《Star Reach》


 Prologue

    Not all gifts are blessings. Not all curses end in evil.


    The stale smell of ancient winds blew over the wasteland. Caustic heat rising from an endless plane of untouched sand and dust joined these winds. Together they brought the scent of age, and of death.


    The celestial god of this land slowly dipped toward the horizon, bathing the world in stark colors. Its scarlet light devoured the ground in its blood. So much red. A sea of it. Its crimson hands, ethereal and gnarled, crawled across the empty expanse. They grappled at anything and everything above ground. Eventually, they found purchase on a lone figure¡¯s legs. Gleefully they clawed themselves around their new victim.


    The figure was a drop of white ink on an enormous red canvas. Kneeling in the dust, their silvery white/blue hair swayed in the ancient winds. An intricate gray embroidered dress cut off just above their knees, its edges laying in the sand.


    The sediment shifted. Moments passed. Yet the figure was still. Their heart beat slowly. The only sign of life for as far as the eye could see. She was a forgotten existence. A foreign shade on the maroon expanse. But in her stillness the ancient wasteland seemed to accept her presence as one of its own.


    Just then, a small movement broke the spell of time. A flicker of life entered the girl¡¯s eye. She turned her head as if observing the ground around her. She looked to the horizon at the red god that watched her solitary existence. Light from this direction was distorted and hazy. The girl''s eye was clouded over, and she seemed unfocused. But in the deepest reaches of that eye a sharp gleam could be found, straining to overcome the haze.


    The old winds seemed to ask the girl questions, but her understanding was just out of reach. The girl¡¯s eyes narrowed. The gleam from earlier was becoming sharper, slowly forcing its way into the waking world. As this happened, a change occurred near the horizon. Her attention drew to this discontinuity. A thin line of shadow could be seen bending in the refracted light.


    The girl blinked in acknowledgment. Eventually, the disturbance took the shape of an odd figure, details becoming apparent as it approached. The entity lumbered heavily, swaying from side to side with each long, spindly step. The fur of some dark animal was draped over their shoulders and cascaded down the length of its back. The furs partially covered a mountain of supplies, hidden in shadow and carried in scaffolding strapped to the figure¡¯s shoulders. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Numerous poles shot out from the scaffolding, their ends weighed down by clouded metal lanterns. Some of these gave off a faint ethereal glow from the inside. Others were dark, their silence weighing heavily on the space around them.


    As the figure got closer a sense of scale became apparent between the girl and the creature. The top of its head towered over two meters above the kneeling girl. Its face was a mirage of white and red. Twin black tattoos like jagged lines ran from the top of its head, through the creature''s eyes, and down its cheeks. Sparse, reddish-black hair could be seen on the uncovered scalp. In the place of eyes, two large, crescent moon-like bursts of yellow and gold peered down intensely through the dagger-like slits of pupils. An impossibly wide mouth ran the length of the face, ending in a mischievous grin. From that impossible mouth came a raspy, child-like voice with a slightly feminine tint to it.


    ¡°Strange place to be daydreaming, but I won¡¯t judge.¡± Daydreaming? The girl¡¯s gaze lingered between those two eyes. Slowly, she turned her head down to her lap, where she cradled an object with both hands. It was a large eye, seemingly devoid of a sclera. An iris-like nebula of blues, greens, and reds ran the entire surface of the eye - all except a piercing slit of stark lime green in the place of a pupil.


    Something wasn¡¯t right. The girl narrowed her eye further. After a moment, it widened in horror. It was one of her eyes that she held. The dam of thought fully burst open then, memories flooding her mind. She tried to grasp and make sense of them, but they kept slipping, like a ship at sea without an anchor. Still, she tried to contain the whirlwind. And with what little progress she made, the more her terror grew. Frantically, she looked up at the being watching her and pleaded.


    ¡°I, ¡­, I don¡¯t! ¡­ help! Please! My eye! I need my eye! I can¡¯t ¡­, please help!¡± Thinking was hard. All she knew was that if nothing was done soon, something would break. In fact, something had broken. And It would soon become irreparable.


    ¡°Your eye?¡± The being leaned over the girl, its form blocking the sun and plunging the girl into shadow. ¡°Which one? The one in your hands, or the one on your face?¡± The creature brought its long, spidery fingers to its chin and tilted its head as if in thought. Its eyes lit up as if coming upon a great revelation. ¡°Ah! I understand. You want me to put the eye in your hands back in your head. Are you sure that is what you want? No eye or a nonfunctional eye, either way you can¡¯t use them to see.¡± The girl frantically thought, using all of her mental might to organize a cohesive idea.


    ¡°Fix, ¡­ fix the eye. I want you to, ¡­, Fix my eye.¡±


    ¡°Fix your eye? An odd request, but not unworkable.¡± The being slowly rose back to its unnatural height. As the creature eclipsed the sun a red halo of light outlined its figure. Its presence changed, and its voice dropped several octaves.


    ¡°However, fulfilling this request will cost both you and me. Are you willing to take that onus?¡± The girl gritted her teeth in concentration. Time was running out.


    ¡°Anything, I¡¯ll, ¡­, do anything, just, ¡­, heal my eye.¡±


    ¡°Anything?¡± That impossibly wide grin grew into an even more impossibly wide and wicked smile. Dozens of sharp silvery teeth made their presence known. ¡°That¡¯s what I like to hear.¡±


    Coldly observing from its celestial throne, the red sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the world in twilight, and heralding the darkness of night.

 1: Welcome to Rotworld

    Well, shit. Warm beams of radiant light painted the planet-wide ocean with beautiful reds and oranges. The soft turquoise grass caressed Tomb¡¯s shins and knees as it played in the sea breeze. He stood at the sea cliff¡¯s edge, overlooking the watery expanse. He was finally here. His brain had so many thoughts to think that when he saw the ocean his mind just stopped. Like he had gone into mental cardiac arrest. Large waves crashed into the wall below giving a constant, calming rumble.


    He was here. At this moment. Everything that had happened. Nine ecclesiastical months of hiding in a cargo hold. Years of uncertainty; family, duty, shame. The journey was over. Here. Hot tears started rolling down his face. He almost had a thought about stopping them. But that proved too much for his shorted brain to handle. So he cried. Watching a pristine sunset over rolling waters, burning his eyes but not looking away. Left in his own world, Tomb cried.


    After several minutes dazed and a few moments spent pulling himself together, Tomb steeled his nerves and left the sunset behind. It was time for a new beginning. Who knows what the future holds?


    With long, confident strides he made his way toward a sizable bustle of crowd further inland. People of all sizes hurried this way and that. Families called out to one another. Strangers attempting to find their way. Mothers trying and failing to coral their hyperactive children.


    Hexagonal carriers with their angles facing outward unloaded groups of refugees throughout the grounds. Dozens of metallic feathers, each several hundred meters in length spiraled from the carrier tops. Tomb traced different vessels levitating from the ground to the main ship hovering in the upper atmosphere. Four great wings kilometers in length slowly shifted around ethereal winds. He still wasn¡¯t sure how the smugglers managed to get real estate aboard that ship.


    The Arc Guild of Commerce needed to navigate through endless red tape for the right to raise and maintain Seraphites. These interplanetary vessels were sentient, despite them being manufactured. Tomb squinted at the light reflecting off radiant wings, trying to see the strange body that housed crew and cargo. Once they reached maturity, these ships never touched the ground unless something terrible happened. Which usually meant the seriphite was dead.


    Tomb, grunting in concession, moved on and started searching through the masses. He was a good head above even the tallest crowd member, and his eyesight saw the world in far more detail than was ordinary. Muted browns, grays, and burnt oranges covered the majority of refugee attire. Old, well-worn clothes. Trustworthy, and one of limited options. Despite that, splashes of color were added, often in the form of a braid, short scarf, or armband. Most appeared crafted by the refugees themselves; to pass the time on their journey.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Ash-colored skin, an endless variety of eyes, and dirty, whitish hair dominated ethnic demographics. Antier blood. Tomb himself had the signature ash-colored skin. But his hair was red on the fringes and his height was unique. Lastly, his eyes held three pupils, black pits marking his bloodline¡¯s magic.


    While Tomb wore the same attire as the refugees, his presence couldn''t have been more different. Long powerful strides. Straight back. He had a dark duffel bag with the strap slung across his shoulders and carried nothing else, at least visibly. He made his way toward the edge of the landing grounds, where the clearing gave way to a large backdrop of trees. Gnarled, twisted purple bark weaved around monolithic trunks, with boughs reaching far into the sky.


    It appeared that gravity was lesser here than what Tomb was familiar with. But only the native substances of this world had a true connection to the planet''s gravity. Tomb¡¯s soul was still connected to the fortress world, which was in turn modeled after the capital. It would take years before he matched this planet''s identity, succumbing to its actual gravity and not that of some far-distant world.


    Tomb searched the treeline, his frustration beginning to mount. Just where are they? Despite expecting such, he was unsettled by the lack of communication between this planet and other civilized worlds. Tomb was supposed to be looking for a contact; his potential employer and one of the reasons he ended up at this specific destination. Unfortunately, Tomb had no idea as to his contact¡¯s appearance. He assumed they would be here to escort him to his residence/worksite¡­


    Or at least he had been told as such by the mediator, who arranged this trip initially.


    Do I wait? Or ask around? Or¡­ Off to his right, Tomb caught movement. Someone waved in his general direction, and as Tomb turned and made eye contact, the person smiled. Probably them? Tomb hurriedly made his way over, more details becoming apparent as he approached.


    Snow white hair and ash-colored skin. A dark gray tank top tucked into baggy burnt-back utility pants. How are they not cold? The sea breeze made Tomb pull his orange jacket tighter.


    They appeared female, with valleys of wrinkles and cracked skin giving tell-tale signs of age. She held a lazy posture, both hands in her oversized pockets. From a passing glance, she blended in with the crowd. But there were subtle differences. Her arms and neck seemed too well-toned. Behind lazy slits, her stark red irises watched Tomb intensely. A wide stance perfectly positioned her center of gravity. Well-kept combat boots came mid-shin. And she stood with her back to the woods, providing a maximum view of everyone in the clearing. As Tomb approached he made to speak.


    ¡°Hello, I-¡±


    ¡°Welcome, I suppose you¡¯re Tomb?¡±


    ¡°... That I am.¡± She spoke with an odd accent; slower, with richer vowels and louder endings. Tomb instinctively reached for his identity crest but stopped halfway through, awkwardly transitioning into a handshake. The contact¡¯s eyes grew even more narrow as she gave a knowing smirk, this one slightly more deliberate than the previous. She met his outstretched hand with her own.


    ¡°Yuri. Guildmaster of the Green Coshis. It''s been a minute since we¡¯ve had any potential recruits. Hope your trip was well?¡±


    ¡°As well as living in a cramped cargo hold with toddlers can be.¡± Yuri barked a laugh.


    ¡°Little shits didn¡¯t do any harm.¡±


    Debatable.


    ¡°Anyway, I¡¯d like to again formally welcome you to Roscar. Backwater utopia. Or in the native tongue, rotworld. Paradise in purgatory.¡±

 2: Guild members?

    Oceans were overrated. The smell of a hundred different mosses, decaying undergrowth, and fresh, exotic plants filled Tomb¡¯s nose. In the dim undercanopy, he could see scores of places to hide. Shadows lurked around every corner, screaming ambush. But the forest didn¡¯t feel dangerous. Tomb could hear the song of ancient woods. Untouched by time and civilization. The animals were unafraid, the luminescent mosses glowed in the evening¡¯s prime. Tomb stood straighter. Against carefully instilled habits, he closed his eyes, letting the forest speak.


    ¡°... You good, princess?¡± Pulled from his reverie, Tomb looked down to find an amused Yuri.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to the smell. It ain''t called rotworld for nothing. These aren¡¯t even the worst of the molds. Sometimes, zombified animals can be seen walking at night, covered in the stuff. Right scary I tell you.¡± Tomb decided to let the misunderstanding lie. It had been a while since he felt so at home. He raised his chin and gazed out over the beautiful flora.


    ¡°What do others think of the wilderness?¡±


    ¡°Others? Well, some avoid it like the plague. Strange things happen out here. It is best to keep a healthy respect for these woods. I know someone who lives out there, all on their own. Sounds crazy, but they are an odd one.¡± Hmm. Wouldn¡¯t that be nice.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Do as you¡¯re told, and you''ll rarely meet something you can¡¯t handle. And for the times when life throws a rock at you, hopefully, you¡¯ll be with the crew. Speaking of, once we reach the guild hall I¡¯d like to introduce you to a few of our members. They can be a strange bunch, but old wo-purs are only trouble when you flip them over.¡± Yuri turned and looked straight into Tombs'' eyes then. ¡°You get me? Nobody smart is willing to know what the underside of a wo-pur looks like.¡± Message received, loud and clear.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of it, guildmaster.¡± Yuri¡¯s constant smirk morphed into something alluding to satisfaction. Despite that, Tomb could feel her watching him all the while they traveled.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Tomb didn¡¯t know what to expect, but it wasn¡¯t this. A little off from the barely worn path, burrowed into the face of a lopsided hill was an amalgamation of metal, ceramic, and a dozen other things. Old survival tents, wood scaffolding, and what looked to be the repurposed parts of some armored vehicle created a chaotic yet well-put-together tumor of a facade growing out of the hill. Painted on one of the dark armored plates were the words ¡°-GH CINDER CRA-¡±. Cinder Crawler? Weren¡¯t those officially retired by the holy army decades ago? By the time Tomb finished reading Yuri was already at the Airlock - err - front door.


    Tomb followed her in and, yet again, his newly adjusted expectations were overturned. The inside appeared well-lit, with white ship lights running across the ceiling. Not a shadow in sight. Sterile synthetic walls encompassed the room. A waist-high counter with a bundle of clothes lying at the edge was positioned directly across from the entrance, with rows and columns of secured draws lining the wall behind them. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Strangely enough, a lush fur sofa sat to the right, completely alone and out of place. Or it would have been, if its partner, a freaking cast metal fireplace, wasn¡¯t positioned symmetrically across on the opposite wall.


    Back on the sofa sat a lone man. He had large, purple-tinted utility goggles pushed too high up his forehead and drank from a suspiciously shaped opaque bottle. Dark smudges marred his leathery, ash-colored skin. Tomb observed black bags under the man¡¯s eyes and his face contained a barely kept fade of rough stubble. He was eyeing an assortment of disassembled machine parts on a small table next to the sofa. Tomb hadn¡¯t seen him move since Tomb and Yuris¡¯ arrival. It was as if he didn¡¯t even know they were there.


    ¡°Greg. Why aren¡¯t you at the front desk?¡± Yuri looked down at the man who didn¡¯t even acknowledge hearing the question. After a few moments he casually looked up, and without change in expression, barely flickered his eyes to the pile of clothes on the counter. Yuri grinned then. ¡°She doesn¡¯t bite, you know... (Or hasn''t, at least).¡± The man named Greg snorted and mumbled under his breath, ¡°She doesn¡¯t need to bite¡±. Curious, Tomb re-evaluated the bundle of clothes. They didn¡¯t show signs of movement, though maybe he could make out some form of a utility jacket.


    Greg put his hands on his knees, leaned back, and swung his body forward, using the momentum to stand. After a small, coarse grunt he unceremoniously turned to Tomb and gave a half-hearted universal greeting gesture with his flask side; though by that point, the flask had mysteriously vanished.


    ¡°Greg, nice to meet you. You must be the new hire.¡± His voice was rough and gravelly, like shifting stones on the bottom of a river. Tomb dexterously returned the greeting.


    ¡°Tomb, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡± Greg grumbled under his breath, ¡°...Noble kid¡±.


    ¡°Greg here is the guild¡¯s unofficial secretary, medic, mechanic, engineer, and¡­ anything else. He¡¯s like a vice guild master just without the authority. His choice, not mine.¡± Greg snorted again. ¡°If you have questions about anything and I¡¯m not around, just ask Greg. This bundle of flowers will be happy to help.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t. And if you do, don¡¯t expect me to answer¡±. Greg delivered the statement with a completely straight face.


    ¡°But beyond that, seriously, if there¡¯s a medical emergency or some other manner of issue, rely on Greg.¡± Yuri suddenly switched to a cheery, playful demeanor. ¡°Now for the tour. This is our welcoming room, and as you can see, it''s very lively, very busy.¡± Tomb could almost hear the silence.


    ¡°If anyone from the village has a request or wants to formalize a request, they come through this room and Greg puts it in writing. So we don¡¯t, you know, off someone¡¯s pet due to a misunderstanding, or something.¡± Greg gave a half snort/half laugh from behind. But when Tomb looked back he had returned to inspecting the gizmos on the table while scratching his rough stubble, Tomb and Yuri seemingly forgotten.


    ¡°Ahrm. Anyways, Greg would typically be at the counter on secretary duty. As you can see, behind that counter lies our storage space. There we keep anything besides personal belongings.¡± The room seemed well organized, and every drawer was labeled and locked, probably Greg¡¯s doing. As Tomb scanned the room his eyes fell on the pile of clothes sitting at the right edge of the counter. Upon closer inspection, he could make out what might be a hood leaning sideways. A lock of stark white hair flowed out, riding back into the hood.


    ¡°Ah yes, that is Ky, our main employer. It appears she is asleep. On the counter. Again.¡± Tomb tried to mark any defining feature of the pile. Other than that the jacket Tomb initially assumed was laundry was several sizes too large for the current wearer, Tomb couldn¡¯t make anything out. Are they a child? They must be, or they¡¯re at least child-sized. ¡°Number two rule of this guild. Don¡¯t piss her off. Don¡¯t mess with her, and mind her antics, within reason. I¡¯m the only one who¡¯s allowed to anger her.¡± After that declaration, Yuri gently shook the pile. An annoyed grumbling could be heard from it, deep in the depths of some half-asleep state.


    ¡°Lylo didn¡¯t even tell me she had come inside. She was already on the counter when I got up.¡± Greg grumbled just loud enough for everyone to hear. Yuri slowly turned to Tomb with a wide smile.


    ¡°But don¡¯t worry about her. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s got a great personality somewhere in that thick skull.¡±


    I¡¯m sure¡­ what? Just then Yuri lifted her boot and kicked/shoved the pile off the counter. Flailing arms and legs mixed in a tangled heap, down into the storage room.

 3: Cursed one

    ¡°Fu- who?!¡±


    A pair of blazing eyes flung up over the counter ledge in search of their aggressor. Ky, no taller than Tomb¡¯s waist, locked gazes with Yuri. A gray and blue utility jacket practically wore her, the shoulders cascading over her own. Underneath, her uncomfortably thin limbs were wrapped in a complex pattern of cloth. Only the fingertips and the area above her neck were exposed, pale skin like the white of someone¡¯s eyes peeking through.


    As she opened her mouth to speak, Ky froze, and her angular head whipped in Tomb¡¯s direction. Large, teardrop-shaped eyes bore into him, the narrow ends traveling toward short, pointed ears. The sight sent a shiver down Tomb¡¯s spine. A cosmic soup of reds, greens, and blues filled that unnatural gaze. Before he could process the sight, Ky¡¯s hand shot out and grabbed Tomb''s wrist, pulling it right under her face. Her sharp, lime-green pupils were a flurry, scouring the surface of the palm side. It was then that Tomb noticed her hair. Blue and white locks of tangled keratin fell now unimpeded by her hood. Ky let go of his hand and muttered under her breath.


    ¡°Blood arts.¡±


    Tomb was already pulling his hand away as she released it. His veins having long since turned to ice. Distant lectures echoed from past memories. Colorful hair. Too colorful, rich and saturated with ether. Awelitch. Cursed ones. Tomb¡¯s hand slowly reached toward the bag across his back. He had left that life behind. He was no longer obligated to the Great War.


    Feet balanced, eyes forward. Enemy of light. Born from madness, for the propagation of madness. Lords of all unholy. Old training had taken over. Deep breath, observe the situation¡­


    Ky had completely disregarded Tomb and was now in a heated argument with Yuri.


    Am I in immediate danger? No. Hide movements, acquire advantageous position. His hand was now fully in his bag, calloused fingers wrapping around a carved length of antler. Be quick, prepare for retaliation after the initial impact. His vision tunneled around the guild client. All sounds vanished except the monotonous beat of Tomb¡¯s heart. A bead of sweat formed and died on his forehead. One movement and he would be past the point of no return.


    Prep. Brace. And¡­


    Something from deep within Tomb¡¯s subconscious gave pause. I left that life behind. Slowly, he removed his empty hand from the bag. All of Tomb¡¯s instincts screamed that he was in danger. What was this feeling? What had stayed his hand? Logic? Empathy? No, Tomb knew what emotion held him. Spite.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    He turned around and checked on Greg. The man was still acting oblivious to the world. Tomb returned his attention to the front. Yuri was retorting Ky with the voice one would use to talk to a child. A warm smile splayed on her lips.


    ¡°Dear, you know the other guild members won¡¯t acknowledge you if you don''t want them to.¡±


    Ky stared daggers at Yuri, her form practically vibrating with anger. Despite that, it didn¡¯t appear as if the guildmaster felt threatened. Actually, it was hard to see the client as a threat at all.


    Her sharp voice peaked at odd accents and carried a strange, discordant, sing-song intonation.


    ¡°If you think having proper hierarchy is such a big deal, why haven¡¯t you provided an examp-¡±


    Yuri cut her off with a dismissive wave.


    ¡°Speaking of providing, did you prepare anything for our next excursion?¡±


    ¡°-le. Perhaps your understanding of the situation requires an improved¡­¡±


    Ky¡¯s face went blank. All emotion left and she tilted her head slightly.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Yuri¡¯s perpetual smile gained a predatory glint.


    ¡°You must be itching to go out again. One such as yourself most certainly prepares for her next big discovery the first chance she gets. Of course, you weren¡¯t waiting, I imagine.¡±


    Ky gave Yuri an alien look. She reached out and twisted her fingers in some unknown gesture towards the guildmaster.


    ¡°All necessary parts have been prepared and are on schedule, as is their development.¡±


    Her monotone voice didn¡¯t retain any memory of earlier indignation.


    ¡°Good! I expect nothing less from our best client. Now, you must be very busy prepping everything. I wouldn¡¯t want to hold you back! So, excuse my rude interruption and I wish you the best in your efforts.¡±


    Ky stared blankly at Yuri for a few moments. The client¡¯s eyes had dark bags under them, and small cuts and scars could be found all over her exposed skin. One such scar was an old healed incision traveling over her left eye.


    ¡°...Indeed. Do you know if Lylo is currently resting in her pod?¡±


    Yuri¡¯s mask faltered slightly at the unexpected question.


    ¡°...I don¡¯t believe that¡¯s relevant to your intent-¡±


    ¡°You know what, you''re right, it doesn¡¯t matter whether she is.¡±


    Ky briskly turned and disappeared through an entrance on the other side of the counter.


    ¡°Ky, you are not sleeping in her crawlspace agai- Ky!¡±


    Yuri turned and gave Tomb an apologetic look.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Didn¡¯t intend for you to see that. Despite how it looks she pays very well. When the time comes for any of her requests you¡¯ll see that she¡¯s worth putting up with. Speaking of which, it appears our itinerary has changed. Would you like a tour of the sleeping quarters? I¡¯ll even show you how I remove a certain, invasive pest.¡±


    Tomb needed a moment to readjust as he searched for an answer.


    ¡°...Certainly?¡±


    what the hell¡­

 4: The Gift

    ¡­ Did I just witness?


    Purple and orange sunlight filtered through the treetops, signaling evening¡¯s prime and the coming of night. Tomb found that people naturally considered night as the time when activity ceased, and life slept. But the world never truly went to sleep. Tomb knew that night was just another face the world wore. Darkness was just as lively as the daylight, maybe even more so.


    The beaten path continued onward, becoming more defined as one walked. Ahead, on either side two massive trunks marked the boundary between the forest and a clearing. Deep, archaic glyphs carved spidery patterns into their amethyst bark. Tomb traced the careful gouges with his eyes. A uniform growth of mosses was intentionally stuffed into the crevices. But it never seemed to outgrow them. Ward sigils, probably absorbing ambient mana and acting as nodes to a protective barrier. Resourceful. That the villagers already used native ingredients in their rituals.


    Tomb suspected there would be a number of trees similarly marked nearby, completing a closed boundary around the area containing the village. I¡¯m close. He leisurely passed the two trees. The world slightly warped for a moment, and then he was through. Ahead, the path led down into an open valley.


    Sweeping planes of turquoise wild grass gave way to terraced farmland. Tomb walked between well-kept, simple polygons. Complex patterns of fractal, branching shapes spiraled out from the center of each section. Their ends met the edges of other shapes, newly formed patterns weaving together into a cohesive, mesmerizing labyrinth.


    Along these lines sprouted a variety of plants. Dark blue glowing fruits, hanging from small trees. Colorful berries and pocketed sparse shrubs. Roots, tubers, and general ruffage grew in groups.


    Small stones with glowing markings could be found near the base of most plants. Tomb listened to the hypnotic buzz of wings nearby. Biological drone-like insects hovered from fruit to flower, checking and maintaining each carefully.


    Tomb reached out as one flew by. It softly landed on his outstretched hand. He could sense peace emanating from the animal. What would it be like, to see through their eyes? To live as a creature, created and cultivated to maintain these gardens?


    A large irrigation trough separated the terraces from the village proper. The two were connected by a growth of native wood, which seemed to be intentionally cultivated in the shape of a bridge. Down below the wood children cried joyously. A small group chased each other in some game near the low water level. One child, slightly older than the rest, watched Tomb warily.


    On the other side of the bridge stood the village proper. Mounds just large enough to stand under rose from the valley floor. Invasive wild grass grew over the roofs and covered all but their open doorways. From within Tomb could see the light of many luminescent mosses.


    Every doorway was unique, some grown from wood, others constructed from plastic or ceramic parts. Mechanical contraptions poked out here and there; pipes, chimneys, storage crates.


    In the center of the village stood a massive, square stone several persons high and across. Archaic carvings similar to the ones on the wards traveled its surface. Borderline heretic, setting up a sacred stone here. But not enough to warrant inquisitorial intervention. At least not this far from the central region.


    Colorful streamers ran from the top of the stone down to open tents crowding the village center. Lively shopkeepers called out to browsing off-worlders. The scents of fresh produce, and the laughter of shrewd salesmen, were all permeated by the tasteful light of a variety of fungi. Overlooking the tents was a large dome. Its frame constructed from metal fingers connected by tarp-like webbing. Tomb could make out foreign plants growing in organized vats where the entrance flaps allowed sight.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    He started browsing the market. A few other travelers from the seriphite were here as well, taking their time haggling with the tent salespeople. He stopped at one stall that sold odd trinkets, often incorporating some form of the ever-present fungi. Oddly, pieces from deconstructed weapons were mixed in with the jewelry. Tomb thought back to when his hand was on his focus, posed to strike at Ky. He left the guildhall after the ¡°tour¡± under the guise of seeing the rest of Rotworld¡¯s only settlement, dubbed, ¡°the village¡±. But he couldn¡¯t get past the thoughts she brought up.


    What the hell was an Awewitch doing on Rotworld?


    It wasn¡¯t so far-fetched that one would be here this close to Wild Space. Tomb left the trinket stall and continued on.


    But the fact that everyone was alright with her was odd. Greg seems apprehensive, but not enough to leave or maintain a defense poster. And not to mention Yuri!


    Market sellers laughed and called to each other.


    What is she like that others don¡¯t see her as a threat?


    Tomb gazed up at the sacred stone. Its form eclipsed the low sun, bathing the area in an orange aura.


    What is she like that she¡¯s become integrated with these people? What are Awewitches like, face to face and apart from the stories?


    ¡°Hey, You! Star hopper!¡±


    I mean, an actual Awelitch? It was like watching a child. Or, no. She didn¡¯t sound like a child. Hell, half of the time I thought I was hearing some Tech monk, with all their schooling and weird obsessions.


    ¡°Hey, you! With the funny eyes!¡±


    I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she was born on this side of¡­ wait.


    Tomb turned toward the sound of a voice on his left. There, a little girl sat on the ground of a crowded tent. She was surrounded by¡­ scrap? An odd assortment of metal objects. Tomb gestured to himself, seeing as she was making eye contact.


    ¡°Yeah, you! Need anything cleaned?¡±


    Tomb reevaluated the pile. Old metal pieces, some still with dirt and grime. That was cute. Not that she would receive much business. Tomb subtly glanced around to find one of the nearby shopkeepers lazily watching her from the side, a smile on their face.


    ¡°...Perhaps. What do you mean by Star hopper?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, one who travels worlds, no?¡±


    How would she? Ah. Tomb looked down at his clothing and that of the seriphite crew walking around. Newer attire, similar to the refugees, if not still shabby. Tomb glanced at the dulled colors of a large diamond shawl she wore over a simple knee-length dress. He did not yet look the part of a villager.


    ¡°Yeah! You need something cleaned? Things get dirty. Your trip was long yeah? I clean good.¡±


    Tomb carefully looked down at the assortment of metals. Some areas were spotless, others half-finished or forgotten, all on the same piece. The girl was so bubbly and excited. Her voice carried far  and was accompanied by an increasing cadence. She had an odd accent as if something was impeding her speech. The girl wasn¡¯t Antier. Dark navy skin with green eyes. Sandy brown hair, waist length was braided behind her head.


    ¡°Trips long, you have things you don¡¯t need, yeah? I take them off you, no longer want ''em, yeah?¡±


    She gestured to a smaller pile slightly separated from the rest. Several miscellaneous objects were organized according to some unknown system. The girl grabbed one of the trinkets.


    ¡°I got this one last year! Its from An... An¡­ Antica, yeah!¡±


    The girl proudly held up a bronze alcohol flask, probably given by an amused smuggler. Looking at her collection of miscellaneous metals, Tomb remembered the ¡°jewelry¡± shop from earlier, an idea forming in his head.


    He kneaded down, becoming eye level with the girl.


    ¡°Actually, as of today I¡¯m a permanent resident here. I¡¯m no longer a star traveler.¡±


    The girl gave Tomb a look of equal parts confusion and disappointment.


    ¡°But, I do have something that is old and could use extra care.¡±


    Tomb reached into one of his lower pockets. He pulled out an intricate golden coin attached to a thin necklace of the same color. Sharp, regal patterns depicted the crest of the sacred army.


    ¡°This has seen better days and needs a good shine. Say, if you clean it well enough, you can even keep it. how does that sound?¡±


    The girl''s eyes lit up as she grasped the coin in her hands. Pulling it to her chest she looked back at Tomb.


    ¡°Yeah, really?! It sound good. I finish it good!¡±


    Tomb chucked to himself as he stood up and walked away from the stall. The girl was too focused on the metal in her hands to notice him. He had mentally discarded that emblem a long time ago. Now that he was on the other side of nowhere, it felt fitting to physically part with it. Without realizing, Tomb had already made the decision to try working with Ky. After all, he was already past the point of no return. What¡¯s a little further going to change? Besides, he wanted nothing more than to stay far away from that side of the church and anything connected to them.