The corridor stretches before him like the throat of some great beast—stone walls glistening with moisture, sconces burning with flame that never flickers. Haigo's cane strikes the floor with each step, a steady rhythm, a metronome counting out the seconds.
Then he hears it.
Music.
The cello's voice curls through the corridor like smoke—low, resonant, achingly beautiful. A melody he doesn't recognize, something slow and mournful that seems to hang in the air like mist over water.
Haigo's steps slow. His cane stops striking the floor.
He rounds the corner.
The room beyond the archway is vast—one of Aethelgard's larger chambers, its ceiling lost in shadow, its walls lined with tapestries that depict serpents coiling through abstract landscapes. But Haigo sees none of that.
He sees Thye.
She fills the room like water fills a vessel. Her massive form stretches across the floor—jade scales glistening in the candlelight, her serpentine tail coiled in loose loops that span the entire chamber. Her head rests on crossed arms, her single enormous eye closed, her chest rising and falling with breaths that shake the very stones.
Asleep.
The word surfaces in Haigo's mind, incongruous and almost absurd. A Hitosume. A primordial being of universal source and ultimate consumption. Asleep like a cat before a hearth.
And there, at the far end of the room, sits Micah.
He has his cello between his knees—Nisero Koegoroshi, the black wood drinking in the candlelight, the strings humming with a life of their own. His bow moves across them in long, slow strokes, his eyes half-closed, his body swaying with the rhythm of the music.
The melody wraps around the sleeping Hitosume like a blanket. It soothes. It calms. It holds something at bay.
Haigo watches for a moment—just a moment—before stepping into the room. His cane does not strike the floor. His footsteps make no sound. He moves like a ghost, like a whisper, like the serpent he has always been.
Micah's eyes open.
He doesn't stop playing—the music continues, the melody unbroken—but his gaze lifts, meeting Haigo's across the room. There is something in his expression—relief, perhaps, or gratitude. The look of a man who has found a moment of silence in the noise.
Haigo gestures with his free hand. May I?
Micah nods.
Haigo crosses the room, his steps silent, his cane held aloft so its tip never touches the ground. He stops beside Micah, close enough to see the calluses on the young man's fingertips, the cross-shaped scar on his left palm, the faint pulse of the spiral brand visible through the fabric of his waistcoat.
"I have information on another Hitotsume."
Micah's bow continues its arc across the strings. The melody doesn't falter. But his eyes sharpen—focusing, calculating, the mind behind them clicking into gear like a lock accepting a key.
"A location?"
Haigo nods. "Papaho Island. In the waters beyond the old Red Line's northern reach."
Micah's gaze drifts to the sleeping Titan—to the rise and fall of her massive chest, to the single closed eye, to the serpents that make up her hair, now still and silent, coiled around her head like a crown of sleeping adders.
"Will you be capable of..." Haigo lets the question trail off.
Micah's eyes remain on Thye. His bow never stops moving—the music flows on, a river of sound that fills the silence between them.
"Yes." His voice is quiet, steady. "But the only way to know for sure is to test it."
Haigo inclines his head. "Then the opportunity will soon be upon us. Make sure you are prepared."
Micah nods—a small motion, barely perceptible.
Haigo turns to leave. His cane rises, hovers above the floor, ready to strike stone once he crosses the threshold.
"Haigo."
The voice stops him. He looks back over his shoulder.
Micah's eyes are still on Thye. The music continues. But his lips move, forming words that barely carry across the room.
"Thank you."
Haigo says nothing. He simply nods—once, a small acknowledgment—and steps through the archway.
The cane strikes the floor. The sound echoes down the corridor, a sharp counterpoint to the cello's lingering song.
Behind him, Micah plays on. The melody wraps around the sleeping Hitosume, holding her still, holding her quiet, holding her at bay.
For now.