The Third God: Chapter 6 - The Voice of Someone Who Has Died

Therion couldn't think straight, but he could walk. "Still the same," Darien murmured.

The four of them trudged onward, the elf Yadallina being carried since they had appeared outside Ghallistryx. The sensations suggested it should be night, yet the sky remained stubbornly bright, solidifying into a low, hot reddish twilight that weighed on their heads. The city was not visible on the horizon, and the landscape had changed little—rocky ground, stone hills, distant road markings, signs of burns, and an overwhelming expanse of nothingness. It was impossible to know where they were.

Even there, they sensed surveillance. They didn't believe they were being hunted, but patrols circled the perimeter. They hid when they could. Occasionally, Yadallina would wake up and attempt an invisibility spell. But as they walked, the presence of the dragon's law loomed larger. They were not heading to any city, but something lay ahead.

Ingram felt around for a canteen. He heard the near-dry sound and decided others needed it more. Yadallina was always carried by her brother, Edauros. The two were wrapped in beige bags, the clothing of those sentenced to death. Yadallina was very pale, still leaking a few drops of blood despite hurried bandages. Edauros was sweating, his bristly hair damp with exhaustion. And then there was Orion.

The dwarf looked around, suddenly acutely aware of the absurdity of his situation—part of a group of five, two of whom were strangers and one a traitor, walking aimlessly with no sun or stars to guide them, knowing only that they needed to move away from the city. Away from home forever. Doherimm, the Iron Mountain, had been denied to him for an ancient crime. Away from Nadia. Maybe, too, forever. Nothing there led to a solution. He didn't have a goal; he wouldn't get closer to Nadia this way. His mustache dripped with sweat, and he felt dizzy. He had been following Orion for almost two years, dedicated to paying off his debt to his friend. But staying on his heels had brought little good, and it was unlikely that it ever would.

Because Orion was dead on his feet.

The ripples of heat emanating from the stone floor jumbled the images, causing directions to sway. Ingram stared at Orion, who carefully placed one boot after the other, moving closer. There was an awful smell in the air.

Orion Drake's left arm hung down, large chunks missing, leaving blackened edges. Much of the rest—muscle, flesh, and bone—had liquefied. He had only two fingers left on his hand: one twisted like paper about to burn, the other absurdly intact, loose like the last optimistic survivor of a lost battle. The knight's long hair was gone, replaced by short, blackened stubble. There were few traces of clothing left; much of it was stuck to his skin, blending into the ruin. Giant blisters erupted all over his body. By a miracle or bad luck, his eyes had been spared. By all logic, Orion should be dead. Ingram could not fathom the pain he was enduring, and perhaps neither could Orion himself.

He held out the canteen.

Orion raised his good hand, refusing. "For the maiden," he croaked.

Ingram glanced around again, and the movement threatened to topple him. He staggered but couldn't help thinking that among them, Darien was the most trustworthy.

"We need to stop," he told the boy.

Darien gave him a tight smile. "Now? Now we don't need it anymore. We should have stopped a few days ago. Your friend should have stopped a few years ago."

Ingram felt like he was going to fall, but then he heard a soft impact: the elf had fallen first. Edauros stood up, his face scraped against the stone, checking on his sister. Yadallina lifted her eyelids like lead, revealing a slit of white in her eyes. Her shapeless tunic was beginning to stain red; the bandages had come undone. Edauros supported her from behind, but he trembled under the weight of both of them. Darien was there too, holding Yadallina's head, suspending her body as Ingram struggled to hold the world in place. Then Orion's shadow darkened them all.

"I'll take it," said the knight.

"Orion, no," Ingram began, but Orion said nothing more.

He knelt down, using his good arm to push Edauros and Darien away. He lifted Yadallina and held her against his chest. Standing up, he sighed and started walking again.

"This is crazy!" Darien shouted. "You can't take her. They will both fall." Yet Orion walked on.

"You're dead. He's dead, don't you understand?"

"It's clear. At least a year ago."

And he walked.

Ingram used his rifle as a staff to support himself against fatigue. Edauros remained in the knight's shadow, always in the middle of a gesture to relieve him of his burden. He spotted a patrol in the distance, catching everyone's attention, and they fled as best they could. Yadallina tried to incant something, but her voice grew cold before she could complete it. The surveillance became denser. Ingram wondered how long they would last.

Then Darien began to laugh.

Laughing and holding his temples, he felt as if he was going crazy. Finally, he was in step with the world, saying goodbye to the pretensions of reason. Because far away, he saw a tree.

Darien was overtaken by a dry pull of a tearless sob. Ingram swallowed the dust that served as saliva. As they passed the first oak tree, it felt as if they were freed from a prison that clung to their skin. The fresh air was a relief, and they noticed a hundred discomforts forgotten by habit. Walking became easier; the stone under their soles resisted less. Just ahead, more trees awaited them. The first crackle of a leaf being crushed brought a smile. Soon, the trees grew more frequent and closer together, until they found themselves facing a forest.

It was finally getting dark.

Orion Drake led the way, with Yadallina suspended in his only arm. The others had to navigate around the vegetation and bushes. They passed through a clearing, the ground covered in thin grass, marked by a circle of stones at its center. Finally, they heard an animal sound. "That always happens," Edauros said, smiling widely as he shook his head, as if examining a child's mischief. "It always happens. We always escape. Something always happens." He snapped his fingers. "I never die."

Ingram and Darien exchanged a look that the dwarf cursed silently.

They felt a breeze, accompanied by a wonderful smell.

Water.

Orion continued his march, but Darien let out a short, disjointed cry and ran ahead. Soon, Edauros followed, looking back at his sister. A sudden, immense gust of wind made them both scream again as they saw it—a lake.

"Thank you, Hyninn!" Darien cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted upwards. "Thank you, Khalmyr! Thanks to all the heavenly motherfuckers listening up there." He shouted even louder, "It's about time!"

"Thank you, Yadallina and Edauros," Edauros murmured.

Darien crouched down and placed his hands on the lake's surface. Right at the bank, he couldn't feel the mud—it was quite deep. In the middle of the lake, the air flickered; something seemed to move just out of sight.

"To hell," he said to the lake, raising his middle finger. "Keep your nonsense, you fucking geographic accident. I just want a drink of water." He drank until his throat burned, sneezing as he let his parched skin absorb the moisture. Edauros returned with a bowl, and Ingram bent down to fill a canteen. Orion reached the shore.

With his only arm, he placed Yadallina, as if she were a child, on the grass. He looked at the calm surface of the lake, barely rippled by the breeze, its perimeter almost circular. He sat down a few meters from the elf and motioned to Ingram.

"Now I'm going to faint," he said.

And he passed out.

Hours later, they had drunk to their hearts' content. Ingram had poured water over the knight's scorched lips. Orion babbled deliriously, stretched out. Edauros sat with his legs crossed, his sister's head in his lap, attentive to every detail of her unconsciousness.

Yadallina opened her eyes.

"Finally, you lazy girl," she smiled at her brother. "Do you think I have nothing else to do?" She lightly caressed his face, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Who cares? How are you?"

He touched the bandages.

"Better, I think."

"Like always?"

"Like always."

He inhaled her scent.

"That's what I was saying," Edauros interjected. "I was sure. We never die, right? Something always appears to save us."

"I'd like to make sure this is just a bad joke," Yadallina replied.

She attempted to get up, but Edauros held her by the shoulder. She freed herself and remained sitting, testing the pain of the movements.

"And the human?" she asked, glancing at Ingram.

Ingram looked back. "Not good." He bit his mustache. "I don't know how he's going to get out of this, to tell you the truth."

"Your name is Orion, isn't it?" Yadallina asked.

"Yes," Ingram replied. "He introduced himself. Orion."

"Sir Orion Drake. Knight of the Order of Light," Ingram added.

She smiled.

"Of course. A knight. Saved my life."

"Saved everyone. It's just one of your bad habits."

Orion muttered something in his delirium.

"Is this what you were waiting for, Edauros?" Yadallina asked, her voice stronger and drier. "Being saved by a knight? The kind that kills dragons?"

The elf raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

Yadallina moved closer to Orion, examining his condition.

"If this man dies, it will be for us," she said. "To defend ourselves—" she corrected herself, "to defend me against his beloved Dragon King, and whoever was sticking that weapon in me."

"Black Skull," Ingram offered.

"Look, another famous enemy, Edauros. Are you happy? Knowing the powerful of Arton?"

"We are after our inheritance," Edauros replied. "From ourselves. And our inheritance, as it happens, is power. And now Sir Orion Drake, of the Order of Light, is dying because of this quest. You're doing well as a dragon, Edauros."

Silence hung in the air.

"Someone," Ingram began, "wants to explain to me why shit is happening here?"

Edauros clenched his fists. Yadallina moved closer to him, patting his back. "We are in Sckharshantallas in search of answers, master dwarf," Edauros replied.

"You have no idea how much I hate being called that. My name is Ingram."

"We're looking for answers, Ingram."

"You're seeking power, and so am I," Yadallina interrupted. "Answers and power. The truth—" Edauros met Ingram's eyes. "Is that we are dragons."

"We are not dragons."

"We have draconic blood. It's a power that has been in our family for centuries." Darien, who had been busy with the water, approached them.

"I was right!" he exclaimed.

"Edauros thought Sckhar might know the answers," Yadallina said. "Getting to know our ancestors."

"To be our ancestor."

"And what did you think to do, tied up in that square?" Ingram asked.

Edauros gave a crooked smile. "Surviving the bonfire. Impress the king. Get his attention."

"Boy, I'm sorry, but that's the worst plan I've ever heard. Survive at the bonfire?"

"Have you ever seen a dragon burn to death?"

Ingram waved the others away. "Can't you get us out of here?" Darien asked. "With magic? Like before?"

The elves looked at each other.

"Yes," Yadallina replied.

"No," Edauros interjected.

"I'm already awake. Of course we can."

"You are very weak."

"And Sir Orion is dying. He wins."

"You shouldn't even be standing up—"

"Okay, let's be careful. We don't want to get tired, do we? Let the knight die for our sake."

Darien stomped the ground and lifted his boot, revealing the creamy remains of a large, hairy spider. "Make up your mind," he said. "Now."

Other spiders began to appear, each slightly larger than a foot, and soon there were hundreds. The ground became black and mobile as they emerged from the lake.

Darien tap danced over the little creatures, crushing several until he slipped on their remains and landed on their furry bodies. Panic spread through him as the spiders covered him, tiny legs tickling his skin. After facing a Dragon King and enduring an endless journey through a rocky desert, he found himself terrified of spiders.

Ingram began pounding powder into his rifle, and the elves took an attentive stance—back to back, hands clasped, examining their surroundings. Yadallina raised her hand, and the forest and lake were flooded with transparent light. The world revealed itself, filled with spiders on the ground, fat snakes coiled in the trees, and vultures perched above, watching with keen interest.

While snakes and vultures remained motionless, the spiders converged on Orion. "Out, little sluts!" shouted Ingram, kicking a wave of tiny black creatures. But they continued to emerge from the lake in countless waves, blackening the ground, the tree trunks, and Darien, who was struggling. They crawled up his bootstraps, ignoring his protests. They covered Orion, and soon a cocoon of thin, infinite, whitish lines enveloped the knight.

"Do something!" Ingram shouted, discarding the rifle and rummaging through his powder. He grabbed a bag and a fuse, throwing an improvised grenade that ignited the spiders by the thousands. They ran and dried up, but others continued their diligent work, weaving around the knight.

Edauros and Yadallina recited something in a foreign, musical language. They began to expel bluish, acid-smelling vapors from their mouths and eyes. Some spiders fled from the fog, which pursued them like hunters. However, the majority remained.

"That should keep them away," said Edauros.

"They are resisting," Yadallina added.

Horrified, Ingram saw that Orion had already disappeared beneath the webs. His body, wrapped like a mummy, was being dragged, a million tiny legs and rounded bodies carrying him toward the lake. The dwarf clung to the lump that was his friend's feet beneath the cocoon. The substance was sticky and tangled. He planted his boots on the ground, but the strength of the spiders proved greater, as if an invisible cable was pulling Orion into the lake in his shroud. The dwarf shielded himself from the agitated beings that crawled all over him, mocking him with their thousand-legged touch.

Darien shouted.

He stood, spiders clinging to his hair, his face, and inside his shirt. Slapping himself, he ran toward the lake and threw himself in.

He found his face pressed against the firm, liquid surface. The air above the lake revealed its secrets, showing what it had been hiding. The spiders dragged Orion, walking across the water toward the Hidden House.

There was a subtle world over the lake.

The water, rippling slightly, became either liquid or firm, whichever was more convenient. It supported him like a mattress. Darien sat, trying to understand, sinking an inch or two. The spiders carried Orion in his cocoon toward a cabin made of uneven wood, nestled in a garden of overgrown weeds, wizened bushes, and a cozy cemetery. The thin fingers of the wild grass moved as massive snakes slithered past. The house expelled spiders from its unprotected windows, through the cracks between the boards, and under the floor. But having accomplished their mission, the spiders began to return, crossing the water without being disturbed and hiding again in the corners of the cabin.

Ingram poked the water with a branch, meeting the resistance of an elastic membrane. As he stepped onto the undulating ground, Darien followed the spiders carrying the knight. Two snakes, thick as his thigh, accompanied him, slithering and coiling near his feet. They wore expressions that suggested sly intelligence.

"No fear," said one of the snakes.

"So far I was," Darien grumbled.

The door of the wooden house opened. It was a peeling red color that must have once been garish. The brown beneath the paint had turned gray in many parts. It was heavy and pompous, out of place in such a building. The first spiders disappeared into the dark behind the door. Darien stepped into the weeds, which grew from a layer of earth above the shimmering surface. He imagined how the cemetery that rested contentedly to the left of the cabin could exist.

Ingram scrambled in behind. Edauros and Yadallina followed soon after.

"No fear," the snake repeated.

Orion, hidden in the web, was swallowed by the open door.

Ingram shouted his friend's name, grabbed his rifle, and started running. Darien took his arm.

"Perhaps we are safe," Edauros suggested.

"This is the lake," Yadallina added.

"It just might be. I thought it didn't exist."

"We can survive, after all."

"I was sure."

"What are you two talking about?" shouted Ingram.

"Allinthonarid," said the snake.

At that moment, it opened its mouth wide to devour them. Darien jerked back, and Ingram placed his finger on the trigger. The snake's mouth stretched wider and wider, dislocating its jaw, revealing something moving within its body. A visible skin tone appeared at its throat, followed by fingers, then a wrist. A very white hand emerged from the creature's gullet, grasping for something, pulling as if trying to force it to be born. Another arm squeezed out, and both hands gripped the snake's thick leather mouth, tugging. The mouth and head distended further, revealing hair, a forehead, yellow eyes, a nose, and a toothy smile. With one final effort, the figure emerged fully, stretching, extending its arms upward. It was very white, almost too much. A chalky substance covered its body. Its hair was dirty, thick, and arranged in bleached braids. Enormous teeth, yellowish eyebrows, and bone ornaments adorned its body. It was completely naked except for bells and rattles on her wrists, ankles, and throat.

At her feet, the snake was now just a skin.

Orion had disappeared into the house, and the door closed of its own accord. The last spiders were swallowed through the gaps. On the lake, there was only the woman, the four of them, the snakes, and the tombstones amid the loose grass.

"Welcome to Lake Allinthonarid," the woman said in a high-pitched voice, moving and speaking like a courtesan—provocative, seductive, languid. Darien observed that despite everything, she had a bold, attractive nose, and an underlined chin that, free of hair, would be charming.

"Since I'm at your house," Ingram said from beneath his mustache, "I'll try one more time. And then, it's lead. What is happening?"

"You're a druid, aren't you?" the woman said, approaching Yadallina and giving her an elven bow. "I have no idea how to treat her or how to greet her. But I think you do something very well."

"Druid, yes," the woman hummed. "Kiss Mother's hand." She extended her hand to the elf. Yadallina obeyed.

"Druid," Ingram muttered. "Why didn't you say it right away?" He put away the rifle and approached, still uncertain.

"Kiss Mother's hand."

Everyone kissed.

"We researched you," Yadallina said. "Well, about your lake. They say Sckhar can't destroy this place. Fire does not burn, water does not evaporate, trees are reborn."

"And whoever drinks the water is cured," Edauros added.

The woman smiled a huge, wicked smile, revealing her fleshy gums. "This is Allihanna's house," she said. "The dragon doesn't play here. And whoever is an enemy of the dragon"—she controlled an unnerving laugh—"is a friend of the Mother."

A laugh erupted from nowhere.

"And from the Father," said the other snake.

A man emerged, distending the mouth of the animal he inhabited. He was a muscular version of the woman, with the same white skin, the same dirty braids, and the same enormous smile. Where she was seductive, he was playful. His eyes were wide, and he licked his lips constantly. He wasn't naked; he wore a black nobleman's coat, leaving his chest, legs, and groin exposed. He also retrieved a top hat from inside the snake, carefully placing it on his head, and wielded a scepter with pomp.

"Kiss the Father's hand," he said, extending his arm.

They were all taken inside the cabin. The illusion that had hidden it before was now completely revealed: it was not a cabin, but a mansion.

The irregular interior—full of comings and goings, ups and downs, attics and cellars—was made of the same dark wood shown outside. Furniture, pictures, shelves, trinkets, insects, and lamps filled every corner, creating a mosaic of curiosities. The two druids, identified as Father and Mother, led Ingram, Darien, Yadallina, and Edauros to a room covered in torn carpets, decorated with dozens of stuffed animal heads, and filled with comfortable armchairs that were faded and leaking stuffing.

"Stuffed animals don't suit druids," Darien remarked.

"Ah, but they are the corpses of our friends," Father said, kissing the still face of a badger. "The dragon killed it; we left it here to remember."

"The rest of them are in the cemetery," Mother added. "Where they feed our other friends."

Darien preferred to stay silent.

The two hosts brought food for them—a paste of indecisive color in bowls, filled with small pieces of grass and hard grains. It had a nauseating taste reminiscent of early childhood. To drink, they offered a thick, semi-transparent liquid with bubbles and a light foam on top.

"Okay, I have to thank you," Ingram said. "Thanks. And I apologize. Sorry. But I want to know where my friend is."

"Sir Orion Drake is in medicine," Mother replied.

"Balls of Khalmyr, that word brings back memories," Ingram said.

"Sir Orion Drake will be cured," Father assured.

"Are the stories true, then?" Yadallina asked. "That the lake heals people? That whoever comes this far is protected from Sckhar's power?"

"We are healers," Mother agreed. "The lake is ours. And it doesn't matter what Sckhar destroys; Allihanna will give birth more and more."

"I knew a druid," Ingram said. "He wasn't anything like you."

Father straightened the lapels of his coat. "There are those who find themselves in the forests—druids who worship Allihanna of wolves, Allihanna of bears, Allihanna of deer and rabbits. There are those who find themselves on the plains—Allihanna of horses, Allihanna of lions. There is Allihanna of the heavens, of the birds. There is Allihanna fornicating with the ocean, Allihanna of the fish. We worship invincible Allihanna."

"Allihanna of the spiders," he said to Mother. "Allihanna of worms. Allihanna of flies, Allihanna of cockroaches. Sckhar kills; Allihanna of worms feeds. Ragnar kills; Allihanna of flies lays eggs, multiplies, has children, is reborn. Allihanna of vultures, Allihanna of hyenas. Kill whatever you want; our Allihanna is fat."

Around the doughy meal, the druids recounted their story.

The cult of Allihanna, the Goddess of Nature, was ancient in Sckharshantallas, even before it became Sckharshantallas. At that time, Arton was dominated by the worship of animals and uncivilized forces. The barbarians knelt to Allihanna and her wild brother, Megalokk, the God of Monsters. When civilization arrived, everything changed.

The cultivated, urban gods—gods of clusters of people, piles of laws, and stone things—established a firm foothold on the continent. Allihanna did not resent it, as life and death bordered her domain—Ragnar, the God of Death, and Lena, the Goddess of Life, were very close brothers. But intelligent creatures were never satisfied. There would always be those who sought to spread more death, those who wanted things their way. Sckhar was one such example.

The Dragon King, the most powerful among his people, was not content with servitude to Megalokk, the God of Monsters. His god should be none other than himself. The cult of Sckhar grew when he took a piece of the world for himself. In Sckharshantallas, it became the state religion, the religion of the king's house.

Sckhar desired himself in everything he saw. He transformed the kingdom, burned what he touched, used magic to shape the earth into sharp, sterile stones. He made the air hotter and brought lava from the depths of the world. He tore down what existed, building cities in their place. Nothing could withstand the changes imposed by Sckhar.

Except for a lake.

Allihanna withdrew further into that realm than she did elsewhere. Her druids died in droves, and her trees were reduced to crumbling nothingness. Her power hid within that casemate, like a fortress. Lake Allinthonarid, Allihanna's center of power and the sacred site of the Druids, became the focus of resistance. It withstood the breaths, the magic, and even mundane axes and boots. Until Sckhar seemed to give up.

It was a tiny speck, a speck of life in his dry kingdom. Sheltered by the lake, two druids remained holed up. But in a way, Sckhar had won. Because the druids had changed to survive. Allihanna of the eagles had been defeated; Allihanna of the larvae remained. The powers of Father and Mother were immense, surpassed only by their fertility. They held the lake, protected the magic of the Goddess, and maintained the Hidden House. They sustained their lives.

"It's coming again," Mother said suddenly, leaping from her armchair. She stood with her legs wide apart, and Father shouted with joy, beginning to dance. The woman grunted loudly, clenched her hands, and began to give birth. A swarm of flies emerged, a world of spiders and worms. Father laughed and howled. Finally, a stream of seeds was expelled from Mother, who fell back into the armchair, exhausted but smiling.

Edauros was amused. Yadallina appeared serious and interested. Ingram was paralyzed. Darien perched on a chair, too afraid to touch the floor.

"Stay as long as you want," Mother said, panting and sweating, with chalk dripping from her skin. "We looked at you for a long time through the eyes of carrion eaters. They are enemies of Sckhar, and therefore, they are welcome."

"Will Orion heal?" Ingram asked.

"Everything."

"Then please don't tell me anything else. I don't want to know."

They were taken to three of the numerous rooms in the Hidden House and told to sleep freely. Edauros and Yadallina insisted on sharing a room. Darien tried to fall asleep, surrounded by the musty smell of old quilts. He couldn't close his eyes. Soon, the sounds of frantic copulation between the two druids echoed through the house, and he gave up.

He got up and went exploring.

Orion remembered the pain: it came and went, consumed by delirium, realized again in flashes of lucidity. Drowning in unconsciousness, he felt a monstrous relief; even good dreams came, but a deep restlessness lingered, something to be remembered just out of reach. Then he woke up: he was in a dark place, alone, immobilized. Luminescences flickered in the corners of his eyes, and his entire body burned. Of course, that was it; that was the trouble. He turned it off and forgot.

In an underground part of the Hidden House, a basement excavated in packed earth and supported by totem-carved beams, Orion was sweating feverishly. His body was covered in worms—white, plump creatures that slithered slowly, thousands of them, devouring his burnt flesh. Yet, they stayed away from his ruined arm.

The tissues melted, the pustules disappeared beneath their tiny mouths, and Orion's pain fed those little children of Allihanna.

"It won't help, you know," said Vanessa.

Orion opened his eyes, seeing his wife standing beside him. She wore her war dress—thick fabric and metal plates. Her red hair was cut close to the back of her neck, and she wore an eye patch, hiding the mutilation from a year and a half ago. The symbol of Keenn, the God of War, adorned her gauntlets as she gripped her war mace tightly.

"I'm not going back," she stated. "It doesn't matter what heroic act you perform. Even if you kill Black Skull, even if you save the world, it doesn't make a difference."

"I'll find Vallen," Orion replied, his voice strong and clear. He knew this was wrong, but he couldn't discern why.

"No, it won't. And that is also irrelevant."

"You left because—"

"I left because I needed to. One of us needed it. What happened to Vallen was just a breaking point."

"I'll bring you back."

"No, Orion. It doesn't depend on actions. It doesn't depend on feats. It ended because I wanted it to."

"Understand, Vanessa. I'm saying what will happen. I'll bring you back." He opened his eyes.

He could move his head now. He saw the multitude of larvae; he counted the sensations as they crawled over his face. The faint glows he had noticed before revealed themselves, coming from all around. There were thousands of other larvae, but these were different. They blended into an indistinct mass, emitting luminosity, allowing him to see through their translucent bodies.

"A lot of rotten things in you," said a shrill woman's voice.

His mother stood beside him. Orion could not know who it was, but he recognized that he was awake—the world of delirium was now much clearer, and he saw that figure through the confused veil of pain.

"Everything that is rotten will be devoured. It's Allihanna's way, Sir Orion Drake." The worms consumed his dead flesh.

The translucent worms crawled up his skin and began to penetrate his pores. Orion felt chills of indefinite intensity. "The ghosts of a thousand worms," said Mother. "All that is rotten will be devoured."

He blinked, and in the woman's place stood Trebane—the centaur, the druid, his former companion. Prophesized as king of the centaurs, he had forsaken the prophecy to assist Orion on his quest.

"What a stench, Orion. I need a drink."

The knight smiled. "Are you alive?" he asked in a clear voice.

"What do you think?" Trebane grunted with a laugh. "Well, dead. I was buried in a mass grave in Valkaria. In Valkyrie. I doubt you expected this one."

"Sorry, my friend."

"Shove your excuses up your gray ass. I always did what I wanted. A man is about to be born who will force me to do something."

"Zara?"

"Did you remember the girl, then? Damn, maybe you learned something. Zara survived, Orion. Zara will be fine."

"Great."

"How great? Wonderful. Can't you see my happy face?" He kicked the ground, attempting to kick at nothing. "I need a drink. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get drunk when you're dead?"

"I think there's something wrong with me."

"Everything, for starters. But right now, what's wrong is that you're delusional."

"True. I think I remember. Where...?"

"Rest assured. You are in good hands. They are druids of Allihanna. Druids of Allihanna always have to save their old hides, don't they?" He laughed. "They're the most disgusting type of druids I know, but don't worry."

"I think I'm being eaten by worms."

"I am too, and you don't hear me complaining."

Awake.

"It will only hurt a little," said Mother. Orion tried to respond, but his voice was blocked.

An immense worm, as thick as a man's torso and as long as an ox, crawled toward him. It had a circular mouth that blinked and drooled in anticipation, filled with countless rows of teeth. Its segmented body was a vague shade of baby skin, covered in aseptic mucus. Like an emperor, it moved among the smaller worms, which shrank before its passage.

"I don't believe that the gods have abandoned everything," said the half-elf.

"You again," Orion replied. "That must make some sense. We just don't know which one it is."

She wore exotic and elaborate robes, had ruined eyes, and wild hair. Her face, serious and almost girlish, was a stark contrast to the chaos around them.

"After all, you gave the name," the voice echoed in the dim light.

"Name?"

"Traps."

"Fall Drake."

"Vallen Allond."

"Who—"

"If you know too much about him, you might think he's no good as a hero. But believe me, he was our leader."

"Who are you?"

His eyes shot open. He tried to slip back into unconsciousness, but the pain was overwhelming.

"Don't look, don't look, don't look," Mother urged softly.

But despite her warnings, an apocalyptic curiosity pulled at his face, compelling him to gaze upon the horror before him. He saw the giant worm, its colossal maw already engulfing his left hand. The many sharp teeth worked like a machine, mercilessly tearing apart his dead arm.

"I don't remember your name. But I failed you," he murmured, a sense of despair washing over him.

The man in front of him was slight, shabby, and agile. His hair was cut close but was already beginning to grow back. Scars marred his skin, but there were no fresh bruises to be seen. The metal foot he bore didn't seem to weigh him down; instead, it provided him with a precise and unexpected balance.