ORIGIN

There’d been an enchantment cast over the caves in the cycles gone by: life, blooming in the cracks of stone walls and burying soil under a thick carpet of color. East could see it in nearly every passage he flew through and every cavern he bothered to linger in. For Eridanus, the stretch of mossy wilderness had been elevated to thriving rainforest. Meanwhile flowers had become more of a main attraction in Polaris than its crystal outcroppings, save for one he’d only heard of from excited chatter provided by the caves’ echoing gray supported rumor mill. All could have been, to the optimistic, a sign of promising times ahead—that light might be at the end of many a metaphorical tunnel.

A shame there was none truly in sight, not from the height he observed, the ruins of Orion an awful sprawl beneath him.

Tell the multitude of buildings hosted here that good days at last were at their crumbled doorsteps. Convince them that the weeds springing up from their foundations represented new beginnings and not another demonstration of how they’d been left for so long abandoned and in disrepair. Then look upon the old tower standing guard at one of the entrances, collecting dust for longer than some have been hatched, and claim it to be a shining quartz-encrusted beacon restored to glory by the rubble gathering at its base. He’d sooner laugh than try.

Hope had its merits. When others would much rather collapse on their knees and weep than continue on with their dreary lives, it was what picked them up and shoved them on their way. It’s what allowed some to take risks they’d never dream of otherwise. But limits existed, and this was one: you could only fool yourself if you had the reason to.

East, he had none. Why would he when the stinging truth was better motivation for him than the honeyed lies his fellow Gembound might be more inclined to swallow? What better safety did he have than acknowledging the dangers below still existed instead of pretending they had disappeared.

For example, the forum that sprawled below him. Once regarded as a spot of decay, its circular stone construction worn and pitted like the bones of an ancient giant laid to rest, now he ascribed a worse reputation to it, a state-sponsored execution site with its victims willing volunteers.

How many had he seen throw their lives away for sport, unaware of how brutal their demise would be? Had any of them realized the likelihood of their body being swallowed down another’s gullet to the cheers of a frenzied audience?

Blurred as his memory had been by drink, he could remember the smoldering of fur. Furthermore, he could picture the flesh beneath that, how it’d turned crisp and black. Wisps of smoke had curled up so far into the stands, he’d been surprised he hadn’t caught the faintest whiff of the awful stench left in that contestant’s final moments. And then revulsion had settled deep inside his chest at more than gory spectacles upon the realization none sat beside him in the stands had seemed bothered any. No gagging or averting of eyes—just cheers, bared fangs, and bays for more blood.

Quite a few had had pieces of them salvaged, taken for trophies or whatever else, but not all. There were those that’d been swept away fully, their corpses impeding the procession to the next match. Forgotten souls, these were who took space in his mind as he hovered above the arena; powerless to stop the fights, at the least he could revisit the scene and preserve these strangers’ existence in his thoughts since he knew not whether others did.

On whisper-quiet wings, he descended to the center stage that was the giant's dead, judgmental eye. Landing softly, talons lifted to touch the cup strung about his neck and steady the shake sending rivulets of water over its brim.

He might have indulged in alcohol only the once, but East couldn't help craving the momentary ignorance it would have provided him in this instance. At least the dead had no parched throats or functioning minds to wish the same.

"To the damned and done," he muttered. "Hope your debts were paid in full."

A gentle prod. The cup tipped. Half its contents had fallen once it was straightened. The bird took a sip of what remained.

Uncanny insight to the workings of his brain aside, the sheen of novelty had long ago rubbed off that persistent voice out of nowhere. Beneath it, the typical wariness East afforded just about everything else remained. Without a face to focus on, the bird straightened his stance. Beak tilted to the quartz-studded ceiling, he squinted against its twinkling lights as if any hint of deception could be read there while the Narrator waxed poetic about the futilities of life known so well.

"Grim dance? Hmmm... Bit much, that. I prefer an endless march myself."

Not so much a critique and more of a tease to distract from the subtle ruffle of feathers along his nape, a tremor underlay the words. Questions that could've been asked, but possibly never directly answered, strained to be spoken like flowers vying for the smallest shaft of sunlight. Starving, fed by nothing but hints and suspicion, they yearned to flourish despite the less than hospitable environment. That wish went ungranted once a sudden thud added to the echoes of the arena.

Common practice was for shadows to creep and cling. Peeling away from walls to spill onto the sandy floor would've been normal too if the act had been soundless. As it wasn't and the long shadow that'd fallen possessed too solid and skittering legs to be intangible, safe to assume all was not as it initially appeared.

Its face was a flat disk with teeth that glinted from a mouth slapped smack dab in the middle and arranged sideways. Its advance rapid, East decided on retreat. Hopping, a downward thrust of wings shot him slightly more ceilingward. Continuing beats kept him aloft. Such was the immediacy of his ascent that there'd been no opportunity to make it a smooth one; cup around his neck jostled, its remaining contents splashed feather and floor alike.

What? Shouldn't he be asking it that? A whole slew of whats if he had his way.

Whether size or shape, every aspect of this fellow should have screamed danger. The instinctual rise of crest feathers at the sight should've confirmed that. Yet something about the repetition hooked his curiosity: the possibility it meant exactly what he thought it did.

"Who and why'd be better, if you're asking," he said from his place in the air. A pause, hesitating. And then—"You can hear 'em too?"

Living in isolation with an invisible presence that seemed to voice every somber sentiment that crossed his mind, a part of him had almost started to entertain that he'd finally cracked. The fact it'd only began when he found the journal had been what prevented him from giving into the idea. If wit didn't fail him here, this proved he had been right not to.

Disgusting as they might be, corpses were a natural aspect of life—the often messy end of it. So too, East supposed, were those creatures that could be considered a fair bit more frightening and bizarre than he was used to. Much like death, exposure accomplished wonders for one's demeanor toward the subject, and even now the concept held true. Although his wings beat to keep himself aloft and a talon's length beyond reach, the head he cocked at the monstrous being below had already begun to lose outward signs of startlement. Feathers smoothed out and a spark of curiosity further brightening yellow eyes, he spoke to it less as a threat and more as an unusual conversational partner.

Fancy that. It'd been a while since he'd one of those.

"Ah, just like a trap—they shut up." Other than the sound of their voices echoing in the arena, the creature wasn't wrong. Secretive sort that they were, the Narrator had done the usual routine: added another piece to the jumbled puzzle and left him pondering how everything fit together. "If they didn't want you to hear, I doubt you would've been able to."

At least that's what he assumed for now; who knew the extent of their powers, the distance their words could be carried? Keeping themselves out of sight was no easy feat as far as he could tell. To be selective about who overheard them would likely be no easier.

Possible though? Probably.

"But 'fraid I can only do you good on one of those. Who and where aren't talking. Why, though, is a bit chattier. And somewhat of a mindbender."

No point could be found in continuing to exercise the amount of caution he did. Soft as the tamest of breezes, East returned to the ground, landing a couple paces away from the other Gembound. Mud resulting from his unfortunate water spillage squelched underfoot; although he glanced down at talons, mild irritation gusting out as a sigh, little more came to pass from the bird. He merely stood there and resumed his explanation.

"You ever heard of someone telling a story? Well, this fella... they want me to look into something for them, and they want to talk about me doing it. Seems to enjoy that sort of thing."

A chuckle of realization.

"Wouldn't mind talking about you too, I bet. Why have one character when you could have a whole cast. More dynamics can only help the plot. Isn't that right, our eye in the air?"

His beak lifted at that last question, directed to the ceiling since the one he addressed lacked a visible body. While the likelihood of a response was low, his observer too dutiful in playing their role to engage in pointed banter, no harm existed in trying to discover a crack in their resolve. After all, if they were intent on him playing their game, why not him engaging them in his own?