and take this pretty light, but it looks like this place is in dire need of a reminder…”

“Don’t-“

Grimm heard the pale scholar’s voice, appearing briefly though darkness. He saw the runes on his sword glowing with a more powerful blaze, as his sister seemed to step back, in front of the terrifying darkness.

His gaze met hers. One of surprise, one of hate. Could it be?

His own words flashed through his mind, and he glanced at the sword once again.

“I wager that he will fly to the utmost summits of our realms and reach the higher regions we occupy, and that he will try to take our light! I wager that he will disrupt your reign and that he will go far enough to touch your sun, and that the very moment he touches it, he will burn!”

A victory? Could it be? But then, it would mean… Grimm turned to the terrifying vision, as the god of gods roared.

“A reminder, I say, of the real lord of this place! Darkness shall rise once more, and this, doctor, will be thanks to you!”

“No, you said-“ the wyrm managed to utter, despite the possession.

“My words are as light as yours, worm, you’ve been tricked! Now darkness will rise, and silence will take over this place, so once again, Nay’Heth shall sleep in peace!”

The doctor turned to Grimm and through a quick glance at the sword. His eyes met the red god’s. He grasped the copper plate harder, the only thing he could still do, while being possessed by the lord of shades. The nightmare king’s eyes grew wider, he shook his head, and yet, in a puff of scarlet flames, he jumped between the possessed scholar and his sister.

“Move away, tiny flame. Other places await your troupe. Let me take your sister’ light, and nothing will prevent darkness to rise high.”

With horror, Grimm noticed that all around, a dark mist filled with terrifying flames was rising through the realm of dreams, a darkness containing monstruous pseudopods and deformed tendrils, a thing of pure destruction, nothingness, something that only aspired to silence, and death.

He threw a look at his sister, cowering in fear in front of the antediluvian power rising in front of her, then, at the sword, now shining bright with the combined light of dreams and nightmares. The stranger’s words echoed through his mind, then, the doctor’s.

“Do the right thing.”

The pale scholar looked at him with a sad smile, as darkness rose around them, almost ready to engulf them.

“Do it.”

Grimm brandish the sword, unsure, but did not dare to lower it. Unbeknownst to him, something clicked into the pale scholar’s mind. The pentagram on his copper plate, the sword, the vision. He could do something. For this time, by his own fault condemned to darkness, he could do something, and maybe, just maybe, it could be saved.

The void roared, filling the place with terrifying echo. It looked like all was lost, and despite all this… the doctor smiled. Grimm looked at him, his eyes still wide with terror and incomprehension.

“Do it.”

Grimm strengthened his grip on the sword’s handle, and looked right into the other’s eyes, as the cruel realization hit him all at once.

The word escaped n a breath, following his thoughts.

“You knew.”

The darkness above them closed. The doctor, with one of the arms he could still control, grabbed Grimm’s collar and pulled him closer with surprising strength. He whispered into the other’s hear.

“Trust me. I have a plan. I will not die.”

A tear began to roll on the nightmare king’s cheek, one that was almost immediately turned into vapor by the heat of his flames. This first tear, however, was quickly replaced by another.

“You’d better say the truth!”

Grimm pierced the pale scholar’s chest with the shining blade. A dark blot appeared on the white robe. It looked like ink.

The doctor looked at the god with a sad smile, while a terrifying scream rang through the dream realm. The darkness, slowly, were receding, being swallowed back into Nay’Heth. The Shade Lord’s gate had been destroyed by the sword, by this artifact of powerful magic that use the strength of two gods combined, pushed back the god of gods towards their silent sleep.

“What have you done, scholar ?”

A twisted smile ran through the doctor’s face.

“Why do you ask, god of gods? I thought you knew everything.”

The moment he felt the control the entity had over him fade, the doctor latched onto the copper plate, and quickly, pronounced the words.

The first call, one of the strangest of magics: time magic. He looked into the endless detours and void, and saw himself, as through a reflection. His own reflection into the obscure lake in the bottom of the abyss. This was the moment. The only moment that could allow him to enact this plan he was now able to grasp. Through the power of his will, he reached towards this reflection of himself, that looked with curiosity into the abyss. He saw this reflection being grabbed by void tendrils, his mind, for a brief moment, opening to the influence of void, and through the precipice of time, he could hear his call.

The doctor screamed. With all the intention he could put into one scream, trying to overwhelm the mind of his reflection with his desperate intent.

He screamed:

Listen, Wyrm !

You will do exactly as I say, and you will not question my words.

Obey, lest the sin of this world’s destruction shall weight on your heart forever!

Obey, lest every creature you cherish shall die a horrible death!

Obey, lest you shall lose the mind you pride yourself in!

Heed these instructions.

Create the circle.

If you don’t, this world will die.

The pentagram in his hands suddenly felt heavier, as void began to flow from its symbols. The ancient entity was shook by a series of spasms, as the light from the sword continued to push them back.

“Worm ! What have you done!”

The doctor did not answer, he clasped the pentagram harder while whispering the incantation with the little energy he had left.

“Uaaah f’ia throdog h’ee-l’geb Yog’Sothoth y’ai’ng’ngah”

The moment the last word was pronounced, the pale scholar suddenly disappeared. Grimm looked at the scene, feeling both terrified and perplexed. Slowly, the darkness that had risen in their realm began to recede, slowly disappearing, as if leaking back into the abyss.

The nightmare king looked at the darkness silently disappearing, then, at the sword. The sword’s blade was covered with the same thick dark matter. It dripped from the edge slowly, and the black drops disappeared beyond the golden clouds of dreams, to be lost into nothingness. Just disappearing, it seemed. Like the rest. The void on his sword smelled like iron.

The god turned towards his sister, the sword still in hand. He did not notice the tears that were now flowing down his cheeks, too dense to be turned to steam by his flames. The Radiance stared at him, still overwhelmed by this turn of events.

And yet, she glowed brightly, her majesty, undisturbed, so much so that one would find it hard to believe that a few seconds ago, her godhood and her life had been threatened.

In a rustling of her soft wings, she flew towards her brother. One of her long feathers brushed the tear of his cheek.

“Why are you so sad, little brother? You won your bet.”

Grimm looked at his right hand, still marred with the blackened blood.

“There’s no way around it, I must admit my defeat. All along, you were right, mortals could rise higher than I thought them able to and conjure the most powerful powers. You were right. Victory is yours.”

He clenched his fist. Words escaped his mouth with difficulty.

“I did it…”

His sister flew closer, and in a soft whisper, in which he dared to feel genuine concern, she said.

“Do not grieve, Grimm. It could only end this way…”

The god lowered his head, his fists trembling.

“Do not grieve”, she continued, “this love was just another thing.”

The moment he heard these fateful words, he pushed her away, vanishing from her sight in a great flame. He reappeared in front of the archives, burning with a mix of despair and rage.

“No… that’s impossible,” he whispered to himself. “It can’t be just luck, it can’t be. Gods, he’s smarter than that, he said he had a plan, he said he would not die, he said…”

The nightmare king looked at the sword once again. The runes on it, the pentagram, an artefact made to use god’s magic against another god… To use one’s power against oneself… This really looked like the underhanded methods of a certain scholar.

He thought of the one who had given him the sword. Nem. Then, everything clicked into place. Nem, short for Nemo, which meant… “No one.” No one, the name given by a deceiver when preparing a ruse.

Grimm looked up, and his chest began to shake. A sonorous laugh escaped his mouth, as he planted the blade in the earth. He laughed for a whole minute, something victorious, but mad, and the god did not even notice that his tears were flowing, still.

“Wyrm!” He exclaimed, with a feverish voice. “You filthy little liar!”

The god looked decisively into the distance. Now, there was someone he had to find.

...

The doctor glanced around. The pain in his chest was still there, and he could feel the presence of void. However, he sensed the fabric of time dissolving around him in this nothingness, meaning… his plan had worked.

“God of gods…” he whispered. “To think that your power over time itself could be your weakness.”

He was about to let out a sigh, when he was suddenly interrupted with a furious voice.

“Do not think this is your victory, Worm! The end by your sword met is your true end. Here, you’re but a shadow of yourself, and though you could save them, you will not be able to escape death.”

He felt tendrils of void tightening around his heart, marking his soul.

“Now, whatever you do, you will not be able to live beyond the moment this sword pierces your chest! You may have won this round, doctor, but forget not…

You can not escape.

Chapter Text

At first, there was nothing. Were it not for the strange coldness he could perceive, he would have thought he was truly dead.

Then, he was hit quite violently by something. It was the cold ground. This ground was made of solid, glacial stone, and he could feel large quantities of void on it, and flowing from his body. He groped around, the stone was not soft. It was covered with engravings. Sharp, probably made with haste, it had not been polished, nor by the sculptor, neither by time. He heard a small rumble of stones in front of him, as well as voices, half muffled by something.

“What have you done, doctor? What abomination did you invoke?”

It could recognize this one easily. It was Grimm’s voice.

“I… I don’t know… I have to know.”

This one was more difficult. It was a little strange and still, very, very familiar. He decided he did not like the sound of his own voice. His own voice… Dark, coldness, the sudden absence of the great old one, the thing engraved, this meant…

He heard the sound of stones being moved out of the way. He could think of this later, for now, he had to grope his way through… darkness? How strange, this place was supposed to be plunged in complete obscurity and yet, he could see. Was this an ability due to his earlier possession by the great old one? This did not matter for now since he had found a passage. An old passage engraved in stone, just in front of him. He heard another rock rolling out of the way and hurried into the passage. If what he thought was happening was true, if his plan had worked as intended… He could not afford to be discovered. He hid in the passage just in time, and saw a white light coming from the opening on the opposite direction, the very recognizable light of an alchemic lantern. It cast the familiar shadow of seven thin horns of the ground.

The shadow stayed for a few seconds, and the lamp’s rays moved to cover the whole room. Then, he heard someone moving on rocks.

“There was… something.” Said the voice, sounding unsure. “It got away.”

“Why did you do this?” This was the voice of Monomon. Hearing her in this moment was strangely comforting. “Was it not obvious that you were subjected to the influence of… of this thing?”

“I don’t know, I was convinced it was the right thing to do, I was absolutely sure, but now…not so much.”

He heard Monomon sigh.

“I just hope you did not invoke some bloodthirsty creature that will devour us at the first occasion.”

Now he could detect a hint of irony in the teacher’s voice. Well, he could not blame her for mocking his foolhardy endeavors, not now that he knew where it finally led him.

“Let’s stay on our guards, for now.” Grimm said. “Scholars, take your samples and gather as much information as you can. I have the feeling we should not loiter here.”

“But there’s so much to find still…”

The doctor damned his own stubborn nature. For a second, he entertained the thought of getting out of his hideout and smack himself in the face for persisting in a quest so foolish.

“Doctor, may I remind you that you probably just invoked some abomination of darkness? That it’s probably still here, watching us?”

Grimm’s iteration almost made him laugh, which would have been a terrible way to give away his position. Fortunately, he managed to restrain. Though he found the idea of being called an abomination of darkness weirdly appealing.

“But the source of the truth…” the voice, still foreign, and yet, still his own, continued.

“You will find it late.” He heard Grimm say. “Now let’s get away from this place.”

He thanked Grimm internally, and waited in his hideout, enough time for the group of scholars to be far enough not to notice him. While doing so, the pale scholar decided to think about his plan. It was strange, it seemed that for the first time, since very, very long, he was thinking straight again. Was it the presence of void within him ? He took a quick glance at his wings. They were still black, if only a little translucent, and the nodus and solid parts between the membranes were still white. It also appeared void had blackened the tip of his claws. However, he knew it very well. Void had little to do with this sudden clarity of mind. It was because he no longer felt compelled by his obsession. As dreadful as it was, he had obtained his truth, and now, he had regained the full control of his faculties. Though, for guilt, his soul still ached, his mind was no longer marred by a long unsatiated desire.

 The conversation he had just heard proved that he had successfully sent himself back in time, which meant that the first step of this plan had worked. Now, it was time to make some use of the knowledge he had acquired to such a dreadful price. Given his reaction, the lord of shades did not expect him to pull this stunt. If they did, they would have stopped him immediately and resumed their crusade of destruction. This meant two things. First, when the god of gods (god self-proclaimed, but still, more of a god someone like Radiance could ever hope to be), when this entity had told him they knew absolutely everything, they were obviously lying. The fact that he managed to surprise them was enough to prove it. As to the real extent of the great old one knowledge, the doctor had enough elements to make a solid guess. What the lord of shades knew was probably an equivalent of what they had showed him. Probably in a more comprehensive and more intelligible way, but still. What the god knew for sure was the real nature of their planet and the universe, and the existence of alternate realities. Finally, their reaction when he used the pentagram on the copper plate proved that if they had a knowledge of the future, it had to be limited in some way.

Now, he had to identify the real nature of his current state. Given the way he had used his past self to summon himself in here, this was not an alternate reality. This was this time, but a time that had been altered in some way, deviated from its original route by the actions he had just undertaken. This seemed the most likely hypothesis.

This hypothesis had two consequences, a good one, and a bad one. The good one was that this was not an alternate reality he had jumped into, meaning he had not abandoned the others to their fate, and, most of all, that his actions here really had the power to make a change, at least, on their scale. The bad one was that he was still affected by the laws of causality, which posed serious limits to his actions. At thirst, he had thought he would just appear in front of the little troupe exploring Nay’Heth and explain everything to them, but now, he realized this was impossible. Preventing his former self to invoke the lord of shades would mean erasing the actions that allowed him to be transported in time, and warn them in the first place. This was a bother.

The doctor thought a little more. If this was still the same reality, it also meant that the things he was about to do already existed in this reality. Everything was already done, his plan, theoretically, had already succeeded, which meant that his mission, right now, was to ensure that everything went as it should for it to work. The answer was simple. The sword. The sword Grimm had used to pierce his chest and send the lord of shades back into their domain… He was the one who had to create it.

Suddenly, he looked down at his chest, as the panic he felt the moment he thought he was about to die came back in full force. He searched for the wound for a moment, but… there was nothing. It was as if he had not been hurt in the first place. He examined the rest of his body, which was not a difficult thing to do since his robes had been torn to shreds by the great old one’s possession. The deep burn mark on his wrist was there, not fully healed. So was the injury caused by Herrah’s dagger, freshly cauterized. His leg also bore the scar left by the soul master, and he supposed the mark on his cheek was there as well. However, the wounds left on his hands and leg by his own dagger, when he created the homunculi, were not present. A strange phenomenon truly. Were it not for the black wings, e would have thought his body had reversed to the state it was in when they had explored Nay’Heth. Well, this was bizarre, and he had a bad feeling about it, but he had more important matters to attend to. Create a sword strong enough to push back the lord of shades was not a small feat. Besides, if he wanted to do so, he had to stay alive, and escape the abyss.

He climbed out of the smaller cavern and saw, once again, the grandiose vaults of Nay’Heth. Far away, behind a colonnade, a light, a mix of white and red, was flickering softly. In the perfect silence of Nay’Heth, he could hear their voices faintly. He felt alone. He wished he would have appreciated their company a little more. If he had not been so obsessed with his research, maybe… an image of Grimm flashed through his head. If at that moment, he had… No. Now was not the time to dwell on regrets. He had a task at hand, and it was not a small one. Escape the abyss, avoid being recognized ( he would have to think of a good disguise later), find a way to make the sword, maybe with the help of a nailsmith that could do it with his instructions… He shivered. Then, he realized that he had been shivering with cold for long minutes, now, and that he did not manage to stop. The tips of his fingers were clattering on each other. Not a good thing for discretion. Not a good thing if he wanted to keep going. Nay’Heth was very cold, and it was not a forgiving place. Besides, this time, he had no one to come to his help.

He remembered Lurien always took a spare cloak with him when travelling. Maybe he could steal it and return it later. He also remembered the watcher complaining about such a theft. It seems he had already made his choice.

As silently as he could, while feeling thankful for his new ability to see in the dark, he began to follow the troupe under the stern arcades, jumping from shadow to shadow. He saw them enter the oval room. The place in which he first had the idea of the emissary.  He hid behind one pillar, quickly averting his gaze from the hideous thing sculpted above, and saw the group of explorers fly towards the gigantic table. Not wanting to spend more time in this dreadful place, he made his way to Lurien’s bag and opened it. The cloak was not difficult to find, given how sparse the equipment taken along by the watcher actually was. Just a few rations, a flask, and the blue piece of fabric. He took it before scurrying away into darkness. He retreated far enough not to be noticed by any of them, and resolved to wait. He draped himself in the cloak, almost letting out a sigh of relief. Even if it was too long, it was warm, and it smelled like dust and old paper, like tea, like the archives.

The group finally exited the dreaded room, and began to make their way through the endless stairs of the lost city. He followed them at a good distance. Often he found himself compelled to fly closer to Grimm’s flames, to feel their warmth, once again. Of course, he refrained, and let cold darkness flow between them, letting the lifeless shapes of the great city remind him that from now on, he was engaged in a lonely quest.

After what seemed to be an hour of ascent, he heard the now familiar creak of a trapdoor opening. Hidden behind a rock below, he waited for them to leave. Their voices echoed trough the vast cavern above, then, her heard the loud clank of the trapdoor closing. He really hoped he would have enough strength to lift it. Through a small slit, he saw a flash of red light. The air felt colder, suddenly, and despite the blue cloak, he shivered once again.

With a silent flap of black wings, he reached the trap door, and pushed it up with tremendous effort. The thing was heavy, but mustering all his strength, he finally managed to open it. He immediately jumped out and fell on his side, trying to catch his breath. After a few minutes, he out the door back, and walked in a random direction, while looking for stones on the ground. After a long search, he finally found three of them, that he gathered in his arms with the intent to make something with it that was at least a little sharp. If he wanted to create a disguise to avoid being recognize, he would also need a needle. Needle and sharp object. This reminded him of someone.

The moment this thought crossed his mind, the pale scholar jumped. He just heard the tip tap of spider paws on the ground. He turned back quickly. This was Yvek. The weaver did not seem to have noticed him, and began to examine the trapdoor. The doctor thought he would create a seal, but strangely, it was not the case. He was just examining the mechanism and trying to… Trying to open the door ? The pale scholar could not let him do this. Yvek had to place this seal, or the sword would not be enough to push back the lord of shades. But what if Yvek saw him ?

He shook his head. This did not matter, now, Yvek would not recognize him, he had never seen his former self. Besides, if he remembered well from the way he often squinted and looked at things from very closed, he surmised the weaver had a very bad eyesight. The doctor stepped forth, not uttering a word. Yvek, in his surprised, jumped back, and unsheathed his daggers. The doctor frowned. He had some bad memories about those. Yet instead of stopping to, he continued to the trap door, while the weaver took a fighting stance.

The scholar looked down at the mechanism. He had seen this, in the pit of knowledge offered by the abyss. The door could be locked easily with a few manipulations of its mechanism. He moved pieces of metal and stone with efficiency and stood back up.

“Who… who are you ?” Yvek asked.

The doctor did not answer. Instead, he prepared to retreat in the darkness.

Who are you?” the magician reiterated. “What did you do?”

He looked at the weaver one last time, mentally checking if he had successfully locked the door. Then, without a word, he walked away.

With his silent wings, he took off and sat on the entrance of a secondary tunnel above, where he took a look at his stones. He heared Yvek’s voice behind, swearing.

“Damn it !”

Without turning back, he made his way through the tunnel, climbing its steep slope while keeping hold of the stones was not an easy task. Finally, he saw the end of the tunnel. There was light. This light, for his new vision, was blinding. It was like the sun.

He looked straight into it.

The scholar continued until he reached the exit. A place mostly empty, a vast cavern, with stones hazardously placed. A cavern he had seen in other times, in which it was filled by a great city. Still, water dropped from the ceiling, as always, and the soil had the agreeable odor of rain.

His breath felt short, and he felt even more tired than usual. Was it the rain? The soft notes of water drops falling, the fact that the air was not so cold anymore? An overwhelming feeling of unexplainable loss flashed through him, as he sat on the ground behind a boulder, while looking at the empty cave. The tall stone, just in front of him… It would have been the place where it stood… The fountain.

For a moment, he felt ill, the sound of this underground rain resounded painfully in his head, and wherever he looked, he could not help but see flashes of the city that could have been… Of the city that had been once. He thought these buildings he had seen resembled those he had seen in Lurien’s paintings. After all, this, in so many times, had been his city. He had had a great telescope and his spire, that would be on the other end of the cavern… Still, in this time, now, it was just boulders, the rain, and echoes.

He snuggled into Lurien’s cloak, hugged his knees and coiled his tail around him as well. Water clattered on the stone ground, slowly, his coat was getting drenched. He looked up to the cracked ceiling. Drops of water began to flow on his cheeks. Smiling sadly, he whispered:

“I don’t know if I will be strong enough to do this, Grimm… Don’t you think its funny, being forced into such a mission because of my own plan ?”

There was no answer.

Only the clatter of the rain.

Chapter Text

Grimm walked towards Crystal Peak, his child following behind him. The little devil had been tired as of late, but now, he had retrieved all his energy and flew about while letting out small cries and launching fireballs at innocuous passersby. He could feel the heart beating faster, resonating with his son’s energy.

The nightmares’ heart was a mysterious entity. Even as its vessel and emissary, Grimm often failed to comprehend it. Sometimes, it seemed it was just a recipient for flames, a thoughtless thing, a lump beating without sense or reason while sustaining its cruel cycle. Other times, however, he could tell very clearly that the heart had an intent, it seemed to have plans the king could not comprehend, as well as an influence over his thoughts and feelings. He had felt a great disappointment in the heart, as if its plans, long set, had been thwarted by some twist of fate.

It remembered him of the way it had beaten back then, so ardently wishing for the doctor’s plan to succeed, so much so that Grimm wondered if it had tampered with his feelings for its own sick designs. Surely it had desired to see those caverns destroyed by the lord of Shades, and then, feed on the many horrid flames left behind, thus secretly seeking to push the wyrm towards this fatal moment… Was it the reason why it had tried to stop him, to keep a hold on his feelings, because it knew how it would end ?

The god traveled fast amidst caverns of crystal. Untainted by exploitation, for only a few bugs came for the crystals, for they had little value other than for pigments and chemicals, the caverns were beautiful, completely covered in faintly transparent crystals with delicate hues of pinks and purples. The child chirped happily, while the god began to travel faster. He did not like the way the heart of nightmares was beating, with anticipation and desire, and the more he walked, the more he dreaded the moment he should reach his destination.

…

A little more than a week prior, a wyrm was getting soaked in an empty, rainy cave.

He sneezed.

“Shit.”

With great effort, he stood up again, grumbling.

“Come on, now is not the time to linger in here and catch a cold, this sword won’t make itself alone…”

Shit. It had not even been that long since he was alone with this pressing mission, and he was already talking to himself. Way to go. The doctor knew he had never been the most stable in the mental department, but still, this was not a flattering occurrence.

“So… step one, the disguise. If I run into Grimm, Lurien or Monomon like this, or even someone I know from afar… This will not make my task any easier, so…”

The pale scholar sighed. The only items he had were his shredded robes, the stolen cloak, now both drenched due to his own lack of resolve, and three stones. If he wanted to make a disguise and a sword from these alone, he would not go very far. Which meant that from now on… he would have a lot of crafting to do. Well, at least, it would not be as difficult as the time after his rebirth, when he did not know how to use his new body, was even smaller than now, and in a place full of predators that had apparently unanimously decided he was going to figure on the menu. Just thinking about this time made him shiver. Indeed, he had known worse. This statement was only slightly reassuring. He looked at the three stones and grimaced. These were hardly carving material. After better examination, it seemed they were all silicates. It was better than naught. He hit one of the rocks with the other, until it broke in several shards of various sizes. Two of them were sharp enough to do a little damage. Well, now that he had passed the step of stone age, he could move on to the second part. This wide cavern, though it was a rich city in other times, was but an empty space in this reality. Just a cave full of boulders, crawlids, and …

“Shit!”

Great hoppers. It seemed that some of the pests he had encountered after his rebirth had managed to expand their territory until it reached this place. Speaking of the devil, two hoppers, followed by their larger, deadlier cousin, were making their way towards him at an alarming pace. Not letting them come any closer, he took flight, and landed on a small platform above, where these annoying creatures could not reach him. He tried to throw the remaining shards of stone at them, but his aim being as terrible as it was, a few hit their target, and those that did made so little damage it was as if he had done nothing.

Now the pale scholar recalled, on the realities he had seen in which this city had been built, they had to push these creatures back to the edges of the kingdom, in order to build in there. Then they also had to move all these big blocks out of the way, which had been a real pain in the neck at first, but then, it had allowed the bugs to find some… pale ore.

So it seemed this big cave was not so useless after all.

However, there was no way he would be able to move one of these big blocks to access the vein of pale ore below. He turned to the great hopper, that was still jumping in place stupidly below the platform. These things, it seemed, were only guided by appetite. They jumped about and crushed everything in their way with their immense weight. Well, it could do. The doctor looked around, until he saw a boulder that comprised calcite crystals. Which meant this was probably a type of limestone, a type particularly susceptible to erosion by water. Given the age of this cavern, and the amounts of water that fell from its ceiling, this boulder should have been greatly fragilized by erosion. So, if this overweight hopper was to crash on it with its usual destructive energy… It had good chances to break. He scanned the cavern and decided on a route to lead the great hopper to this boulder without dying stupidly, which was easier said than done, because of the creature’s smaller but still deadly colleagues that seemed to have swarmed the place while he was thinking.

Finally, he decided on a route, and took flight, landing on rocks from time to time, to make sure the creature was still on his heels. He reached the limestone boulder, and stood on it, ready to jump away at the last second, to make sure the creature would crash on it with all its weight. The great hopper launched at him with surprising speed, and he barely managed to avoid it, before flying back to his platform. He looked back. This strategy had worked as intended: the blow had broken the boulder into multiple smaller rocks, under which he could see the faint glimmer of pale ore. However, if he wanted to retrieve some of it, he would need the hoppers to leave the place.

He remembered that many versions of himself, from the realities where he was a king, had powerful soul magic. However, this was a power only higher beings could use, and the soul master had proved the price that was to be paid by mortals if they wanted to wield it. Well, he may not have soul magic, but he knew of many runes and sigils that could help him in this situation. Hopefully, the Radiance should be focused on his other self right now, so if he did a little magic here, she would not notice straight away. Using the shard of stone he had obtained before, he carved a pentagram on the platform’s surface, adding meaning to the magic geometry with runes of light. When this was done, he covered his eyes carefully and spoke.

“Spirit of the aerial rays, distant snake… blink.”

For half a second, a flash of sharp light illuminated the cavern, which was enough to scare the hoppers and make them jump towards their more obscure refuges.

The pale scholar wasted no time. He flew to the shattered boulder and fumbled through smaller rocks, until he found the vein of pale ore. He took all the pieces he could gather in his cloak and flew away with a non negligeable quantity of this precious material. Just on time, for the hoppers, that had quickly forgotten their previous fright, were already returning to plague the place with their irritating presence.

The doctor looked at his loot with satisfaction.

“Pale ore obtained!” He whispered, before scurrying away from the cavern.

Now that he had obtained the raw material, he had to think of how to create this sword. And the disguise. Not a good idea to forget about the disguise. From what he had seen from the sword wielded by Grimm, it was a powerful artefact, one only a god like the nightmare king would be able to use. It had pushed away the lord of darkness not only because he had disappeared, weakening them a little by submitting them to the effect of weaver seals, but it had also overwhelmed this god with light, channeling the powers of both dreams and nightmares. The part for flames, he knew how to create. The part for dreams, however… In many of the alternate realities he had seen, he had done extensive research on the Radiance, sometimes leading to an artifact possessed by the moth tribe, the dream nail… If he could reproduce the magic of the dream nail and add it to his own sword, then, it would have enough power to push back the great old one into Nay’Heth. However, if he wanted to do this… He needed to infiltrate the moth tribe.

Well, at least, now he did not have to think of an idea for his disguise. Besides, if he managed to disguise as a moth, nobody would suspect his real identity. So, the next step in the plan was: acquire materials to craft the moth disguise. He decided to check at the limits of the crossroads, hoping to find the remnants of some unlucky wanderer and… release them of some of the items they no longer needed. The only difficulty in this step was to avoid an encounter with the beasts that could have caused the untimely end of said wanderer. He would also need to be careful about bandits, and hide his pale ore, or some of these knaves would surely release him of his loot. He sighed, thinking of this possibility, and scratched his head. Which made him think of the horns.

“Shit…” He swore, for the third time this day.

With his horns as they were, any attempt to create a disguise would be utterly ridiculous.

“What’s to be done has to be done…”

He looked at the sharp shard of stone  and grimaced. The horns (with the wings) were the only part of his body he found somewhat appreciable, and he would look stupid without them, besides, they would be a pain to break, and if he did it wrong, he could seriously hurt himself. The only positive outcome he could see in this was that if they were pointy enough, he could use them like daggers and follow Yvek’s example by stabbing things with them.

“Come on, this is for the good cause…”

He grabbed one of them and hit it with the sharp stone. He heard a loud crack. It broke more easily than he thought it would. Looked like he overestimated the solidity of his own shell. He felt a dull pain behind his eyes. It seemed the process was going to give him a migraine. He looked at the horn. It was pointy, but not sharp at all. Hardly stabbing material. Maybe he could scam someone and sell them as the teeth of a great predator, and then use the geo to pay the nailsmith? This would be more useful than menacing people with blunt daggers he couldn’t even use.

He reiterated the process a second, then a third time. The migraine intensified.

“Shit.” He swore again.

He had realized that by doing this, he would look even shorter than he already was.

“Come on, this is the last of your worries…”

He continued. A fourth, a fifth time. He wondered if Grimm would laugh at him if he found him like this. Surely, he would, as a revenge for the joke with the void pentagram. Grimm was petty as hell, a trait he enjoyed more than he would like to admit. He shook his head. Thinking about this made his eyes tingle.

A crack. Six, seven. By now the migraine was so strong he wanted to vomit. Maybe he would have if he was not going on and empty stomach. He laid face first on the ground, letting the coldness of the stone ease the pain a little.

“Teeth of a great predator… acquired.”, he sighed.

If he was robbed now, he swore, the whole caverns would know his fury.

“I know, Grimm, I look like an idiot. Well suited appearance, I must say, for I am one. From the beginning , I was the worst idiot of all… So obsessed with this desire, too far in to see… this wish of absolute knowledge was as ridiculous as me.”

He rolled on his back and looked at the bioluminescent moss on the ceiling.

“I should find a way to tell… in the end, I could be able to say, maybe… for this one lie, I’m so sorry…”

He looked at nothing for a few minutes, before sitting up briskly.

“Crap, I’m letting my mind wander again. No dwelling on feelings for now. The next step is the disguise.”

With what was left of his robes, he made a bundle in which he stored the pale ore and horns, and arranged the blue cloak in such a way that it could make a hood on his head, and no longer drag on the ground. The cloak was still drenched, however, and he was still freezing. At least, if he wanted to go unnoticed, this was a good beginning. Like this, he most likely looked like an inconspicuous traveler, someone that would not raise attention.

He made his way through the tunnels until he found the dilapidated borders of the crossroads, a place were few bugs ventured, and fewer lived, well aware of the lack of resources in the caverns beyond. The only people who went there were outcast and vagrants, foolhardy explorers, or adventurers with a very bad sense of direction. The two last categories were the most likely to end up eaten or murdered.

The pale scholar began his search. He passed rapidly in front of the squalid house covered in cobwebs and averted his gaze from the huge centipede that was smoking a suspicious calumet at the end of the tunnel. He took a detour to avoid the two large bugs who were bathing in the hot spring. From the way they spoke, their weapons and stature, these were most likely bandits. Finally, in a tunnel half hidden by bluish leaves, he found the empty shell of a traveler. An old corpse, from the look of it, but its location had protected it from other looters, so this lost soul had not been dispossessed of their clothes. Well, for now.

He took the corpse’s clothes with little consideration, and searched for other items around. He managed to find a dagger, but it was so rusty it had become totally useless. At least, he found two very old parchments, covered in scribbles on one side, but rather clean on the other. This could be handy if he wanted to provide the nailsmith with blueprints. His arms full of these new findings, he looked for a hidden corner that was not too humid, to craft his disguise without risks of being interrupted by bothersome individuals. While looking, he found a piece of shell wood, and took it. Shell wood was a rather soft material, and it was easy to create items from it. While searching, he heard the noise of someone walking in another tunnel. As quickly as he could, he jumped behind a bush and observed. An ant with a blue hood and a strange shield was passing by. This one did not look particularly trustworthy, but still, they did not seem to be some brigand. They continued their proud strides, walking resolutely towards the Mawlek’s den. The pale scholar wondered what they could be seeking in such a place and continued his way. Finally, he found a small opening in the ceiling, one he could access with his wings, and entered it. It was the perfect hideout. Not too small, hardly noticeable, and most of all, it was dry, which was a true blessing after the crossing of the rainy caves.

Without a word, the pale scholar began the crafting of his disguise. He arranged the garment so that It would be his size, while keeping enough fabric to hide his hands and tail. Then, he added a hood, a necessary feature to dissimulate the broken horns, and, with the rest of his robe, he began the most difficult part of the disguise, which was to craft convincing moth antennae. The pale scholar chuckled to himself. He never imagined the future of this caverns would depend on his skill in arts and crafts. After a few failures, many swears, and the gathering of some additional materials from plants, he finally obtained a satisfying result. These looked like antennae. Ugly and battered antennae, but antennae, still. At least, it would fit with the rest of the garment, that was equally ugly and battered. Now, came the last detail: the face.

His own face did not even remotely looked like a moth’s, and crafting a mask that resembled a moth’s face would be very difficult, and the end result was sure to look completely ridiculous. This was a bother, since moths did not usually wear masks. Then, he looked at the piece of shell wood. Using this, he could craft a normal mask. Then, he could still find an excuse as to why he was wearing one. Like having a big scar on his face, or just being very ugly… Both would fit with the persona this disguise was about to give him. With the help of the stone and one horn, he managed to carve a mask that was somewhat symmetrical, though simplistic in design. Well, for his current goal… This would do.

The pale scholar quickly traded the humid cloak for this new garment. It was itchy and smelled stale, but at least, it was dry. He put on his masterpiece, the hood with fake antennae, before adding the shell wood mask. Then, he added the blue cloak to his bundle and jumped out of the hideout. He walked around, appreciating the fact that this disguise was not too cumbersome, and searched for a puddle to see his reflection. Given how damp these caverns were, this was not going to be difficult. He found one a few feet away from the hideout and approached to look into it.

He nodded with satisfaction. The result was more convincing than he thought. Well, he did not look like a normal moth, for sure, not enough fur, not enough color. If he was a moth, he was a very old, very tired one, who had lived far too many mishaps for his own good.

The scholar looked up and began to hurry away from this disreputable place. Now that he had the disguise, he needed to think of a name. Most bugs had names, and not having one would inevitably make him look more suspicious. Unfortunately, the wyrm had never been good with names. His people had names of things majestic and great, like skies, or storms, or darkness, names that would sound overly pretentious on a mortal creature, names in a tongue too foreign to be understood by bugs as speech, and not as a roar. However, this time, he could think of a name. One ironic and bitter, for sure, but one that would always remind him who he truly was, what he had done, and why he was there. A name that was not truly a name. “Nemo”, in another language, it meant “no one”. For the full thing was too obvious, however, he decided to shorten it to “Nem”.

As for the rest… He could lie. After all, this was what he always did.

Hence, in a deserted cavern, amidst the strange shapes of stalagmites, Nem, the old moth traveler, began to walk towards the dwelling of his kin.

Chapter Text

Xero, the young prince of the family of thorns, was sitting on a stone near the resting grounds, looking rather dim. It had been six hours since he had left his home, in search of a great foe to defeat, in order to prove his value to his elders and be deemed worthy of the title of heir. He had decided to come down from their home diffed in stone in the heights of crystal peak, and then vanquish some of the fearsome beasts he was supposed to find in the caverns below.

He had searched for them, first, especially for one:  the dragon that was spoken about in legends. He had even searched through the place in which he was presumably to find the white dragon’s den, but the only foes he had found there were great hoppers and aspids, frustrating enemies, he thought, because they were undeniably great threats, disproportionately so, for their dispatching brought little glory, and if those who brought the head of some to villages were rewarded with geo as efficient pest killers, the vanquishing of a hopper would hardly suffice to guarantee his title as an heir.

So, he had searched through tunnels and cliffs, looking for the den of the white dragon, but to no avail. There was not a single trace of this monster of legends. Not a tooth, not a scale, nothing. So it seemed that was just it, a legend. He had come back disappointed to the resting grounds, hoping to find some guidance by his friends and sparring partners, Markoth and Thistlewind, who, if their boastings were to be believed, knew everything of the cavern’s dangers. Surely, if there was no dragon, they could indicate him the dwelling of some other beast, a beast that, hopefully, would be easier to beat than an inexistent dragon.

That was precisely his thought, as he rested on a stone, eating some of the delicious cake of lichen flour his mother had baked for him before his departure. The gift, of course, had embarrassed him greatly, and he had done everything to appear manly in front of his peers, but now that he was disappointed, alone and hungry, he was glad to have taken it anyway. It was delicious and smelled divine. For a moment, he wondered if it would be a good idea to use it to bait dangerous creatures. With this sweet smell, even a dragon could be waken up from centuries of slumber, and come to him in order to fight for this delicious prize. The prince entertained the thought, and as he was about to let his fancies take his mind to even more ridiculous lanes, he was interrupted by a sound coming from behind nearby mushrooms.

He turned towards the suspicious noise to see a stranger emerge from what appeared to be a secret passage. The stranger was a small moth wearing a mask made of shell wood, one that had to be old or to have been through many ordeals, for they looked battered and had lost all their fur. The moth took a look at his fancy outfit, then, at his well-crafted nail. They tilted their head to the side and walked up to him.

What Xero didn’t know, though, was that behind the mask was none other than the pale scholar, who was looking at him right now like a predator at his prey, though the prize coveted was not the prince’s blood, but his geo. In the fighter well-kept appearance, in the way his fancy sword did not bear the marks of many fights, and even more so, in his unsure attitude, the doctor had seen all the sign of a well of youth launched into a quest too difficult for them. The way his red cape reflected faintly the cavern’s glow in their clean, gaudy brightness, was a sign of naivety, the delicious smelling cake in their hand, a treat ill-suited for long journey, and fresh as if it had been baked in the morning, combined with the way he was daydreaming on his rock spoke of inexperience and idleness. Had his mind not been occupied by more pressing matters, the pale scholar would have felt a little bad for latching on such an easy target.

“Good day, young sir.” He croaked (Being drenched in the rainy caves and not being able to dry properly had given him a runny nose and a sore throat, which made his voice sound like the one of a bug of canonical age.)

“Ah… Hello.” Xero answered, visibly surprised by his polite introduction.

“Are you lost, young sir?” he continued, impersonating the character of an affable, yet mysterious elder. “You seem you’re looking for something, but you can’t find where it is.”

The prince looked genuinely surprised.

“How do you know? That’s exactly it!”

“The struggles of the youth, for one of my age, are easily recognized. But do not fret, young lad: as you might have guessed from the secret may from which I just emerge, I know these caverns well, no doubt will I be able to help you find what it is you seek.”

Xero nodded enthusiastically. In many of the stories he had read, the heroes were helped by mysterious elders that guided them in their quest! Truly, the appearance of this secondary character on his life’s great epos meant he was destined to many accomplishments.

“Let me tell you my story, then!” he exclaimed, a little too eagerly, perhaps. “My family has sent me to slay a great beast in order to prove my strength as a fighter, and my worth as an heir! I came to look for a white dragon, as it is told about in legends, but I did not find it. Now, I find myself at lost, I do not know what beast to slay…”

The doctor had a hard time keeping his serious face with the naivety of this prince. This young lad sure was lucky that he was no longer a wyrm, for if he had found him in his original form… This poor soul would have met an untimely end. The doctor sighed.

“Poor warrior, I fear you might not find the beast you seek in here. The ages of wonders are over, as bug’s civilization have taken over these caverns, the monsters of the past have dwindled and disappeared. When I was your age, only a few were left, and still, their form, diminished by the lesser magic of these days. Now, I fear they’ve all withered away.”

“Is that so?” Xero asked, looking terribly saddened by this revelation.

“I’m afraid it is,” the doctor lied. “Monsters to slay, treasures to find… With time, they have become rarer, and I am afraid this place no longer has any of them. To find the foe you seek, you will need to cross the wastelands. Though, this will be at the expense of your memories, your goals, and maybe, even your mind.”

“But… That’s horrible! I can’t forget about my family, I have to bring back the proof of my feat to them!”

“Then, I am afraid there’s little I can do to help you. I am deeply sorry, young sir.”

“Are you sure? Do you not know of any beast? What am I supposed to do, then, without a token…”

The pale scholar brought one of his hands to his chins, as if he was deep in thought.

“A token, you say? If this is what you need, I can help you. However, I fear your honest mind may reprove it.”

“What is it? Tell me!”

“You see, I was not always this old moth. Decades of travels have done their number on my body, but before, I was a brave and powerful fighter, like you. Travelling into the lands beyond, I have slain beast and monsters. I still keep tokens of these fights with me. Unfortunately, I had to sell them all, except one that I couldn’t bring myself to part from, for it holds too many memories. However, if you really need it to be accepted by your family…”

Xero’s eyes widened in curiosity.

“Can I see it?”

“Of course.” He answered.

With great care, as if they were legendary artifacts, he took the broken horns from his bundle.

“these are the teeth of a sand serpent. I cling to them, even to this day, for this was the most difficult fight, I which I thought I would lose my life.”

The young prince looked at the horns with wonder.

“Its teeth are so thin, though…”

“But they were numerous. And sharp. And poisoned, of course. Those have been emptied of their deadly bane and their tip and edge have been blunted, for it was razor sharp and one could not hold it without getting hurt. If you really need this, I could cede them to you, against a retribution, of course.”

Xero looked at the so-called teeth once again. The glimmer in his eyes showed that he truly wanted them, not so much to use in front of his peers, but for a strong desire to own.

“How much would you need ?”

“3000 geo.”

The prince looked shocked by the price, to the doctor’s satisfaction. After all, this was a great way to begin the bargain. He hoped that the young bug would walk away from the scam thinking he had made a great deal, and even feeling a little bad for the poor old moth that had been so easily played.

“3000 geo? I’m sorry, I don’t have this much on me right now…”

“That’s not good… How much do you have ?”

“2530.”

He played the indecise again.

“2530… That’s hardly enough… But maybe, if it is for you, who really need it, I could be more understanding…”

“Yes, please!”

“But you will need to add something.”

“What do you need, I’m sure I can give it to you!”

“This tasty looking cake you have here. Give it to me with your money, and these precious teeth are yours.”

Xero nodded.

“Yes, of course, of course, I can give it to you too!”

“It pains me to part ways with this souvenir, but still. I’m happy it could be useful to someone. So… it seems we have a deal.”

“Thank you very much!”

Hence, the deal was set. The doctor obtained 2530 geo, as well as poor Xero’s snacks, which made him feel a little like a bully, and the prince, feeling very happy with this trade, obtained the so-called teeth of a sand serpent.

The pale scholar looked as Xero pranced away happily. He could not help to giggle, seeing the young fighter so happy after being scammed. He hid the geo carefully in his makeshift bag and continued his way towards the resting grounds.

As he walked, he lifted his mask a little and took a bite of the cake. It was so good it could have made him cry, tough he could not tell if the taste was due to the cook’s talent, or the fact that he was on the brink of starvation.

As he reached the borders of the resting grounds, a place strangely lively despite its gloom name, he saw a number of moths focused on their activities, crafting or cooking, other writing or performing rituals for the dead. He saw them turn towards him with a look that was not hostile, but curious, and strangely welcoming, despite the fact that they had never seen him before. Some of them waved, other gave a polite salute. He answered in sorts, careful to copy some of the mannerisms that appeared to be a trait of their species, such as touching antennae or fluttering wings under the cloak, careful as not to let them show.

A small moth with square wings flew towards him.

“Welcome, traveler! You look tired, let us welcome you as a moth should be!”

The pale scholar shook his head. He could not loiter. His mission needed him to act fast and staying too long with the moths could have him discovered.

“I am sorry, I am on a complicated journey, and I cannot stay for long. I wanted to see your seer.”

The small moth looked rather surprised, but answered, nonetheless.

“Of course I can lead you to her. Though please do not exert her too much, she has been rather gloomy lately.”

On these words, the moth guided him towards a home in the distance, one that stood away from the others and was decorated in a different way, surrounded with a variety of charms.

He thanked his guide and entered. As he drew the curtain that served as the home’s door, its fabric made heavy with charms and spell, his senses were hit by a strong smell in incense and medicinal herbs.

The room was very comfortable, full of cushions, with many small tables on which candles and bowls of smoking incense and other plants had been disposed, filling the rather stuffy air of the room with a variety of scents, some that were foreign to him, some that he recognized as the dream inducing vapors that often filled the small and colorful streets of the many towns he had seen, were sellers of delights and dreams enticed clients with the same type of smokes. The seer, a moth of indefinite age and few remarkable features except for her obvious blindness, sat in the center of the room. With a shrill voice that seemed to ride on the arabesques of azure smokes, she spoke.

“You came.”

The doctor took a step forward. It appeared she was a seer for a reason.

“You know why I am here.”

Smokes twitched very lightly, as the seer answered.

“I know, I know. Great darkness to come I have seen, darkness in the sky, darkness in dreams. One too proud and too curious will try to fly to the sun, soon, and doom us all to obscurity.”

He frowned. She knew too much.

“You know what I’m trying to do about it.”

“I know, I have seen, into the maze of sleepless dreams… You want my nail, don’t you? The prized possession of our tribe. But I cannot give it to you.”

“I will not take it. I just need to see it.”

The seer balanced in her seat, singing softly to herself.

“Just seeing should not hurt I guess.”

She whispered something under her breath, and the candle’s light seemed somehow to shine brighter. In front of her, made of the delicate blaze of dreams, a nail of pure magic and energy was floating. The pale scholar looked intently at it and sighed with relief. These were runes he could recognize, with patterns he could understand. Gazing at the despairing yet wide expanse of realities also had its advantages, it seemed, for without it, he would not have been able to decipher this arcane magic with such ease. He took the parchments looted from the dead wanderer.

“Forgive me, Seer… Could you lend me ink and a squill?”

“Go ahead. They’re on the desk.”

He took both carefully and began to reproduce the runes and patterns he would need to incorporate in his own sword, while taking note about each element of magic that comprised the nail. After a long moment of worked, he put back the ink. This side of the parchment was completely covered in inscriptions. He checked if it was dry enough, then rolled it and put it back into his bag.

“Is it done?”

“It is. Thank you again for trusting me.”

“I did not need trust for this. Had you touched it… It would have refused you, I am sure. Though I do not bear for you the same hatred our goddess does, dreams, I think, will always reject you.”

He chuckled weakly.

“I guess it means I’ll have to fall back on nightmares.”

He stood up and looked at the seer one last time.

“Thank you. For not wanting to stop me.”

The seer imperceptibly lifted her head, with a peaceful, yet saddened expression.

“I wont.”

He made his way towards the door and was about to get out when he heard her voice once again.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing, so don’t lose hope. You’re trying to mend, even if your mistakes are too great to be fixed but still. However, seeker of swords, you must not forget: everything has a price.”

“I won’t. But now, I have little to give.”

“You’re trying to cheat your way out of darkness, I can tell. Don’t try change fate too much, sword bearer, and remember. There are some things that cannot be saved.”

The wyrm looked at the ground. Her words made him fill bitter.

“I know.”

Thus he departed, leaving the curtain falling slowly on the house’s entrance. He did not hear the reply of the seer, when she said:

“Truly, you don’t.”

A wind charged with the perfumes of evening blew through the moth’s millage, as he made his way down in the cavern. He did not heed the two moths, one green and one red, that were also departing, taking a parallel way.

Not knowing where to look first, the doctor walked through the crossroads, then to Greenpath, asking on his way. Apparently, a nailsmith whose lodgings were set towards the rainy caves had recently moved to an inaccessible corner of Greenpath. He followed the direction, while preparing the outline of spells in his head. He hoped this nailsmith was a talented one, for the intricacy of the symbols would make them difficult to carve.

As he continued to ponder, a small cry suddenly got his attention. A little moth with four wings was flying towards him. He looked up in surprise.

“Grimmchild ?”

What was this child doing here? Wasn’t it supposed to be in the archives? He could already imagine how upset Grimm would be if this little one got lost. Hell, they were already lost it seemed, for they kept flying in circles and letting out small, pitiful cries. Did they fly here because of their own restlessness and curiosity? The doctor would have thought so, at first, but the golden sparks in the air, as well as the remnants of the presence of dreams suggested otherwise. So the Radiance had plans using the Grimmchild at some point… Apparently, it did not work.

“Come here…”

The doctor sat and tapped on his lap, not really thinking of what he was doing. The Grimmchild flew towards him, chirping happily, perhaps it enjoyed the disguise. They settled in his arms and immediately fell asleep, letting out a soft snore. He petted the small creature absentmindedly. It felt warm, familiar. This very thought made him frown.

“What am I doing…”

He stood up, careful not to wake the tiny moth. He was not supposed to do this, he had a mission, he had no time to lose, and yet… It would be the good thing to do, right. Bring the Grimmchild close enough to the archives so they could find their way again, and then, continue. Surely, this would not make him lose too much time. Surely, he was not hoping for something else…

He shook his head. Not now. He could not see any of them now, it was too risky, they were too likely to recognize him. He would just let the child somewhere near the archives, and then, go away as quickly as possible. He nodded, and began to make his way towards the entrance of fog canyon. He jumped down platforms discreetly, not daring to use his wings in such a place. A few meters down, and it would be close enough. Surely, none of them would be there… If he was thinking correctly, they should all be in the archive at the moment, so no risk to be caught, to risk to meet any of them, no risk to meet…

Grimm.

Grimm was standing on a platform below, looking towards him with a suspicious gaze. He felt the conflicting urges to run away and jump towards him, letting him frozen in place. He felt his throat tighten. He was not ready to see him, not like this, in such a place. At least, from the way the other reacted, it seemed his disguise had done its part, and the god had not recognized him.

He had to do something. Do something or it would be too suspicious, just give him the child and walk away as if nothing happened, which meant… more lies.

He spoke.

“This child… Is it yours?”

The words scorched his tongue as they went out, they were mumbled weakly, muffled by a dim pain that grew between his lungs and that he could not control.

“Speak louder”, Grimm answered. “I can’t hear you.”

He did not want to, but he had no choice. He repeated, trying to change his voice as much as he could, so that Grimm would have no suspicions.

“This child. Is it yours?”

Grimm frowned and jumped in front of him.

“Yes. Give him back to me.”

Trying to calm the shaking of his hands, the colour of his shell well hidden under his sleeves, he handed him the sleeping child, then, took three steps back. He wanted to leave so badly and yet, the worst thing of all was that he wanted to stay.

“Who are you?” Grimm asked.

The question cut deep, a blade, paper thin, as painful as one made of light. The lie in his answer twisted the wound open.

“Nem’.”

Grimm answered.

“Thank you for finding my child, Nem. Now if you excuse me I’ll be off.”

For a second, the doctor hesitated. There was something he wanted to tell, compelled by his soul, by the feeling of loneliness… But he did not utter a word. He turned back and ran away in silence. The runes turned in his mind, the words of magic, the arcane geometry, the shape of the sword, the way to mix together dreams and nightmares. He thought of anything, as he walked, finding ways increasingly difficult to cross, until he had to use his wings again.

How strange he had dreaded this one lie, when it was through lies he hoped to find salvation…

On these thoughts, he flew over acid, avoided most thorns, though some of them scorched his wings, until he found the sign indicating the proximity of the nailsmith’s. There was something strange with this sign, though, as it did not only represent a nail, but also a paint brush. Was this nailsmith also an artist? If this was the case, it could make the creation of the artefact easier.

The doctor followed the sign until he reached a round house from which he could hear the noises of iron on an anvil and a happy conversation. The warm glow behind the windows was welcoming, in a way that made him hesitate to knock on the door.

He was about to do so when suddenly, a sharp pain ran through his hand. He fell on his knees, failing to understand what was happening, this time, as he felt a new pain surging in his forearm. He looked at his hand, still shaken by the surprising pang. What he saw made him gasp. On the back of his hand, it was as if someone had pierced it with a dagger and forcibly carved out a piece of his shell. This, however, was not the only thing. Instead of his pale, translucent blood, what was flowing was of pure black. It dripped on the moss, making no sound, while the sleeve that covered his left forearm was slowly soaked by the same, dark liquid.

His heart beat faster. He failed to catch his breath.

Now, he understood what the dark one meant.

Now, whatever you do, you will not be able to live beyond the moment this sword pierces your chest! You may have won this round, doctor, but forget not…

You can not escape.

A small, dismal laugh escaped the doctor’s lips as he tried to hide the dark blood with his sleeves.

So, the seer was right, it seemed. Some things cannot be saved.

Chapter Text

" What are you painting ?"

The nailsmith leant above Sheo’s shoulder.

“Can’t you see for yourself?”

“It’s a boat in a storm, and a big guy with one eye in the background.”

“See, you don’t need me to know what I’m painting!”

“Stop teasing me, Sheo, you know what I mean. What is this about, it’s not like the things you do usually.”

Sheo paused to mix some pigments with egg yolk, while showing a scroll in the back of the workshop.

“It’s a scene from this story I’ve been reading.”

The nailsmith took the scroll and settled comfortably on an armchair.

“When is it ?”

“Near the beginning.”

The nailsmith began to look for the precise passage.

“… My name is nobody, Nobody I am called by mother, father and all my comrades. Is that it ?”

“Mmm Mmm”

The nailsmith continued to read the passage.

“That’s a smart guy, in your book…”

“Wait until you read the end of the chapter.”

The nailsmith continued to read calmly, enjoying the presence of his mate. Since they had begun to live together, clients had been few, a consequence, no doubt, of the inaccessibility of their dwelling, but this allowed him to spend more time with Sheo, and all this time he had now for himself was frankly welcomed. He reached the end of the chapter.

“Ah… I see what you meant. The hero shouldn’t have said his real name in the end, that was stupid!”

“Yeah, the guy was too proud of his ruse, and he couldn’t help himself in the end.”

“He’s dumb.”

Sheo continued his painting.

“Why are you making an illustration of this?”

The paintmaster showed him the different hues of blues and grey on his colour palette.

“I thought the idea of an angry expanse of water to be interesting, look at the big wave I painted here!”

“This wave is beautiful! But can it actually be that big?”

“I have no idea.”

“It’s a shame it’s about a story where the hero makes such an obvious mistake.”

Sheo hummed.

“I guess it’s to convey some kind of moral…”

“What moral, though?”

“Dunno, something like… if you triumph through lies you cannot expect to reap the glory? Or the benefits of your deeds? Maybe it’s more about pride.”

“Doesn’t look that clear to me.”

“Well, we’re both crafters after all, I guess we both always are rewarded for our creations.”

“I can reward you for making such a beautiful painting.”

“How so?”

“You’ll find out soon enough…”

Sheo chuckled.

“You naughty old man!”

They laughed together, and the nailsmith was about to answer something witty, when he was interrupting by a knock on the door.

Sheo stood up.

“Who could it be at this hour?”

“Maybe a lost mosskin?”

“No idea. I’m going to see what this is about.”

The painter walked to the door absentmindedly while looking proudly at his previous paintings. He opened the door with a wide gesture.

“Good evening, what are you looking-“

He stopped in his tracks, as the pleasant mood from before was brushed away by a wave of coldness, something gloomy, unsettling. In front of him, the stranger stood, ominous. Behind the holes in the shellwood mask, nothing but darkness could be seen. The stranger stood silently in front of him, his frame completely concealed by rags, only the moth antlers coming out from his hood were indicative of his species. In some places, the rags were stained with black.

A shiver ran down Sheo’s back. The stranger looked up and asked in a small, creaky voice.

“Are you the nailsmith?”

Fighting the unease with great effort, Sheo answered, trying not to show how creeped out he was by the moth’s appearance.

“No, I’m his husband. But he’s here… I suppose you’re a client ?”

“Yes.”

The stranger shook a little. Sheo could swear he had heard him sneeze.

“Come in, then, you can speak to the nailsmith about this. You can make yourself comfortable if you want, and take off your… things.”

The stranger looked around before shaking his head. He looked tense, as if the welcoming atmosphere of their home made him feel uncomfortable, despite the uncanny feeling that creeped around him.

“Thank you, but I’d prefer not to.”

Sheo guided him to the workshop, unable to go over this uneasy feeling. As the moths entered the main room, in the light of candles and lamps, he saw. Two droplets of the black liquid stained the ground where he had walked.

“You’ve got a client, Smithy!” Sheo said, trying to sound as jovial as he could.

The nailsmith turned towards the visitor. From his reaction, Sheo could easily tell that the stranger’s presence also made him uncomfortable. He walked to his oven and shook the embers, adding new pieces of coal to reanimate the dwindling flames. Then, he turned towards the client.

“What do you want?”

The stranger looked on the side, then, but his bundle on the table. With a decisive gesture, he began to take out a large number of geo. 2530 in total. Then, without a word, he also put out five big pieces of pale ore.

“I need you to craft a sword for me, following precise instructions.”

The nailsmith looked at this display with stupefaction. The fact that this stranger in rags, who looked like a beggar, a vagrant, as best, could have accumulated so much geo and such a quantity of pale ore seemed unbelievable. He looked at the moth suspiciously. Maybe he could have stolen those from richer bugs, after all, Sheo’s stories about his old master had taught him not to judge a stranger by their stature, for anyone could prove a dangerous foe.

“How did you find those?”

“The geo, by trade. The ore, I found myself. I stumbled across a vein. Please, forge this sword and I will tell you where it is.”

The nailsmith gave him a suspicious look, before letting out a long sigh.

“I guess asking about clients’ whereabouts is not the job of an artisan…”

He took the pale ore and began examining his tools.

“Give me your instructions, then.”

The stranger looked around.

“Do you have parchment or spider silk? I need to draw blueprints for it.”

“I’m going to fetch some” The nailsmith said. He walked to the back of the workshop while Sheo remained to keep watch of the suspicious visitor. The way the stranger held onto the table, as if he were afraid to fall down, did not escape him. He stepped closer and leant down a little, fighting the natural repulsion he felt towards this ominous presence.

“Are you all right?”

The small moth nodded, but the moment he did so, his knees gave out, leaving barely enough time for the paintmaster to catch him. Sheo was surprised by the feeling of weightlessness he got from catching him, as well as something damp and cold that made him shiver.

“Do you want to sit down?”

“If it doesn’t bother you, please…”

He helped him to sit in one of the chairs they had beside the table. When he touched him, he felt something cold on is hand. As he checked what it was, he felt once again this unexplainable mix of disgust and dread. The matter on his hand was sticky and cold, giving out a very faint smell of iron.

“Wait, what is that? Is this blood?”

The stranger looked at him with genuine surprise it seemed, and for a moment, looked as if he was about to panic, but quickly gained back his listless demeanor.

“Sorry, sir.”

The nailsmith came back with ink, a squill and a roll of parchment. He put it on the table in front of the strange moth and was about to go back to his armchair to read the rest of Sheo’s scroll when he was interrupted by the paintmaster himself.

“Sorry, Smithy, could you also go fetch some water and bandages ?”

“Mmm, okay.”

The paintmaster turned back to the stranger, who seemed to be already eying the ink and parchments.

“Wait until we’ve patched up your wounds to do this, or blood will stain the parchment.”

The stranger seemed to acknowledge his reaction and leant back on the chair. Sheo sighed.

“Seriously, what happened? Who are you?”

The small moth looked on the side, while answering. His voice had the weak and somewhat regretful ring of stories and lies.

“I got bitten by dirtcarvers. I’m Nem.”

The nailsmith came back with bandages and a bowl of water.

“Could you show me the wounds, please?”

A little reluctantly, the stranger rolled back his sleeves, letting appear his unusual white chitin. Sheo winced at the sight of the deep wound in his hand and the bitemark. Obviously, this was not the kind of thing that could be done by a dirtcarver’s bite. It did not surprise him, though, for he already knew the moth had lied. He cleaned both wounds and began to wrap bandages on the wounds tightly, still disturbed by the black colour of the moth’s blood.

The stranger looked away, tense and still, and he could see how his shoulders were shaking ever so slightly.

“Why’s your blood black?” The nailsmith asked, quite tactlessly.

He answered in a voice that was slightly quivering, on the verge of breaking into something none of them wanted to hear.

“I have a condition. It’s not dangerous, nor contagious.”

He looked down at the darkened water.

“Sorry for making you do that.”

“It’s the least a decent person would do.” Sheo answered. His voice was sincere, but his heart irrationally despised the stranger’s presence. Somehow, in a way none of them could have described, it showed.

He took away the water and bandages. While doing so, his gaze lingered on the moth a little too long. Long enough to notice the dark drop that fell from the basis of his mask. He averted his gaze quickly, not wanting to know what horrors were hidden behind.

“So, now you can make the blueprints.” The Nailsmith said, while checking the growing flames in the oven.

Without a word, the stranger took the squil and began to draw on the parchment. Sheo could not resist his curiosity, and looked above his shoulder. What he saw surprised him greatly. With his good hand, the moth began to draw with surgical precision, the outlines of the sword, first, with indications and measurements, then the way it had to be decorated.

The motifs captured the paintmaster’s mind, as he dwelt on the beaty of the designs, while being well aware that these were not art. Their precision, the uncanny ways in which it intricated different types of symmetry, the intriguing runes and circles, traced by a hand made swift and precise by experience, all this suggested a meaning he could not grasp, the fact that something ancient and powerful was at play in this sacred geometry. He could not help it. Despite the repulsion he felt towards the stranger, he was fascinated by his creation.

After finishing the main design of the sword, an object that, even in the drawing, had the majesty of a powerful artefact, the stranger began to make individuals blueprint for each detail, the metarunes to put within some other signs, shapes and languages unknown to him, as they were to most. He beheld the complexity of the designs intently, feeling a little jealous of his companion, who would be the one to create such a fascinating artifact.

After a few hours of work, the stranger finally finished the designs. He showed them to the nailsmith, who, much to Sheo’s lack of surprise, looked both terrified by the arduous task at hand, and fascinating by the artifact he was about to create. The moth’s mask turned towards him.

“Do you think you could be able to do this?”

The beetle looked at the blueprints with a serious expression.

“Do not underestimate me. I can make anything, as long as I am given time and good tools. However, given the number of patterns you need on this, I will have to make a sizable enough sword… I fear that even with my best effort, I will not be able to make one small enough for you to wield.”

The stranger lowered his head and chuckled weakly.

“Don’t worry, nailsmith, pick the size that suits your needs. I will not be the one to wield it.”

Sheo turned towards them with unconcealed curiosity.

“What is it, then? And for whom?”

The small moth sighed, as the uneasy atmosphere slowly begun to dissipate.

“It’s a parting gift.”

“I guess it’s for a very special person, then.” Sheo said. “Such an impressive gift. Do you really have to part way? If their important enough for you to offer such an artifact, I think you should stay by their side.”

The sad laugh once again. The paintmaster did not like it. It suggested the tragedy of things unknown, of things they could never know, the  lines of a story that had to briefly cross theirs, sadly and silently, so that it would not bother their simple tale of love and art, so that it would not tinge it with darkness. The feeling of repulsion he initially had was replaced by one of pity.

“I wish I could.” The stranger said, looking in the distance.

With a quick and discreet movement, he wiped something under his mask with his sleeves.

“So, how much time do I have to do this?” The nailsmith asked.

“One day and a half.”

The beetle stroke his beard.

“If I begin now I should be able to do this. Tomorrow, you can do what you want, as long as I have the blueprints. But I will need you to help me with the carvings for the last steps.”

“I will.”

The nailsmith took the pale ore and began to melt it over the fire. The metal, that, in its natural state, was grey and nondescript, and hardly distinguishable from a normal rock, when exposed to this first fusion, one used to purify it, took its true colour: a pale, shimmering white, imbued with the powers of the earth. With expert technique, the nailsmith poured the melted ore in a first container, one with a simple, rectangular shape. Suddenly heated by the metal in fusion, the container began to glow with a bright orange, before it was but in a first bath of water mixed with chemicals, producing a big cloud of steam that filled the room with the smell of Iron and boiling water.

Then, the nailsmith took the ore from this first mould, which had given it a first, crude shape, a long rectangle, one which length approximately matched the stranger’s size. With a precise gesture, he put it in the blue, glowing embers of his burning oven, and the one again, the metal began to shine with a white light.

Both Sheo and the stranger were plunged in deep contemplation in front of the nailsmith’s craftmanship, as the form that was to be this fateful blade danced between his tools, jumping from the glowing embers, to the chemical baths, to the anvil. Striken with the smith’s hammer, the pale ore let out a pure note that echoed through the house. Like a living being dancing with the flames of art and creation, the sword slowly took shape. Between many tools and expert strikes, they could see its elegant form, its long tip, its shining edge.

After hours of labor, the nailsmith proudly brandished the unfinished creation. The blade, still free of the runes and pentacles that were to adorn it, shone beautifully, reflecting the blue flames of the forge. It sent patches of lights through the whole room, giving of the impression of magic lanterns, or vitrails.

Sheo looked in pure admiration in front of the craft of his husband, and all by himself, made a round of applause. The nailsmith stoke his beard, looking especially proud of this creation.

“And this,” he exclaimed, “Is but the very first step!”

Sheo applauded again, and looked to the side to see the reaction of the stranger. The moth, who had sat on the ground beside him, was now laying on the ground, curled into a tight ball, passed out, it seemed, from exhaustion.

“Odd position for a moth to sleep in.” The nailsmith remarked.

“I guess it’s the heat of the forge. So, now that this admirable first step is finished, we have some time for ourselves. I’m going to reward you for your astounding work, dear.”

“And me, you, for your painting!”

Before joining the nailsmith in their room, Sheo moved the stranger from the ground to the armchair, careful not to wake him up. He did so swiftly and easily, for the moth was so light it was very suspicious. For a second, he entertained the thought to look under the mask, but quickly brushed it off. His husband was waiting for him, and they had better things to do.

Closing the door of the workshop behind him, he retired to the bedroom, ready to forget the strange events of the day in a very sweet night.

…

The pale scholar was woken up by the sound of hammer against metal. It seemed he had fallen asleep while the nailsmith was working. He hoped that at least, this unintentional moment of rest would make him feel better. This hope, however, he regrated quickly, for waking up after a long sleep only made him realize how sore he felt, how painful his arm and hand felt, how his throat burned and his head seemed to weight like two bags of bronze. His hands were ice cold, while his damp brow and cheeks were burning with fever. Well, that was to be expected.

With a wince of pain, he got off the armchair and walked to the nailsmith to observe the advancement of his work. He was now crafting the simpler shapes on the sword that should serve as a basis for engravings. He had to admit the nailsmith was truly a master of his art. Even in a state so far from completion, the sword already looked beautiful, and corresponded perfectly to the blueprints.

“You can get out and come back this evening.” Grumbled the artisan. “I won’t need you before some time.”

He nodded.

“Very well. You are an impressive master. It is already an very good sword.”

“Thanks. Now all I’ve left to do is not to ruin it when adding the engravings.”

“I guess.”

The doctor walked to the exit feeling rather oppressed by the hot and humid air of the workshop. He walked out discreetly and took a long breath. Quickly, he decided to walk around Greenpath while the nailsmith was making the sword. It had been difficult enough the evening before to sustain their conversation, and he doubted he would be able to do so the entire day. Besides, if things had to continue the way they were going right now, he preferred to be alone.

Flying over the ponds of acid and thorns, he made his way through the paths of Unn, giving a melancholic look to the engraved stones that had once elicited so much curiosity from him. He could read them with ease, now, and they held little mystery, recounting the prayers and ways of those who claimed the protection of Unn, often horrible and dreary, sometimes mystical, all were the empty desires of dream seekers who looked too long in deep waters and stars, unable to see the larger reality of the world, dismal and drab in its meaningless solitudes.

Even if he wandered, he stayed careful of the ways he took. At that time, he and the others should be going to the den of the white root, which meant he had to be careful not to meet then. Well, if his perception of time was accurate, at least. The wounds appearing, like a ticking clock before the time of unavoidable death, were practical for this purpose at least.

This also reminded him it should come soon, the third cut, the one he got from escaping from Yvek. A matter of minutes surely, before he should feel his shell cracking once again. This time, he had to be more discreet about it though, or the nailsmith and his husband would begin asking even more questions. He began to look around for medicinal plants to stop the bleeding and some pieces of bark and moss that could be used in the same perspective. Fortunately, such things were not difficult to find in Greenpath.

He walked around, wondering. He knew he would die at the end. He was doomed by the god of gods, and this time, he could not think of any trick to escape. Sealed fate, one of agony and despair before death, and then… Nothing. He wondered why he was not so afraid. Did he fail to grasp the reality of this curse? In the bottom of his heart, did he hide the remain of a sad, useless little hope? Was it that he had given up already, that he had just… accepted, like that? Because he had reached his goal, and had never though of anything he could do beyond this point, because, for all this time, he knew, from the moment he had the death visions in the cavern… That had been part of his lie too, when he made the contract with Grimm. A lie in truth left unsaid. Maybe, all this time, in one way or another, he expected this.

A sharp pain on his wrist pulled him back to reality. This time, he did not even react. He just looked at the dark substance leaking from the wound along his forearm, before droplets fell silently on the moss.

“So that’s where we are now…”

Absentmindedly, he put some of the herbs he had gathered on the wound. This made him think about Yvek. When he had escaped, he had left the magician in a rather dire situation. Since the seal that trapped him was carved in stone, it could not be erased. To be undone, it had to be altered in a very specific formula. If Yvek did not discover it – and he doubted he could, for the magic used in this circle had nothing in common with the weavers’ seals- if the magician did not discover it, he would be stuck in there forever and probably die from thirst. Tasteless thing to do to a fellow magician and trickster. He had to admit he did not really resent Yvek for his action, the reason being that he would probably have done the same in his place, and he did not want him to die so stupidly. He recognized they were kindred spirits, of sorts, in some of their rights and many of their wrongs. Besides, he did not want to be a murderer.

The pale scholar tried to guess the time. By now, the fight between the two moths and the silver troop should be over, which meant he could venture to the place without risks of being discovered. He began to make his way towards the entrance of the small tunnel the weaver had taken, taking his time, as well as little detours that allowed him to avoid the territory of pale roots. This goddess knew a lot of things, and he did not wish to encounter her once again.

With this in mind, he reached the entrance of the small tunnel with little difficulty: this was a place he had already seen, besides, peering into the dark well of “absolute” knowledge had filled his mind with precise plans of the caverns, and he doubted he could get lost ever again. As he anticipated, the way had been cleared by the fighters. The only things left were the destruction their brawl had left behind. Plants and fungi half burnt by the awful, burning orbs, other crushed or cut by feet or nail.

With no hesitation, the doctor entered the tunnel. He continued silently, until he spotted the silhouette of Yvek, which was plunged in a rather comical state of furry. The magician noticed him, and stared at him silently, gauging him. So, as quickly as he could, the doctor knelt in front of the circle and whispered the incantation of release. Then, he ran away as quickly as he could, not waiting for the weaver’s reaction. After all, he did not want to fall victim to the magician’s curiosity.

 A strange feeling lingered in the air, as white sparks appeared now and then around him, the feeling of soul pervading and heavy. He heard Yvek behind him, however, it seemed the weaver had scurried away in another tunnel, for the sound of his paws on rock had disappeared as quickly as it had manifested itself. Maybe he had sensed it, this presence…

He stopped at the exit of the tunnel at the sight of a familiar glow. Roots, soft and pale, seemed to be filling the place with some kind of glistening due, a substance with impressive life-giving effects, for all plant life that had been burnt or injured in the adventurers’ and moths’ fights were slowly growing back to their excessive vitality, fed by the power of the goddess. He heard a song, hummed faintly through the damp air, words and notes imbued with a soft kind of magic. This song, this vapor, it seemed, were even soothing his pain and exhaustion. It seemed that the healing powers of this goddess were very potent.

Suddenly, a very soft voice rang through the air.

“Come out, little one. I know you’re here.”

Carefully, he stepped out of the tunnel, almost blinded by the goddess’ bright glow. The proximity made the effects of her magic more potent, as he could feel the pain, still, but it was eased greatly, and his fever too was receding.

“I smelled your blood.” She added, still using her roots to repair the plants of her domain. “An unusual thing, I must say, both reminiscent of the one that trapped me in this den, and of the one that put down this barrier. This is an amusing enigma.”

She turned towards him, azure glistened, mischievous.

“You bear an appearance that does not suit your nature, and yet, without this mask… You would truly be no one. You bear the marks of fate and yet, you are not supposed to be here. So many paradoxes for such a small being.”

He still looked at her, keeping silent. He was afraid and yet, a part of him hoped that maybe, she could understand, maybe, with one word, she could alleviate this strange loneliness that pressed on his shoulder since he had been claimed by darkness. Seeing his lack of reaction, she continued.

“Do not fear, little one, I will not try to entangle these threads. Unlike other, less subtle creatures, I have no desire for truths all set and things unchanging. I do not feel compelled to unravel mysteries. Just seeing them is such a delight for me…”

Still, he did not speak. He was afraid to know if she recognized him, afraid that if he spoke, the uncertainty would fade, letting something cold that would scorch his soul.

“Do you know, child of nothing? I am soon to receive a gift. A mystery made all for me by a little thief. A life, he said, made from the essence of nothingness… I wonder how I could absorb it, make it mine, in my roots, as I made with other sacrifices…”

The doctor shivered. Her words made him uneasy, especially now that he knew the real nature of homunculi, real children, despite the manner in which they were conceived. A strong feeling of guilt pushed away his fears, as he answered.

“Wouldn’t it be a shame just to absorb it? A life so mysterious?”

He expression shifted a little.

“So it seems you can speak after all. For a second I thought you mute.”

Despite her taunt, he did not flinch, and continued.

“You seem to be a very powerful, very wise creature. But tell me, are you not curious? Do you not want to know? How such a being would grow, who they could be? Wouldn’t their presence alleviate your solitude?”

She squinted until her eyes were two blue, sparkling slits.

“You seem to know much about me, little one. Could it be that we have met before?”

The doctor felt more bravery, as he felt his usual dexterity with words come back to him.

“Maybe we have. Maybe we have not. Maybe I’ve been taking guesses. I am a traveler, I have seen a variety of things. I am seldom lucky, but I roll many dices.”

“More riddles? How delightful!”

The air vibrated with more of her power, as he felt some of her magic being applied to him, healing his wounds.

“For thankfulness or defiance, I give you my benediction. It pains me to see you suffer so, or I could seek your gratitude… See, I too, have an affection for riddles.”

The doctor took a step back, ready to head towards Greenpath. He did not want to stay for too long, especially when he could see some vines creeping suspiciously towards him. At least, he knew he could escape, being on the very border of her domain.

“The gift you receive may be more precious than you think. Some gifts with time unwrap in more, and you may find yourself surprised. This is my last word.”

Without letting her the time to answer, he flew away and disappeared behind tall grass, running away from her domain as quickly as he could. She made a small gesture to stop him, but he had already disappeared. Her roots withdrawing slowly from the healed plants, she whispered:

“I wish you luck, child of nothing. I hope you’ll be careful with your own gifts.”

Chapter Text

Grimm looked as his child flew towards the exit of the cavern, on the summit of the peak. The child’s black shape was cut into the sun’s light. Looking at it made his heart ache. He was supposed to find him, this was supposed to be a victory, so why? Why did he fear it so?

Jumping from flame to flame, he exited the cavern of crystal. He walked silently through the villae of moths. They were strangely silent, looking at him in what seemed to be a mournful way. Grimm, however, did not care about the strange looks of moths. He continued, towards the statue of his sister. The statue was above the village, higher, and in the bright sun, the rocks that made it seemed to shine.

He continued, hope and dread building up in his heart. He continued, until he stopped.

There was nothing. His child chirped happily in the wind. His child chirped because right in front of the statue, there was a flame. A red, bright flame.

Grimm lowered his gaze.

Below the flame, it laid on the ground, abandoned. A mask, made of shell wood.

Grimm looked right into the sun.

…

The doctor took a deep breath and looked at the sword. He could not describe it. The beauty of the artefact, its powerful potential for magic, a thing made to channel the power of two gods. The runes shone magnificently over the blue fire of the forge. This beauty made his heart feel heavy, but even if he had the mask, he did not let himself shed a tear. Just seeing someone patch up his wounds like Grimm and Lurien, that time, just thinking of what had happened then had been enough to weaken his resolve for a moment. He would not let that happen a second time.

The nailsmith stood proudly next to his work, while Sheo’s eyes shone with wonder and admiration. They had worked ceaselessly, carved every rune to the perfection, the scholar had inspected it again and again, and there was not a single mistake. It was perfect, it its words and geometry, and the blade was sharp. It would pierce through too fine chitin as if it were nothing. This very thought made him wince.

“That’s such a cool sword, Smithy, it looks like a legendary artifact!”

The nailsmith nodded with satisfaction.

“I must admit I’m quite proud of this realization. One of my best works, as of yet.”

He turned toward the stranger, who stared silently at the shimmering blade.

“Now you’ve got to tell me where the gist of pale ore is.”

The moths started a little, as if pulled away from his thoughts.

“Go to the rainy caves. One boulder has been broken into pieces. Look there.”

The nailsmith nodded, visibly very interested by this resource.

“Thanks. I guess you can go. I’m proud I was the one to make such an artifact.”

The moth lowered his head.

“Thank you again for your help. I have to go, now.”

Now that the sword had been made, he had nothing in his makeshift bag. So, he used Lurien’s cloak and carefully wrapped the sword in it, before attaching it to some other bits of fabric so that he could carry it on his back. The sword was heavy.

He followed Sheo to the exit, silently, still, while hearing a sigh of relief in the nailsmith’s workshop. The door opened in front of the calm landscape of Greenpath, and he stepped on humid moss.

“Goodbye, “Sheo said. “I wished to say, take care, but I know you will not listen.”

He turned towards the paintmaster.

“Goodbye.”

“Wait! Before you go, can I ask you one question?”

He stood silently, waiting for the painter’s words.

“This sword…” Sheo began, tentatively. “What is it for?”

He let out an almost inaudible, painful laugh.

“To slay a scholar.”

Visibly taken aback by the enigmatic words, Sheo stood silently as he departed, staring at him until he disappeared behind the leaves.

The painter came back to his workshop feeling conflicted. The strange events of the previous days had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he did not know why. The sinister atmosphere that had crept into their home had a hard time dissipating, as they both found it difficult to stop thinking about the sword, about the aura of mystery around it all, about the stranger that lied, and that they would never see again.

The pale scholar hummed a foreign tune as he walked through Greenpath, filling his eyes with every detail, every colour, and every light. He tried to remember the perfumes, the sound of maskflies and hidden springs, the sound of his own footsteps of moss or leaves.

The beautiful rays of light, the flowers and whispers of distant breeze, the small and colorful creatures hiding behind tall grass, all this, in a peacefully ironic tune, sang “The last, the last”, as for the first time, his hands began to shake with fear.

He wondered where he would go, when it was done. He would have little time left, after giving Grimm the sword. Since he was to die alone, he hoped to find a nice place. Light danced, a few mosskin ran away. He wanted to see the sun. Not her sun, of course, but the real thing. He decided he could climb to the summit, above crystal peak, where the other moth settlement was. Where her statue could be found. From there, surely, he could do it. Wait for his unavoidable demise and look right into the sun.

He continued his way, feeling his own exhaustion, the weight of the sword on his back seemed to grow heavier and heavier. At last, it seemed he had reached the entrance of fog canyon and was not too far away from the archives. He jumped down, avoiding the floating tendrils of Uomas and Oomas, his eyes lingering on the mist and plants of the place.

Never again.

The archives stood in the distance. A reminder of the things they had done together. The things they could have accomplished. A strangely ironic thing, for sure… If he had been able to give up… He shook his head. This very thought was foolish. Not once this thought had crossed his mind. He knew himself well enough to tell. As misguided as his goals might be, the pale scholar never gives up.

As he walked closer, he saw the silhouette of Lurien harvesting plants in the garden. The watcher looked peaceful, despite everything, he was absorbed in his task.

Never again.

He walked towards him, making sure to maintain a good distance.

“Scholar.”

The watcher jumped, almost spilling his harvest on the ground. He looked up, and stared at him, with a hostile glare.

“What do you want? Who are you?”

He wanted to walk closer. He wanted to thank the watcher for everything he had done and apologize, he wanted to tell him… He clenched his fist. Claws pierced through half healed chitin. He felt nauseous.

“Does the one with red eyes live here?”

Lurien looked increasingly inquisitive.

“If it’s Grimm you’re talking about, he does. What do you want with him?”

His voice uttered words, so distant he almost failed to recognize the as his own.

“I have something important to tell him. When he comes back, tell him I will be waiting at the entrance of fog canyon.”

The watcher scratched his head.

“Sure… But what is it for? And who are you?”

The doctor took one step back.

“Do it please. It’s important.”

He did not stay to see Lurien’s reaction or answer to his question. As quickly as he could, he scurried away, using secondary tunnels to reach the entrance of fog canyon. He did not want to think of this odd look the watcher had given him, about the fact that this was the last time he would ever see him, and it was under the guise of a total stranger. He did not want to think about the fact that it would be the case for Grimm too.

Never again.

He put the sword on the ground and sat, hugging his knees as he waited. In his head, he prepared his words. He prepared his lies, as well as the apology he would not be able to tell. The air felt heavy. He longed for the moment when all this would be over. He longed to see the sun.

He saw Grimm walking toward him. The god had not noticed him yet. Just seeing him, once again, like that, it made him feel… happy? And yet his soul bled. He wanted the moment to freeze, not to say those fateful words, not to accomplish it, his goals, to wait, a little more, at least, in silence, while he was there and did not know yet. He wanted this to be over.

“You came.”

His words broke the silence like it would break a small egg. It made him flinch. He saw Grimm turn slowly towards him, with a look of surprise. His throat tightened.

“You again?”

This time, too, thankfully, the god did not recognize him. He was thankful for the disguise, and yet, knowing that he was there but could not see him for who he was, that, until the end, it would be just lies... He clenched his teeth and pushed thoughts away. This was not a moment where he could show weakness, so he just answered:

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

Grimm’s voice was hostile, and no matter how he pushed them away, the thoughts kept coming back. He found it hard to breathe.

“I have something to give you.”

Grimm put his hand to his chin, looking circumspect.

“To give me?”

He slid from the rock on which he was seated and took the sword that laid on moss. Without a word, he walked up to Grimm and handed it to him a little ceremoniously, before carefully stepping back. He was not even the one carrying the sword, so… why was it still so heavy?

“What is it?” Grimm asked.

“Look.”

He saw the god unwrap the gift cautiously, before looking at the artifact with a mix of amazement and fear. Just seeing the sword, in his hands, like that. It made the scholar’s heart hurt. The pain swelled in his chest as he realized. He had never dared to think about it or say it. Because it was too painful. Because it was to cruel. From this night in the archives, he knew. Even if Grimm was a god. He loved him. And he was about to hurt him more than ever.

“Why are you giving this to me?”

The doctor averted his gaze. He could not bring himself to look at him in the eyes. Not when his words were trapping Grimm in the cruelest task he could ever be given.

“You are a god, aren’t you? You are strong. You can wield this.”

The god looked at the sword again.

“How do you know?”

The doctor tapped on the shell wood mask, producing a hollow sound. The words he was about to say burnt his tongue.

“I know many things.”

The worst thing, perhaps, was that it was the truth.

He could spot a strange look of sadness in the god’s eyes. Surely, he did not know, and yet… Maybe, his heart could perceive…

“What is it for?”

The pale scholar looked down. He did not want to look at him in the eyes. He couldn’t. He had no right to do so, not with the thing he was about to do.

“This blade is not meant to kill. It is meant to save. When every life shall be threatened by darkness, the magic in this sword will put it back to sleep.”

He saw Grimm looking at the sword, fascinated, it seemed, by its beauty. The god could only perceive its outward shine, now, the delicacy of its spells. The sinister nature of the fate forged into it still remained concealed in the pain of times to come, as everything, from the water suspended in the air to the depths of his soul, whispered:

You cannot tell.

Grimm asked:

“What do you mean, all life threatened by darkness?”

So this was the moment. The demand he had to make. Even if it was still half concealed by the idea of a rightful goal, he felt the cruelty of this plea scorched something he had kept uninjured for a long time.

“It shall arise. Sooner than you think. If it does, please use this sword and save us.”

Grimm frowned.

“Why are you telling me this? What is your plan?”

So it seemed the god would not be so easy to convince. He was prepared for this. It was Grimm, after all, not the most trusting person he knew, for sure. He stepped towards him, slowly, very carefully, as if he was too brash, if he stepped too close… Something would break. He made him a sign to lean down, his right hand moving in his sleeve, while the claw of his left pierced his palm.

The god leant down. With a pain that was no lesser than the pain born from the tip of the sword, he whispered in Grimm’s ear.

“You promised.”

The god jumped back, looking alarmed.

“How do you know such a thing?”

“I just know.” The scholar answered. “You will have to do it.”

Then he added the sentence. The lie.

“Everyone will be saved.”

The lie echoed in his own mouth. Claws dug deeper. Unnoticed by the nightmare king, a drop of darkness fell on moss.

 “Everyone.”

Grimm seemed to ponder, before answering.

“If what you said is true, then…”

At this moment, the pale scholar felt a rush of something he could not describe take over him. It had been there all along, fed by the waves of regret. Defying the logical script he had set for himself, he reached, and grabbed Grimm’s hand. He could no longer deny it now. He knew what was to come. He was afraid.

“Please.”

He regretted it immediately. Frightened by his own action, he let go of Grimm’s hand. He had felt the god’s warmth, it had reminded him of the moment he touched this hand for the first time, when he still knew so little. Grimm looked both surprised and a little saddened. He felt the cold water from the moss on his legs. He had not even realized it, but the moment he had jumped back, he had stepped on his cloak and fallen down… This, too, exactly as he did the first day. The day the god of nightmares had appeared in the circle, when it was genuine fear he felt. He entertained the thought. What if Grimm never came? Surely, he would have continued his research, probably with no success, going his way into darkness, turning in circles, until his mind would crumble…

Grimm spoke:

“I have to go. If something as dangerous as you suggest happens, then I shall make use of this sword. However, if this is a lie, or part of my sister’s devious plans… You will suffer the consequences.”

He smiled sadly under the mask, feeling quite fond of the god’s circumspection. He stood up, when Grimm added something.

“By the way… Thank you for saving my child.”

On these words, the god began to walk away.

This was when the realization hit the pale scholar. This was the last time. The very last time he could see him. He wanted to tell. But he could not tell. He wanted to run to him and hug him, he wanted to say sorry, at least to be able to say goodbye. He wanted to thank him for everything, because this one was the last time.

Never again.

His hand reached towards the god. For an instant, he felt he needed to tell. A word escaped his mouth before he could hold it back.

“Wait- “

Grimm turned back, with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

The doctor regretted it instantly. This could only hurt more. Just hurt more than he already did. His voice trembled as he answered.

“Nothing.”

With a sigh, Grimm turned back. With the sword in hand, he walked towards the archives. The distance between them grew, and with each new step, regret stabbed him with a new dagger. The god walked away until he disappeared into the mist. The mist, so akin to the first smoke form which he had emerged. The way it swirled, so akin to flames.

One tear rolled under shell wood. He was alone.

He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine the warmth of dancing flames.

All he could see was a candle. The wind of winter, a small flame burning in his own heart, a small flame protected by his scarred hands.

The god of death laughed.

The light went out.

…

Beyond the moth’s village, towards the statue of the Radiance, the pale scholar walked. He walked silently; his mind devoid of melody. He could feel the sting on his thigh, the black blood flowing down his leg. The penultimate strike of the countdown.

Not long after, now, his heart would be pierced by the sword.

Next to the statue of the goddess of light, away from the sight of the moths in the village, he stopped, and looked at the sky. The sky was clouded and dull.

With a small sigh, he took of his mask and hood.

Wind began to blow. Clouds moved again.

The veil of clouds broke in a gentle swirl, as if in compassion, leaving nothing between his eyes and the sky.

He looked up.

It was there, white in the blue sky, so bright.

The sun.

The pale scholar let go of the mask, that fell down and hit the ground with a clear sound.

His eyes were dry.

A sharp pain suddenly arose in his thorax. A black spot grew on his chest. It grew and the world, somehow, felt less real.

This was at this moment he realized. How despite everything, he still loved it. The world.

The pale scholar looked up.

He looked right into the sun.

Chapter Text

The End

No.

This is not the end.

Did you think I would be satisfied with your sacrifice?

Foolish.

Darkness shall triumph. This world, this small world. It is mine.

Remember, worm.

You. Can. Not. Escape.

Your plan might have worked this time around.

But it will not always work.

You thought this was over, isn’t it, worm?

But it is not.

This will repeat. Again, and again, and again.

Until you lose hope.

Until you fail.

The only real time will be the time of your defeat.

These days will repeat until you break.

This world is mine, worm.

Welcome to hell.

At first, there was nothing. Were it not for the strange coldness he could perceive, he would have thought he was truly dead.

Then, he was hit quite violently by something. It was the cold ground. This ground was made of solid, glacial stone, and he could feel large quantities of void on it, and flowing from his body. He groped around, the stone was not soft. It was covered with engravings. Sharp, probably made with haste, it had not been polished, nor by the sculptor, neither by time. He heard a small rumble of stones in front of him, as well as voices, half muffled by something.

“What have you done, doctor? What abomination did you invoke?”

Chapter Text

Many things can be said about repetition. For some, this repetition was the essence of their being, their practice was ceaseless, as they made the same gestures again and again, for their skill and mastery of an art. These repetitions had left collections of beautiful nails on the walls, the sign and proof of a good work, it had birthed pride and merit and accomplishment. Every time the hammer had hit pale, burning ore, every time the brush had carefully placed colour on the canvas, the sketched on their drawers, the way their hands moved, in peace and certainty brought by practice, by knowledge.

For others, repetition was the source of peace, it marked hours and day with a steadfast and calm hue. Many of the bugs that lived there, in the small city above, for those whose lives were simple and true, those who looked on the horizon with moss and mushrooms in their basket as it was the end of another day of work, happy to come back to their families, to eat a slice of cake, to drink tea, before they would go to bed and prepare for another day that would be as calm and soft as the last.

Practice makes perfect, they said.

The first time, he had laughed in disbelief, before launching once again in his quest, the first time, he felt determination. He went through it mechanically as words repeated, he tried not to think, he strengthened his resolve, it was almost easier, even if the pain remained.

The second time, his voice had grown cold, his eyes empty of tears. He had not flinched as the unavoidable wounds opened on his arms and hands, he had not cried out when he felt his chest being pierced, he had looked into the light with a despaired sense of victory as he burnt his retina on the pale light of the sun.

The third time had gone by like a dream, it had been unreal and tinged with blue, he had washed himself go from one action to another with almost no feeling at all.

Then, there was another.

And another.

Repetition was the well that took all meaning. Not the dark and empty universe swirling around with no goal, nor the curse of his birth had brought such a feeling of emptiness.

Practice makes perfect.

By now, his act was well rehearsed. No mistake, no hesitation. His words rang like they were just sounds.

Then, he had looked into darkness and he had laughed to his heart’s content. He had heard the laugh being smothered by the overpowering silence of the abyss, and then, he had looked at the rock with numbers engraved. He had been counting. He had stopped at some point.

It did not mean much how well he did, how perfectly he executed his plan. This was a sick game. One he could never win.

Hazy mist danced through fog canyon, and he saw water glimmering on the stone.

A sick game, really, with circumstances that told much of the darkest seer’s sense of humor. He could do it, he could succeed. But his success would always be erased. The only thing that would put an end to this, the only, only thing, was if he failed.

He rose the sword above the black stone. Pale ore shimmered in the mist, light sliding on runes like snakes or rivers. His hands shook, the sword fell noiselessly on moss.

One again, he looked a the stone. He had entertained the thought to smash the sword on it theatrically, in a last act of rebellion before failure, he had thought of insulting the lord, of things harsh like iron and fire, he thought that if he failed, it would not be by letting himself drown gentle into the night.

He had seen his own mind wandering, on the borders of sanity, and images had crossed his sight more and more frequently. He could see his silhouette behind the mist, he imagined him walking away, while everything became white sand.

He looked at the stone once more. Silex stone, the temptation of its edges matched the one of the sword’s, and in dreamt of a lost light, a light lost in fire and senseless pride, lost in a quest borne of madness and doubt, the shape of light, the reminder of his old self, of the things he had seen beyond…

He looked at the stone once again. The stone did not answer.

He looked had darkness marring bandages. The lord had to be laughing.

He thought once again of Aadbidna, of the distant Serapherid, of the marshes of orient and shores of occident, of the austral rainforests and septentrional white steps, he thought of the stars and their many names, names different for each lands, he thoughts of the sights his eyes had met in darkness, of the great kingdom that could have been, of the great tragedies that could have been played, of the way clouds opened pathways to the sky on rainy days, of the distant glimmer of water lilies in the marshes of dawn, of the small girl on the shore, lost in deep contemplation before the sun’s embers slowly drowning in the ocean of dark turquoise.

His hand brushed the blade. Feeling the sharpness of its edge.

He thought once again of the deserted strands near the monoliths of Dagon, of the vast countryside extending beyond the strange alleys of Ulthar, of the forest of blue oaks and the strange airborne contraption above the fiery plains of Kathres, of the plateau of Leng, and the strange shapes of millennial trees that grew on its border, their trunks, long dead, made soft and grey by wind and rains, and still, the little, purple leaves that still came. He thoughts of the high ruins in Andor, of the solitary arches that arose amidst the tawny heath of Maaldrytch, of the wondrous casements that arose on the slope of the forgotten mounts, from which he gazed, once, at the bottomless lake of Dwawyne. He thought of the monumental sepulchers and secret tombs in Asinaï, where many ancient words laid, he thought of the green hills and the fields of poppies, crossed by the blind shepherd, the knower of stories, of the small, white streak of smoke coming from the tiny house lost in the wounds, that heaved beautifully across the midnight sky.

Idly, he brushed the sword’s edge with his palm, drawing small droplets of dark blood.

He thought of the strange willows aligned by the obscure banks of the Falladrin, the sweet, lonesome Falladrin, with its dark irises lulling in lukewarm breeze, its smells of evening and swamp mint, its long, flat boats occupied by idle passengers that led the current take them to unknown places, while they shared meals, alcohols and stories. He thought of the terrasses carved in the beautiful malachite of Serapherid, of the groups of friends who sat there, with big shishas adorned in various motifs, one of them singing, the other delicately pinching the stings of a lute. He thought of the caravans in Siduria, children, hand in hand, of the elders, with pipe in mouth and map in claws, looking together at the wonderful summer sky, while sharing meaningful silences.

He tried to stand up, but his body refused.

He felt alone. So alone.

So he thought of the time spent with them, in his lesser form, when he had been able to meet them for real. He thought of the kindness of the gruff miner that had saved him from troops of hoppers in the cavern’s edge, of Monomon of Lurien, who had not scorned his inquiries, of Grimm, that came with goals concealed and a smug smile, and yet, had showed him the warmth of his hand, the mysteries of light and flames…

He watched as black blood flew slowly from his fingers to the tip of the blade. Some of it flowed into the runes, before being absorbed by humid moss.

He could not get up. He did not have the strength.

Melodies drowned dimly in blue, colours began to blur. His mind wandered. Musings, images.

If only he had not desired…

He wondered what it would have been, if he had not done this alone.

He thought of Grimm.

His grip on the blade got stronger. Words began to echo in his ears. Fragments, memories.

He looked into them, very far, in the mist, he could feel the presence of a flame.

“Thee I invoque, the borneless one”

“the price I ask for, pale scholar, it is ... your soul. I will help you and lend you my power, but when you have obtained all the knowledge you seek, your soul will belong to me, and you will serve me for all eternity.”

“If you are ready to accept the terms of this contract, then, sign this, pale scholar. This will bind us to our promise!”

“Liar! You’re doing this because you don’t want us to know what you did !”

"A sword?  An idea of what it could mean?"

"You're just asking me for your own sake, aren't you?"

“I might, but by giving my word, I’m giving you my trust. And I will not give you mine if you don’t give me yours."

“All dirt is gone from your robes and claws… but you still smell like blood.”

“You said you would not give what’s already taken, but then you shall not take what’s already given. And it’s been a long time since by contract this mortal gave himself to me.”

“Since your soul and body are already taken, what could you have to offer?”

“You can still stop, you know. The truth you seek, the path you take… It will curse you.”

“Such an impressive gift. Do you really have to part way? If their important enough for you to offer such an artifact, I think you should stay by their side.”

“I wish you luck, child of nothing. I hope you’ll be careful with your own gifts.”

He got up in a start, his eyes, wide open.

He looked down at the sword, then, at his own hand.

The pale scholar clenched his fist as a deranged laugh began to escape his lips.

“What a fool… What an utter fool I have been!”

He took the handle of the sword, and raised it in the air.

“Oh, Lord of Shades… You should not have been so greedy, trying to take what’s already given… you’ve made an egregious mistake!”

Chapter Text

As the pale scholar disappeared in the obscure stairs, Grimm stayed in the main room, feeling strange. The heart was no longer filled with anticipation, it was just… hungry. Small, red lights lingered in the corner of his eyes, as the weight of secrets imbued the air.

He heard Lurien calling him from the back of the room.

“Grimm, could you come for a second?”

He walked to the watcher with curiosity. This line the watcher just said seemed strangely familiar. The ghosts of red embers flickered on the ceiling and floor, heartbeats began to echo in his head.

“Someone went to the archives while you were gone. They asked if I could ask you to come and see them at the entrance of fog canyon.”

This was very suspicious. Grimm wondered if it was another of his sister’s trap. It seemed strangely obvious, and quite out of place, since it had recently appeared that his sister had decided to resolve to more violent ways. Against his better sense, he decided to investigate this. Perhaps it was the wyrm’s insatiable curiosity rubbing off on him, perhaps it was the strange feeling that this was important, more important than anything, and yet, he did not want to go.

Without realizing it, he was already walking towards the spot indicated by the watcher. Oomas and Uomas swayed slowly in the humid air, every strange impression of light in these creatures, every sound coming from lesser things making their way discreetly under the moss made him want to take his time as he walked, to delay the inevitable encounter.

“You came.”

The raspy, quiet voice jolted him from his meditation.

The god lifted his head to see a familiar figure sat on a mossy rock above. It was the strange moth he had seen before with his child, with the unusual silhouette and shellwood mask.

“You again?”

“Me, again. Come closer, Grimm.”

The embers felt hotter, something akin to hope emerged in the back of his mind.

“How do you know my name?”

“Come closer, I have a gift for you.”

Grimm noticed the long thing wrapped in fabric next to the stranger. Not listening to reason, he took a step towards the moth. Now, they were just one foot apart. Embers danced, but the heart was full of anger. This thing, truly, could be quite the malcontent. It swelled in indignation, as if it had been played, stripped of something that belonged to it. Small crimson sparks danced around the stranger’s mask. In the back of his mind, he felt small flashes of something heavy and bright, and it seemed he could make it out very faintly behind him… The shape of the sun.

“Could it be…”

In an instant that seemed surprisingly long, the stranger lifted his hand, no longer hiding it with the long sleeves. The god’s throat tightened. It was all too recognizable, the snowy hue of shell, the scar left by his own, burning touch, the bandages around his palm… The hand moved to the mask and took it off, revealing, much to the god’s surprise, but not to our own, the face of the pale scholar.

Grimm jumped back in surprise.

“What? This is the devil’s work! How?”

His interlocutor tilted his head to the side.

“That’s me, Grimm.”

The god scratched his head, before walking up to the doctor.

“Of course it’s you, I can see that! But how? From the look of it, you’ve once again managed to put yourself in a bizarre situation!”

The doctor looked amused. Though there was something else in it, something painful.

“Do you want to sit down? So I can tell you about it.”

“I guess… I’m ready for the worst. But wait a minute, scholar…”

With a quick gesture, Grimm took of the other’s hood.

“What happened to your horns? Don’t tell me you actually…”

“I did. It was necessary, for the disguise.”

“Oh, nightmares…”

“And then I sold them to a rich boy as the teeth of the terrifying sand snake!”

Grimm resisted the urge to facepalm.

“So”, the scholar continued, “I have a lot of things to explain. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Let me prepare for the worst.”

Grimm, of course, was not prepared. Even if he knew about the scholar’s questionable sanity, about his propensity to pull stunts way bigger than him and manage to elicit the ire of powerful gods, about his uncanny ability to make every weird situation he found himself in even weirder, he was not prepared for something like that.

Most and for all, he was not prepared to feel such a pain in his hollow chest as he saw the other’s façade slowly cracking as he continued the tale, the smug, snarky mask slowly crumbling to give way to despair, when his voice broke all the same. He was not prepared for the way the crack that seemed to have been opened widened, when the scholar began to stagger on the last words, like a broken record, unable to move on to the end.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but-“

The god pulled him closer and hugged him. By now, he was well aware of his flames’ ability to make the other calm down.

“It’s okay. Listen to me, doctor, you decided to change your plans, you came to me, you told me the truth. I know you would not do this just because you’re tired, so tell me. You found a solution, right?”

The doctor looked at him, with an odd mix of twisted hope and utter despair. Grimm could see clear through his inconsistent behaviour, how he tried to appear confident, and how he always failed. Even when he tried to look like some kind of miniature Machiavelli, when he said:

“I have a plan.”

Grimm did not know if this should reassure him or not.

“Tell me about your plan, then.”

The doctor tool a deep breath, and began, this time, sounding more confident.

“You see, at first, I thought there was no way out, that this game was rigged and that I could only lose, I was about to give up when it suddenly occurred to me. This situation the dark entity has set, it is a trap, sure… But it is also a problem. And, this problem was not so difficult, once I had figured out how it works. See, this is all a matter of continuity. Despite its claims, it is very clear this entity is not as omnipotent as it pretends to be. If it was, it would never have allowed me to use its own powers over time in the first place. This, I had figured out very early. This was the weakness I used, with my plan including the sword. This plan would have been a success, if the darkest seer had not found a way to thwart it, by sending me back every time I succeeded. I must say, at first, I thought this was the move that put the game to an end. Since every success would have me sent back in time, there was no way for me escape, or to win. However, by sending be back every time, the entity also did something else. It allowed me to truly understand how this whole thing worked. I admit, if I hadn’t been so caught up in the whole plan with the sword, I could have realized it way earlier…”

Grimm frowned, trying his best to understand everything, while finding it rather difficult to follow.

“But!” The other continued, “now, I’m pretty sure I have it figured out. You see, for the darkest seer to achieve a complete victory, it has to prevent me to reach the point where I give you the sword. However, it never did. Instead, it just keeps sending me back every time we manage to put it back to sleep. Which means, the Lord of Shades is unable to intervene before this moment. Which is not very surprising, since it is the moment when it uses me to escape the abyss. This means that all the things that are done before this moment are outside its control. And there is one thing we can do.”

Grimm saw a small, devilish smile appear on the doctor’s face.

“Grimm… do you want to trick gods with me ?”

The nightmare king mirrored the other’s expression.

“Yes.”

“Then, let me tell you about the first step.”

The pale scholar stood up, and extended a hand towards him.

“Now, Nightmare King, is the time for you to receive the price you were promised by contract. I have reached my goals, in a rather unpleasant way, I must admit, and now, it’s time for me to give the payment that was promised.”

Grimm stood up, looking rather surprised by this development.

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Take my soul, Nightmare King. I told you that when I’d know, I would be yours. I have seen the truth, so you know what you have to do.”

Grimm stepped closer, looking both curious and worried. Embers glowed more vividly. He took the scholar’s hands in his own. The heart skipped a beat.

“How does this factor into your plan?”

The doctor smirked.

“Darkness has marked me as its own, but our promise precedes its claim. Shall I remind you of your own sayings?”

The scholar stood on tiptoes, while looking at him in the eyes.

“You said you would not give what’s already taken, but then you shall not take what’s already given. That’s what you said. By contract, now, I give you my soul. Though I might stay submitted to one of its spells, once I am yours, made one with your realm… Though its divinity may surpass yours, I doubt it could break your heart’s rules.”

“What of the sword, then? What of your plan to push it away?”

The scholar quickly looked around, checking for traces of dream essence.

“In her fight against darkness, I believe your sister would not mind a little help.”

A flame surged into the god’s eyes. He looked very interested by the idea.

“Let’s pit them against one another, Grimm, let’s give her sun the blade to triumph, while you and me, we will watch from afar…”

The god of nightmare’s growing glee was suddenly overshadowed by worries.

“But, she will… kill you with it, right? The moment she does…”

Grimm frowned, before he continued.

“Scholar… Is this another lie ?”

The doctor looked saddened for a moment, but Grimm knew this was a fair one, given the story he had just heard.”

“It is not. If for some reason, I cannot escape this, be it by the entity’s spell, or another twist of fate, take me to the cavern of the pale roots.”

“Are you sure about this?”

The scholar nodded.

“I have seen for myself. Her power is great. But do not rush ahead, Grimm, take my soul, and then, we can begin this last trick.”

Grimm looked with a mix of hesitation and desire.

“Are you sure? Once we do this, you and I will be bound to the realm of nightmares, I might have the time to take you to the root divinity, but sooner or later, the heart will call us back to its spheres. You may not be able to see your friends again.”

“I think I have a plan about that. But I cannot tell you. Not now, anyway, for this is another story. The alternative is clear, for me. Between darkness and nightmares, the choice is not difficult.”

“The decision is already clear for you it seems. Then, we shall proceed.”

In an unexpected movement, he grabbed the scholar with ease and held him in his arms, so that the two were at eye level. Flames erupted from his back and surrounded them in their heat. In an instant, they found themselves in the realm of nightmares.

The doctor looked around, visibly surprised by the appearance of the place. He quickly took notice of the tent and of grimmkin, before his eyes stopped on the most impressive thing: the heart. Grimm felt it too, the heart was beating fast, surrounded with scarlet essence. He held the scholar closer.

“Before I do this, there’s something I must tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry. The reason why all this is happening… It’s partly because of me. Before coming to you, I have made a bet, with my sister. About your success or failure. That’s why I came to you in the first place, that’s why she tried to stop us. I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier.”

The pale scholar let out a little laugh.

“You’re not mad?”

“Oh, Grimm, this is surprisingly cute. Did you think that after all this time, I did not know?”

The god twitched in slight annoyance.

“Since when?”

“The mantises?”

“You demon! You knew all this time and you never said anything!”

“I wanted to see if you would tell me on your own accord.”

Grimm scowled, but still strengthened his grip on the scholar.

“Let’s do this.”

The doctor nodded.

“Do you need something special for this… ritual?”

“Your name.”

“What if I don’t have one?”

Grimm frowned.

“So, this was true.”

In the corner of his vision, grimmkin had already begun to waltz around them, while circles of fine, red flames slowly surrounded them, getting closer with each heartbeat.

“Then give me a name. Any name.”

The doctor gave him a mischievous look.

“Any name?”

“Any name.”

The doctor let out a weird little snigger, while looking at the god in the eyes.

“Then, let me tell you… Heart of nightmare. My name is… Nobody.”

Grimm looked at him quizzically but felt the heart’s power around them strengthening. Though he could not tell what strange ploys the doctor was thinking about again, choosing such a ridiculous name, it seemed the heart had accepted it as one, and was ready to mark the wyrm with its flame, and make him one of its servants.

“Are you ready?” Grimm whispered, while stroking the back of the other’s head.

“Yes.”

“I must warn you, this is not a painless process.”

“Look at me, Grimm, do you think I care?”

“I know you don’t. But this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

The doctor steadied his position, finding a support on the other’s shoulder.

“Do it, then.”

“All right.”

All at once, the circles of flames closed in, they surrounded the wyrm in such a way it seemed his whole body was on fire. Even if he was impervious to them, Grimm knew how the flames of this ritual burned. He had seen other disciples crying in pain in front of him, begging for him to stop. And yet, while going through this, the scholar did not flinch, staring at him with wide eyes as the flames began to carve black marks on his cheeks. Even if he could feel his body shaking in his grip…the doctor did not let out a single sound. Instead, he just leant in and, much to the god’s surprise, he kissed him.

This was messy, and still tasted like blood and cinders.

This time, too, it made him feel a strange sense of dread.

However, Grimm would be lying if he said the heat in this was only literal.

The doctor pulled away as flames receded, with a reddish hue in his dark eyes, and the characteristic black streaks on his brow and cheeks. The god bit the inside of his cheek. Of course the streaks would look good on him.

“Is that it?” The scholar asked.

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“Yes, my vision just got a little blurry, but I think it will come back to normal.”

They heard the heart beating behind them, now echoing in both of their minds, letting them feel its hunger for flames.

“You kissed me.”

“Sorry. Do you think it made the whole thing look ridiculous?”

Grimm shook his head.

“You’re bad at it.”

“I’m bad at many things.”

Grimm looked at him with an expression of mischief that mirrored the scholar’s own.

“This is a problem I can fix…”

The doctor frowned.

“No. Must I remind you we still have a god of darkness to trick?”

“Aye, I know.”

“So take the sword. I think we can devise a good way to deliver it to your sister.”

“Let’s lay plots, then.”

Looking at the whole scene, the grimmkin shivered. Now, they seemed to be faced with a rather sinister duo.

…

In the realm of dreams, the Radiance was fulminating; a common state for her lately, especially when she thought of the many times she had been played. She swore, if she saw her brother or the doctor plotting something again, she will destroy their plans altogether!

At this very moment, as if to entertain her thoughts, or to add to her fury, she saw her brother appear right before her. The knave! If he had come to taunt her again, she would unleash all her ire upon him. How dared he, showing up in her kingdom uninvited, with such a self-satisfied smile? She snarled.

“Little brother. What owes me the displeasure of your visit?”

This was when she noticed. In the nightmare king’s hand, there was a suspicious looking sword. He answered.

“Do not be so brash, dear sister! Nothing in particular, I must say, has compelled me to seek your company, except boredom, and the sudden urge to bother you!”

“Stop this masquerade, Grimm! What do you want?”

“Nothing. I felt your fury, and seeing the moment of my victory approaching, I came here, taking the front seats to behold your defeat.”

“What are you saying? How dare you?”

“Me? I’m just saying the doctor has reached his goal. Soon, he will come for you. It appears I have won, sister!”

“What is this sword in your hand?”

“Oh, nothing, just a little tool we made. Not a thing for you to wield.”

The goddess of light frowned, as a malignant light appeared in her eye. In a swift movement, she teleported in front of Grimm, surrounding him with summoned blades.

“I believe otherwise!” She exclaimed.

With an expert movement of her nails, she snatched the sword from Grimm’s hand, and sealed it as one of her own with her magic.

“I don’t know what this toy was for, brother, but now, it is mine!”

Grimm looked at her with a horrified expression, while, unbeknownst to his sister, he struggled to keep a serious act.

“No! This blade, it was our safeguard, to stop the wyrm if ever-“

“To stop what, now?”

“No, nothing, it was a slip of my tongue!”

The radiance emitted rays of furious light.

“Wyrm!” She hurled. “I will not let you come to me, you pathetic crawler!”

In a loud sound, the radiance suddenly manifested in front of the archives.

The doctor, the one whose wings were still translucent and white, the one whose face was not marked by the black streaks of nightmares, watched with horror as the Radiance was manifesting her power in front of the archives.

He could not let her. If he did… She would burn everything.

The god of darkness chuckled.

“Once again, you’ve angered her, see. This time, she will burn everything here. Your friends, innocent, they will all die, and it will be all your fault.”

“all your fault”, A silence voice echoed, the voice of tiny hands moving. It was the vessel.

“Let me clear your doubts, scholar. Despite the less conventional way in which they were created, this one… They’re still a child. And this child, like the rest, will burn.”

The wyrm looked up at the eight frighteningly mirthful eyes.

“Please, just this time, please, they’ve nothing to do with this, why should they-“

“How curious. Despite having seen them die, despite knowing how meaningless their lives are, you still want to save them?”

With great effort, the pale scholar managed to stand up.

“Just this time, I cannot give up, I have to try, I really have to.”

“You’ve seen all this and still, you do not give up? Other might call it courage. I call it utter foolishness. But just this time, I could grant your wish…”

Once again, the voice turned into a soft whisper.

“But do not believe this will help you to escape your fate, for it is already written.”

From afar, beyond the mists of nightmares and clouds of dreams, they watched. The doctor’s grip on Grimm’s hand strengthened. In a few minutes, now… They would know. He would know. If this was truly a way out, or if, once again, the overpowering darkness would destroy his hopes.

But still, he hoped.

Because this time, he had said the truth.

This time, the scholar was playing by the rules. Rules of contracts and promises, rules of calls in smoke and darkness, rules of pacts and prices to be paid, paid in blood, or paid in flames. He had followed the principles of alchemy, its strict laws of equivalent exchange. Now, all he had to do was to wait and see the result of the spell.

He put his right hand on his chest.

Chapter Text

They did not even know who they were, and still, they had seen so many things.

They had felt uncertain, at first, hardly able to grasp their own mind or their own self, too deeply intertwined with the echoes of the abyss. They could feel of course, they were but a child. Still, they did not know what these feelings meant. They could think, no doubt, but their mind had been so new they could not use it to comprehend what was around them. Hence, at first, it had just been sensations. The burn of magic and alchemy that marked their birth, the touch of two different lights that had granted them this strange kind of life, the coldness of void that constituted them, the glass that at first, separated them from the world… The reflection of another, weaker light on the creature’s clear shell, the sensation of being set free, pulled into the creature’s arms and then, set on their two feet, on the strange, engraved floor. They did not know what any of this meant, so they gazed. They gazed at the many strange things around them. Shapes, matters, things of varied forms and transparency, some felt different than others. This was the first thing they had known. What was alive, and what was not. The many things in this obscure place were inanimate, but the creature that looked at them with curiosity was not. Then, they had gazed at their own self, for the world outside was not more strange or more complex than the variety of things they perceived in their own mind. Interrogation, curiosity, cold, fear, warmth. Warmth, this was what they had felt when the creature had put them out of the prison of glass. They still felt it when they looked at it, even if they did not know what it was, or what it was doing.

They had been innocent, then. Immobile, their eyes wide open, staring hungrily at the world that was so new and so exiting, still uneasy with these perceptions, with their own sensations, with the many strange things that moved and change in their heart, and that they did not recognize as feelings yet.

However, this innocence, now was gone. The creature had done something, and at once, all the wonders of youth had left their mind, feeling it with the endless knowledge that came from darkness. They, too, has seen, as through their essence, the voice of the one below had range in awe inspiring thunder. They had heard their voice, and its meaning had filled their being and their mind. They did not want to know that much, they did not want to see…

And still, they had seen. The creature, in front of them, though it was no longer the creature -the pale scholar, the doctor, the wyrm, the nameless one, the one with the curse the one with the bright nail the murderer- the creature was staring willfully in the abyss, its mind overtaken by desire for the knowledge it contained, it had looked inside with great hopes and a heat wide open, and then, had looked out with despair and fright at the reality of the world, the truth of time, the truth of life and fate, while the god that in darkness dwelt sniggered, delight and irony, now, they could name them, were trickling down the entity’s sinister words.

“Oh, poor, poor little worm, could it be… All this time, you thought you were free.”

At first, they thought they would hate the creature. They had seen it robbing them of everything. Of their voice, of their childhood, of their innocence, but then, the only thing they had felt for it, as it looked at them in despair, was a profound sense of pity. They stay silent as the lord of shades continued.

“Do you realize, now, worm, the vanity of your quest? Did it never occur to you that there was a knowledge a creature like you is too weak to bear? See, scholar, liberty… what a delightful illusion, caused by ignorance, and yet, it was it, wasn’t it, will, choices, freedom, all these things you valued so.”

Why was the god doing this, they wondered? Was it irritation, because this creature, too curious for its own good, had disturbed its sleep? Was it only for their own amusement, as a way to kill time, as they waited silently in darkness? Was it hatred, something came from another time, another place? Just the god’s twisted sense of entertainment?

“You came to me, worm, you came looking for the meaning of your existence, so now, do you see? There is no meaning, nothing. How unfortunate you failed to grasp it earlier. And still, they told you so, your peers. If there’s one thing you can be, worm… It’s a curse. Look, in this tiny place, every road is doomed, everything ends in death. It ends, because of you. Because of your pride…Because of your ignorance, of your foolishness, your folly…How amusing, little worm, how hilarious, that in these many threads woven for you by the blind god of fate, all end in tragedy!”

They watched, as the god continued to berate the pale creature. They watched as, in the cavern, a strange light began to shine, announcing the appearance of a divine power. They watched as the god easily tricked the wyrm into giving in to its power, and used its body as a gate to launch on the goddess of light. The golden hues of dreams had surrounded them, as the goddess floated majestically in the air. In front of her, a strange sword was floating, with a blade covered with runes and symbols, its runes were shining, intermingling lights of gold and red.

“Ignoble wyrm!” the goddess hissed. “In pitiful disguise, you escaped me for all those years, and now you hope to seek revenge using the power of darkness?”

They had gazed at her in fear and awe. The goddess was superb, in all the meanings of the words. She shone with unadulterated power and confidence in her own strength, as a being that had only know worship and victory. She flew so proud, with the magic sword, even as darkness rose silently around them.

“But this is useless!” she continued. “Useless, useless, useless! Since you seem to have forgotten the power of my light, pitiful wyrm, let me burn you a second time!”

Words and tales echoes in their heads. He will try to take your light, and the moment he touches it, he will burn. Tales of desire and overwhelming pride, tales of mortals rising against gods, hungry for their flame. Many images flashed in their mind, of feathers in the sun, of a prisoner on a rock with his entrails exposed, of a winged creature, wings black and beautiful, almost like the creature’s in this moment, in the light of the morning’s star, claiming power over the divine.

They watched as darkness rose, as the lord of Shades exclaimed:

“How vain…It seems that during my sleep, many self-proclaimed gods have begun dallying in my domain… I thought to come and take this pretty light, but it looks like this place is in dire need of a reminder…”

And still, despite the thing’s possession, the doctor’s voice still could be heard.

“Don’t…”

“A reminder, I say, of the real lord of this place! Darkness shall rise once more, and this, doctor, will be thanks to you!”

“No, you said-“The creature managed to utter.

“My words are as light as yours, worm, you’ve been tricked! Now darkness will rise, and silence will take over this place, so once again, Nay’Heth shall sleep in peace!”

Black tendrils began to appear from every direction, and yet, despite the darkness looming over her, the goddess of light showed no sign of fear. Instead, she looked right into the eyes of the possessed creature, and laughed:

“Well then brother… It seems you were right, after all.”

The sword pierced the doctor’s chest. A dark blot appeared on the clear robe. It looked like ink.

“What have you done, scholar ?”

This was the moment they felt it. The influence of their liege, slowly being swallowed back in the bottom of the abyss, where it belonged. They had wondered, at that time, if the lord of shades was gone, would they forget? Would they return to this state of childlike innocence?

So, they watched. They watched as the scholar, despite the injury, said:

“Why do you ask, god of gods? I thought you knew everything.”

They watched as he performed another strange ritual. They watched as both him and the lord disappeared, in darkness revoked. They saw the Radiance looking down, before fading in her realm once again. The colour of dreams disappeared, and they found themselves in the dark laboratory once again.

Of course, the memories did not fade. They were so young, hardly even born into this world, and still, the burden of knowledge was already crushing their tiny shoulders. They looked around. The warmth they had felt in the very beginning… It was gone. They were all alone. They knew so much, and still… They did not know what to do. Though their mind had been forcibly made a well of unwanted knowledge, their heart was still the heart of a child. They just wanted someone to take care of them. They just wanted someone to hold their hand. They began to sob silently in the cold, eerie room. Big, childish tears began to flow from their eyes and fell on the floor with loud splats. They did not want to be alone. And they were afraid of the dark.

Then, they thought of their sibling. The sibling made before then, gone towards a very strange den to be offered to another divinity. Maybe they could reach them. Mustering all their courage, they stood up, and walked briskly through the archives. They were so discreet and so small that none of the other inhabitants noticed them. At least, they thought so, for their small shape, making its way towards Greenpath, did not escape the watcher’s notice. They moved silently, jumping in these ways they knew already. Seeing these lanes they had never walked, and yet, recognizing them so easily… They felt as if they were a ghost. It would be a good name for them, in a way, ghost.

They continued until they reached the dens of white roots, and crossed them with no hesitation. Finally, they found themself in the heart of her domain. This was when they saw. Cradled between roots, playing with small, yellow flowers. Their sibling. Though they were silent, like them, it was not difficult to tell. They did not know. They had seen nothing. They were a real child. The sibling noticed them, and jumped from the lady’s embrace, running towards them with enthusiasm. They stopped, and, shyly, they extended their hand. They saw the divinity behind, looking with equal curiosity and love. The things they had seen seemed to become a little lighter, for a short instant, they believed… They could live in this way.

With a quiet not, Ghost took their sibling’s hand.

…

As darkness receded, they watched from afar.

Grimm looked intently at the scene. As anticipated, his sister had shown no hesitation before using the sword. So, it was done, it seemed. It was done, and he could still feel the scholar’s presence next to him.

His voice tinged with fragile hope, the nightmare king said:

“Did it work?”

The pale scholar turned  towards him, it seemed it could be the end of the story, for one second, he experienced the feeling of victory. This joy, however, was short lived. Before he could answer anything, the doctor winced in pain and fell on his knees. He began to cough, thick, black blood flowed between his fingers as the dark blot on his cloak got bigger and bigger.

“Shit!  Wyrm? Can you hear me?”

The doctor managed to look up, while the pool of blood under him grew bigger.

“It’s happening… Again…”

Remembering the scholar’s instructions in case something like this should happen, he quickly took the other in his arms and teleported right into the domain of the life divinity. The other’s life was already flickering in his grasp, seconds away from becoming another flame. He heard him mutter.

“It’s not coming…”

The scholar lost consciousness. He could feel it, he had so little time. So little time before the other succumbed, so little time before they were both called back into the realm of nightmares, with no possibility to go back.

“White root!” He screamed. “Come! Use your power over life! Save him!”

In the urgency of the moment, he did not notice the two small silhouettes that had scurried away and hid behind leaves when he appeared. All his attention got to the goddess, who turned towards him with a benevolent, though strangely mischievous expression.

“Oh, good day, fellow god… And you, child of dirt and blood, child of nothing, and now child of heart and flames… I see your allegiances are as flimsy as ever.”

A soft light began to shine around them as she spoke, the flowers hidden under moss began to bloom.

“This is not the time to mock us, goddess! Save him! And if you want a price, I’ll give you anything!”

A root curled softly around the both of them, as she whispered.

“Do not worry, little nightmare. My magic is already healing him. I will save him, fear not.”

He saw bright, shining filaments gathering around the scholar’s chest, as the glow of magic around them grew more intense.

“However,” the goddess continued, “while I do so, please allow me the luxury to make fun of you. You came with such a helpless face, looking at me as your last hope. I found it… quite endearing, I must admit.”

The other roots that had curled around them began to glow as well.

“Look, the life of your little scholar is no longer in danger. Soon, he will open his eyes again.”

 She paused. Grimm noticed the two small creatures leaving their hideout. The two homunculi. How did the second one get in here?

“You look worried, dear pretense of a god. Could it be that you fear the price I might ask for doing this? Feel no concern. I know you both belong to the heart, now. Besides, thanks to this fake priest’s actions, I have gained more than I ever dared to desire.”

Grimm’s gaze shifted towards the two small creatures.

“Them?”

“Them.”

The goddess’ gaze landed tenderly on the siblings.

“It had been a long time since I had felt true love. Enough time for civilizations to rise and fall, enough time for my solitude to turn into hunger. But these children? I love them. With all my heart.”

“Then?”

“I will not ask anything of you. For now, at least. Though I keep the token of your gratitude, one I could touch again, were I to feel the need, or have a sudden fancy.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not thank yet. Who knows what one day, I could make you do?”

Grimm lowered his eyes. The goddess’ gaze made him feel discomfort. He felt the doctor twitching in his arms. It seemed he was regaining consciousness. He opened his eyes, still with a pained expression.

“Grimm… Did it work?”

“It did.”

The wyrm turned towards the lady, before he noticed the siblings by her side. Red was dancing in his vision. In his heart, surged the heat of flames.

“white root… they came to you too?”

“They did. You were right. Some gifts in time unwrap in more, was that it? Now I know what you meant.”

“So, you knew?”

“Of course I knew. Your disguise could not fool my sense of smell.”

The more seconds passed, the more his vision became unfocused. As if he was losing touch with this the things in front of him. The only thing that felt real was the sensation of Grimm’s arms around him. The god stood up and helped him on his feet. He held his hand very tightly.

“It’s happening.”

The goddess looked at them with a strange expression.

“I hope you will be able to come back.”

The doctor nodded. He could feel it very clearly, now. The heartbeat, the pull of the nightmare realm, the pull of flames. He was about to let himself be taken away, when he heard a very familiar voice calling from the other end of the cavern.

“Doctor!”

This was Lurien, closely followed by Monomon.

He wished he could say something. Apologize, at least. But there was no time. His eyes met the second child’s gaze. A knowing look.

His vision filled with red.

They appeared in the center of the tent in a puff of scarlet flames. A few grimmkin threw them curious looks. The Grimmchild appeared and let out a little cry of satisfaction. Apparently, it really liked the idea of being back into the realm of nightmares. Now that the doctor was here with him; Grimm felt the spell that let him cross to the mortal realm disappear. It left no traces, only regret.

On an impulse, he sat down and took the pale scholar in his arms. The child still flew around visibly dissatisfied by the god’s lack of attention to their pirouettes.

“It seems we’ve done it…” The doctor whispered.

Grimm’s empty chest felt heavy. He could hear the heartbeats, the countdown. It was so close, now. And he knew that in this realm, he could no longer avoid the flames.

“Now you will have to explain to me how things work in there.” The scholar mused.

“I will. I will.”

The doctor tilted his head to the side.

“Why so morose, Grimm? You should be laughing. We’ve tricked gods, we’ve escaped, you won your bet and you even got your share of the contract.”

Grimm looked down.

“It’s just that… My time will soon be over. I wished I could stay longer, but…”

He felt the scholar’s hand rubbing the back of his head.

“Don’t be so sure about this.” The wyrm began, before whispering in his hear, in a devilish way.

“I may trick your heart.”

THE END