When I open my eyes, I’m back in Nym’s apartment. No, that’s not right; he’s in his apartment, I’m just in him. My eyes aren’t even part of this equation right now. Kyra is even here again, lying across the couch and bouncing a leg propped up on the opposite knee. Nym fidgets in similar anxiety, pacing the perimeter of the rug, but upon realization that a connection has been made, he collects himself and faces the mirror, once again using his reflection as a stand-in for myself. “Oh good, you’re awake?” he says, intoning it as a question. [i]“Close enough,”[/i] I ripple. “Get there. You have to move [i]now,[/i]” he instructs. [i]“What’s going on?”[/i] I ask. He goes back to pacing, it seems to help him, but he takes several more looks at the mirror before he can collect himself again, so Kyra sits up as well and speaks on his behalf. “It’s the Republic mercenaries from Yhana’s crew, is what,” she says. “Mostly Rohka,” Nym adds. [i]“Rohka?”[/i] I ask, recalling the cat and his brother Sal. [i]“What about him?”[/i] “He’s Suraokh’s new reaper and he’s on the way!” The urge to sit suddenly upright is there, but I’m still sleeping deep. Fitfully by now, I’m sure. [i]“They know where we are?”[/i] “Enough time must have passed without the helmet to reveal you, I don’t know how they’re keeping track,” Nym reasons. “Maybe they’re just estimating your location now, but they’re still sending a replacement; even if they don’t know where you are right now, they might know where you’re going.” [i]“[/i]We [i]hardly know where we’re going.”[/i] Obviously Dominion surveillance is infamous for its omnipresence but there are limits. Or, there used to be. [i]“Jen had eyes on us himself,”[/i] I reason. [i]“Him and his[/i] aliens [i]or whatever we should call them.”[/i] “We can’t assume that’s the only possibility,” Nym warns. “There’s no telling what kind of abilities Rohka has now.” [i]“Lovely, I didn’t have enough to worry about already!”[/i] I fume. Nym backtracks through a placating chuckle, feeling the surge in my exasperation. “But on the other hand, it took a little while to get you used to your transformation, right? Either Rohka is half-baked or they changed him the moment you went missing.” Half-baked or not, he was deadly on his own, for the short while I knew him. [i]“Right, I’m… still not sure how to wake myself on my own at a moment’s notice but I’ll try and think wakeful thoughts or whatever.”[/i] “We could try Yhana,” Nym suggests. [i]“No good, she’s not connected right now.”[/i] [i]“Oh. …Really?”[/i] he asks, switching to silent. All the same, Kyra catches his puzzled expression in his reflection. “Is she alright?” I can feel myself shift 45 degrees as Nym’s head lilts in confusion. Inner ear activity is probably a good indicator for my own progress toward waking up, but it’s ultimately a side thing. [i]“Is that odd?”[/i] [i]“No, I mean I just suppose I assumed that—“[/i] [i]“You thought we were just[/i] burning [i]through tarkossha extract over here, yeah?”[/i] I reason. I work a teasing edge into it, but it’s forced. [i]“I absolutely did, yes,”[/i] he admits. When I told him about my first time, it must have painted a very specific picture of me. He’s got no clue how close I was to swallowing him whole myself. Based on what we’re using my body for now, it probably would have been great data for him if I hadn’t snapped out of it. I know I shouldn’t have, though. Better I didn’t, even. Add that one to the regret pile anyway, I guess. [i]“Is that your experience with her?”[/i] I prod. It’s only fair. [i]“Once in a while…”[/i] he trails. [i]“You know as well as I do, there’s something enchanting about it. For those inclined, it's the closest you can be held by someone.”[/i] I should have done it. I should have done it. I should have done it. [i]“…Is everything alright, Merion?”[/i] he asks, sensing an increasingly obvious longing tinged with an admittedly concerning impulsive hunger. “Is Yhana alright??” Kyra presses from outside our discussion, pulling us back on topic yet oblivious to her own mercy. [i]“Yes, yes, she’s fine, she’s still asleep,”[/i] Nym assures. He doesn’t fully turn, but his eyes swivel to the ceiling as something big flies over, a low rumbling causing the building to shake. Kyra beats him to the window, parting the blackout curtains to peek out with him, but thankfully it’s just an aerostat platform coming back down, swaying wide on the slack of its cable. Snow slips from the roof, rattled loose in the platform’s wake, the closest anything comes to resembling structural damage. The sound was startling enough to wake me though, as a plus, which I don’t immediately realize until the roiling green incandescence overhead has all but burned itself into my unfocused vision. Swatting away mild bemusement at how I can go from feeling so alert in my head to so sluggish now, I sit upright, turning to look at Yhana, still turned away. [i]“Oh my—“[/i] Nym stammers even in thought, eyes darting sporadically as they search for some place to avert themselves to before he realizes it doesn’t work like that. I avert mine instead. [i]“With all that said, last night was a little unusual. Not that anything happened but—“[/i] [i]“I don’t care about that,”[/i] he insists, [i]“besides, you’re in a hurry so—“[/i] [i]“Yes yes,”[/i] I affirm, seizing Nym's urgency and Yhana’s shoulder, shaking her awake at the upper threshold of what passes for gentle. She just murmurs and tries to brush away my hand. Clearing my throat, I speak, “Yhana, Nym’s in my head, he’s saying we have to hurry out of here.” “Why, what time is it?” she asks through an oncoming yawn. I turn away as she sits up to stretch. “Two hours past sunrise,” I parrot for Nym. Not that we'd have a way of knowing that ourselves. I used to have an internal clock but it's long since degraded. “Yeah, rest time’s over,” she agrees, standing. She pauses to take stock of me, how I'm so obviously looking anywhere but her direction. “Something wrong?” “Nym’s shy,” I say, prompting a bout of psychic noise kneaded through integrals into what can only be deciphered as a whine. “Why? He’s been my doctor for years, this isn’t new,” she says, too sleepy to capitalize on a handle to poke him. She starts to dress herself, seeming as good a signal as any for me to do the same. “He says it is, outside of a clinical setting,” I relay. “Well cool, now we’ve all seen each other naked, so we can be normal about it,” she decides for us all. I’m in no hurry to correct her, but that’s not quite right. Nym has laid eyes on me plenty, mostly but not entirely clinically. More than eyes. For as little as he cares to wear on his upper body, I’ve never seen him below that threshold, but I ought to disengage this particular train of thought before it stirs up emotions powerful enough to travel through our link. [i]“Do not be bothering dressing, your clothes are recognizable,”[/i] Kesler tunes in. [i]“I am devising an exit for you now.”[/i] “Hold on a sec Yhana, Kesler’s on the line,” I urge her. “And?” she prompts. “He uh… he says we should stay naked for this next bit.” “Pervert,” Yhana says, sticking her tongue out. Kesler moves right along. [i]“Nerua is being under bombardment today. Many in Rashuwa are evacuating by vigil train.”[/i] [i]“And you want us to do the same?”[/i] I ask. [i]“Almost. Join the crowd, use the commotion to be getting on one heading west. There is a vigil checkpoint there you may be passing through, in on one train, out on the next. You are needing new clothes.”[/i] [i]“Hang on, you want them to go[/i] toward [i]the vigil?”[/i] Nym interjects. [i]“The alternative is to be staying here and be fighting the reaper. You were last being detected in town, it will be the first place they are looking,”[/i] Kesler points out. [i]“You’re sure this will work?”[/i] I press. [i]“You think Samsara was not taking such risks to be crossing the sea? You must be trusting me.”[/i] I sigh. [i]“Fine. We’ll get our hands on some clothes.”[/i] Lucky us, we’re in the right place for that. As Yhana gets to rifting her things again, I save a cloak to hide my more recognizable features, coiling two pairs of tails down either leg. With all of what little we have accounted for, we exit into the narrow hallway again. “Where do we go from here?” Yhana asks. “Uh… good question. Kesler?” [i]“Fuck if I am knowing.”[/i] I don’t transmit anything back, I wouldn’t have anything polite to add. One of the twists in the tunnels actually leads us back to the main shaft, a concrete-walled void in the ground, lined with little catwalks like the one on which we find ourselves. It makes backtracking easy at least, but I can’t help but take discomfort in knowing we must have walked this rickety thing in the missing segment of our memories. Sirens wail from distant towers, echoing down into the pit. Kites overhead or not, nobody is pretending this town could fend off any attack that reaches this far inland. When we arrive at the dome serving as well as it can as a lobby, the skunk is still there, joined by a vulture in similar methodically curated undress, scrawling away at paper slips as well. They seem unbothered, even as the sound fills the space, however dulled. “Excuse me again, is there somewhere we can get…” Yhana’s finger swivels as she searches for the right word to describe their showy attire before giving up and settling after all on, “…clothing, right?” By the time she’s already asked, it occurs to me we arrived appearing as a party of one, but when the vulture holds out the runed slip they just finished writing moments ago, it also occurs to me that they probably already knew more than we let on. I’m led to wonder if they had been watching us or if it’s just the result of an everyday demonic premonition. I hook it up and follow the activated runework down the passage again, with Yhana’s grip firm on my shoulder, and firmer still on arrival. We find ourselves in yet another dome; the vulture is already here, lounging on a short-legged daybed near the mouth of the tunnel, where they watch over short stacks of folded garments out on mismatched tables and rugs. I spend far longer than I should trying to settle on something that’ll cover my tails, and I’m about to ask Nym what he thinks of the next article I reach for when Yhana taps my head. “We’re in a rush, right?” she points out. “Just be tiny again, it’s not like we’re trying to conserve radiance now.” “Right, right, sorry,” I mutter, turning to find her already put together. A long, tasseled cloak rests open around her shoulders, and a matching headpiece covers her ears and tied-up hair, forming a squared silhouette over a mask of leather and wood. Its three lenses and the pair of long, hole-punched leather flaps that hang low enough over her chest to suggest and defy modesty at the same time evoke the image of Ulgengir himself. The whole ensemble is finished with a distinctly Nayrean touch, a patterned apron secured at the waist. “I wish you could see this,” Nym says to Kyra. “She’d blend right in on your errand runs.” “I can probably get you a monitor, you said their guy in the chair got something working too, right? Think you can?” she asks. “Plan on it,” he grins. It’s nice to see them actually cooperating. Yhana falls short of communicating that we’d like to pay despite her best efforts, and when I give it a try in Akmat we discover the lounging bird has fallen asleep, likely having drifted off while waiting for us. We quickly settle up and get on with the task of finding our way back out of this maze. Near the top of the pit, I shrink myself; I necroharmonize [i]just[/i] fine, thank you very much. I rift the ectoplasm myself as well, there won’t be as many complications if I’m responsible for my own pieces. Yhana sets me on her shoulder again, where I can grip the choker below her mask for support. Between the earlike flap and the hanging fabric of her headpiece, I’m very well-hidden here. We come out of one of the long rampwells connecting above ground again, into the quiet grounds surrounding the pit. Its many auxiliary facilities stand unmaintained after everything of value was scraped from within. The wind passes through them now, a quiet howl underscoring the more insistent rise and fall of sirens. Spacecraft burn streaks through the upper atmosphere, prepared to attack enemy warkites from above. Any day, without warning, the Prelature’s own spacecraft may come down from even higher up to strike them down as well. Still, and not for lack of trying, the Dominion’s orbital base has defied all attempts to bring it down. A gatekeeper in the sky, extracting a toll in fire and blood every time the Prelature moves to resupply. At least, there was a time it did. I still haven’t forgotten what I saw in Iyakamraa, or even aboard Samsara’s train. Now, it seems like the Prelature can spend blood on their own terms and come and go from Paliputra as they please. I’ve got blood to spare, if only it could be so simple for us to reach our destination too. Dual caster or not, the irony of a gapwalker fantasizing about teleportation like this isn’t lost on me. Up close to the fence, a handful of other House folk watch the city to the south, with no intention of evacuating themselves. Rather, others are beginning to enter the grounds, no more than a few people at a time, all from different directions, but it appears some are choosing to take shelter here than leave. Fewer people to pack in with. We move discreetly along the edge of town, until the dirt gives way to cracked asphalt encroached upon by gravel rather than anything resembling an honest attempt at repairs. To my frustration, as we approach the train station, I realize those staying behind amount to a comparatively small reduction after all. A disorganized throng gathers around the platform, loose rows and clusters trying to intersect, creating choke points out of nothing. It’s one big mass of distress, impatience, and agitation, all being ineffectively corralled by the vigil, short on hands already, and shorter still as four of them have formed a tetrad to countercast anyone who might cause trouble. There’s nothing to do but work our way in. “Merion,” Yhana whispers to me as we enter the crowd. “About last night—“ “Yeahhh sorry, I was being weird, wasn’t I?” I interrupt. “I mean yeah, but like you always are,” she swats, chuckling. “I was gonna say [i]I[/i] was a little weird. I guess I’m not used to the incense they burn down there.” “It’s fine, it can have that effect on people,” I assure her. I’m lying though, the way she can always tell I am, but she’d probably prefer to believe it. The specific kind we’d been breathing in was a mild sleep aid, but I’d rather spare her any further anxieties. For all she’s going through, she’s more than earned room to be weird. The train, now packed as full as it safely can be, rumbles off to the east, as a moving wall of black and red and gold. As it recedes, it reveals several others in the railyard vying for the spot by the platform. The next one slowly rolls up, positioned to head west. There’s not as much of a proper fight to get on this one, but enough people are shuffling forward anyway that Yhana and I realize, even as we’ve subtly inched deeper into the crowd, we probably won’t be making it onto this one. Then, somewhere off to our right, someone finally loses themself to their impatience and shoves their way forward. It took a little while, but [i]now[/i] they’re fighting. It spreads fast; murmurs turn to shouts, pushing to punching, someone even releases a warning shot of flame from a taloned, skyward hand. The vigil acts quickly, tossing canisters into the crowd which erupt into that awful powder and send the front rows scattering. But we’re still stuck back here, with the mild-mannered folk, crawling at a snail’s pace. “Hang on a moment, I’ve got an idea,” Yhana whispers again, reaching into one of the bags and subtly prepping a riot grenade of her own; spoils from our captors. “Yhana!” I hiss, my tone more than conveying my own thoughts about it. “We need to get out of here, right?” she reasons. [i]“I don’t approve,”[/i] Nym adds, briefly bolstering my confidence, but he shatters it in the following moment, [i]“but I also wouldn’t stop her.”[/i] “Fine,” I concede. “It’s dirty but it’s not a bad idea.” “I’ve never ever had a bad idea,” she says. I just know she’s sticking her tongue out in that rabbit-faced mask. “You wanted to [i]chop[/i] your way through a wall just yesterday!” “This is the Nayre Dominion, everyone knows how to chop.” “…What?” She moves on without clarifying any further. The canister clicks as she twists the top into place and drops it at her feet. Deciding on a whim which part of the crowd is about to have a terrible day, she gives it a little sideways kick. Somewhere too close for comfort, someone looks down as the grenade bumps their ankle, and they scream. Someone else plays hero immediately, swooping down to grab it up and chuck it at the vigil platform, assuming it must have come from them as well. I fear what might have happened if it actually did reach them, but it bursts in midair, showering a much wider swath of the crowd than intended, us included. Yhana joins the frantic scattering of people scrambling away from it, nearly tripping over another morph gone down to be trampled into the mud. She helps them up, getting them up on their knees at least before the motion of the crowd separates them again. All the while, a vigilant shouts barely heeded commands; I know I’m hardly paying attention to them myself but Yhana’s got enough situational awareness to muscle her way into the forming queue being quickly ushered onto the train. Handling is rough and urgent, as if trying to test each passenger’s agitation and assessing a threat, even if manufactured. Nobody’s belongings are checked. People openly carry weapons with the expectation that they’ll remain sheathed or holstered, but when one’s own hands are even more dangerous, they’re of little concern anyway. “See? It worked out,” she insists. I don’t feel like I’m being hypocritical to grouch about it. So we killed a few people yesterday; whether or not they had it coming, they did start it. The terms were theirs to dictate and they chose murder, we were just better at it. But these folks haven’t done a thing to us, they’re scared too. I moralize our whole way on board, through the light water mist the pair of vigil just inside dispense to wash off any clinging powder. The interior is split into two aisles of benches facing each other, worn-down leather offering minimal cushion. One could transport a large force this way, but there’s only about 16 vigilants to this car, probably the same arrangement in every car allowing civilian passengers. Two pairs cap each aisle, maintaining tetrad. No casting on board. Without our link, Yhana and I don’t really speak much on the ride, but Nym and Kyra have gotten to chatting. More precisely, Kyra has grown tolerant of Nym’s attempts to break the silence, giving monosyllabic answers to his questions as she warms the fingers of her remaining original arm on an offered mug of tea. Eventually, she leaves the room to go search for a monitor. [i]“Is she usually this difficult to connect with?”[/i] Nym transmits. [i]“Just enjoy the silence with her. It seems like you’re connecting just fine if she showed up,”[/i] I send back. [i]“Well, she’s been staying here, off and on,”[/i] he explains. [i]“I guess the neighborhood she and Yhana live in is still a little too active.”[/i] [i]“Is there usually this much unrest?”[/i] I ask. [i]“It all seemed so[/i] functional [i]while I was staying there.”[/i] [i]“Unless something big changes, we’re losing this war. After the bombardment, everyone can see it. If the Prelature wasn’t out in the Ravel locking antlers with the Coalition, the Keepers, the Ystrakan Free Cities, and the entire shkshk species, they’d probably have the resources to roll up and crush us any time they wanted. People can recognize when they’re about to be sacrificed.”[/i] Sometimes, I’m not so sure if I can. Maybe that’s what this is. [i]“Nym… am I doing the right thing?”[/i] He tilts again. [i]“What do you mean?”[/i] [i]“Suppose we do find something up in the Starfields. It’s better that people know the truth, but is this the wrong time?”[/i] [i]“The hope is that, if you… you know, you do find something, it’ll turn my brother’s Wardens against him,”[/i] Nym explains. [i]“…Maybe not Oleander, but the rest. If what he’s doing poses such a danger he’s willing to disappear people, people loyal to him, just to keep it under wraps, then people have to know.”[/i] I think of Tsing, captain of the ship that brought me to the mainland. She was counted among the injured at the hands of Saint Eren but disappeared after being taken in for treatment. No admittance, no obituary, no trail. And the self-scrimshawed bone fragments in her body vanished with her. No evidence of the creatures they had been splintered from, save for what Nym could sequester during triage. Nym’s dose starts to wear off not long afterward. Kesler estimates our remaining travel time before we reach the tunnel, making a plan to reconvene around then. As long as Kyra is out anyway, it gives Nym time to keep up his cover at the palace, and Kesler time to nudge Leonov to gather our other allies on the way back. Like I said, I’ve got blood to spare, but there’s only so much of it Nym and Kesler actually have on hand. I worry about the rate at which they use it up, that there might not be enough left to stay in contact through the aftermath. If we’ll even be [i]around[/i] for an aftermath. I lean against Yhana’s neck and sigh. I’m not so sure she can recognize when she’s about to be sacrificed either.