Don't touch my own, my skin,

my beloved brand — an Ophius,

not given, not earned. Hilarious!

Right? Just there, like breath. Precarious.

A crown for clowns, you'd surely say.

Can I be whole in pieces, when I'm made to

obey and pray, be royal in their way?

How do I earn my place, my say,

as them, as me, as yourself, Magi?

—Berdorf, E. Poems of a Wingless Princess. Unpublished manuscript, Summer.

They had lost all sense of time.

Each step carried them higher, deeper—upward through a staircase swallowed by stone, twisting into the golem's body. It was impossible to tell if the stairs had been carved by design or simply grown there.

The wood beneath their feet creaked with their weight.

Every step felt like a gamble, as if the stairs were testing how long they'd hold before giving way—dropping them into the hollow feet of the dead giant below.

No one spoke. Only their breath marked their passage. Then, abruptly, the staircase ended.

No wall. No doorway. Just an edge hovering over a black expanse. Nothing left to climb. Nothing left to see.

"Why did you stop?" Tariq's voice came from behind, impatient. He rose onto his toes, craning his neck to peer over Kaela's shoulder.

"The path ends here," the Magi said.

Ludo, standing just behind Tariq, shifted to get a better view—and understood immediately. The staircase simply vanished into the stone, as if the wall had swallowed the last few steps. No doorway. No seam. Just wood pressed uselessly against solid rock.

"What do we do?" Ludo asked. "Go back down?"

"There's nothing down there," Tariq replied, rubbing his chin as if brushing a beard that wasn't there. "Just pretty walls and empty floors. This…" He narrowed his eyes at the wall. "This can't be it."

"Unless we dig through the wall," Ludo suggested.

"Dig through the wall?" Tariq snapped, whirling around to stare at him. "Are you serious? Is there anything in your head besides that pretty hair?"

"Well, do you have any other ideas?" Ludo shot back. "Honestly, I think this mission's done. We should head back."

Kaela's eyes flicked around the stone walls, thoughtful and still. Then she turned to Ludo.

"Could you shoot an arrow upward? Into the dark—where we can't see?"

Ludo frowned. "I could, but I've got nothing to light them with."

Kaela raised her hand, her fingers curling into a fist. Then she opened them, palm facing up. A small flame flickered to life, hovering above her skin.

"Will this do?"

"Yeah, that works."

He dipped the arrowhead into Kaela's fire, watching the flame catch. Drawing his bow, he aimed high into the unseen. The first arrow soared—and clattered harmlessly against unbroken stone above.

"Nothing," he muttered, already nocking a second arrow.

He aimed farther to the right. Released.

Another dull thud. Another wall.

"Try that direction," Kaela instructed softly, pointing slightly left. "I think… I saw something."

Ludo followed the line of Kaela's outstretched finger, steadying his aim. He released.

The arrow arced upward, its flame cutting briefly through the dark—until it struck something. Wood? Stone? It vanished into shadow, but the brief flash revealed it: another staircase, suspended in the void above, leading somewhere unseen.

But it was too far. Too high. No way to jump it. Not safely.

Ludo lowered his bow and turned to Kaela, breath visible in the chill. "Can you make something? A bridge… or a trunk? Something to reach it?"

Kaela stared up into the void where the hidden stairs hovered, her gaze distant, unreadable. She was too still, too introspective. Maybe she was focusing—calling up whatever power she needed.

But this wouldn't be a challenge for someone who could summon fire so easily, right?

She inhaled and pushed her sleeves up past her elbows. That's when Ludo saw them.

Small scars, pale against her skin—bite marks, dozens of them, scattered like a map of old wounds.

He didn't ask. But the question pressed into him, unwelcome.

Kaela raised her hands, the movements slow, exaggerated—fingers weaving triangles in the air, one after another, as if stitching invisible threads between them.

And then, from the edge of the wooden stairs, a single green sprout unfurled. Tiny. Fragile. But alive.

One sprout. No more.

"What happened?" Tariq asked, eyeing the tiny sprout. "Out of fuel?"

Kaela glanced at the fragile green shoot."I'm not great with earth. I can… summon small things. That's about it."

She tilted her head slightly, watching it sway. "It's pretty, though."

"Cute," Tariq agreed dryly.

"We need a plan," Ludo muttered, frustration leaking into his voice. "What about air?"

"Leave her alone," Tariq cut in, settling onto the stairs, his back pressed against the cool stone wall. "Air's the hardest element to control. Even I know that. She's a fire mage."

"Pretty much," Kaela admitted quietly, letting her fingers brush the sprout's delicate leaves. It wilted beneath her touch, curling in on itself.

Ludo watched her, thinking. "How strong are you with fire?"

Kaela's lips curved. "Pretty strong."

"Strong enough to melt stone?"

"I'm not a dragon... I think."

Ludo watched as Kaela's fingers toyed absently, the chains slipping from her sleeve and the links whispering as they coiled around her wrist. The chains trailed down to her swords. She was brewing something—he could feel it in the stillness between them—but whatever thought or plan stirred behind that quiet mask, she gave nothing away.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"If anyone's got a plan," Tariq sighed, shoulders sagging as he turned away, "now's the time. Otherwise… adventure's over."

"No," Kaela snapped.

Tariq paused mid-step.

"You have a plan?" Ludo asked.

Kaela didn't answer right away. Instead, she began unbuttoning her robe, fingers steady, eyes fixed upward at the unreachable stairs. "I'll climb," she said. "One hand at a time. One blade at a time. I... I can do this."

As the fabric slid from her shoulders, the glint of chains and metal shimmered beneath—like a secret she'd been carrying all along.

"You're telling me," Tariq scoffed, eyebrows rising, "you're gonna climb that wall—with one of us on your back? Like some kind of monkey?"

"Yes."

She slipped off her robe, the fabric folding into her hands before falling to the stone. Underneath, the belts came into view: two curved swords resting against her hips, chained at the hilts, their links trailing up to leather bands wrapped snugly around her wrists.

Then Ludo saw them on her right arm—three deep, dark bite marks, scars pressed into her skin like old warnings.

Kaela's fingers reached up, unfastening the mask. A single flick of her hand sent it tumbling free.

Chestnut curls tumbled down, spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. And beneath the wild hair: wide, luminous doe eyes framed by thick lashes. A delicate black nose.

Ludo stared, unable to reconcile the Magi he'd followed through the belly of a dead giant… with the Fae now standing before him.

She looked—impossibly—soft. Innocent. Too fragile for this brutal place. And yet… she stood, steady, chains clinking quietly as she turned her gaze toward the wall.

Kaela folded her robe neatly, slipping it into Tariq's pack alongside her mask.

"I need full movement," she murmured, testing the weight of her chained blades as they shifted against her hips. Her gaze flicked between them. "So," she asked, "who's first?"

"For fuck's sake," Tariq groaned, slinging the bag over his shoulders again. "You're insane, you know that?"

He stepped forward, already climbing onto her back. "I'll go first. I'm the smallest—it'll be easier."

Kaela crouched low, bracing herself beneath him. Without hesitation, she leapt, a blur of muscle and chain, spiralling into the dark void above.

Then—clang!

A blade bit deep into the stone, the echo of metal-on-rock ringing through the golem's hollow chest like a bell.

Suspended in shadow, Kaela hung from the embedded sword, the chain tight between her wrist and hilt, breathless.

Tariq clung tight, face buried against her shoulder.

'I swear to every fucking god—' he muttered into her ear.

Kaela only smiled.

Ludo watched as Kaela swung, her body taut with each arc, the chains of her swords singing through the air.

Steel flashed—a blade sank into stone with a solid thunk, jerking their weight into a new hold.

Kaela hung there, a pendulum between shadows, before launching again.

Another jump.

Another strike.

Each time, a blade buried into the wall, each swing pulling them farther, higher. Tariq clung tight against her back, his silhouette folded into hers.

They moved fast. Too fast.

In seconds, they blurred beyond the reach of his sight, swallowed by the void above.

Only the faint scrape of metal, the distant rattle of chains, marked their passing—until even that faded.

Gone.

A voice rang out from the dark above. "Shout!"

Ludo fumbled for another arrow. He dipped the tip into the fire pressed against the wall, watching it catch the flame.

He drew. Aimed.

Their voices were distant, echoing somewhere unseen. He aimed for sound, not sight.

The arrow soared, its fire carving a brief arc through the void before striking stone with a solid clack.

The flame clung to the rock just above where they clung—casting them in flickering silhouettes, huddled together, safe for now.

Ludo exhaled, his breath curling in the chill. They made it; now it was his turn.

The clang of steel biting stone echoed down to Ludo, a reverberation threading through the hollow dark. Another clang. Closer this time. Faster now. The sound carried urgency, metal scraping rock, chains rattling in rhythm.

Then—she landed beside him. A blur of motion, boots hitting the wood with a thud, chains coiled tight around her wrists, blades trembling faintly from the impact.

Kaela stood hunched, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, sweat glistening along her temples, dampening the curls clinging to her neck. Her skin shimmered faintly in the dim firelight, flushed from exertion.

She didn't speak. Just pulled the swords free with a grunt, the metal groaning as they left the stone.

Ludo's eyes flicked from the blades to her heaving shoulders to the tremble in her knees.

He swallowed.

That bridge across the void—

That jump—

He wasn't sure he could trust it.

Not with her so breathless.

Not with those trembling hands.

"You should rest," Ludo said, slinging his bow over his shoulder, eyeing the sweat still glistening along Kaela's jaw.

The Magi crouched low, bracing her hands against the floor, chains pooling beside her boots. "I'm fine," she snapped, tilting her chin toward him. "C'mon. Grab my shoulders."

Ludo hesitated. Her breaths were coming too fast, each one scraping like she'd run a marathon in the dark.

"I'm serious," he pressed. "You should rest."

"I said I'm fine." Her hands curled into fists against the stone, knuckles whitening.

"You're barely breathing straight." His lips thinned as he stepped closer. "I really don't want to fall down there, Kaela."

She threw him a look over her shoulder—a flash of sharp teeth in a grin that wasn't humour. "Tariq's half your height, Leafbone, and his courage still stands taller than yours."

He watched her.

The way sweat clung to her temples, streaking down the curve of her neck. Her hair stuck in wild curls against flushed skin. Her chest was still heaving from the climb, and her breath was uneven.

Yet she knelt there, steady. Still, her spine straight, her chin lifted—a quiet defiance settling into every line of her frame.

And there was something else. Something other.

Without the black robe, without the mask, Kaela seemed… exposed. But not vulnerable. If anything, she felt more.

That golden symbol—carved into her forehead, gleaming faintly in the dim light—seemed to hum against the shadows. An infinity, resting like a crown she didn't wear so much as bear.

It wasn't just her strength. Or her strange, quiet resolve. It wasn't even the swords or the chains.

It was the way she carried all of it.

Something Ludo had never seen before.

Not in his teachers. Not in his companions.

Not even in himself.

And standing there, staring at her…

He realised.

He was afraid.

"Get on my shoulders," Kaela said, "or I leave you here!" No joke. No threat. Just a fact.

"Fine," Ludo muttered.

He hesitated as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his hands brushing her frame. She was smaller than him—lighter, narrower. It felt… wrong.

Kaela crouched deeper beneath his weight. The chains at her wrists rattled softly as she raised one sword, the other arm anchoring him steady.

Without another word, she hurled the blade into the abyss.

Clang.

The sound of steel biting stone echoed back from the dark. And then—Kaela moved.

The ground fell away.

Her body launched forward, dragging him with her. The world tilted.

And for a breathless moment, all he knew was falling.

Ludo's scream tore from his throat, raw and unbidden, swallowed by the vast hollow of the golem's chest. His heart hammered wildly against her back.

And beneath the rush of air, beneath the rattle of chains and the creak of leather—he could swear…

Kaela was laughing.

Another clang.

Another arc through the dark.

The swing curved higher, sharper, and the air pressed harder against them, folding their bodies into the pull of the chain. Ludo felt it deep in his gut—a twist, a lurch, a rush that didn't stop.

His head lolled forward. The climb blurred.

The rocks spun past his vision. His hands slackened against Kaela's shoulders.

He felt… tired. Heavy.

Like drifting beneath warm water, a soft fog curling behind his eyes.

Somewhere far off, Kaela's voice broke the haze.

"Ludo! Grab my shoulders!"

The shout didn't reach him. It sounded muffled, distant, swallowed by the rush of blood in his ears.

Kaela felt him slip.

In a blink, she let go of one embedded sword, the chain snapping loose with a metallic hiss. Her freed blade swung down in a wild arc, slicing past his side—and hooked beneath his arm just as his grip gave way.

The chain jerked taut.

Ludo's body swung against hers, unconscious.

"Shit."

Kaela's breath hitched. Her left arm strained, the chain taut, her blade wedged deep in the stone. The other hand clutched the chain wrapped under Ludo's limp arm, his weight pulling heavier by the second.

One sword holding her.

One chain holding him.

And nowhere to swing.

She dared a glance toward Tariq.

Two swings away. The staircase felt impossibly far.

"Everything okay?" Tariq called.

Kaela's arms trembled. "He passed out!"

A beat. "What?"

"Ludo passed out!"

"What the fuck?"

"Yeah…" Her jaw clenched. Sweat streamed down her temple, dripping into her eyes. "Yeah, what the fuck, indeed." Her grip tightened around the hilt, and her knuckles paled. She felt it—the creeping burn in her shoulders, the ache biting into her wrists. Her fingers slipping, millimetre by millimetre.

The chain creaked under the weight.

She swallowed hard. "What would Master Mediah do?"

Skoe Scana—long before Winter—was already a hostile place. Not by war or curse, mind you, but by geography. Encircled by mountains so stubborn they denied the Sun's reach, the land was condemned. Vegetation didn't die there. It simply refused to try.

What remained was stone, dust, and a dwarven people too proud to notice their soil was quietly abandoning them. It's no wonder that when the sky froze over, migrations had already begun. Just like Glish and Tessa Keplan. Romantic, really. I heard they returned in later years with their little one. Never got a postcard, but, oh, well...

Now, I should clarify—for the thousandth time—that the Golems are not to blame for the Great Desert. Correlation is not causation, despite what your grandmother's bedtime tales might claim. The land was harsh long before the Titans took root and forgot how to move.

As for the present… well, I haven't set foot in Skoe Scana. I meant to, once. Before the catastrophe. Before the sand took on memory and, the wind started speaking in ash. Before her... Eura.

Now? It's just another grave. Who wants to spend their holiday in the boiling desert made of dwarfs ashes?

Curiously, ever since the Sun reappeared, people seem to be rediscovering curiosity. Creatures wandering. Questions being asked. Coins spent on maps instead of wine. This may be a golden age of exploration or just a brief mania before the next famine.

Either way, I missed my chance to see Skoe Scana before it became a cautionary tale. Next time, I do better. Always late. Always writing eulogies for places I never visited.

No, I'm just kidding; I can go anywhere at any time. After all, I am the Professor. ——The Hexe - Book Three by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer

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