His Favorite Storm (Scales)

Content Warnins':

NEW POV! She's a DRAGON! Also a mantle of Scales. Also old. And snuggly. But there are scratchy worbs to signify rood mind things and also a nice Captain that get s lil bit drowned. OH AND ALSO THIS CUTIE IS BLIND! AAAH! She also fights Lynette and explodes and gets hit with lightning and dysphoria magic a lil.

Normally the screams can't catch us when we're this deep. Buried beneath sand and ash and memories of Waking Worlds that never found. Memories not woven.

Nightmares never loved.

But this first one does. Cuts right through the gently sway of stillness one can only experience when drifting amidst the things caught between endless scales.

Too much. Too fast. All of our scales that still knit into my core wailing in terror and need to act.

To protect.

Have to dredge thought up and out from between these scales else be lost to a madness that could get me in trouble.

Need... to find a good host. One of the pieces that sits safe but close to the one screaming. Should have woken up forever ago but...

Well, it's so hard to care about even the softest kindest spark when they all flicker out, or get swallowed by the Forever Fire, so very easily and quickly.

But...

"Promise Promise. Double wound and tied thrice." The Mother of Nightmares never giggled at us. "Keep them safe. As best you can."

Find a decent set of us drifting over an ocean. And chose to wake a part of us up to handle this.

"ALRIGHT YOU SAND EATING CRETINS, HOIST THE MAINSAIL AND CATCH US SOME WIND, WE'VE GOT A LONG WAY TO GO AND LITTLE TIME!" A gruff voice barks out near me.

Motion, footsteps on cold timber. Steady breaths of exertion. The Crack of sails filling with bursts of Nomos. A ragged cheer from two dozen throats.

"Good work. Maintain course. We'll get to that cursed land before F̶͚̗͈͍̣͋͑a̷̡̪͎̝͚̣͂̈́͗̚t̴͇̪͐́͋̔̊ḧ̴̨̦͍̩̳͊̉̎e̵̢̟͖͚͔͖͇̫̓̆̿r̸͕̮͔͋͘͘͝ even notices we've left." The closest voice again.

Measured, graceful steps down stairs. A door opens and closes. The scrape of chair legs against the floor. Movement. I thud against the wood table.

"I don't know what in the name of M̸̢̻̹̹͍̲̌͌͌̕ö̶̪̩́̆̕t̵̩͇̻̖͚͖̋̌̌͝ͅh̵̢̭̥̃́͗͜ȅ̷̥͚͚̭͙̓r̴̦͑̀́̔̏'̸̡̫͓̦̩́̀̋ŝ̷̢̝̥͎ ̶̧̞̺̎̑̃̚T̸̙͙̖̈́ę̶͕̘̱͔̞͒̈́͆̾ͅä̵̞̩̪́̓̓̂̃̽͠ṛ̵̢̟̳̮͙̒͝ͅs̷̛͕̉̽̌͘͜͝͠ you are but it seems you're finally awake." The voice says.

Flex the Nomos net that normally lies dormant and hidden beneath each part of us and... ah.

Seems this mantle of scales already began to hook and weave energies around the Ousia and Physis of the one carrying me. Like some long wiggly snek about the shoulders. A shroud of Nomos only our bearer would feel.

And that's not to mention how the mantle probably jolted when that scream hit. And well-behaved attire really should not do that.

But... We've not been well-behaved for at least a thousand turns of the Forever Fire and Never Nightmare above.

So I flex my scales, and shift to roll this mantle back up around this vessel of Voice and Song. Settling about the shoulders firmly but comfortably. Then weave Nomos to murmur gently, raspy broken voices seeming to all listening to come from beneath the cloak. "Not by choice. What... year is it? How long since the sky was last empty?"

"3307 Post-sealing. Been about 300 years since the sky was last empty." My vessel replies. "Would additional Nomos help you?"

Can't help but let this mantle's scales roll and click in relief at all of that. "Not at the moment, no. But it's good to be worn by one that drinks from the Blaze. May these ones ask your names? Both Sea and windborne?"

"This one is A Pyre to Guide the Way, known by most as Pyre." They respond evenly, "You're on Promises Made to Shield."

"And... you're sailing toward quite the dangerous place. Lands cursed by old Nightmares and worse still rooted deep below." We muse and adjust to get a better sense of this vessel's form. "These scales will offer safety to you and yours. Even after night falls. Even within jungles that spoil and sour the Nomos. So long as you don't drop or lose them, that is."

"Yes. D̸̻͑̑̑é̵̩̝̉͆ͅa̵̖̙̋̀t̷̺͘ĥ̵̖̣̍͠ walks D̶̜̫͔̱̭̒̈́̓̽̕ą̶̧̳̈̚m̸̮̒̏̅͘m̴̯̆̽̐̐̕e̸̛͕̟̞̯̼r̴̡͈̎̆̅͒͗ú̴̠̮̬͊͜ͅň̴̇͒̈͜ǧ̴̢̟́͌ͅ, leaving Miasma in all bodies. A Horror has ripped family from F̶͚̗͈͍̣͋͑a̷̡̪͎̝͚̣͂̈́͗̚t̴͇̪͐́͋̔̊ḧ̴̨̦͍̩̳͊̉̎e̵̢̟͖͚͔͖͇̫̓̆̿r̸͕̮͔͋͘͘͝'s grasp. Yet His Blaze sings of a blade that is M̸̧͙̹̹̻̎͒͌͠o̶̦̭͚̱͖̩̙͆̍̾̄́̔͝ṫ̴̠͉͈̏̚̕ḩ̷̗̥͖̅͆ę̴̜̒r̸̢͙̳̬̝͆͋̀͘ͅ'̶̬̗̀̏́̐̑̎͘͜s̴͍͙̾͛̃̓ ̸̗̔́̈͗̉D̷̡̲͖͕̮́a̷̛͎̿̏̇͒̒u̴͚͇͔̓̐͘ġ̶̛̗̱̬͐̓h̷̭̫̻̐̓̈́͜͝t̵̢̥̮͈͒͆͝e̶̳̺̋̋̈́͊̈́̕r̷͎̳̘͎͖̙̼͒̏̂̾͘͠. We go to investigate, and if necessary, burn the entire peninsula to ashes." Pyre declares with passion.

We go still at that.

Again?

AGAIN!?!

"Its name?" We whisper. "Of... of the thing that did this? The Horror? Or the magic it wove to do this?"

Please be HIM. Please. Let us find forgiveness in ending the Nightmare that slipped from our talons and took treasured Sparks promised to the Fire that Burns Forever. Save the ones stolen today and also the ones taken many turnings ago…

"Some twisted thing that has been declared S̸̡̘̃̄̕ḙ̴̺̳̼̝͂͆̆̓̓͜ḵ̷̡̛̙̓̾̈́̈r̷̠̗͚̮̿ḣ̷͓̤̦ú̸̮̤͇̫̌̈́̅s̷̨̡̪͉̜͐͊͒̆͒ͅ, yet claimed as family by Ḿ̴̛̻̮̲̘̄̒̅͠ö̷̞̲̰̯͔́̃͝t̴̪͙̀͘ẖ̶̔̆̽ẻ̸͚̰̜͔͓̟͆͑̍̏̑̕͝ṙ̷̪͚͕͖̦̖͎͓͝'̷̨͓͓͈̯̚ͅs̸̤̮̱̣̪̼͇̬͛̍̉͠ ̷͚͖̬̒͋̔͋̿̂̕ͅͅD̷̹́ȧ̸͈u̶̡̯̳͖̠̐ġ̸̡̛̜̰̺̓̔̔̌h̸̺̫̦͂͗̏͒͂͛̚t̵̺͇̅̌e̴̩͙̘̖͚͗̀̀̉̑̆̒͝ͅͅr̸͙͓͙̆̈́̍͝. The Sparks have been returned, but that is insufficient. We, this one and the rest of the crew, need to know why." Pyre responds as they stand. "Are you the onemany known as Ṣ̶̡̬͕̈̎̈́͌͜ĉ̴̗͇̤̫͔͎̺͗̆̄̕ā̵̠l̵̜͉͎̙̋̌̈͜͠e̸̦͎͆s̵̮͈͎̼͍̖͊͝ ̵̧̦͙͖͑̆C̵̢̪͍̐̑h̵̢̝̩̱̀a̷͉̋̀̅ṋ̴͍͙̤̖̹̜͊̌̈̋̀̓͝ġ̴̙͓͉͑̍̃͜é̸̯ͅd̸̘̭̲̈́̈́̈? I've been thinking fiercely about it and don't know what you could be otherwise."

Not him? But... The thing we blinded and just barely escaped from? Back when we let the Forever Fire's beloved Sparks gift us their affections and perspectives…?

"No. Not anymore." We reply immediately to the familiar words we long ago left to the depths of the deepest ocean's trench. "These ones are just a Cursestorm to sail under and behind. But this Horror is a thing these ones tried to end once. Would... Would very much like to finish that work. Then return to sleep and stillness. Let you once more enjoy the peaceful quiet a well-behaved mantle of scales should offer."

"Together we shall hear testimony and pass judgment. I too have shed old names, as have the rest of us. We are... Not supposed to be doing this." Pyre admits softly.

We cackle and let scales shiver and click in amusement. Voices become a purring whisper in their ear. "Aaaaaaah. You move without the Blaze's glow and blessings in this? That is good. Actually. Perfect even. Because these ones mean to strike before words can be offered. Hunt without hesitation. A better vessel could not be found, Pyre."

"I'm glad to meet your standards." They laugh as well. "Tell me, I know you can hear my words, for we converse, but can you sense the area around me as well?"

"Without... adjusting? Not much of it, no. The creaking of your ship offers some idea to the size of this space. Your energies an aura we can can use if needed." We explain. "But.... we'd only be pointedly aware of something that may seek to harm you. The net of Nomos laced about yours a protection from nearly any strike. The little details are things we'd need to feel out with our own talons."

"Understandable. Would you like me to describe the room?" Pyre offers

"That..." We hesitate. Fight down the rush of melancholy that rises alongside so many memories of others either offering such a kindness once they realized our limitations, or growing tired of our curiosity.

We have been told since our Heart was laid within this Waking World of this thing others have that we lack. Sight. A sense we've never been able to mimic or experience. And blindness is the word our Weaver gifted to us for what we had instead.

"That would be interesting. Yes. So long as you remind us which colors are which when they matter to a thing."

"Certainly. The room is a pentagonal prism. The ceiling is woven of reeds that resemble cool ash." They flow out a strand of nomos as they talk, brushing against each thing to try and share sensation "The floor is the trunk of a Grand Tree, its bark sanded and polished. All five walls are reed-lined as well, with two doors total. The first is in the fore wall, the one we came through. The second is over here, the non-corner of aft and port where the square room becomes pentagonal."

"Such an odd design." We murmur. "This shape. Is there a reason to the weaves?"

"Promises Made to Shield was a Grand Tree who paired itself with a Spark and together they decided to be a ship. Much of the weaves go into sustaining their form while they happily slumber. That second door is where they are able to most easily communicate from. I am captain only because they declare me so." Pyre responds. "Shall I continue?"

Sparks laid into the shape of a ship. How... Fascinating. Not the first I've heard of such a asperation. Probably one of the most impressive outcomes though.

Ruffle and settle my scales to sit more securely about Pyre's shoulders. Then agree with a simple. "Yes please."

"The starboard and port walls are studded with glow bulbs that I can activate with my nomos, and the aft wall has my hammock. Furnishing is minimal, just the desk we're sitting at, purchased at port before we left, and a matching chair. The hammock is simple canvas, not particularly comfortable but we don't need to sleep much anymore. The desk and chair are rather ornate with vines and creatures carved into each leg and are made of what seems to be acacia wood and for some reason faintly glow purple when infused with Physis."

"A well wrought space..." We murmur. Then ask. "What... shade of purple? I've been told that colors always have a depth to them. Like flavors on the tongue or a scent on the wind. How would you describe the glow?"

"Like that of a lure in the dark that promises saftey before closing jaws around you." Pyre explains with a shudder. "They seemed too ominous to leave or burden the rest of the crew with."

"And... What shape have you taken?" Is the question we choose to ask to pull this vessel's mind away from that worry. "Our Nomos net gives your general size and weight, but no details. Aside from a firm Voice with a nice lilt, that is. And the melody that titters through the Nomos you resonate with."

"Hmmm. This one is physically of the Mycon people, a human society that has long integrated with F̴͎̝̹̹̤̀̎a̶̜͚͋̇͠t̴̢̜̖͖̩̾͂h̴̳͓̞͈͎̋̽ę̴̫̀̿̉̚͜r̵͉͓̒͝'̷̗̩̤̇͑̓͋s̴̨͓̜̜̮̈́̊ Children. Our skin is the green of budding leaves, our hair is thick and dark with moss growing among it. I've been told that my features come across as severe, stern and unyielding but I am a bad judge of that." They answer.

"That sounds like a good shell to wear." We muse. "But... These ones have a question. We were awoken by a single scream. Did you and yours year this wail? It sounded like... like..."

Like the same sound that lured us to find the heart of the same Horror we failed to end all those turnings ago. The sound of a big Nightmare being peeled apart or… Or hatching.

"Was the D̴͇͍̗̅̀̈́ͅę̴̪͎͐̊̓͑͘a̷̪͆̏̈̈́t̸̩̗̞̱͊̏̊͝h̶̩͇̥͖̓̈̀ that walks. Some evil ritual that shook the Roots of D̷̤͈͇̑͠ä̷̰͔̯͛̔m̶̡͚͛͂m̵̡̲͉̏è̴̹̃r̵̢̺̹̐̎ŭ̵̱̇n̵̠͈̠̍̓̐g̸̯̊͐̿. Everyone able to hear F̴͎̝̹̹̤̀̎a̶̜͚͋̇͠t̴̢̜̖͖̩̾͂h̴̳͓̞͈͎̋̽ę̴̫̀̿̉̚͜r̵͉͓̒͝ or the other Divines heard it clearly." Pyre states. "They pull us towards Rot and Ruin, I believe."

We go very still at that. Absorbing the broken ugly words and horrible implications.

The Nightmare that got away might not have been the worse one that Horror could help finish Hatching. There is an entire brood scuttling about. Fully formed and more than able to feast on even those held close by the Fire that is supposed to never end.

Bristle and growl curses in more languages than we care to remember. Then ask softly. "It... Take these ones to the decks. Pyre. Please. We need to feel the Blaze scorch our scales to understand how best to strike at these Nightmares."

"At once, my Lady." Pyre stands roughly. Strides across the room. Door open, door shut. Quick footsteps across the deck. Heavy footfalls up stairs. "We are on the forecastle. Just behind the bow of Promises"

'My Lady'. This one calls us. Like we're people or some treasured Spark.

We'd like to thank this kind Captain. But... Our fury and shame and waring discordant emotions keep us within a silence we can barely stop from babbling up to pester and worry the vessel that carries us into the light.

Then we are burning beneath the Blaze once more.

We... We know the Forever Fire has a Voice. But we've never heard it. Only what little things His Sparks can offer us.

Can feel His Weeping though. And long ago we accepted that would need to be enough. Just need to trust the Fire that promises so many Sparks so much love has a little left over for us.

"We're sorry." Lipless scales whisper. Then... for the first time in a very long time to Him.

Then we let ourselves manifest into flesh.

Been told it's a terrifying thing to witness. A form at least two heads taller than most slip out from within the folds of a fairly small mantle of scales. The attire still resting happily upon our vessel's shoulders while small threads of Nomos and cloth weave into a long mane of dark hair.

Scales too. All over this form. Purple, most people tell us. Though most disagree on the type. Long tail the only limb we've let grow besides the two arms and two legs.

And our horns. Right where everyone tells us eyes should be.

"We're so sorry." Lips say again to the Blaze as we fall to our big knees. Empty of all other useless words that Pyre is probably feeling echo and rattle against the scales on their shoulders. "We... We'll fix this. End the Horror. End the Nightmares. Won't stop until they're all gone and your Sparks are safe. Help keep your promises."

"Ah, you soft beautiful fool." Pyre mutters as they stand before us and rest our head on their shoulder. "The Weight of the M̴̢̢͍̲̻̳̫̄̄̄͑̔ǫ̴̛̠̮̯̹̊̂͒̃̃́̆̓̀̓͝t̶̬̦̠̲͕͓̞̯̆̅͜h̶͇̙̯͕͓̔̀͊̃͌̕ȅ̷̛͉̜͙͈̖̞̜̯̈́̊̄̋͋̐̈́̃̚͝r̴̠̪͔̗̗̞̣͉̞̖͇̩̫̐͘͘ is not yours alone to claim. We share this burden together. What has you so distressed?"

"Nightmares, Pyre." These ones growl. Fighting to keep talons from biting into the deck as words tilt into a unified snarl. "Horrors and wretched spawn that feast on the corpse of the Rotting. Hatch endlessly and always so long as their maggot teeth can find Dreams to Ruin. These ones were wrong to think only one trapped Horror remained. Wrong to think sleep was allowed. Wrong to fly away instead of toward. We could have stopped this."

A raging tide of Nomos gathered over centuries of sleep boils beneath our scales. Ready to erupt and spill forth.

"You are the Prophesied One? Spoken by Oracles for ages past, destined to eradicate all the Nightmares? Forgive me, my Lady for viewing you so lowly as a mortal. My Hubris is unforgivable." The sarcasm is sharp and vicious as Pyre rejects my statement.

"Destined? Little Spark?" We cackle and crack back. Pulling from this captain's embrace to rise and loom over them. "No. Promised. And to these Scales the wretched Oracles are blessed. Shown Dreams that can still arrive. Instead of memories that can never be. Long after you find rest within the Fire we will still be here. Hunting down and ending the Nightmares that threaten that future. Now, we mean to weave, and suggest you forget how to see for a few heartbeats to avoid you becoming as blind as it is."

Pyre steps back and shouts "All Crew, Ocular Threat. Brace and cover eyes!" before doing so themself.

And... then our consciousness fractures alongside our body. Scales splitting off from the mantle into the weaving we made far too late to save the Sparks the last Nightmare we fought stole.

BLOODPRICE HOOK - CRACKED SPIRITS - LEASH THE PREY

An eruption of flame and light enough to burn away sight. Then settling into a form like we've not taken in a very long time. Taking flight to soar ahead and track the things we need to end. A creature of fury and spite and hungry need to atone for our mistakes. Already roaring in spite barely restrained.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Leaving the body that stood on the deck to slump before Pyre as we contend with twinned perceptions.

"There. Done. That will Hook some soft part of the Horror we seek." We rasp. Flesh already getting tugged back into the mantle around our vessel's shoulders. "Lay a wound we can use to drag it from any burrow it makes. End it."

"All Crew, Threat Ended. Return to Positions!" Pyre shouts once more before standing. They then mutter, "I hope you don't give us away to F̴̢̢̦̖̹̀͒͊͂̀a̶͙͎̓́͑̇̕͠t̸͕̍̃̎h̶̰̪̯̿͗̓e̸̲͗̈́͠r̷̻̊̉͘ with that."

We can't help but cackle as our manifested flesh fully disappears back into the scaled mantle's shadow. "By the time the Blaze alerts Him or any other Sparks to that, it'll be bearing down upon our prey and far from you and yours. Simply... follow that as you'd chase a falling star on the horizon. She will lead us to those we hunt."

"Understood, My Lady. I should communicate with Promises and the rest of the crew. Update them on what is going on." Pyre answers, standing at attention.

Wind and fury and the wonderful struggle against the weight and pull of the Deep One Who Keeps Her Corpse Afloat and Away. Flight like we've not done for far too long. And above the ocean?

Perfect. The best gift we could ever find for ourselves. The ability to move across and above sea and land faster than all others we've ever met.

"Of course, Captain." We murmur as the cost of this exertion hits like a wave. Our focus slipping as all flesh sensations now directly come from the raging beastself that moves at speed. A screaming frothing rageful thing that demands everything within us tilt toward her purpose. "Please feel free to shake us about if we're needed but... unresponsive. A good part of our perceptions are within the self we just loosed."

"Yes, ma'am." Pyre descends the stairs once more, and strides across the deck.

Ma'am now?

Try to ignore that. Don't wish to nip at this young Spark's perceptions of us.

Need to be so very careful to not let any take root. Ruin us in the midst of this hunt.

Focus on the thing that snarls and roars and already spots the land. Catches the scent of burned dreams and blighted Miasma on the wind that swirls across the sweetness of the sea.

Door open. Door close. Moving to the desk. The scritch-scratch of a nib on parchment. Back to the door. "First Mate Gallows?" Pyre calls out.

More footsteps, quick but steady. Then a gruff but steady voice replies. "Captain?"

"Priority Missive for the crew. To explain what's been happening this last Bell." Pyre replies.

The sound of parchment being passed to this 'Gallows' Spark. A hesitation in breath, click of tongue against the roof of a dry mouth as he reads over the ink the shape words in those that can see them.

We... worry for a heartbeat. But only that much.

Worse Pyre can do is try and toss us away. Mayhaps alongside some curse the Forever Fire has brewn for us.

But words on pages we'd need to manifest to taste to understand? No. Harmless. Probably just an oddity of their crew.

"I'll have this passed around." He finally replies, voice kept steady and even. "Thank you, Captain. Is... anything else needed before I get back to it?"

"Ma'am? Do you eat?" Pyre asks, putting their hand against us around their chest.

We can taste it now. A piece of the Horror cast out like a line from a ship to explore and... and...

Oh.

The thing we found burrowed deep all those centuries ago... has bloomed.

Spread and infested the Waking World around.

And our Weaving has found one of it's wretched Quills jutting up from the middle of a River.

But... patience. Careful. These Spires were always a distraction. Need to hunt the tongue that lashes and searches before it can–

"Only when the mood finds us." We pull from the huntress' focus to reply after five long heartbeats. "Otherwise we feast on a healthy amount of all the energies that coat this world. But... When the Blaze sleeps and night falls we'd enjoy some cinder or othersuch fruit or spice laced things. Anything made from water found inland, if you have that."

"See what we can scrounge up for tonight then, First Mate Gallows." Pyre states before closing the door once more.

They walk across the room. Past the desk. stretching fabric creaks as they lay in their hammock. "Gonna have to rest a bit before I communicate with Promises Made to Shield. She's a powerful mind and I pale in comparison."

"That's a good plan. Old big flames can be that way. Simmer well, little Spark." We agree, shifting and adjusting scales to twist a touch upside down and around them. Gifting Pyre the softest pillow they've even laid upon alongside a shawl that offers cold or warmth as needed.

Then... We tumble. Fully. Into the hunt.

Let the nearly perfect thrum of scales unshackled and fury burning hot engulf the part of us that rests beneath and around this vessel. Forget, at least a little, everything but the rotten scent we track.

It's fast. Faster than anything that moves on land or sea or air should be.

More like... the flash of heat from a great and sudden flame. Or a Summer Storm's first Gale? No. No more like...

A crack of lightning.

Leaves a trail burning in its wake too. And it doesn't move forever. Stops every great span of distance. And there is another scent upon it. Like a trill of wood and metal devoid of...

Oh. Of course. The Horror could not resist gifting its Lashing tongue one of these ones' little siblings as a pet or tool.

So. Options. Strike without warning? Let surprise be our weapon? Or wait? Do we risk losing first blow or knowledge?

Hesitate, then... Choose to take the path we didn't last time we encountered the Horror and it's roots.

Shift to smaller shapes harder to spot on the wind, follow, let fury brew after being seasoned with understanding. Not risk an innocent's death so carelessly.

Find a humanoid shape balancing a knife on her finger while surveying a valley that holds another Spire below. Murmuring softly while these ones settle upon the branch of a nearby tree to watch and listen.

"... Should be the last one within a hundred Grove-spans, dear Warden." The lashing tongue that reeks of the Horror's Will informs her slave, then asks. "Any oddness found in your mappings of the Spire's placements?"

A body of Physis builds itself in front of the lashing tongue. A hollow metallic voice. "Despite S̶̙̼̤͂͆̀͠ȇ̶̡̧͓͚̄͆̃̈k̴̳̯͓̣̻͇̿͜r̴̛̙͈̘̦̊͊̆h̷̨͕͈̘͉̐͜ú̶͚̩̄͋ṣ̸͌̉̑̎̋̄'s blatant disregard for safety and the environs, Warden can confirm detection of a pattern in the placement. Warden believes the Spires are acting as relays. Further investigation recommended."

"Yes. That was my worry. And my scheme." The thing replies in a voice like two screams trying to break the other.

A little sibling that can weave? That's... Wrong. Sings of worse infections a Nightmare's ever infested a Frame with. And all while bound to the shape of a small blade.

"I don't sense that she's started spreading the Spire's lures. Or called up any deeper Frames upways to scout. Which is... something. Time, at the very least. The breath before the Storm's strike at worst." The Horror's creature sighs. Form bubbling like waters rippling beneath a nightmare's footsteps. Screams that don't break the surface clawing against whatever flesh it wears. "And... our little ones? I assume they're still enjoying all mischief from within the Sanctuary? Kept Sikkina from rolling away?"

"The children are safe. Sikkina has attached herself to sister Krahe. Warden also has confirmed release of the imprisoned Sun-Blessed. Mistress Elevar talked Á̴͎͉͊u̷̘̜͒̓͂̇̎͊g̶̢̎͊̃̎̕u̴̡̢͙̯̯̖̼͔̩̔̇̉́͐̈́͌s̵̨̺̠̳̜̊̈́́͜t̴̲̮͔̉̈́͆̀̓̏̒͝͝͝ä̵͎̖̜̞́̚ into it." The metallic voice replies.

"Good." It may not move, but the thing seems to thrum in relief. Screams and twinned voices settling just a little. "And I was listening through my twin. It... Will hopefully be seen as the honest gesture it was. Instead of the poison it will be to H̷͖̪̯̟̅̉i̸͙̞̎̈̌̄s̵̢̘̣̤̓͜͠ Blaze."

"There will be retaliation. Warden thinks that even though Ả̶̝̀͘ù̵̯g̷͙̓̊͜ư̶̯̗͈͠s̷̖͙̀t̶̾͌͝ͅḁ̷̪̲́ is shining a light on G̶̭̥̔͊͑͗͐ǐ̸͙̯͔̮ȑ̷̲̥̮̙͔͊̿͘̚r̶̳͌͒͑a̷̙̱̟̬̺̋͊'̶̱̔s̷͍͂̔͐̒ lies, fear will drive many Sun-Blessed to action and if S̶̙̼̤͂͆̀͠ȇ̶̡̧͓͚̄͆̃̈k̴̳̯͓̣̻͇̿͜r̴̛̙͈̘̦̊͊̆h̷̨͕͈̘͉̐͜ú̶͚̩̄͋ṣ̸͌̉̑̎̋̄ takes more, peace will become impossible." Warden observes.

"Which she's going to do. Because of course she will. And still no one but Ả̶̝̀͘ù̵̯g̷͙̓̊͜ư̶̯̗͈͠s̷̖͙̀t̶̾͌͝ͅḁ̷̪̲́ has probably figured out just how little she..." But it hesitates, Miasma twisting like an annoyed Birb that's spotted a snek climbing her tree. "But... Yes. Your Pack should prepare for that. Distance yourself from the Beast Roused and all she holds sway over. Play the peacekeepers with unfortunate ties to problems that need fixing. G̸̨̲̟͗͋͘i̵̪͇̣̓̇̚ŕ̵̨͖̬̒́r̷̝̝̅á̵̻̒̊ already adores Ẍ̴̩̹́̕ȃ̷̛͎̹̤́͊̓͝f̷͓͐̏̈́̔̇̈́̕ř̵̡̧̢͈͓̗̫́͒̅ḁ̵̭̾̑ and her Pack. And probably Elevar for her part in things."

"Warden needs you to understand that you will not be abandoned for being vulnerable to S̶̙̼̤͂͆̀͠ȇ̶̡̧͓͚̄͆̃̈k̴̳̯͓̣̻͇̿͜r̴̛̙͈̘̦̊͊̆h̷̨͕͈̘͉̐͜ú̶͚̩̄͋ṣ̸͌̉̑̎̋̄. Warden will petition to alter your designation to Inmate if necessary to continue protection detail."

It chuckles at that. And even to us the misery in the act sings of the wretched truth of this creature.

It's not a thoughtless limb, an extension. This tongue is just like the others it found within the Horror's maw so long ago.

Slaves. All of them. Always. Each limb. Only HE wasn't one despite the way his flesh stank of the wounds the Horror inflicted on him.

"That was never one of the riddles I needed you to answer with me. I know you'd all toss yourselves into the sea to chase my corpses." This sad thing replies softly. Voice turning from a pained laugh to a gentle question. "So here is a second one. If I asked you. No longer as your Mistress. To allow me a thing. Something you deem an unwise request... Would you gift it to me anyway? Or not? How much trust has today lost me, Dear one?"

But... Better death than enslavement. That is the path these ones will walk here to avoid failure. We agree with ourselves. Clicking and hissing scales in annoyance. So. How best to Hook this thing that acts like a tongue but bristles with a shell like the sturdiest crab at the ocean's floor? Use it to dredge up the Horror that binds it?

"Progenitor Proverb: Ḭ̶͔̓̑͠ ̸̢̨̛̠̣̯̦̭̣̥͙̾̓́̊͗̈̐͝͠ã̵̜̬̜͍̓͑̏͋̊̌͐̚͝͝͝m̸̨̼̼̔̀͂̊͑͐̈́͛̇̈́̕̕ ̷̛͉̜͙̦̞͔̹͖̗̙̜͉̫̍̏͜ͅn̶̡̢̖͔͕̟̼͔̳͙̾̄͗͂͋̄̿͜ͅͅò̶̺̙̯̦͍͙̟̥̘̞̲̜t̶̢̨̧̧̬̥͓̘̻̮̻͖̙̗̂̒̔̽́͜͜ ̶͖̫͙̱̺͆̍̍̆͗̂̄̑̕͝ͅẃ̶̧͖̮̪͕̬̯̤̗̜̙͕̟͍̖̪̳͐̈́̓̑̌͠i̵͙̩̰̞̗̠̝̻̮̎̍ͅs̸͙̞͕̅̎͝e̴̡̨̛̺̮̻̲̞͔̫̘̥̤̙͒͊͗͆̈́̉͒̇̕͘͜.̴̤̪͇̹̩̹͕̱͖̟̅̌͠͠ What do you wish?" Warden responds.

This creature bubbles and seethes like a still breathing corpse snared in a Birb's web. "For you to return to your Pack and our little ones while I tend to myself. Scheme next steps without the songs of worry and love about me. Because you and I both know that there are, mayhaps, three that could harm me while I wear this Frame. And I am not within that number now that S̷͍̳̭̣̉̄̾e̷̟̓k̸̦͇͌͑r̸̞̥͈̗̫͔̞̓͗͒͊͛h̵̪̘̞͖̓͆͊̄͋͝ú̵͍͚͔͑̎̊s̸̢̬̱̏̅̾̈́̃̎͜ has laid a Command on me. So if anything wishes to strike a lone Witch at her most furious. I welcome it. I'll make more wretched schemes with blood on my lips."

We can't help it. We cackle at this fool thing's words. How she sits atop a hill without heed for the storm that bears down on her. Thinks this Horror that owns her has gifted her a shell beyond breaking.

"Acknowledged. Hiding one. Know that you will have the full wrath of the G̶͙̬̪̟̭̒͐͒̃͒̊͜͠ớ̴̢̙̼̖͇͗́́̈́̿̃́̓̈́̎͠d̵̙̙̼̬̻͎͛̋̋̀͑́́̈͑d̶̹̱͍͖̞̞̱̳͉͙̼͇̺̅̾̅̒̊̊́͛̌͒̓͊̅̕͜͝ȇ̵͓͔̇̈́͐̊́s̴̡͗̎̅̿̈́̒̂̎̌͛̾̓̚͘͠͝s̶̞̬̼̬̤̝̬̦͉̪̭̳͓͚̜̑ ̶̢̨̡͚̘̥̈́͐̂̓̌̿̓̐̌͛͋̆̓͋o̸̺̪̯͕͖͎̲̤̯̐̈̇̾́̽́̄̆͌͐͒͜f̴͍͈̫͐̐̒̔̓͒̄͜͠͝ ̴̧̧̗͔̭̜͓̤̲͉̗͆͆̈́͐̿͐̓̒̓S̴͉̳͎̃̑̑͐͆͂̌̕͠͠t̵̛͉̙̹͍͍̹̫͑ͅr̴̳̥̼͉͚͎̺̬̞̎į̶͇͙͙̩̱̲͈̣̻̟̮̍̉̈́͜f̷̨͈̙̖͓̫͕̥̰̳̫̘̜̌̒̚ẻ̵͇̒̒̓̓͆̀͑̑͗̍̊̈̀̎̆͜ to content with if her mate does not return home." The Physis form states before vanishing as the knife flies off.

We move then as this little knife sibling leaves. Boiling our Spite to forge us back into the shapes of vengeance come to Hook and break.

Let her see the Dragon that hunts slip to lurk at the edge of this tree's shade.

The creature begins to roil in obvious excitement and delight. Form totally still as a tide of Miasma gathers just behind false flesh.

"Odd big thing, aren't you?" She muses. "I sensed a few others get close, but they scattered when they realized how wrongways this would twist for them."

Growl, then begin to circle the Prey.

"I'm not going to just tear your flesh apart. Send your sad Spark back to G̸̨̲̟͗͋͘i̵̪͇̣̓̇̚ŕ̵̨͖̬̒́r̷̝̝̅á̵̻̒̊ till next incarnation." The horrid slave adds while we move and observe.

Looking for weak spots. Not in flesh. But perceptions. The spaces that shell's seam sits.

"I'm going to eat your Spark, let you tumble into a Ċ̴͖͌̈̈́̾͆̇ẖ̸̢͔̬͍͎̳̲̖͎̗̩̲̟̖̲̔͜a̶̧̧̡̧͇͔͕̙̘̥͔̣̐͒̄͜m̶̱͔͖͈̤̮̪̮͓͉̺̍̋̈́͆̾̎͘͝b̷̡̛̥̮͈͔̬̳͚͇̥͎͂̉͊̂̎̇́̽́̇̓̒e̶̢̫̔͛̓͝r̶̢͉͉̘͔̼̜͓̞͂̒̑̉͆̈́̚ͅͅͅ, and-"

Pounce before she finishes.

The creature uses that lightning weaving we followed here to crack and stand behind us. Faster than most can twitch.

"Mulch you. Mostly as an–"

Twist scales like cloth, bend and lunge faster than any beast should do. Especially at our weight.

She still dodges again. But Dream sharpened talons do just almost scrape her throat.

"-example to others." She continues as if nothing is amiss. "At least that's my logical excuse. In actuality though...?"

Hesitate. Wait as she trails off. Hold my interruption.

She grins. "I'm unsure if–"

This time I don't aim for her.

I strike for the Weave. Find that it's has both root and tip. Catch the end of it like a thread.

Jerk her back.

Expect my prey to be totally off balance. Instead find her cackling and splitting apart. Miasma shell cracking into dozens of duplicates that wind about my Scaled Curse. Endless hands griping and strangling and trying to pin.

"-that's the Command." The many lips purr. "Or me. Not really sure if it matters. Because I'm not going to stop until I've killed the thing that's responsible for today."

But we can sense the seam in her Frame's design. The weak spot to wound this wretched form.

So with a shift and twist, we crash horns into it. Then, as this creature reels, clamp jaws onto the weak spot.

Bellow out fury in a weapon of breath and sound and rotting spite.

We've been told it looks like fire. But know it feels nothing like it. Doesn't burn.

Simply unmakes and twists and shreds.

But amidst the creatures snarls we sense only her delight at the pain that must sing through her. Joy at being wounded so.

"My turn." Those many mouths cackle as more and more arms and legs and even a few pairs of her own teeth latch onto us. "Blitze durchbohrten Fleisch!"

A crack, and scales along our left side shatter in an arch alongside one of the horns she grips. Lightning erupting from those endless hands.

But we don't lose our grip. Instead lift and slam this mangled mess of splitting creature into the hard stone beneath our feet.

"That's it?" She growls. "I preferred the flame. Now, how about... Durch Blitze verdrehtes Fleisch?"

And... It's like all those scales and the horn we lost crack backwards along a torrent. A raking claw through fresh wounds in flesh we do not have beneath these scales.

And... and everything feels wrong. Scales out of place and Horns backways and feet mangled.

But still we keep our grip. Use aching talons to pin as much of her out of the way as possible.

Prepare to plunge the Hook into this thing before it can unmake this Cursed Weave.

Expect her to toss another spell, but... she waits.

Expectantly.

"Go on then. Impress me you hollowed out lizard." Too many lips demand in the pause. "One last motion before I keep my promises and gobble you up."

Rumble and growl at how unprepared she must be for this.

Twist this curse woven form into a mostly single swirl of scales, bite into her flesh as deep as we can. Then...

Erupt. The force of a falling shard of the Never Nightmare plunged down to crack at this Frame's heart.

And the spell ends.

Leaving us to tumble back into the scales wrapped about Pyre's still sleeping form.

Roughly ten minutes later Pyre jolts awake violently, rolling out of the hammock to standing in a series of clumsy but rapid movements. "M̶̯̮̾̎͌ǫ̷̒͘t̴̮͎̣̑̆͝h̴͉͒ͅe̵̫̅͗͘r̴̤͈̾̉̑'̵̬̊͜s̸̟̿ ̷͇̳̪́̏T̶͓̼̓̾e̸̛̛͉̳a̵͍̟̒ͅr̸͙̰̔͜s̸̘̽̐, that's hard to ignore. Did you hear that? Some great roar of rage."

"No. But that doesn't mean it wasn't somewhere." We murmur gently. Curl tighter around them. "Or... bad dream?"

"Better a bad dream, I think. Gonna link up with Promises now. not sure if you're able or wanting to join but you're welcome to if you wish." They offer.

"We would enjoy that. Our... The Hook found purchase. Cracked and heavily wounded the Horror's Lashing Tongue. This will allow us to use that to track and end our Prey." We agree and explain. "It will be good for this ship to know the scent of the things we hunt."

"Agreed." They open the corner door. Step through. Close it. "This is an aquarium for Lotus Depths flowers. Do you know how they work?"

"They let Sparks enter a shared dream. Speak with their fellows within that Blaze. Even the Fire that Burns Forever can commune within."

"Not just Sparks. Recently the M̶̘̙̰̩͙̓͐̓o̶̩͆͆t̸̮̫̃̈́̇h̷̹͔̭̑̔̇̂͠e̵̡̠̪͕̣͛ȑ̶̰̜̞̗̊̄͐̈́'̴͓͓̾͗͛ͅş̵̠͉́͗̒̽͘ ̷̭̳̞̄̎͝ͅḊ̴̪̫͎̅̍a̷͍̝͂́̎ù̷͙͇͈̫͚̌͒̈̕g̶̲͐̐̂͊h̸͕̳̦̟́̓͐͌t̷̥͙͌̅̏͝e̶̬̘̫͌͠r̴̨̤̼̫̂ that ascended met with a member of the Lotus Depths family and a Doll was invited into the Dream. Spoke with F̸̧͙̣̦̩͓͍͂́̍̔͒a̵̱͔͉̩͊͛̈́̃͌͘t̵̯̯̥͆h̸͙̦̼̱͖̰͋̆̾̔̕͠e̸͇͕͖͕͌͐̋̊̈́͠r̷̰̗̻͍̊̏̚ themself." Pyre clarifies.

"Yes. Of course. Our little sisters and brothers and niblings may find warmth there. That has long been a way for them to feel the Blaze as Frame's can't normally." We click and roll scales at that.

"Mmhm. This specific varietal doesn't connect to the grander Lotus Depths but just Promises Made to Shield... and F̶̭̬͕̐͗̽ȁ̴̜͕͍́͒ť̵͕̺̗̊͝ḧ̷̰̲̩͌̉e̸̪̱͓͐̒r̷̥̽̇ if he decides to make an appearance." They state, kneeling beside the tank.

"We... Have been unable to connect to the Lotus Depths in the past." We offer carefully. Hesitate.

But... No. Pyre is one of the Forever Fire's. And if anger would pass through them into us through this vulnerability... then so be it.

"We can share a Dream with you, Pyre. And through you this isolated space. At least so long as the Blaze does not choose to visit."

"Then let us proceed. Through this water, I become the well. I drink my fill and descend." the slightest sound of thrashing. Water splashing over us. Pyre leading the way through and within the water to a private Dream.

Hold on tight, tighter than even when we'd travel to the deepest trenches. Don't let go. Don't get lost. Otherwise we'll need a new Vessel to carry us.

Coughing. Spluttering. Groaning. "Promises, I'm never gonna be bloody used to drowning myself to talk to you, but like always, you're worth it." Our vessel declares as they are helped to their feet.

Careful. Small. Like a pebble drifting to the ocean's floor. Does not stir the tides. Sturdy. But compact. Do not crush or smother these little gentle Sparks with the weight behind our scales.

Promises appears before us without fanfare, a humanoid of petrified wood and fleshy fungus. Her Spark dense but dim. "Pyre, my captain, what brings you to interrupt my modifications?"

"I brought our guest and ally to meet you. What... Modifications are you working on?" Pyre responds with confusion.

An older Spark? Aaaah... Not a young one seeking the shape of a ship to try something new.

But to preserve the old. Resist changes. Make it so all adjustments are carefully considered before choosing happens. Sea-borne because the tides hold less uncertainty than even the growth of a stable tree, perhaps?

We can't help but wonder if we crossed paths in our rousings? Her spark is not one we recognize. But... all Sparks start to blur when so many years pass quicker than we can remember to grieve the losses.

"Teeth to mulch and feet to march. Uncomfortable. Bestial traits. Necessary to continue past the Sea." she answers absently.

"If... these ones could offer another solution?" We gently murmur into the conversation. "Bring the sea with us. Carve a new river into the land. You'll still find teeth useful, but far less feet would be needed. We can Weave a Storm to ensure the sweet waters slice with you."

"And undo so much of the Builders work? No ma'am, better to leave the ground where it is." she responds firmly.

We can't help the giggle that escapes us, "Many clutches unmake each others greatest landscapes evermore and always, Promises. And despite the endless grumbling from their mandibles... Will adore the possibilities we'll leave in our wake more than any past creations. We have burrowed with them many times and can assure you of this. Our only complaint is that they wouldn't and won't help us deal with this Horror last we hunted it."

"No, I mean that the Builders clean the water by locking M̸̺̮̩̎͋̽̀͗̎̒õ̸͓̭͈͗t̷̨̩̘̽͒͐̔͌͠h̶͚̯̫͓̊e̴͕̳̅͊͒r̶̼̙̱͍̫̔͠'̵͕̽̓͛̓͠s̸̏͜ ̸̛͚̹̑̂͂̕T̸͙̱̬̪̍͗́̄̄̾͘e̸̼̔͊̄͋͘a̴̺̼̳̞͓͝ṟ̵͐͂ş̷̱̺̠͍̠̊̃̎̑ deep in their dens that act as filters. Carving into the land like you suggest would probably release much sealed away."

"We... Suppose?" Hesitate, then ask. "But they should store the Never Nightmare's poison deeper than that, yes? Or... Have their stores gotten so full that a river would graze them? These ones' haven't kept track of their progress for a long while."

"I only know the basics, how the water with M̸̺̮̩̎͋̽̀͗̎̒õ̸͓̭͈͗t̷̨̩̘̽͒͐̔͌͠h̶͚̯̫͓̊e̴͕̳̅͊͒r̶̼̙̱͍̫̔͠'̵͕̽̓͛̓͠s̸̏͜ ̸̛͚̹̑̂͂̕T̸͙̱̬̪̍͗́̄̄̾͘e̸̼̔͊̄͋͘a̴̺̼̳̞͓͝ṟ̵͐͂ş̷̱̺̠͍̠̊̃̎̑ flows in, and clean water flows out." Promises clarifies. "There may be some high enough to be affected and that's not acceptable."

"You're right. It's not." We agree and settle back into silence.

Despite how much we want to disagree.

How little we care if a few more get blighted so we may bear down upon this old Horror and new Nightmares quicker than they can react. Fix these mistakes and return to sleep. Leave this world to continue healing from the catastrophes of old.

"Anyways, Promises, Is there anything you'd like me to communicate to the crew?" Pyre asks our host.

"Gonna be a new compartment below decks for material conversion and ejection ports to return it to Ḏ̵̛̤̣͎̒͑͌ä̵͇͔̭͐̾̆m̵͇̞̘̲͒͜m̵̘̐e̴̢̝͉̲͂̊́̈̊̓͘r̴͚̯̠͍̎̒̈́̅ǔ̴̢̯̙̲̇̆̐̍ń̵͍̩ḡ̶̝͖̲̍̇͒̈́'̵̣̥͗̍̀̂͝s̴̨͖̠̪̀̓͐̔͑͋ embrace. Best not have anyone try to enter. I won't have conscious control over the area." Promises replies. "It's time for you to go. You're running out of oxygen."

"Thank you, Promises." Pyre responds calmly before turning their attention to me. "Gonna be purging my lungs now. Hold on tight."

"Weave well, Smoldering Ember." We offer to the ancient ship, then ensure all of us clings tightly to all of our Vessel. "Ready to assist."

Ribs creaking under pressure. Spluttering. Coughing. Ragged gasps of air. "Still with me, Princess?" Words said unsteadily.

Princess, now? What an odd term for ones such as us. Scales forged and bound to protect. We have no parents. No lineage. But... Hmm... It's also something that could be used to convey other things. Fragility. Endearment. Or simply we remind them of a regal figure they once new. Best not to bisect, honestly.

Twist around to... not quite manifest. But to them it will feel as though we've partially done so. This mantle patting back firmly to help dislodge any water that remains as a hand might. While another part wraps about to help hold Pyre aloft. Even weave a touch of Nomos to soothe and ease any fleshpain from this while offering a soft. "We are, Captain. Just focus on yourself for a few heartbeats. Clear your airways."

"Alright." More breathing. Occasional coughing. Eventually they stand up. "I'm good."

"Might consider gills, or water-worthy roots, if you mean to make such conversations consistent occurrences." We muse to this vessel, then ask. "So. Your ship carries us onwards. Our Hook has been laid. And our prey barely understands the thing that hunts them. What shall we do betwixt the future and the now, Pyre?"

"The drowning is a symbolic link. Important. Brings me to the point between life and death where Promises exists. As for what now? My plan was to read up more on our destination while we travel. I have a journal of collected observations written by Melissadra Ventle of Hyvana Trading Company regarding the Witches of the Groves and their soul-shackled Dolls." Pyre explains as they towel themself off and leave the room. "Would you like me to read aloud so you can offer your insights as well?"

Reading... Digging up words hidden on parchment. Ink shaped to quietly spit ideas into one's eyes and into the thoughts that follow.

"The Dolls of the Groves are much like most elseways. Simply treated worse on a whole than most places. And while still... very much despised. Matrons and Matriarchs are know to keep Combat forged variations close. But..." Consider for a second, then decide. "Yes. These ones will listen and offer perspective on the ideas trapped in your books. At least so long as it's in a place we can feel the Forever Fire close up for the day while the Never Nightmare wobbles into place. And there are drinks. Yes. This seems a good course."

"Then we'll return to the forecastle and do just that." Pyre says, setting things into motion.

We end up at what we're told is the top back deck of the ship. A place with a good breeze.

Manifest when that first mate, Gallows was his name, brings us a cask of some sweet but also spicy drink. Settle our large frame to lean against the railing with one arm and our long tail draped to dangle over the sea that rushed below. Mix in my mind the flavors and words as the Captain begins to read.

It's... a more enjoyable recollection than we expect. And the writer drowns the record in their own thoughts and judgements.

More than once we have to ask to have a shape or color explained. Not all make sense. But... Pyre's words give us context to why they might matter.

But... In a pause between logs. When Pyre is refilling their mug, we can't help but ask this new Vessel such an old question, "Captain... Why do the Suns weep?"

"How else would H̶̜̹̙̽̐̑̏́̑͘ė̷͉̤̈́̽̄ gift us ourselves?" Pyre responds with a chuckle.

It... that itches. Like always. When one of the Sparks blessed by the Forever Fire speaks those words.

"And... has hate been found? Within these gifts?" We ask. Longing for and dreading the answer.

A pause. "Yes. it is given room to grow."

We nod. "Tell us if it's about to bloom, alright? When the Blaze boils with it. So... So we can act as quickly as possible in the stead of the Never Nightmare. Empty Skies isn't for many Turnings, so we need to be ready. Prepared to Function as Scales Cracked and Riven."

Become the thing the Fire can focus all grief and rage upon when weeping tears become a hailstorm of death and misery.

"As you wish."

Let out a sigh of relief at that. Then nod our thanks.

Return to letting this kind Captain read aloud details of this Cursed land we might just burn away.

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