Chapter Text
The war has ravaged my home. I hardly recognize it anymore. And why would I be surprised? This is what I signed up for. This is what the “winning side” is supposed to look like. Nothingness, just as Somniere intends.
I pull my hood off of my head. The cloak I’m wearing is rough, itchy. Severan said that it was intentional. Why waste time to find comfortable fabric when everything will dissolve into nothing soon enough? I know that he is right. Somniere’s advancements are winning, and more and more pieces of the world are crumbling into nothingness.
I should feel happy. I want to feel happy about it. I’m on the winning side, am I not? The world will fall into dreams. My house already has, anyways. All I have now is this itchy burlap cloak and…
I check my backpack.
…three doodles. I used to have more, many more, but I had given them to the cult.
I walk into my house– or, well, where my house would’ve been. I could still imagine it: how the door was always creaky, no matter how much I oiled the hinges, how the living room was bathed in warm light. I want to cling to those memories, catch them and never let go. But I know what Somniere would do eventually. Just as anything, the memories of my home will dissolve into a vague dream. They’ll slip out of my hold and drop to the floor as sand.
The couch used to be right there, and in front of it, the hearth.
Emptiness wells up in my chest, the type that was unbearably heavy in that odd way. My throat tightens, fists clenched tightly. I swallow thickly, blinking back tears. I can’t cry now. This is for the better. I think, trying to console myself.
Severan said that emptiness is a good sign. It means that we, too, are becoming blank. Just empty cavities of our past selves. Somniere would be happy with it, so we must be too.
I stand there in silence, trying to will a thought into my mind. A different one, preferably, that didn’t focus on how I’ve given up everything for a war that seemed hopeless no matter who won.
The silence is broken momentarily by the snapping of a twig. I whip around, my heart drumming in my ears. A bright color flashes momentarily through the bushes, something blue, possibly green. Someone is here. With me. Watching me do– what, question my loyalty? I hope that my expression didn’t give anything away to them. What would happen if someone found out I was grieving my dead home?
I can’t risk it. If they know– and they tell someone– and that someone tells someone else– and somehow Severan finds out– or–
My legs take action before my head does, and I only realize that I’m running when I feel the wind smack into my face. My heart racing– arms moving– bare feet slamming against the rocky ground– my thoughts were drowned out by my breathing.
Inhale–exhale, inhale–exhale. In, out, in, out– inoutinoutinoutinout–
I stop in front of a gaping cave mouth. Crystal Caverns. Even as a child, I never dared to venture inside. I used to hear stories of the dangers inside: how the walls would shift slightly, and if you looked too hard, how it would attack. I remember my mother warning me of the pebbles around there.
They may be small, but a pebblet has no fear.
But someone saw me.
They’re gonna tell someone— they’re gonna tell someone—
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought, cold and slow, like ice sliding down my back. Images flash in my mind, things that the Blank Cult does to threats. Things that I’ve done to threats. Maximutts and desdogs, how we would band together to spear them down. We wouldn’t even use our doodles for a proper battle.
I remember my own blade digging into the doodle. The cut had been dirty, as my knife hadn’t been sharpened that day. The maximutt had whimpered and struggled to get free from my grip; its paper paws had been clawing uselessly on my arms. And when I finally got the maximutt to erase, other cultists came by with nothing but a nod of approval.
They would do that to me, if they knew how feeble my allegiance really was. And when they saw my corpse, they’d do the same nod. It hadn’t even been a grim one. It was just an acknowledgement: you did that, with no emotion behind the statement.
So, despite the stories I’ve heard about the Crystal Caverns, I walk inside.
Nothing happens, which actually makes my anxiety worse.
I try to keep my footsteps quiet, but each tiptoe echoes around the walls. Stalactites hang overhead. Plink. Plop. One landed on my nose; I remember hearing that it was good luck. If luck even exists anymore. The cave is decorated with many blue crystals, reflecting the light further down. They were a pretty shade of blue. I would’ve touched them, but I’m worried that one of them would be a crystik– or worse, a gemin.
I venture deeper into the cave, until the light from the cave’s mouth was long gone. I realize now that the light was actually coming from the crystals, as they lit my path. I hear a river somewhere further down the path.
While, yes, the blue crystals are mesmerizing, I make sure to keep a lookout for another burlap cloak. Or just another person in general. The flow of the river grows louder as I approach it. I stop focusing on my steps, scouring the area.
My foot accidentally kicked a pebble, and it sprang to life. A group of them, tiny with beady eyes and sharp frames. My foot stung, and as I rebalanced myself, it slipped in some of the blood.
My eyes narrowed. A pebblet.
I reach into my bag and throw the first capsule I grab onto the ground. As it cracked open, my skadean lunged at it, bringing forth water to wash the doodle away. When the water receded, nothing was there.
I put my skadean back in its capsule and continue my journey.
Now, I’m even more careful with each step. I would take one, stop, and look around for another person. A stray capsule on the ground makes me pause. A large crack trailed along the dome. Crouching down, I carefully inspect it without touching it. The capsule is relatively clean.
I look up from the capsule, spotting a flash of neon green hair. My breath hitches as my muscles coil up. I clasp a hand over my mouth, creeping closer.
Closer.
Closer…
Their head jerks up. I lunge before they can so much as blink.
My arms wrap around their neck, legs straddling their squirming waist. I feel how their body struggles under mine. Their hands reach back to scratch my sides.
“How much did you see?!” I demanded. I pull their head up by the neck.
The person is still writhing beneath me. All I can see of their features is their hair. The follicles are oily, the roots growing back black. They’re not wearing a Blank Cult cloak, just a t-shirt and some cargo shorts.
“Wha– wuh– t’you talkin’ about?” they managed to say through the pressure on their neck. My hold tightens imperceptibly.
“Don’t play dumb. WHAT DID YOU SEE.”
“Nothin’ yet! can y’…” They swallowed, their Adam’s apple bobbing under my arm. “…let go?”
Trying to gauge how dangerous this person is, I hesitate. After some time, though, my grip loosens. They slide out of my hold with feline agility. Their coughs echo through the cavern.
“Okay, so, how much did you see? Or hear?”
“Well, I thought I heard her nearby,” the person says, “but I’m pretty sure that was just you.”
They turn to face me. Their skin is dirty, with the beginnings of acne forming on their forehead. They take me in with a critical eye. I feel how their gaze lingers on my cloak. Their nose wrinkles– disgust? Or maybe anger.
“A Blank Cultist, eh?” they note. The person takes a small step back, a hand going into their bag slung by their side. Their eyes narrow. “What, are you here to kill me? I’ve heard of what your kind do.”
My muscles coil up as my stomach twists uncomfortably. Not because the idea is repulsive– well, it is a bit– but because they said it with so much certainty. I’m going to kill them, simple as that. Why? Because that is what I stand for. That’s what I agreed to when I joined, is it not?
Despite the worming in my stomach, I force myself to say with a haughty voice, “Depends on how much you saw.”
“Of what?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I snap. “I saw your obnoxiously bright hair through the bushes.”
“Through the bushes?” They take a glance around the cavern. “No bushes here.”
I follow their line of vision. No bushes, only stone and more stone. The river flows down below. It’s almost soothing, in the same way the rain pattering on your roof as you sleep would be. For a second, I’m in my old bed. It’s a short second, one I didn’t quite welcome.
The second ends with a sharp splash of the water. It jerks me out of my thoughts— the green haired person’s too. Their head whips over to the direction of the splashing.
“Oh my god,” they whisper. They grab my wrist, yanking me to the ground.
“AGH— wha—“
They clasped their other hand over my mouth, shushing me. Their hold is cold, clammy, and I’m keenly aware of how their nails are digging into my skin.
“Is that what you’re here to do?” Their quiet voice is growing harsher, the words practically hissed through their teeth. “Convince her before we do?”
I shake my head no, my fingers prying beneath their hand on my wrist. They don’t yield.
“Because, let me tell you,” they continue, “you are not taking this from me. From the world. She will not— what is it— ‘return to blank’? As you call it. She will stand with reality.”
I slap my tongue against their palm. They practically jump away from me, wiping their saliva-slick palm on their pants with a scowl.
“What are you even talking about?” I wrinkle my nose.
But the way they say it— their eyebrows furrowed, lips firm in their movements, voice quiet yet bold— my breath hitches. Their sharp gaze is still on me, burrowing into the fibers of my burlap cloth.
The river splashes again, as the walls shiver in anticipation. The crystal’s blue glow illuminates the area, the shine venturing intThere’s a chitter, small but distinct. It sounds like a cat’s purr, but it echoed oddly.