In the dusty corner of a fortified town buried beneath the surface, two prisoners sat behind iron bars with nothing to do except speak.
A scavenger and an unusual neighbour.
It was too dark to see anything. The only light came from the lanterns across the alley in front of them, and from her neighbour. His eyes were pale white and faintly lit, like something that had swallowed the rest of him whole.
"How come you haven't killed yourself yet?" Salty asked.
Across the small gap between their iron cages sat Esara, a young, pale woman. She grabbed her long hair and tucked it inside the collar of her coat. Today had been colder than usual, so she pulled the old, worn trench coat she'd been wearing for years closer to her chest.
"Because I haven't seen any reason to."
"Hm... Weird." A pause. "Most humans in your position would have found one by now."
Esara frowned. She didn't feel like explaining herself to a stranger in a cage, especially one who didn't seem human.
"Says the one who's been talking about climbing for the past hour." She looked away from him. "So, Salty. Let me get this straight. Our world is a mountain, and your goal is climbing it?"
"It's not a goal; it's my duty, Esara," he replied. His voice was low, unhurried, a faint rasp beneath it, like something dragging across gravel. There was a thinness to his S's, barely there, but enough that each one lingered half a second too long.
He didn't sound like a man locked in a cage.
He sounded like someone who had chosen it.
"What about you, Esara? You haven't killed yourself, so something keeps you going." He shifted closer to the bars. "Don't you have any great desires?"
"I have no desires."
"That's a lie."
She let out a chuckle. It wasn't mocking him, but she didn't hide her amusement either.
"What makes you think that?"
"Then you'd have nothing to live for, and would have killed yourself." A beat passed. "You have emotions. The ones that align with your current state of mind are what keep you alive. Humans are always driven toward something they want."
"And is that a bad thing?"
A beat of silence.
"From my perspective, yes."
Dead silent.
The only thing Esara could make out of Salty was his pale, vibrant eyes — divine and unsettling, as if he carried something deep within them. There had been times Esara had crossed unusual creatures, but none came as weird as whoever he was.
"So you think feeling things is a flaw." Her voice came out clipped.
"I think it is a chain. They pull you toward what feels right rather than what is."
"And you don't feel anything?"
"I observe. I conclude, and I act."
Esara was quiet for a moment.
"That sounds lovely," she replied, her tone dry. Then, after a heartbeat, "You say humans are driven by emotions like it's a weakness. But every choice I made out there — every turn, every time I ran or stayed still — that was instinct. And instinct is just emotion moving faster than thought." Her voice had steadied. "So maybe the chain is also what keeps people from dying in the dark."
Salty took his time and dwelled on her point before giving his remark.
"...That is not an unreasonable point." A pause. "Though a chain that saves you is still a chain."
"Maybe," Esara said. "But I'd rather be alive and bound than dead and free."
She shifted against the cold iron. "I'll be honest — I wouldn't really know how my mind works. Most of my childhood was spent surrounded by cultists whose faces I never saw. I'm not even sure they were human."
"Then you had no one to teach you what wanting something felt like."
"Exactly." She let out a slow breath. "It sounds embarrassing, but I think I've figured it out now. I want to live somewhere peaceful. Somewhere I can drink water without tasting corrosion. Walk without fighting forsaken raiders at every corner." She paused. "And I want to see the sun. The real one — not whatever pale light these hills pretend to offer."
"You're looking for the perfect world," Salty said. He didn't sound amused. He sounded like he was stating a fact. "What a coincidence. The place you're describing — that is the mountain peak. A place where you can see this world in its full glory." He paused. "You're interesting, Esara. You told me you had no desires. Yet here you are, alive."
Esara snickered. "What's up with you and suicide?"
"Listen. I'm currently working; I have been maintaining these hills for a long period, and recently, I became aware that many of its organs have become defective. I don't know why — but I have a theory." A pause. "Let's make a deal. In exchange for taking you to the perfect world, you help me with my work."
She could barely make it out in the dark, but his arm extended toward her through the bars.
"Work," she repeated with a mutter.
She couldn't retrieve anything from his vague response, but in honesty, her survivability would double with someone to rely on. Years of travelling alone had begun to catch up — thinking about what the veins carried was becoming dreadful by the hour.
After all, she'd initially let herself get caught just to stay away from the dark.
His hand nudged closer.
"All life has the right to ascend."
With a moment's thought, she reached out and took his hand — then flinched at the contact.
His hand was unusually hard.
Not a firm grip, but solid, as if she were touching stone.
"Let's ascend the world then."
She couldn't see his face, but his eyes told her he was smiling.
"Good. Then, as a noble of the Primodeens, the one who maintains order, I will uphold the exchange between the human Esara and me, Salticus Primodeen."
Then — a loud commotion across the town. Men shouting. Both prisoners turned toward the sound.
The screeches of forsaken raiders, distant but unmistakable.
"That obnoxious sound — the forsaken?" Salty's eyes shifted toward the rushing soldiers moving past the alley.
"Yes. The raiders stand outside now and then, trying to bring down the fortification. I've been here three days, and I still can't get used to it."
"Then this is our chance. While they're occupied, we take our leave."
"Escape how?"
"Like this—"
The bars of her cage let out a long, grinding creak. His own cage already stood open behind him. His eyes drew closer, and for the first time, the faint light from the street caught his hands, wrapped around her bars.
Crystals.
"Stand back."
She stepped away. The bars split apart — casually, like he'd done it before and simply hadn't thought to mention it until now.
"Did you just... bend the bars?" she said as she ducked through the opening. "Thank you, but what the hell are you?"
"A worker—".
"Can I touch you?"
She'd asked without shame. No ulterior motive — only curiosity. She'd already closed the distance before he could answer, pressing her fingers against him.
His abdomen. Hard, polished. Like marble.
"Esara, are you alright?"
"Yeah." She pulled her hand back, indifferent in expression, but her mind turning quietly.
She settled herself. Freedom was around the corner — but the corner still required getting to.
"One of the guards mentioned a gate south of here yesterday. The guards aren't the real problem — it's what's outside." She glanced toward the alley's end. "We move fast and quiet. Can you do that?"
"I can," Salty said. "But first — my tablet. They took it when they brought me here."
"Borrowed or stolen?"
"I don't know."
"They took my spear and my heirloom too." She glanced back at him. "Let's get them."
He didn't argue. They moved.
Esara had lived her whole life inside the veins and never once thought about descending. Nobody did. The world only made sense going up.
That was simply the shape of things. Rodan stretched in every direction, tunnels carved through its body like arteries — walk long enough through any of them and you'd find yourself higher than before.
Then there were the hills. Massive walls of rock that extended further than sight allowed. If the climb didn't kill you, something else would make sure you didn't breathe anymore.
She only took the tunnels.
Minutes later, the two crouched on a rooftop above the narrow streets. A shade of orange from the lanterns below clung to Esara's cloak. Salty was somewhere to her left — she could only find him by his eyes, pale light just above the roofline, the rest of him swallowed entirely by darkness.
"I can feel it. My tablet is inside there." Barely a whisper.
Below, soldiers moved in and out of a building with the kind of urgency that meant it mattered. Security, which meant her things were probably there too.
"Salty — have you ever done anything stealthily?"
"Only in dungeons or ancient sanctuaries with traps. What are you suggesting?"
"It looks emptier now. We'll have to be fast."
"Then I'll wait here and warn you if armoured men return." A pause. "Also — my tablet is about this big." His hand peeked from the shadows into the faint street light below.
Azure. Crystalline. Glistening.
The shape of a human hand — but not the texture. Not even close. She turned the thought over — could he be a forsaken? — then dropped it immediately. There wasn't time.
She found an open window on the second floor and slid the frame wider, lowering herself onto the wooden floor inside.
A fireplace in the centre, a wooden desk. And, hanging near the door frame — a leather coat, shining faintly.
She tried it on without hesitation.
"It fits perfectly."
Then, at the desk, she stopped.
"Paper? I thought trees went extinct."
She couldn't read the pages, nor did she try. Paper in a world without trees was bound to be valuable — something to be collected. She tucked the stack under her new coat.
She moved through the rooms carefully, listening for the creak of a door or the weight of boots. One narrow balcony overlooked a canteen below — empty, likely cleared for the raid. She didn't linger.
In the far room, she found what she was looking for. A large stone tablet resting against the wall. Beside it, a chest, and leaning against the chest — a leather sack she recognised.
She checked the sack. Everything was there. Preserved food, firesticks, and her thin bedsheet.
She exhaled slowly.
The chest next.
Her heirloom was inside — a hand-mirror laced with a golden frame. She picked it up and held it for a moment, looking at herself in the reflection.
It was definitely hers.
She tucked it into the inner pocket of her new coat, then turned to the stone tablet.
It was rectangular, roughly the size of a tombstone, with two holes punched at the top and bottom, threaded with rope for carrying. She didn't look at its contents.
She tried to lift it.
She could not lift it.
She stood there for a moment, reassessing.
Dragging it, then. She gripped the top edge and pulled. It moved — slowly, with effort, leaving a faint mark on the floor. She worked it through the room, out onto the balcony, and back toward the office window. It took longer than she wanted to admit.
Why is Salty carrying this? It weighs more than a forsaken.
She paused near the window, catching her breath, and noticed the street had gone quiet. No screaming. No distant crashes. A lone soldier was walking toward the building.
"They're already done?"
The previous raids had lasted hours. This one had decided to be inconvenient on purpose.
She leaned toward the window, keeping her voice low.
"Salty. I have everything. Your tablet is too heavy — come get it."
His eyes appeared above the roofline.
"Are you certain? I can see a bonfire inside. I cannot go near that."
She felt a vein threaten to surface in her forehead.
"I appreciate you releasing me. Genuinely. But this tablet of yours weighs more than a forsaken's heart. What will a little flame do to you?"
A pause.
"Enough," he admitted quietly. "Retreat to the rooftop. I'll retrieve it, and then we—"
The door creaked open.
The officer had arrived.