Placeholder artwork (until human-made artwork is available) generated by Schizoid Nightmares on April 14, 2023, using NightCafe (Stable Diffusion v1.5), licensed under CC0 1.0.An adult fetus is a contradiction in terms, but that is what I am: a contradiction. My body is fully grown ¡ª mature in every sense of the word. Yet, I am attached to an umbilical cord. At least, I think it is an umbilical cord. I am also suspended in a warm fluid. My arms and legs are free, but the fluid is thick. I hear a faint pulsing rhythm. My eyes, nostrils, and mouth are glued shut. I must still be inside my mother. I am safe inside her womb. I feel my scalp press against a smooth membrane ¡ª the pulsing rhythm hurries. In one quick pop, my scalp pokes through the membrane seal. A flood of liquid flows across my body towards my head. If it were not for the gluey substance blocking my nostrils, the fluid would painfully rush straight up my nose. I sense gravity for the first time as the liquid washes away. Head first, I am forced down a smooth muscular orifice in brief but powerful contractions. My head reaches the opening. A tepid, gentle breeze caresses my scalp. Warm fluid drains from my ears as I hear faint echoes of splashes. Now my upper half is nearly free of the orifice, I writhe and wiggle about. Two short contractions later, I¡¯m dangling with only my ankles inside. I pull one foot loose, and the orifice lets go of the other. I drop suddenly. The umbilical cord snaps off. I land head-first into a warm watery liquid. As I sink down, the glue on my eyes, nostrils, and mouth dissolves away. I struggle to turn upright, cusping my hands. There are heavy splashes continuously above me. After what seems like an eternity, I break the surface, gasping for my first breath. I nearly choke as my head barely stays atop. My eyes sting when I open them. I am in a circular pool, surrounded by a lipped edge. Beyond, a warm glow radiates upwards. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. There are others, dozens at least. A few barely moving at the surface, most lifelessly sinking out of sight, and several dropping from the orifices attached to the ceiling. Only the sound of snaps and splashes fills the cavity. A moist pinkish-red tissue lines everything around us, softly illuminated by the warm glow beyond the pool¡¯s edge. My skin starts to sting and then burn. A thin layer of slime builds up on my skin. My eyes feel like they are dissolving. I try rubbing the sting out, but it only makes it worse. The burning turns to fiery itching. One after the other, I jumble and whirl my arms, pathetically plodding toward the edge, keeping my chin as high as I can. My scrimpy arms struggle to pull me forward. I turn on my back, using my legs and swing my arms backwards. I see a quivering orifice right overhead. It opens and starts pushing someone out. My flagging strokes hasten. The orifice lets the person loose. Their cord snaps, and they fall near my feet into the liquid. Finally, and expended, I reach the lipped pool¡¯s edge and arduously try to force myself over, its slippery surface making it only worse. Compared to the weightlessness of the liquid, my body feels ten times heavier. My scrawny arms shake, and my weak muscles tear. A thousand thorns feel like they are piercing and ripping at my skin. The stinging liquid only continues to eat away and dissolve me. There is no clemency for rest. I wrap my hands around the lipped edge once more. My fingers grip onto some cartilage that I didn¡¯t feel before. I straighten my arms and brace the soles of my feet against the edge¡¯s curved wall. With all my meagre might, I pull and pull as my soles slip against the wall¡¯s slimy texture. Somehow, I pull myself over the edge, at last liberating my body from the pool. Flesh Run, II: Milk Fever
Placeholder artwork (until human-made artwork is available) generated by Schizoid Nightmares on April 26, 2023, using NightCafe (Stable Diffusion v1.5), licensed under CC0 1.0.Over the lip and into the warming glow, I go, sliding down a fleshy funnel into a soothing and muculent river below. The current carries me along, and I drift comfortably at the surface. My skin feels slithery smooth, and tenderly soft, with not a trace of stinging. The glow dims from the funnel above as I drift into a tunnel lined with a fleshy membrane, like all the other surfaces. I can barely see anything. My shoulder rubs up against the slimy rounded wall of the tunnel. I must be drifting around a bend. There are muffled moans and groans from an indeterminate distance ahead. Around the bend, I see a faint warm glow. Small waves ripple gently past me. The tunnel opens into a cavity raised above the river. A giant pulsating udder hangs overhead. A warm glow shines down a slit that encircles the base of the udder. There are dozens of other tunnels, all flowing into the cavity where the river ends. A figure ahead of me from one of the other tunnels crawls out of the river and shuffles up the cavity¡¯s shore. There are more of them, no more than a dozen. They gather under the udder, reaching up at its inviting teats. A lucky one grabs hold of one and tries to suck the luscious teat. The others grab the lucky one, trying to climb them to get to the teat. Lucky elbows one of the grabbers in the face. The elbowed grabber yells and shrieks, their voice breaking, and spits as the others push them away. Elbowed sits and snivels, burying their face in their palms. I crawl past them out of the river. Lucky brawls with the others and kicks one aside. Wheezing, they all fall down, some on top of each other. I push myself onto my feet and wobble underneath the udder, narrowly avoiding stepping on the others. I can barely keep my balance. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The udder hangs there, so inviting. My mouth waters just looking at it. My stomach growls. I imagine my lips around one of the teats, sucking. I can practically feel the milk lather my throat. Before I lift my arms up to its delectable teats, I feel hands grasp up my leg. Lucky and the others use me like a vine. I try to keep my legs straight, but I am no match for their combined weight. They clamber over me, and I collapse beneath them. The others trample my body with no concern, using me to step up towards the teats. Lucky is again the first to grab a teat and suckle its delicious milk. Satiated, Lucky steps off me, letting go of the teat, its milk dripping down on us. I, and the others, lick up all the spilled milk we can get. After some quick tastes, I compose myself and roll onto my rear. The others still suckle away at the milk residue on the fleshy floor. Lucky stands before me, they drool, and their eyelids remain half closed. I see their feet start to sink into the floor like mud. Soon, the floor swallows their ankles, then their knees, and their thighs. Now they¡¯re down to their waist. Lucky has the same expression on their face, seemingly unperturbed or too quenched to care. They sink further down into the flesh. I just sit there and watch as the floor swallows them down whole, leaving no hole or other trace. I lean forward and lightly touch where they sank. It feels no different, not more squishy or solid than the rest of the floor. I glance up at the udder. Its teats are more inviting than ever. My heart races to meet one with my lips. The others still fight over the dribbles on the floor. I step on one of them, pushing my toes down into their spine to get a good grip. A loud shriek. I must be on top of Elbowed. I recognize their sharp voice. I quickly grab the closest teat and yank it to my lips. At last, the teat is mine! Elbowed, and the others groan and holler. I suckle on the teat like a baby. I don¡¯t want to waste a single drop. The milk lathers my throat and fills my belly. A placating tidal wave flows through my body. I am suddenly pushed off of Elbowed by the others as they scramble on top of them. Elbowed wails and writhes against the ground. Milk drips down from the suckled teat, sprinkling us in droplets. My body starts sinking into the ground, despite the others being unaffected. The fleshy membrane feels slithery and soft against my skin as it engulfs me. I don¡¯t panic. I just let it all happen¡ Flesh Run, III: Deep Throat
Placeholder artwork (until human-made artwork is available) generated by Schizoid Nightmares on May 2, 2023, using NightCafe (Stable Diffusion v1.5), licensed under CC0 1.0.Down and through the flesh, I slide on my back towards a dark steepening tunnel. Warm radiating light barely penetrates the translucent membrane walls. The prior feeling of calm has slid away as I descend into the darkness. My arms reach out, and my fingers try to find a grip on the smooth, slippery surface. The tips of my short nails create no friction. I turn onto my stomach and try to press my nails into the membrane, it feels simultaneously soft and firm, and my nails barely make an indent. The floor steepens so far as to nearly give way to freefall. My feet no longer touch the ground. With a sudden, painful jolt, my hands somehow catch the edge of a muscular ridge of cartilage. The edge is covered in slimy mucous. Sweat drips from the pores all over my body. My fingers twitch, and my arms rattle. I hear nothing but the pounding of my heart. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. A stream of mucous crawls over my fingers, across my arms, down my spine, and drips from the tips of my toes. I flap my feet around. I feel nothing in reach below me. My muscles burn trying to save me from gravity. Glancing behind me, I try to spot anything else to hold onto. I seem to be inside a deep shaft lined with irregular ridges. The darkness obscures whatever bottom may exist. I notice some parts of the circular ridges are lower than others. Rather than surrendering to gravity, I force my hands along the cartilage, trying to get myself to its lowest point near another ridge I see faintly below. Somehow, barely still holding on, I manage. My feet barely touch the ridge below me, and I almost lose my grip relaxing my weight onto my toes. A short scream echoes from above, but I hear nothing else but my breathing and heartbeat. I carry on after a brief rest. The ridge provides just enough room for me to crouch down. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. I continue down the shaft, shimmying along and carefully letting myself down each ridge. Sweat and slime smother me. My eyes sting, but nothing like they did in the pool I was born into. After traversing about half a dozen ridges, I come down to a narrow bridge of partially exposed bone spanning across the shaft. The bridge appears to be the only way to reach the next ridge below. Another short, panicked scream echoes from somewhere above. I get on my hands and knees. I cling onto the bone, hanging upside down with my feet and arms wrapped around. I make my way across. The bone is slippery, but with both my legs and arms, I never completely lose my hold. The muculent slime drips off my back as I near the other side. With great relief, I finish the climb across and rest my feet on the ridge below. My whole body trembles. I look up and faintly see figures slowly descending the ridges just as I did. I barely see a commotion occur higher up the shaft. One figure tumbles down, crashing into another, causing both of them to fall. One falls past the bone, and the other lands their midsection on it, splitting them and the bridge apart. My toes slip off the edge of the ridge, and I fall, but I catch the edge with my hands. The whole shaft shakes for a brief moment before the ridges start smoothing out. My grip weakens, and I fall down the shaft against its slimy walls. All the other ridges have disappeared. I don¡¯t land on a hard surface. Instead, the ground becomes elastic and deeply breaks my fall. It then becomes firm, yet soft, like before. The other figures drop right after me, each landing safely as I did, the ground momentarily swallowing their falls. The two halves of the one that hit the bone sink and disappear entirely into the ground, leaving the surface bare, absent of blood or entrails. With one exception, all the others survived, even the one that fell first but missed the bone. I recognize most of them from the udder cavity. There are nine of us now. Elbowed made it, and Lucky, who descended well before any of us. Lucky checks out a horizontal slit in the wall ahead near the ground. It looks like there is just enough room to crawl inside. Behind us, the shaft¡¯s wall is curved inward like the end of a slide. Lucky sniffs the slit and gets on their stomach. They crawl inside, their feet slipping on the thin layer of slime. The others follow. As I step closer to the wall, I get a whiff of a pleasant smell. I crawl into the slit after the others. Flesh Run, IV: Forbidden Fruit
Placeholder artwork (until human-made artwork is available) generated by Schizoid Nightmares on May 8, 2023, using NightCafe (Stable Diffusion v1.5), licensed under CC0 1.0.As I crawl through the slitted passage, I feel its fleshy membrane gently collapse behind my feet. The smell becomes sweeter and a tad bit pungent. It becomes evermore concentrated in the passage as the membrane seals behind me. I push myself forward, using my feet against the membrane. In the faint warm light ahead, I see only the dark outline of a figure crawling out of the passage in front of me. I am the last in and the last out. Following right after, I pull on the edges of the opening, sliding myself smoothly out, covered in now a thick layer of muculent slime. We are in a circular cavity. A slow pulsating warm glow permeates through the enclosing membrane. In the centre is a muscular tree-like growth. Red glowing polyps form its dense crown. When I look at them, I salivate. Their sweet scent fills my mouth and throat, tantalizing me closer. A firm hand squeezes my shoulder. It¡¯s Lucky. They shake their head at me and point to a figure lying on the ground near the growth. I recognize them from our group. They lie still. Their face is bloated. Their eyes and lips are swollen shut. I do not see or hear them breathing. The others watch them. The floor soon swallows their body, leaving no remains. There are eight of us now. Lucky tries to stop the others from approaching the growth, but one pushes them aside, licking their own lips. Elbowed then steps forward, spits in Lucky¡¯s face, and elbows them hard in the shoulder as they brush past. The others follow as Lucky looks on helplessly. I try creeping past Lucky, but they block me with their arm. They point towards the growth as the others approach it. Despite Lucky¡¯s pleading grunts, they ignore them. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. A rattling sound emits from the growth as the others close in. One of them reaches for a polyp. The polyps quiver as their hand nears. Lucky keeps pointing intently at the growth, and they shake their finger. A keratin vine emerges from behind the polyps. On its tip, a rattle shakes rapidly and loudly. The vine hovers near the impending hand. Undeterred, the hand tries to grasp a polyp. Drool drips from my lips as I stare. A stinger emerges from the vine¡¯s tip. The vine springs at the hand and punctures through it. Stung screeches in pain and jumps back, clutching their hand. Tears stream down their face. Their hand swells up fast, and the swelling travels down their arm. The others, including Elbowed, pay no attention and rip off polyps from the growth, spared of the distracted vine. They sink their teeth into the juicy polyps and devour them. Stung falls over, convulsing and crying silently. I watch the others with burning jealousy. They lick the leftover juices from their lips. My heart pounds, and my mouth drools for a fresh red polyp. The rattle cannot inhibit me any longer. I rush forward, not letting Lucky get a chance to hold me back. As I scurry by the growth, I quickly yank off a polyp, and the rattling vine launches after me. I feel a rush of air against the back of my shoulder. The vine barely missed me. While I consume the polyp, I see the satiated others submerge into the floor. I close my eyes, enjoying the luscious sweet taste. Juice squirts from the polyp on my cheeks. I gather what I can with my fingers and lick my face clean. Lucky watches from across the room, their eyes darting between the growth, Stung, and I. My muscles tighten and relax. A serene wave flows through me. First, my toes sink into the floor, and then gradually, the rest of me. Just as the membrane fully engulfs me, I see Lucky creep toward the growth. Stung stumbles to their feet, their swollen arm limp. I close my eyes as the membrane rolls over my head. Flesh Run, V: Rib Cage
Placeholder artwork (until human-made artwork is available) generated by Schizoid Nightmares on May 14, 2023, using NightCafe (Stable Diffusion v1.5), licensed under CC0 1.0.The flesh soon releases me onto a slide of slime. It leads me down a steeply inclined tunnel. I glide out straight into a wall of flesh. My body stretches the membrane as it safely breaks my velocity. The wall then stiffens and gently pushes me back. Using the wall, I clamber to my feet and look around. I am standing on a platform of membrane, with a cliff in front abruptly giving way to an abyss. Behind me, there are other inclined tunnels like the one I came from, positioned in such a manner that those exiting out of each one will collide with a wall rather than each other. Beyond the platform is a series of exposed curved bones, roughly equal in distance from each other. They look close enough to grab onto. In the distance across the abyss, I can faintly make out another platform. Five others, including Elbowed, are on the platform with me, all from our group. Another slides out from one of the tunnels behind us. It¡¯s Stung. Their arm is no longer swollen up. Lucky is nowhere to be seen. I motion to Stung, but they pay no attention to me. Elbowed is the first to start making their way across the abyss, swinging from bone to bone. The others follow but with greater difficulty. I am now alone on the platform. Elbowed is nearly at the other side now. Compared to the others, they¡¯re making it look effortless. I shuffle my feet near the edge. Looking down, I see the cliff¡¯s wall disappear into the darkness of the abyss. Above and on the sides, a continuous membrane encloses all like everywhere else. I can¡¯t reach the first bone, not without launching myself off the platform. Most of the others ahead have already made their way across. I glance around me once more for anything else to grab onto. The smooth enclosing membrane would provide no grip. Swinging from bone to bone is the only way across. What would happen if I just stayed here? Maybe wait for Lucky. My gut tells me no. If I don¡¯t move along and catch up with the others, the membrane will swallow and digest me, probably. I¡¯ve never felt alone. Even as the others get further away. It¡¯s as if I¡¯m constantly being watched. Yet, despite the absence of loneliness, I feel urged to go on. My stomach does not feel empty. I do not hunger for more sustenance. I still desire to see myself on the other side. Not to catch up with the others but because of some unexplainable pressure. I imagine hands behind me, pushing me, but not actually. Hands of an indifferent beholder. My mother, perhaps. I could still be inside them, born into the acid pool at the bottom of their stomach. They would have digested me had I not swum to the edge and thrown myself out. How could they be my mother if their innards are of a different order than mine? My throat is above my stomach, yet it is the other way around for them. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The sustenance of the growth and the udder must have fed my mind. I have never had such long trains of thought. All my energy before was spent on moving my body. Maybe it was because I had no choice. I feel fuller, stronger, and more alert. Is this maze of flesh and bone a test? Mother must see that their offspring are worthy before releasing them. Or is mother merely indifferent? Drop the child in the pool and see if they drown. Mother¡¯s body reacts to our actions, but so does mine to air. I breathe without thought. I do not have to think about falling. I just fall. These pointless questions clutter my mind. I cannot ask the membrane why it does what it does. No more than I can ask my eyes why it sees or my nose why it smells. Why think of this at all. The others do not seem to have this problem. They all but disappeared now, beyond the platform on the other side. I think they forced themselves into an orifice. Somehow, they went through the wall at the end of the platform. I faintly see spiral grooves in its membrane. Maybe my mind is sick. I am not like the others. I procrastinated and wasted time. I push my toes off the edge, gripping tightly on the first bone overhead. It¡¯s curved downward, almost like my rib cage. The grip is a lot easier than I expected. It isn¡¯t slippery. It¡¯s almost dry and grainy. Loosening my grip a little, I swing myself forwards and backwards. After building up enough momentum, I swing to the next bone, feeling a brief rush of panic right before establishing a firm grip. With greater confidence, I swing to the next, and then the next¡ One last swing and my feet plant on the platform. My heels slip on the membrane. I have no grip on the bone behind me. My head falls back toward the abyss. Tears dribble from my eyes. Feet suddenly hook under my armpits. I hang for a moment, dangling helplessly above the endless darkness. A few loud grunts from above, and then I am swung off the feet to the platform¡¯s edge. The lower half of my body doesn¡¯t make it. I grab at the membrane ground with my hands, stretching my arms as far as I can in an attempt to pull myself up. A figure swings overhead of me, planting down in front on the platform. They reach down and catch my hands as I slip further off the edge. Yanking my hands, they fall onto their back, pulling the rest of my body across the membrane. I rest between their legs in safety. We both pant heavily. They lightly pat my shoulder a few times and then get back on their feet. Laying on my stomach, I lift my chin, trying to look up at them. I see only as far as their featureless pelvis before resting my cheek on the membrane. My whole body shakes in fear and relief. I feel a hand gently grasp my arm. With help, I am on my feet. My eyes confirm what I already suspected: Lucky standing before me in the flesh. Flesh Run, VI: Salivary Duct
Placeholder artwork (until human-made artwork is available) generated by Schizoid Nightmares on May 15, 2023, using NightCafe (Stable Diffusion v1.5), licensed under CC0 1.0.I follow Lucky through the orifice behind us at the end of the platform. It leads into a cramped, dark tunnel, illuminated by a soft red glow from behind the partially translucent membrane surroundings. Lucky gently leads me by the hand. As we creep further, I feel dampness increase on the tunnel¡¯s walls. Before long, my feet tread in a salivary fluid that pools on the floor, sliding down from the round walls. The liquid becomes deeper the farther we move in. It¡¯s now up to my knees. The tunnel must be on an incline, although one too slight to notice. There is no current to the liquid. It feels still, with no ripples from ahead of us. Its temperature matches my body. We reach the point where we¡¯re up to our waist in the fluid. A thickening mist saturates the tunnel, obscuring what lies onward. I slowly stop. Lucky lightly pulls at my hand as they try to move on ahead. I slip my hand from their soft grip. They turn to me, looking confused. Stubbornly, I hold my ground and stare beyond them. Lucky¡¯s welcome to continue on, but I think I¡¯ll stay put, if just for a little while, or maybe I¡¯d rather they test the waters first. Lucky looks at me for a moment as if to change my mind. They sigh dejectedly, then turn back around and carry on ahead. I watch them wade into the mist. At least the fluid doesn¡¯t sting. Why rush? Ripples in the fluid from ahead gradually dissipate. Maybe it gets shallower? I wait no longer and tread on. Quickly, though, it becomes clear I thought wrong. It¡¯s definitely not getting shallower. It¡¯s up to my shoulders now. Looks like I¡¯m going for a swim. It couldn¡¯t be worse than swimming in a stomach¡ This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. I paddle my arms through the liquid, keeping my head above the surface. The ceiling of the tunnel gets closer and closer. I stop before it forcefully submerges me. I tread in place, keeping my chin raised and lips gracing the ceiling. I take one deep breath before pushing myself under. Panic soon sets in as I swim deeper into the submerged passage. I twist around and try swimming back. It¡¯s pointless. The membrane swallowed the path behind me like it never existed. I push off it with my feet and swim as far ahead as I can, the panic nearly consuming me. In front, blanketed in fog, bubbles glint in the faint warm light. I follow them to a tiny orifice. I empty my lungs before enclosing the orifice with my lips. The panic instantly fades as I take a deep breath. The orifice fills my lungs with air. I then feel it shrink under my lips. The orifice is gone now. I must keep going. Not long after, the panic returns, but this time, my hope tames it a little. I spot more bubbles. I rush and wrap my lips around the orifice from which they leak. Again, it fills my lungs and shrinks into the membrane. The race against drowning continues. Several more orifices down the passage. My legs and feet spasm, but I keep going. The panic of drowning is too overwhelming. I¡¯m relying on my arms now. My pace wanes. I focus only on reaching one orifice at a time. I think of nothing. I move solely on the urge to breathe. I can¡¯t find the next orifice. I suck at the membrane, but it¡¯s no use. My whole body enters a spasm. I turn onto my back and spot ripples overhead. I can¡¯t swim anymore. My vision fades. Suddenly and violently, arms reach under me. They pull me up against the ceiling, and my face breaks the liquid¡¯s surface. I gasp for air and choke on the fluid. My legs drag against the membrane below. I feel my body finally escape the liquid. The arms haul and slide me out on a smooth membrane ramp. They turn me on my side, and I spit out the remaining liquid. I pant heavily, savouring every breath. The air is delicious. The arms that saved me can only belong to one. The one I already know. There¡¯s not a chance it¡¯s anyone else. They must have waited for me. They¡¯re different from the others. They care for more than just their own life. Even when the others don¡¯t return the favour. I can¡¯t say I feel the same way. The arms drag me again away from the submerged passage. They lug me through an orifice. It closes right behind my feet. The next chamber is much warmer and densely misty. Letting go, the arms rest me on my back on the membrane floor. I then surrender into a deep sleep. Flesh Run, VII: Mucous Spa
Placeholder artwork (until human-made artwork is available) generated by Schizoid Nightmares on April 21, 2023, using NightCafe (Stable Diffusion v1.5), licensed under CC0 1.0.Awakening, my heavy eyes struggle to open. I drift in and out of consciousness. Waking once more, I rub my eyes before creeping them ajar. A condensing steam soaks the room. From above, a hot glow seeps through the membrane. I sit up, and my vision blurs. I lick the moist air and gulp saliva down my parched throat. In my blurred sight, I see figures close ahead of me, bathing in some liquid. All but one ignores me. On my hands and knees, I try crawling towards them. My tongue gently hangs out across my teeth. Losing my balance, I slump on my side, the membrane cushioning my fall. I reach my arms out, trying to grasp the edge of the bath, which lies depressed into the membrane. The tips of my fingers touch it. Using the joints of my fingertips, I clench the edge and pull myself a little closer. With greater reach, I grasp the bath¡¯s edge and give one strong pull. My body slides head-first down into it. The liquid inside is a thin balmy mucous. Hands gently turn me onto my back. The muculent liquid still covers my eyes. Arms drift me backwards. They rotate me around. I float weightlessly on the surface. Fingers grace my face. They tenderly wipe the mucous atop my eyelids. Slowly, I open them and see Lucky staring down at me ¡ª with a subtle smile, almost cradling me. Lucky carefully props me up by my back against the side of the bath. Underneath the surface, my feet touch a shallow cartilaginous ledge below. Little coarse hairs touch the soles of my feet and between my toes. They provide my feet with a firm grip on the lip. Lucky raises their hand to my lips. They carry a clear liquid. I sip from it as they tilt their hand. The liquid is lukewarm and fresh but tasteless. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. They point next to me. A small nasal-like opening in the wall secretes a clear liquid, dripping into the bath¡¯s mucous. I cup my hands underneath and collect some of the secretions ¡ª drinking it. Hydrating but not filling. It nonetheless quenches my thirst. I continue to drink from the secretions until my throat thirsts no longer. I turn around, my back against the side of the bath and sink into the mucous right down to the tip of my chin. My hands rest below, underneath the surface, on the ledge of cartilage. I let my legs float freely out in front of me and close my eyes¡ Thoughts whisper inside my mind. There is no way to communicate them to the others. How would I? Point to my head? Dance my fingers around? The others wouldn¡¯t understand. It occurs to me that I may be the only one among us that thinks at all. Only five of us are alive, including myself, Lucky, Elbowed, and Stung. At least alive enough to be sharing this bath. I don¡¯t know what happened to the others¡ Those that survived past the platforms separated by an abyss¡ I suppose I can assume they drowned in the submerged passage. If my memory serves correctly, there were eight of us alive before we entered it. Three must have perished inside. Maybe panic got the better of them, or perhaps they were just poor swimmers. Though, all of us were of equal experience. Aside from slight differences in facial appearance, we¡¯re all virtually identical. Same height. Same skin texture. Same adult-like development. Hairless. Neuters. Practically equals. What sets us most apart is what¡¯s beneath our fleshy exterior. My thoughts quiet down as I drift further into relaxation. Half awake and asleep, my chin bobs on the surface. I feel a current in the bath, and I fully awaken. The bath drains, its contents swirling down into a widening orifice, which has appeared at the bottom. Struggling as the current pulls me with it, I turn over, my chest against the bath, and I grip the ledge of cartilage. The membrane then absorbs the cartilage. Lucky, I, and the others slide down the bath¡¯s walls and fall through the orifice. Flesh Run, VIII: Bite Me
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion v1.5 ¡ª CC0 1.0We fall into a dark one-way shaft. Dim speckles of orange light flash continuously and rapidly from far ahead. The five of us tread forward lightly. As we step further, I make out three jaws, each large enough to block off the entire shaft. They open and close rapidly, revealing and concealing the orange light beyond. On the jaws are teeth shaped like ours and tightly spaced. My pace slows, and the others proceed ahead of me ¡ª Lucky stops and looks behind at me. Assuming they don¡¯t desire to become meals, their eyes must not have seen them yet. I expose my teeth to Lucky and pretend to chomp on something. They look at me, utterly bewildered. Further but not too far ahead, the others stop one by one. Lucky turns around and approaches the others before suddenly pausing. Now they¡¯ve seen them. Meeting up with the others, I realize each pair of jaws chomps at different intervals. The closer, the longer the break between a chomp. The furthest one chomps on the shortest interval. They each bite down quick and hard but open slowly. I also notice that each pair of jaws is spaced just enough apart from one another that you could fit safely between them, provided you keep still and stand tall. However, there¡¯s no way you could get through all three of them simultaneously. Even if you could run as fast as you could spit. One of us, I¡¯ll call them Bold, boldly attempts to step over the bottom row of teeth of the first pair of jaws¡ Only for Lucky to pull them hard backwards. The jaws narrowly miss their leg. Lucky stares at Bold, clapping their own hands at the same interval of the jaws right in front of them. Bold, seemingly ungrateful and oblivious, ignores Lucky. They then lift their leg over the bottom row again and plant their foot on the other side. They turn to Lucky ¡ª smugly. Lucky gasps, quickly turning their head away and covering their eyes¡ Just as a scoff leaves Bold¡¯s lips, the jaws come mercilessly, crushing down. And now, it¡¯s just the four of us. Warm blood pools around our feet. Bold¡¯s body, crushed by the powerful jaws, is split into two. They are a mash of torn flesh, mangled organs, and fractured bones. Their death, aside from the sound of an interrupted scoff and their bones snapping under the pressure of the jaws, was quick and silent. Only their arms and legs, crudely severed, are recognizable. The jaws open, and the remains of their body rest on either side of the teeth. Where Bold had stepped over, the teeth have moved considerably, bent forcibly out of position, leaving more significant gaps while pushing the teeth closer together elsewhere. Blood seeps from the gums around some of the teeth. Inflammation appears everywhere, but particularly worse where the teeth crushed Bold. While the membrane absorbs the blood, Lucky picks up one of Bold¡¯s severed arms ¡ª the one on our side. They rest the arm on top of the jaw¡¯s bottom row of teeth. In tempo, the jaws snap shut, crushing the arm in two. The arm slightly crooks some teeth. Lucky then picks up one of Bold¡¯s legs and steps back. The leftover remains of Bold absorb and disappear beneath the membrane. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Elbowed jolts forward, quickly stepping over the bottom row of teeth after the jaws open. They turn around after making it safely on the other side of the jaws ¡ª looking at them as if they are surprised to have made it. Stung watches the jaws intently, readying themselves for the right timing. They make it across but nearly trip on the bottom row. It¡¯s just me and Lucky now. We both watch the first row of jaws open and close. Lucky raises their hand towards it, bouncing their hand in tempo. They squeeze my arm, then place their hand on my shoulder ¡ª guiding me to the rhythm. I ready myself. They quickly and lightly push my shoulder as the jaws open. I step over the bottom row and reach the other side next to Elbowed and Stung. Lucky steps beside me, only but a moment later. The next row of jaws closes faster than the first pair. Stung leaps forward but trips their foot on one of the teeth. They fall into the succeeding third pair on the other side of the jaws. The third jaws clamps down with lethal force, tearing Stung into two across their waist. Stung screams and then abruptly dies. The three of us stare silently and watch as their remains soon sink into the membrane. Lucky still holds one of Bold¡¯s legs. After the jaws open, Lucky sticks one end between some teeth on the bottom row. The jaws crush down on the leg bone, effortlessly snapping it apart. Bone fragments spray at us, pushing Elbowed off-balance. They stick their arm out behind them to break their fall. The jaws behind us then bite Elbowed¡¯s arm, completely severing it from their shoulder. Their voice violently shrieks ¡ª my ears ring in pain. They try to stop the bleeding with their other hand. Lucky and I look on helplessly, unable to move. Elbowed lays back and rests their head on the bottom row of teeth. The jaws close and crushes their face into their skull. Only a bloody pulp remains. Blood pools between the two jaws, covering our feet up to our ankles. It all then sinks away into the membrane floor. Lucky and I are alone now. The front-row teeth on the second pair of jaws ahead of us have bent significantly out of shape ¡ª leaving a narrow gap, perhaps wide enough to fit through. While the jaws are closed, Lucky cautiously sticks their hand in the gap. The jaws open and close, leaving their hand untouched. Lucky lifts their foot and places it on the exposed gum in the gap. The jaws open and close again ¡ª safely missing Lucky¡¯s foot. Lucky grips me. Using their foot, they kick and push on the adjacent teeth. I help hold Lucky in place while they gradually widen the gap. They also use their hands to further pry apart the loose teeth on the top row. The gap should be enough to crawl through now. We both crawl through, being careful to avoid having our legs crushed by the first pair of jaws behind us. Only one pair of jaws remains in front of us. This one closes much faster than the other two. Too fast. However, this time, we don¡¯t have any bony limbs to spare. I look behind me at the second row of jaws and get an idea. I use my foot and kick one of the loose teeth. After a few tries, the tooth eventually nearly breaks free. Lucky sees what I¡¯m doing and carefully lowers themselves on their side. They pull the tooth free with their hands. I then help them up on their feet. Just before Lucky tries to place the freed tooth on the third pair of teeth in front of us, I stop them. They let me take the tooth from them. On the end of the tooth is a sharp root. Using the sharp end, I begin digging away at the wall of the shaft. The membrane is initially tough and elastic, but the sharp root manages to break the seal. There¡¯s more tissue beyond the membrane wall, but it¡¯s softer and easier to dig through. I start digging my own narrow tunnel through the fleshy tissue. Lucky follows closely behind, nearly hugging my back. They aggressively nudge me forward as if to escape something from behind them. I continue on, tunnelling frantically into the soft tissue. Flesh Run, IX: Fleshed Out
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion v1.5 ¡ª CC0 1.0I break through a thick layer of membrane. Lucky pushes me forward from behind, and we both tumble into a large, wet, fleshy, cylindrical canal. Behind us from where we fell is the tunnel I dug, the ridged membrane quickly sealing it closed. Light, faintly passing through the encompassing membrane, dimly illuminates our surroundings. A shallow brown, murky, putrid liquid rests stagnantly up to our ankles. On either end of the canal is a large closed orifice. The air reeks and brings out tears from our eyes. Watery squeaks echo from one of the canal¡¯s ends as an orifice opens. It reveals a brown, rolling mass, almost filling the whole circumference of the canal. We feel a strong, warm breeze blow past as the mass rolls towards us. A chokingly rancid odour pervades the cavity. As it approaches, I can barely make out what appear to be limbs and faces, partially disintegrated into the brown rot. Lucky turns and tugs at my hand; I nearly trip. We both run for the opposite end. Our feet stumble on the cartilaginous ridges that line the canal, and we make a sluggish pace. The liquid in the canal sucks back at our feet ¡ª flowing behind us towards the mass. I can almost feel the mass grace my back as it tumbles after us. Lucky is the first to reach the closed orifice in front of us. After realizing I am still holding onto the uprooted tooth, I quickly toss it to them. They hard press the sharp end of the exposed root into the orifice. It opens just enough for them to slip their arm through. Lucky turns to me and desperately sticks out their other hand. I grasp it, and they pull us through the orifice ¡ª right as I feel the mass press against my back. We slip into another cylindrical canal with a membrane wall partially blocking the way ahead. Yellow light scorches from beyond. I hear the orifice stretching open behind us ¡ª the mass pokes my back. Lucky moves ahead, skipping over the canal¡¯s ridges with ease. They jump and reach up, gripping on the edge of the membrane wall, and pull themselves over. They stand on top of a membrane platform. I see only their silhouette in the blinding light. They crouch down and reach out to me. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. I stumble over almost every ridge getting to them. They rapidly shake their hand at me ¡ª their palm open. I don¡¯t dare look behind. Nearly losing my footing, I launch myself upwards with all my might. They don¡¯t even wait for me to grasp their hand¡ They grip mine violently and throw me over onto the platform. The light blinds me like bones piercing my eyes. Lucky pulls me by my hand. I fall forward on my chest and they drag me on ahead across the membrane. The pressure of the light keeps my eyes closed shut. The membrane floor suddenly changes, shifting to a steep incline. Gravity now takes over. As Lucky and I slide down, they lose the grip on my hand. I lose contact with the floor and feel an abrupt weightlessness before falling again. A thick puddle of mucous cushions my fall. Without delay, Lucky holds me under my arms and slides me to the side. They slip on the mucous, and we fall back on a rough, grainy surface. The ground shakes for a brief moment. A breeze, colder than any I have felt before, blows over us. My skin tingles. I hesitate before slowly opening my eyes. Our surroundings are entirely unrecognizable. A soft blue light permeates a cavern. The surface is not membrane but instead is made of a dark black and brown gritty texture. The ground is frigid. In front of us lies the putrid mass. Steam flows off and around it, filling the cavern with a foul fog. Behind it, to the side, is the gaped orifice from where we came. Around its opening, the cavern¡¯s surface appears melted, where it and the membrane meet. As it cools and solidifies before our eyes, it leaves behind a series of ridges of the same texture as the rest of the cavern. The orifice closes and transforms into the same frigid surface. The faint blue light comes around the corner on our other side. Lucky and I get up and follow the light. The floor of the cavern numbs my feet. What we see beyond is a world without flesh. At the entrance to the cavern, we stand before a vast valley of sparsely green. The green concentrates on a blue flowing stream. Foggy masses drift far above us. A warmer breeze brushes the numbness off my toes. Blue light fills the valley, broken up by speckles of yellow rays from above. We have left our mother.
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0¡°Ten millennia from Emergence ¡ª hundreds of generations lost forever in ignorance. Only four have since blossomed in the light of knowledge. Recorded memory¡ History has known only a century. ¡°We are the shepherds of wisdom. Each generation grows on the last, enriched like layers of rock. Before us, Man was ripples in the sands¡ At the mercy of the eroding winds of time. ¡°Hear this, my students. Civilization cannot survive without recorded history. Illiterate savages know nothing of their past. They pass whispers from the old to the young, tales that change every time they are sung. But with recorded memory ¡ª beginning from the Wise One and now with writing ¡ª we tell our stories just as they had begun. The Wise One, though not Man, uplifted us from the barbaric state of forget,¡± an elderly robed man orates in a grand enclosed cavern, meticulously carved out from the rock. ¡°The Wise One gifted us not only the blessings of history but knowledge unknowable to Man ¡ª knowledge of the Primordial,¡± the man continues his oration. Behind him rests a tall stone statue of a small canine. Its long, flowing hair is smoothly carved. Sitting upright, it stares up at a round aperture, bathing in the warm ray of sunlight. Burning torches hammered into the rocky walls complement the natural illumination. Around the old man is a flock of boys wearing tan robes identical to his own. They listen on benches carved out from the cavern¡¯s floor. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°Savage tales offer us no wisdom. They poison our minds with lies about our past ¡ª our beginnings. Only the Wise One and our written history can guide us to true knowledge. First discovered in the dark caves of Wisemount, north of the valley, the Wise One came from a race of dogs ¡ª the Wisedogs. He, like others of his kind, possesses the remarkable ability of mind speech. ¡°Indeed, my students. The Wise One can hear the thoughts of others and speak their own thoughts¡ All without even a whimper or whisper¡ All in the mind alone. Man does not possess this ability, but strangely, perhaps as a form of primordial brotherhood, he can hear the thoughts of Wisedogs, and they can hear his. ¡°The Wise One is the only of his kind ¡ª that Man has found ¡ª whose thoughts are coherent to us, and ours, to his. With the Wise One¡¯s mind speech and perfect memory, Man could reliably store the experiences of his elders. No more whispering lies. ¡°Leading the Wise One from his mother cave, a group of Man travelled south to Heaven Valley. Guided by Heaven River, Man found Heaven Falls. There, with the help of the Wise One, he built Heaven¡¯s Sanctuary ¡ª our home ¡ª into the side of the falls. Word spread of the Wise One¡¯s abilities, and others flocked to the sanctuary. It was not long before the roots of civilization took hold. ¡°The falls offer us security¡ Inside these caverns, we are safe from the savages and creatures of the valley. As much as we would like to, this sanctuary cannot be a home for all. Not every Man believes in the wisdom of the Wise One. The ignorants that feast on the valley ¡ª hunting the Primordial¡¯s creatures to exhaustion ¡ª reject knowledge. They know only savagery. Most are not welcome here. Their presence would uproot our civilization and destroy it. Without us, all of history is lost. ¡°Before the Wise One left us three decades ago, returning to his mother cave in Wisemount, he bestowed his last gift: written language. True, our scholars had a significant influence on its design. Still, our script would not have been possible absent his wisdom. If not for writing, our civilization would soon be lost to the unrelenting winds of time. Now, our knowledge is set in stone. Uh¡ Quite literally.¡± Heaven Falls, II: The Primordial
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0After a short pause, the elderly man resumes his oration, ¡°There is another, that without we would simply not be here. Not even the savages that roam the valley¡ Or the valley¡¯s savanna. We all come from the Primordial. It is responsible for all life as we know it. Where it came from¡ What exactly it is¡ We don¡¯t know. We only know it exists thanks to the Wise One and the collective memories of his kind. ¡°The Primordial lies everywhere beneath us. Its size¡ Unimaginable. Within it¡ An incomprehensible maze of corridors. A constant creation of new bodies¡ Life. Some call it our mother¡ A god. I will let you decide on your own, my students. Or you could not decide at all and accept it as a perpetual mystery. I am not here to make up your minds for you, only to teach you what our people already know. ¡°The Wise One¡¯s kind does not regard the Primordial as a mother-like force. They view it more like an untamed garden of horrors. The first of his kind escaped the Primordial in pairs, all ending up in the caves of Wisemount. Their memories are faded, but they remember their first ancestors went through what seemed to be a series of trials¡ Perhaps as a way for the Primordial to determine what is worthy of life on the surface. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Some of Man believe that your body returns to the Primordial when you die. It absorbs your life experiences, learning your successes¡ And your failures. Using the sum of your memories and the memories of others¡ It creates new life¡ Superior life. Many believe this is the cause of Man¡¯s creation, and ultimately all life.¡± The old man sits down, resting his back against the stone statue. Several boys raise their fingers, some raising more than others. The old man points to one of the boys ¡ª this boy raising only a single finger ¡ª prompting him to speak up, ¡°Does the river come from the Primordial?¡± ¡°Maybe, maybe not. Maybe all springs come from the Primordial,¡± the old man replies. The boy does not look satisfied with the answer. Once prompted, another boy asks, raising two fingers, ¡°If we don¡¯t bury our dead, does that mean the Primordial doesn¡¯t learn from us?¡± ¡°Uh¡¡± the old man pauses. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The old man prompts another boy, this one raising only one finger, ¡°Is the Primordial a boy or a girl?¡± The question puzzles the old man for a moment. He then sighs and answers, ¡°I don¡¯t have the slightest idea.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have any answers!¡± a boy screeches. Rising to his feet, the old man glares down at the boy. The cavern falls silent. All the boys lower their hands and look down meekly at the floor. ¡°The duty of a teacher is to impart knowledge that already exists. We don¡¯t make it up on the spot,¡± he sternly replies. ¡°That duty belongs to the preacher.¡± Heaven Falls, III: The Valley
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0The boys remain silent as the old man carries on with his oration, ¡°Heaven Valley is where Man first appeared during the Emergence. We don¡¯t know much about these first peoples, only that there were very few. They must have struggled greatly against the creatures of the valley long before the tribes tamed them. ¡°We know when the Emergence took place from the Wise One. Ten thousand years ago, his kind first came into brief contact with Man in the caves of the Wise Mountains. It was perhaps a stroke of luck since Man had not yet ventured deeper into the mountains where its peak, Wisemount, rises. Man¡¯s skin was pale then, but his form was as ours. ¡°Our ancestors lived in the caves for some time before settling south in the valley. Beyond this point, we rely on the oral tales of the savage tribes. Wisedogs seemingly have an innate ability to keep track of the passage of time, but for Man, the rise and fall of the moon and the sun would suffice. ¡°If Man emerged ten thousand years ago, it was far longer ago that the Wisedogs emerged themselves. Not even they can remember when they first emerged¡ Tens of thousands of years, perhaps¡ ¡°The savages of the valley began as small groups, no larger than a hundred. They lived just as they live now, as nomadic barbarians. After pillaging the resources of one area, they would move to another to repeat their barbaric cycle of life. There were so few of them that this proved to be sustainable for the valley. For a time¡ This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°As groups interbred, ties of kinship formed between them. Eventually came the first chiefdoms. These groups were and are ruled by members of elite families, with a single chief reigning over them all. Do not confuse these barbaric structures with government. They lacked and still lack law and writing. Many of them don¡¯t even use wheels¡ Or have any concept of it¡ ¡°These chiefdoms are and have been in a constant state of war ¡ª sometimes for resources and other times just for the sake of it. They demand regular tributes from their people, centralizing the fruits of labour under the greedy hands of the head chiefs. There is some trade between them, but deals are seldom honoured. Slavery is their main form of commerce. ¡°While many of these chiefdoms supposedly worship nature, they are, in fact, the greatest destroyers of it. Large creatures have almost all disappeared ¡ª hunted and devoured ¡ª by these savages. The valley is full of their bones from eons of wars. Excrement has even built up as they have no concept of public sanitation. ¡°Heaven River, to them, is just for everything¡ Drinking¡ Bathing, if you want to call it that¡ Even dumping dead animal carcasses. They rarely dump their own dead in it, at least. Some of our people get sick every now and then from its water ¡ª polluted by the savages upstream. ¡°Some day, my students, our people will conquer the valley. Every generation builds up for it. It is our destiny. The valley¡¯s soil is rich and fertile. We could support greater numbers with land that isn¡¯t confined to the far edges of the valley. Heaven Falls is our sanctuary, but it will not be our prison. ¡°Our wise leaders, selected by their virtues ¡ª not by the amount of bones or feathers on their heads, will liberate the valley from savagery. Imagine a whole civilization united along Heaven River. This is the dream of our people, and it is your future.¡±
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0121st of First, 1100 A.W. ¡ª Tomorrow is the day I say farewell to the sanctuary I have only ever known. If my mother were still alive, I don¡¯t think she would approve of where her son¡¯s education has led him to. Had I known, I wouldn¡¯t have done so well in my studies. My father, however, might have approved. He would probably see it as the closest I will ever get to being in the Guard. It wasn¡¯t for him to decide my destiny. No matter his service to the Polity, it is for the Council to determine the fate of us all and up to the citizen to see to it that fortune is good. I always wondered what my life would have been outside the Scholars. In a cruel twist of irony, I am about to find out. Be careful what you wish for¡ It could be a long voyage before we find land ¡ª if we find anything at all. We might end up right where we started. You would think it would be better to try to cross over the desert, north of the mountains, than the ocean first. At least you have land beneath you. Well, land that isn¡¯t underwater, at least¡ The Council is convinced, however, that it is the ocean where, somewhere beyond, fertile land may be found. This will be the first expedition by air. There have been many by sea and, especially, by foot. All have failed to find any fruit. For more than ten thousand years, Man has been confined to this land. We have conquered the valley and the lower peninsula¡ The mountains are too rugged to settle¡ Beyond the mountains¡ A wasteland where you can find yourself surrounded by sand all the way to the horizon in all directions¡ The farthest any expedition party made it out there was 19 days before they had to return. And only a few out of dozens returned to tell the tale. If the heat and exhaustion don¡¯t kill you, the sandstorms will. The strongest of our tames can¡¯t handle the desert either. The Council has decreed that no more expeditions are to be made there. Probably for the best, considering most don¡¯t even make it past the mountains. The world is curved, maybe round, this much we know. Expedition parties that have traversed far enough into the desert or the ocean drop below the horizon. Nobody has fallen off an edge yet. I should feel lucky it isn¡¯t a voyage by sea. They are by far the roughest ¡ª in many different ways. First, you have the sea itself¡ Her motion can make you very sick. Then it¡¯s a matter of duration. Sea voyages are the longest ¡ª with the surviving record being 83 days. For that voyage, it was a miracle they returned at all. Their ship was a total mess, and their crew ¡ª utterly decimated. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I am told flying by air is the safest, despite being the newest form of transportation and never having flown far beyond our land. The first prototypes of airsails were deadly disastrous, often killing their own inventors. Over time, they became safer than even walking or riding a tame. Their expense is what limits their use, particularly the procurement of lifting gas, an explosively dangerous process. For now, airsails are just a scientific curiosity. And by tomorrow, a use for faraway exploration¡ Hopefully, not for the last time. The HSS Heaven Sails will be staffed by a crew of 60, including myself, the sole historian. The others won¡¯t think highly of having a member of the Scholars on board. They probably won¡¯t think I¡¯m worth the weight and space. I can¡¯t completely disagree with them. The most use I¡¯ll be for them is helping with sanitation. I have no skill with ropes, and they wouldn¡¯t even entertain letting someone like me take one of the wheels. Certainly, I will be there to document their glory¡ Or doom¡ But that won¡¯t much matter to them if we can¡¯t make it home. If we do somehow find land, some crew members will have to stay behind. Only essential personnel and I may first return. I imagine many possibilities for mutiny. If such were to occur, I highly doubt the mutineers would think twice about throwing me overboard. At least if I am thrown overboard from an airsail, I will probably die on impact with the sea. They say it¡¯d be like falling on stone ¡ª a merciful death compared to a seaman¡¯s. There are many tales of doomed expeditions in fiction¡ Often full of cannibalism and sodomy¡ Almost always as sea voyages¡ No writer has imagined an air voyage yet. Perhaps we will become the defining legend. Hopefully, a more¡ Optimistic story¡ The Council was very open about why they selected me as the historian to document this expedition. They want a young, fresh mind. Aside from a few distant relatives, not having any living family was also a factor in their decision. I have never been married, or in love, for that matter. The life in the Scholars is¡ Scarce of women. So scarce that most members eventually get their marriages arranged by the Council. Women and children are not allowed on the sea or on long expeditions on foot or by tame. The Council forbids it. Children are a burden, requiring care and constant vigilance. The Council sees it as senseless to risk potential bearers of children. If a woman becomes too old to bear a child, she¡¯s seen as a burden anyway, unable to pull her own weight. The same rules apply to airsails. The skies and the seas are the sole domains of men. Maybe, if some of the adventure stories are true, there will be beautiful women waiting for us on the other side of the ocean. I can¡¯t really imagine it. Man, for all we know, has always been confined to our land. Even if more people are out there, I don¡¯t think they would be pleased to see us. They would probably regard us as invaders rather than explorers. The Gorge, II: Goodbye Sanctuary
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0123rd of First, 1100 A.W. ¡ª We¡¯re on our second day out. The peninsula has long since disappeared beyond the horizon. The falls once felt inescapable, but yesterday, they became a speck and faded away. With the little sleep I have managed, I still dream of home. My duties aboard have kept my waking mind from drifting too far into homesickness. I am kept busy by my journals ¡ª filled with reports on how the crew is fairing and even the state of the airsail. These reports won¡¯t just be of interest to the Scholars but also to the chief architect and the other members of the Air Guild. The architect of the Heaven Sails, Bright Fish III, desperately wanted to accompany the expedition but couldn¡¯t due to Council orders. The Council won¡¯t allow one of their greatest minds to put himself at risk. Every member of the crew, including myself, is ultimately expendable to the Polity¡ Replaceable really¡ I¡¯m not among the greatest of the Scholars ¡ª just adequate enough. Beyond my journals, my ship duties have been very light so far. Captain Leaping Tiger II instructed me yesterday before boarding that I am to stay out of the way of the crew. I don¡¯t think he even sees me as a crew member, just a passenger. Deadweight. I¡¯m not worried about him, though. The Council chose him because of his unwavering loyalty to the Polity. He has even rejected marriage offers ¡ª regarding them as distractions from duty. He¡¯s a skilled pilot, almost the best in the Air Guild. Still expendable. Pilots come in every generation, but architects, especially those like Bright Fish, do not. Nobody seems to like me, but they also don¡¯t seem to hate me either, not yet anyway. Supplies are still fresh. The gondola is cramped but still about as clean as she was when we left. There are no private quarters on board. Not even the captain is afforded such luxury. The air inside is a little chilly. However, on deck, it can be very brisk and treacherous. They say it feels a lot like being on the ocean. Not that I can relate¡ There isn¡¯t much to see now, with the peninsula far out of view. Aside from the bridge and the observation deck, there aren¡¯t many opportunities to see outside. Small portholes line the walls of the gondola in most compartments, letting in some natural light but not offering much to see except glimpses of clouds and the sun. The ocean from this high above looks like a sheet of rippling melted blue glass. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. It¡¯s always loud inside. The ship never sleeps. There¡¯s always work being done by the crew. I¡¯ve never felt sick, and no one else has reported feeling ill yet. That doesn¡¯t silence the cacophony of coughing at night. After a while, perhaps my ears will adjust to it all. It¡¯s a far cry from the often solitary, quiet work in the Sanctuary¡ Only hearing the low hum of the falls and the scraping of ink on paper¡ Occasionally hearing faint echos of the bustling life in the Lower City¡ Sometimes, I feel sudden panic, realizing how far above the sea we are. I hold on to whatever is nearby and close my eyes. It was a strange feeling on our first ascent. I felt a pressure and pop in my ears. Now, we mostly stay at the same altitude, but every now and then, the captain will order a descent and then a climb. The winds carry us constantly eastward, but gusts can be unpredictable. For the most part, it is a smooth ride ¡ª definitely smoother than riding a tame. The physician on board, Doctor Fog Eyes, has been keeping track of the crew¡¯s health. I copy their reports in my own journals. He notes the same effects as I have felt. Occasional panic, constant mild or changing sense of ear pressure, and difficulty sleeping. Regardless of their experience, no crew member, not even Captain Leaping Tiger, has been on an airsail for more than half a day at a time. The doctor¡¯s pressing concern is the effect inadequate sleep will have on the minds and bodies of the crew as our voyage progresses. He predicts a gradual breakdown in performance, morale, and health. If our supplies get low and we are forced to severely limit rations, he worries about the real possibility of a mutiny. Without the captain, he does not believe we can make it home. The doctor, captain, and I are among the few designated as essential returning personnel. I will try to stay in their good graces. The captain values what the doctor has to offer. The doctor is probably the eldest crew member. He could never father a child, a consequence of his impotence. His wife requested the Council for a divorce, which they granted. The Council practically never permits divorce unless they see it as a way of ¡°freeing up a resource.¡± The doctor hasn¡¯t been married since, and no younger woman is interested in him. The Council has promised him an arranged marriage with a lady no less than 15 years his junior if he returns alive from the expedition. A reasonable incentive¡ Not one I was offered ¡ª understandably. If they offered me that at my age, it would be like adopting a child. That would be more of a punishment than a reward. If I do return alive, the Council has promised to grant me land in the Lower City, near the shores of the peninsula. Not that I will be able to enjoy it much before I retire¡ It¡¯s a fair distance from the falls. Still, land is an increasingly scarce commodity. Wealth or land is what the rest of the crew are promised as well¡ In addition to a share of whatever riches we happen upon on our journey. The captain is the only one I¡¯m aware of who is purely on board out of a sense of duty. The Council most certainly exploits his selflessness. The Gorge, III: Lonely Among the Clouds
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0132nd of First, 1100 A.W. ¡ª It is the 11th day out. Supplies are thinning out faster than the airsail¡¯s cook, Leap Frog, expected. The captain has ordered strict rationing. There has been no land in sight. Each day drags longer. I feel like my body is shambling towards death. I can¡¯t even remember what it feels like to be on land. Getting a good sleep has been impossible. All members of the crew are exhausted. At night, when I do manage to dream, I dream fleetingly of discovering land or falling overboard. I have lost weight since we left. Everyone has. The smell inside the gondola is almost unbearable. I hate it down here. It¡¯s crowded and miserable. All the men look at me like they want to murder or cook me on a stick. I¡¯ve been spending more time on the deck. I used to avoid going up there, but either I¡¯ve become more accustomed to the winds and the heights, or it¡¯s just not as bad as being below. I¡¯ve been falling behind on my duties. I can¡¯t write on deck, and writing inside the gondola is filled with disruption. Whenever I put pen to paper, a crew member comes over and asks me to clean. I only get work done after Leaping Tiger berates the crew for harassing me. I¡¯m surprised he sticks up for me as he does, but I doubt it has anything to do with a personal liking of me. For the captain, only duty matters. He may look as dead as the rest of the crew, but his spirit is unwavering. Fog Eyes is the most pessimistic of the crew. He believes we are on a doomed voyage. We won¡¯t have enough supplies to return home even if we find land. Whatever we may find on land ¡ª if we find land ¡ª may not even be edible for us. Leap Frog jokes about resorting to alternative food sources. They may be jokes for now, but what happens when all that is left to eat is us? I would be the first on the chopping block. Sometimes, when I¡¯m up on deck, I think I see shadows beneath the ocean¡¯s surface. Not shadows from clouds¡ Dark shapes, like whales or sharks, but even bigger¡ We¡¯re too high to get a close enough look. Maybe if the captain let me borrow his telescope¡ I would not dare ask. I¡¯m sure if he saw anything, he would have me write it into my reports. To keep my spirit occupied, I daydream of home¡ My mind wanders into the depths of history¡ Some of the other crew have resorted to religion ¡ª prayer. They believe the Wise One will guide us to a promised land. It reminds me of history, 400 years ago¡ The Council never liked religion. Not now and certainly not back then. They have always tolerated private practice¡ What people do in the privacy of their home¡ Organized religion, however¡ The Council regards it as an intolerable pestilence. It all comes back to the early 700s, the founding of Heaven¡¯s Polity. Heaven Valley had just been conquered then. The former tribal peoples brought over their superstitious nature during their integration. Among them, a messianic figure arose, the Wise Man. He claimed to be in contact with the Wise One through mind speech. Others, well before the Wise Man, reported hearing whispers when traversing the Wise Mountains. This was before the dawn of science in the 1000s. We now know, through repeated experiments, that there are no whispers to be heard in the mountains. Those claiming such are deluded or charlatans. Ancient texts confirm that mind speech is only possible in close proximity. Man had tried many times to once again find the caves of the Wisedogs, but entrances to those in Wisemount have long been collapsed. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Some have prophesied or speculated of the Wise One¡¯s return. According to ancient texts derived from the Wise One¡¯s memories, Wisedogs can live for centuries. It seems unlikely that the Wise One would still be alive today, at over 1000 years old, but perhaps he may be. Even if he did return, civilization is in a much different shape than it was when he left. Mind speech could help establish a better understanding of people¡¯s thoughts, but written texts and the scientific method have long since proven superior to memory. The Wise Man fell soon after he arose. Initially, for a short while, the Council tolerated him. Soon, his influence over the valley people began to rival that of the Council. The Council outlawed his movement and threatened repercussions if they continued. The Wise Man was widely derided in Heaven¡¯s Sanctuary and the settlements along the lower part of Heaven River on Heaven¡¯s Peninsula. From their council chambers in Sanctuary, the Polity ruled with an iron fist ¡ª not that they have grown much softer since then. The Wise Man was undeterred. He believed faith in the Wise One and his own religious authority would guide his followers to a new golden age. His followers refused their work assignments and followed the Wise Man instead. The Council sent out a detachment of soldiers to arrest him and his followers, which had grown to the thousands. They fled to the mountains. The Wise Man instructed his disciples to build a temple at the top of Wisemount, an absurd proposition. Most explorers never make it to its summit. However, his disciples listened to him and followed through. They were unsuccessful, of course. None made it back. All of them died ¡ª thousands of them, including the Wise Man. They believed the temple would help strengthen his mind bond with the Wise One. The Wise Man¡¯s death did not stop his movement¡ Throughout the 700s, more people in the valley turned to worshipping the Wise Man and the Wise One. Some people in the settlements of the peninsula even started worshipping them. The Council, terrified of the prospect of another colossal loss of labour, outlawed all public displays of worship. Anyone attempting to lead a new congregation was sentenced to death. Sometimes, their followers too, for good measure. Even today, some still worship them. Some believers reject the messianic status of the Wise Man, while others embrace him. The influence, while diminished and unorganized, still remains. Ironically, the Council ordered the construction of the Temple of Wisdom in the 900s on the outskirts of the mountains. Officially a museum honouring the legacy of the Wise One and the founders of Heaven¡¯s Sanctuary, many believers still use it today as a place of pilgrimage. Faith and superstition are stronger in the Upper City in the valley, where most of the descendants of the conquered tribes reside. Poverty is also greater there than in the Lower City. It is time-consuming and labour-intensive to transport resources up and down the falls. The Council has tasked the Works Guild with constructing a system of elevators utilizing the kinetic energy of the falls. So far, it remains unrealized. Watermills are all along the Heaven River. However, the Council believes the greatest potential for energy lies in Heaven Falls. The more I think of home and all the possibilities there, the more I wish I never went on this voyage¡ Not that I had any choice in the matter. Incentives offered by the Council serve only as insurance. If any of the crew had refused their orders, the Council would ensure their regret for their disloyalty. Slavery may have ended when the last tribes were defeated, but one¡¯s occupation has seldom been one¡¯s choice. The needs of the Polity override those of the individual. Even before the conquests, the Council ruled successfully since the founding of Heaven¡¯s Sanctuary. It is their continued success, prescribed in the Heaven¡¯s Mandate, that legitimizes their perpetual reign. The Gorge, IV: Somewhere Beyond
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0142nd of First, 1100 A.W. ¡ª The 21st and final day over sea. When the captain announced the sighting of land, I felt the whole airsail move. It was like life had suddenly returned to a stiff corpse. ¡°Was I dreaming?¡± I first worried. Only once my own eyes had seen it did I truly believe. A relief like no other washed over me. I felt rejuvenated and intoxicated with wonder. Could there ever be a more heavenly feeling? We became the most blessed souls in the whole wide world. The crew roared and screamed in absolute joy. We all scrambled to the deck. The past week felt like an eternity ¡ª every day more hopeless than the last. Somedays, I felt like falling overboard to save myself from whatever worse inevitable doom awaited me aboard. The crew was in utter shambles. We were a floating graveyard, a basket of forlorn misery. We might as well have called ourselves a skeleton crew. We certainly looked like it. The land gracing my sight for the first time¡ My dreams could not have prepared me for its beauty. On our new horizon¡ Vibrant orange cliffs illuminated by the sun and clear blue sky¡ I had never seen a more beautiful and majestic orange. No pigment could suffice. The crew all became so entranced by it they could hardly perform their duties, even as Captain Leaping Tiger violently hurled his tired voice at them. In that single moment ¡ª the orange glistening on the horizon ¡ª all our suffering was reduced. Hell fled the heavens. Discovery and more awaited us. As we drifted closer, the cliffs climbed further up the horizon. A visual of an orange labyrinth of canyons emerged, made of gorgeous sandstone. Its eroded surface revealed no sign of Man or settlement. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. At first, there was no place to tie down and anchor. The terrain is rugged and makes the Wise Mountains look gentle by comparison. As far as the eye could see, deep canyons drained into the sea. We eventually found a low sandstone island on a river in a canyon. Ahead of us, the canyon¡¯s walls close in, forming a tight gorge with an arch. It¡¯d be barely wide enough to fit the airsail. We secured our mooring line to the archway and settled ourselves on the island, which was low enough to give us access to the river. We drank from the river. Its water is a lively turquoise colour. It reminds me of the blue waters of Heaven River during the late First of the Year. It used to be blue all year round but has turned a more murky green or brown in recent years. I wonder if I will ever see the falls again ¡ª to feel its mist rising up the cliffs of the hanging Heaven Valley and smell the scent of the damp stone walls of the Sanctuary. The taste of this river does not remind me much of home. It¡¯s more chalky and salty. There are plentiful fish, but they are nothing like the pink and silver ones from home that fishers harvest from the river. These ones are various shades of purple and green. Nobody¡¯s caught a big one yet or seen one any longer than a foot, for that matter. They taste¡ Very fishy¡ Perhaps I¡¯m just not used to being without seasoning. The cook, Leap Frog, is ecstatic. I can¡¯t remember the last time I saw him smile like this. However, the captain has been growing a worried face. As night has approached, I wonder if he is thinking about his orders. The others have seemingly been swept up in the excitement, but if anything, only the easiest part is over. We still have to somehow return home and report our findings to the Council. Only essential crew can return, including myself, so we must leave most of the others behind. This island isn¡¯t much bigger than the airsail herself. Though, the land, while arid and rough, does bear water. I wonder if we may be leaving tomorrow. The doctor, Fog Eyes, doesn¡¯t seem too bothered by the situation. He¡¯s too busy feasting on the catches from the river. I will try and get some rest. It¡¯s strange to be on land again. The ground is so solid and still. A welcoming feeling¡ The Gorge, V: Many Eyes
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0144th of First, 1100 A.W. ¡ª Yesterday, our hope of seeing home again went up in flames. The HSS Heaven Sails is no more, a burnt carcass. Some pieces of it are probably on their way to the ocean by now. Maybe someday, a piece will drift back to the shores of Heaven¡¯s Peninsula. Maybe. That¡¯s about all the evidence that will return of us. You can see it all in the eyes of the surviving crew. Shock, pain, fear, and anger¡ It¡¯s all flowing through us like a sizzling stream of molten metal. Our future is cast. These canyons, or whatever lies beyond, will become our new home and grave. There¡¯s no fixing it. I barely have the motivation to write anymore, but it helps to keep my mind occupied. Only 47 of us are left now. 13 perished in the fire and chaos that followed. We know little about why or how it happened. At early dawn, a fire broke out on board. There was a great panic. Some crew aboard threw themselves over. Some died from the fall, and others perished when the airsail crashed and exploded on the island. We, the survivors, escaped the flames by jumping into the river. Most of the dead died there, drowning. We could still feel the heat and see the steam even a decent way downriver. We haven¡¯t lost everything. During the fire, some crew tossed as many supplies as they could overboard. I had all my records already with me on the island. However, I did lose one of my journals in the swim downriver ¡ª mainly containing technical minutiae. I¡¯m surprised how well my leather scroll cases held up in the water. Most of the paper inside is in good condition. Downriver, we found a hole in a rock wall. There¡¯s a cave inside, with a whole network of tunnels. We¡¯ve travelled deeper within and taken shelter. The caves are full of biting insects. The spiders, ants, and scorpions are the worst. They¡¯re a bit bigger than the ones at home and a lot more vicious. At night, they won¡¯t leave you alone. You can see them crawling all along the walls and ceiling, coming in and out of crevices in the rock. They drive the crew mad. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. There¡¯s also something else in these caves, something much larger than any insect, or mammal, for that matter. Captain Leaping Tiger thinks the crew are seeing things, but he¡¯s wrong. I¡¯ve seen it ¡ª only its eyes, its many eyes. Whatever it is, it¡¯s bigger than Man. Maybe twice the size. Last night, I saw it watching us from another tunnel above our camp in the caves. The light from the fire reflected in its many dark, round beady eyes. It remained still all night but was gone by the time I awoke. I didn¡¯t dare move. Some of the other men saw it, too. Despite all that has happened, the captain has kept the surviving crew together. There are some with minor injuries. Our cook, Leap Frog, suffers from burns on his arms. He¡¯s still keeping his spirits up, but Doctor Fog Eyes has ordered him to refrain from performing his duties. Fog Eyes is despondent. He sees the destruction of the airsail as if it were a divorce ¡ª from a wife he never married. I feel more shock than loss, but I¡¯m grateful to be alive. However, getting shelter outside these caves will be a relief ¡ª away from all the insects. These caves are not entirely enclosed. Light from the moon or the sun leaks through crevices in the rock above. Tonight is our second night. I write by faint candlelight. We¡¯ve moved further in the caves since the first night, setting up camp in the broadest part of the caverns we could find. It¡¯s still cramped but not as bad as the cabin was back on the airsail. The mysterious creature I and some of the crew saw, we call it Many Eyes. I haven¡¯t seen it tonight. We¡¯re not in the same place we were before. One of the crew claims it looks like a giant millipede but with countless hairy, thin pairs of both bottom and top legs completely surrounding its body. He says it moves slowly and methodically. It would pull insects out of crevices with its legs, retracting them rapidly into its body. He did not get a sight of the creature¡¯s length. Instead of turning around, it crept away backwards. He described its locomotion as silky smooth, with no bobbing of its eyes. I don¡¯t know if these descriptions of the creature help ease my mind at all. Perhaps, while curious of us, it doesn¡¯t regard us as a potential meal. We¡¯re much bigger than the insects, so I find it hard to believe it could swallow a man. We probably would taste a lot different, too. The Gorge, VI: In Hospitality
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0146th of First, 1100 A.W. ¡ª Four days now in these caverns. We could have never prepared ourselves for what we would find. There are others here, a whole new people. They look similar to us, but they are smaller, ubiquitously hairless, and have darker skin, like a sappy brown. These people have carved out structures in the caves and the walls of the canyons. While not appearing as sophisticated as us, they still exhibit impressive craftsmanship and metallurgy. If only we spoke the same language, maybe all the bloodshed could have been avoided. Last night, one of our crew died in his sleep. Fog Eyes believes the cause was a scorpion sting. Leaping Tiger remained vigilant throughout the night and saw Many Eyes for the first time. The sight of it shook his spirit. He saw it crawl over the body of the deceased, showing no interest before retreating back into a tunnel. Immediately after, he awoke the whole camp. He then decided to move our position. Around midday, deeper into the caves, we came into first contact with these new people. Two women and a man stood before us, barely wearing anything. When one of us tried to approach them, they ran off. More of their men came after, a lot more. These men wore bronze breastplates and lush, feathery helmets with vivid orange felt and decorative ribbons. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. At first, they hesitated and looked shocked to see us. They then came at us ferociously with torches and curved bronze blades. Very few of the crew had any weapons. The captain, Leaping Tiger, drew his sword. He was struck down almost instantly. Many others fell in the brief skirmish ¡ª maybe over a dozen, with many more injured. We had no choice but to surrender. They stripped everyone except me of all their belongings, including their clothes. The others became chained and marched away. Those too injured to stand were slaughtered on the spot. The strange men, who initially inspected my scroll cases, escorted me through a different series of tunnels. They¡¯ve placed me in confinement, ironically a lot more comfortable than my previous conditions, either in camp, on the island, or the airsail. It¡¯s actually quite pleasant. I¡¯m confined to a spacious cavern with most of the basic amenities I¡¯m accustomed to at home in the sanctuary. I have a proper bed, a desk and chair carved out from the rock, a wash basin, and even my own garderobe. There are few bugs inside here, although I do get the occasional spider. A thick metal door locks me inside. My captors have fed me well so far. I¡¯ve had fish, some sort of fruit, and seeds. They¡¯re attentive with water and even have cleaned my quarters for the night. They¡¯ve allowed me to keep all my belongings, including all my scrolls. I don¡¯t understand why they spared me but not the others. Perhaps they don¡¯t regard scholars as combatants. Then again, Fog Eyes and the cook, Leap Frog, did not fight in the skirmish. A few others also did not participate. Maybe they spared me because they want to learn more about us, regarding me as the most knowledgeable of the crew. That would explain the hospitable treatment. I admit I am terrified of the other possibilities. There is no good in thinking too much of it. I distract myself by documenting all that has happened. Fulfilling my purpose shall keep me sane. The Gorge, VII: Rediscovery
A.I. placeholder artwork generated using NightCafe Stable Diffusion XL v1.0 ¡ª CC0 1.0187th of First, 1100 A.W. ¡ª It¡¯s hard to believe where time can bring us. More than a moon ago, I learned we were not alone. Now, I know that we were not even the first Politans to arrive here. Almost a century before we landed, in the year 1004, After Wisdom, the Heaven¡¯s Sanctuary Ship King¡¯s Maiden left the harbour of the Lower City. It disappeared beyond the ocean¡¯s endless horizon and was never seen again. Heaven¡¯s Council presumed the Maiden lost at sea. Named after its architect and captain, Ocean King, the Maiden was one of many sea expeditions authorized by the Council. During a violent storm, its sails were damaged, and she became adrift at sea for some time. Most of her crew perished on the voyage, but her captain survived. Eventually, the Maiden beached on the rocky shores of what later became known as King¡¯s Island. To its east lay the Orange Canyons, where nearly a hundred years later, the HSS Heaven Sails would land. King¡¯s Island was uninhabited when the Maiden arrived. Her surviving crew, no more than a dozen or so men, made a home there for some time. They lost track of time and perhaps remained stranded for years. However, the men held onto their loyalty to their captain, Ocean King. With his help, they built a new, smaller boat, nothing at all to rival the majesty of the Maiden. It was good enough to get them off the island and venture into the canyons in the east. In the canyons, King and his men discovered a new civilization, the Orange Communion. Back then, the Communion was suffering from a three-way schism. Their society was divided between the Hedonists, the Sadists, and the Ascetics. They all worshipped the Primordial, an ancient subterranean creature of untold size, thought to be the creator of Man and most other life. The Communion saw the Primordial as a god, which they called the First. The Hedonists believed that to worship the First, they must partake in regular rituals of carnal pleasure and strive to enjoy their lives. Happiness, the Hedonists believed, was what the First wanted most for its children. The Sadists were the opposite. They believed that sacrifices involving tremendous pain and suffering were the way to please the First. Lastly, the Ascetics opposed both pleasure and pain. Abstinence from either extreme ¡ª moderation ¡ª was what they believed would satisfy the First. Conflict escalated within the Communion into a civil war. In the end, the Sadists triumphed. Hedonist and Ascetic refugees fled the canyons. Ocean King returned with his men back to his island. They helped as many refugees as they could before settling in isolation. Over the decades, they built a civilization of their own, and their numbers stabilized at a thousand. King established a new form of government: democratic sortition. Men of mature age, regardless of background, held a right to be chosen, at random, to participate in the Assembly of their legislature. King declared himself the sovereign for life and retained executive power. What they created became the King¡¯s Republic, ruled by Ocean King under the laws passed by the Assembly. King¡¯s men and their descendants interbred with the canyon¡¯s refugees, forming a new culture of mixed identity. Today, Ocean King has been succeeded by his eldest son, Rock King. King¡¯s Islanders speak Island Tongue, a blend of Orange Tongue, the native language of the Orange people, and Heavenish, my mother tongue. They write in Heavenish since the Orange lack a written language of their own. Still, they can understand me, and I can understand them ¡ª mostly. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. To explain what has happened between now and my last journal entry, I¡¯ll start from where I left off. I spent two more nights after the 146th with my scrolls. They then took all my writings. The only way I could track the passage of time was by counting each time they cleaned my quarters, which was always after my last meal. For weeks, I did not see the sun. They never tried to speak with me, but I was treated well. I never saw my crew again. On the 165th, my captors, who I later learned were devout warriors of the Orange Communion, released me. I felt such great pressure against my eyes when I saw the sun after all that time. The warriors escorted me through more tunnels in the sandstone before we came to a small dock. A ship was waiting for me, the King¡¯s Republic Ship Maiden Rock. Aboard was a crew and some heavily armoured soldiers with blue capes bearing the golden symbol of the Republic, a crown held up by four pillars ¡ª with a set of stairs below. The KRS Maiden Rock is a grand bireme with two decks. Her captain is Stone Fish. We travelled downstream to the sea. There we oared north and spent over a week on the ocean off the coast. It was beautiful watching the Orange Canyons as we passed by. Eventually, on the 177th, we arrived in port in a bay on King¡¯s Island, at their capital, the City of King¡¯s Bay ¡ª home to most of the island¡¯s inhabitants. A few other outposts and smaller villages sparsely line the eastern coast of the island. This is my tenth day on the island. The weather here is slightly cooler, and the breeze has a chilliness to it. The island is rich in limestone, and the Islanders have built most of their homes and the marvellous palaces out of marble. While not as grand as back home, the structures are still extraordinary and, dare I say, more beautiful than what I¡¯m accustomed to. On our journey downstream aboard the Maiden Rock, I witnessed new horrors and even one creature larger than Many Eyes. The biggest I saw was a massive arachnid (almost the length of the Maiden Rock herself) situated in a tight crevice. The Islanders call this creature a crevinid. Many Eyes itself belongs to a species referred to by the Islanders as legfeeders. Apparently, neither crevinids nor legfeeders are interested in eating Man. The Orange people also revere the giant fauna of the canyons. The other creatures I saw were a large, gaunt reptilian bird with a deep croak cry, called a skystalk, and an aquatic Man-sized insect-like creature called a riversting. The latter, riverstings, are the only dangerous of the creatures, at least to Man. They can paralyze an adult man with the sting from their proboscis. Once paralyzed, they inject acidic saliva into their prey, which dissolves their innards. Once sufficiently dissolved, they use their proboscis to suck out the contents. Their large claws are also a menace and can cut a man¡¯s limbs clean off. I witnessed one feeding on a big fish on the river¡¯s edge against the canyon¡¯s wall. They apparently feed on any animal. The Islanders say not to swim in the rivers of the canyons. On the voyage to King¡¯s Island, Captain Stone Fish explained that the Republic and the Communion formed an agreement some time ago to stay clear of each other¡¯s territory ¡ª not that the Islanders venture very often beyond their own shores. When members of the Communion discovered our group, they suspected we were Islanders attempting an invasion, albeit they were also confused by our presence. The Communion quickly dispatched an emissary to the island with my seized scrolls. I was spared, but the rest of my crewmates, who were not slaughtered in the skirmish, became sacrifices for the First. The captain said they suffered great anguish before their deaths, but he did not care to go into further detail. The Communion, not desiring a potential conflict with the Republic, arranged for my peaceful departure. I admit it feels wrong that I was spared but not the others. Still, I am grateful. My arrival, especially the information contained in my writings, has caused quite a stir among the Islanders. I¡¯ve already met Rock King and stood before the Assembly. They¡¯re working on updating their own written history with the dates recorded in mine. They are fascinated by our airsails, which existed as mere crude prototypes by the time their ancestors left the Polity. However, they have no plans to attempt a return. The island is their home, and their blood is forever mixed with the people of the canyons. And now, this island, too, is my home.
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