It really wasn’t so bad. Or, at least, not nearly as terrible as Astra’s complaints would make it seem. Tuck herself this way; shuffle a blanket over there; adjust her tail just right and Nyklo could easily sleep amongst the stone cold walls of the Ruin’s labyrinth. Then again… she did have a nice coat of fur and was well used to more unconventional sleeping arrangements, whether that be up a tree or sprawled out in a field not far from a heavily trafficked traveling route. So maybe the old harpy didn’t have much of an equal companion to commiserate with.
But, ultimately, the joke was on Nyklo, because Astra was already asleep.
Within minutes of settling in for the night, her maze-wandering company had drifted into a quiet slumber, buried in blankets and as close to the roaring fire as he could safely be. Nyklo, however, was kept awake by a mysterious something that dug uncomfortably into her lower back. Every blind swipe of her hand found nothing and a wiggle brought only a few brief seconds of relief before the prodding returned. Of course, she could have simply gotten up to investigate, but it took so long to get situated just perfectly so that the thought brought a pinched frown to her face. If she could just wait it out…
She squirmed again as the something jabbed her spine through the layers of blankets and clothing. That was enough. With a defeated groan, the Animal Worldhopper rocked to her knees and spun to face the stone wall that she had propped herself against. Her brow furrowed as she scanned over her intended sleeping nook, trying to find the source of her ire. But from wall to ground there was… nothing. Not a crack or pebble or even speck of dirt. Only stone smoothed from the years and elements.
“Really?” Nyklo whined, ears pinning back. There had to have been something for what was going on. Lips pursed, she peered her way up and down the labyrinthine corridor she and Astra had taken refuge in. Again, nothing but smooth stone walls and floors. Not a clue for her disturbance. Feeling more than a little frustrated,Nyklo reached one hand out of the warmth of her blanket wrap and tapped harshly against the chilled wall with a nail.
Wssh! A small rectangle of stone popped partially out of the wall with a faint grinding sound. And, well, it really wasn’t all that surprising. The walls had already moved many times in the past few days. Just another one of the mysterious mechanisms of the labyrinth. Nyklo went to grasp the protrusion. Maybe it would twist or could be pulled out the rest of the way and reveal a clue towards exiting the mind-numbing maze. But as soon as the pads of her fingertips brushed the stone, it rocketed back into the wall, just as fast as it had presented itself. She jerked her hand back. Now that was different.
Nyklo sat back on her heels for a second, ears twitching as she stared dumbfounded at the wall. Completely smooth again. She leaned forward, towards the wall, there had to be a hairline seam or—
The block popped out again. She flinched at the sudden movement, pulling away from the wall with her shoulders drawn up and eyes wide. She sat, still and half curled in on herself, and watched the stone. One beat. Two. The block remained where it was. Nyklo kept staring. Then the block pulled in slightly, then pushed back out. Then it repeated the action, again and again, like it was… wiggling?
Once again, she reached out for the fluttering stone. This time she could actually touch it, and as her hand fully grasped the block, a sharp click sounded from the wall before her. A half dozen more blocks— larger blocks— sprang forth from the wall. Nyklo’s head snapped up to take in the new additions. They were longer, wider stones that rose up the wall at a sharp angle.
“A staircase?” She breathed out, letting go of the small block. The stepping stones flitted in a wave at her question.
Nyklo chewed her inner cheek as she considered the stairs. On one hand, with everything that had happened so far, a hidden staircase didn’t seem strange enough to be worth questioning. On the other hand, between having no handholds and moving steps, a nasty fall would be all too easy. On the other other hand, it would be downright foolish to not see where the staircase might lead (She could practically hear Astra bemoan the lost opportunity). The stepping stones waved again, beckoning her.
She approached the lowest stair and set one foot down on it, feeling its chill bite through her sock. One last glance was thrown over her shoulder at the softly snoring harpy. Then, she heaved herself up and began her ascent of the mysterious staircase.
With each step a new stone jutted from the wall, guiding Nyklo up and away from the camp. And a single hand running along the wall, accompanied by a mantra to not look down until something more assuredly stable was under her, were her only ways of fighting back the feeling that she was going to plunge back towards the ground of the labyrinth. Still, she climbed up the seemingly endless stretch of stone.
After a time that, frankly, seemed far too long for her to still be climbing, Nyklo finally was able to make out the top of the stone walls. Goal in sight, she doubled her efforts. Up, up, up, and with a spring in her step she hopped off the final stepping stone and onto the top of the great Ruins. For a second she stared unseeing across the sea of stone walls as she caught her breath. Then, with a sense of carelessness that would strike fear into the hearts of anyone with acrophobia, she spun on her heels and peered down the way she came.
The staircase was gone. That… would be a problem. Nyklo sucked her teeth and shoved the thought aside to deal with later. Worry about that if or when the need would arise. If worse came to worst, maybe she could find Pellumi and he’d be able to rescue her from this predicament (That was another thing that wasn’t nearly as bad as Astra’s complaints would make it. The elf was a little boisterous, maybe, but it wasn’t like he was malevolent or anything. Really, he seemed kind of lonely at the core, but was just trying to hide behind dramatic words and flashy theatrics… Anyways, Nyklos’s tail lashed at the wandering thought). Beyond that, she squinted into the yawning depths, trying to see anything in the darkness below. And— There!— in the distance was a tiny flicker beating against the shadows: the campfire.
Satisfied, she straightened out to take in the view while she walked across the top of the stone wall. The moonlight on the Ruins was beautiful; the way it skipped across the tops of the labyrinth’s walls and made the snowdrifts glitter. Though a little voice in the back of her head did suggest she instead take the time to plot out the maze with this bird’s-eye view. What a shame Nyklo didn’t have the foresight to bring paper and something to write with before she began her ascent; it’d be impossible to even attempt to memorize everything. Oh well, she shrugged and skirted around a pile of slushy snow, at least she could enjoy the little excursion to the fullest.
At a corner, she stopped. It probably wouldn’t be too wise to stray so far from the camp. That way, if she did find her own way back down into the labyrinth, she could return easily. It was one thing to be lost with another person, but the Worldhopper all on her own? Who knew what could happen? Getting hurt could be disastrous. But instead of turning back the way she came, Nyklo looked up. She pondered the shining full moon above.
So, even the moon was just another face of another deity. Nyklo almost frowned at the thought. Would it also have some winding message for her? Something that she should be doing better, something more, all while it hung up above in all its unreachable, shining golden indifference—
Wait. The wind became piercing as she realized a detail that should probably be particularly concerning. The moon was no longer the honeyed yellow that she remembered. It was pale, shining a cold light across the Ruins. She… She should go back to the camp and wake Astra. Maybe he’d know if this had anything to do with the eclipse story they’d been living out. Or another story about Soll. Anything that could explain what was going on. She’d been about to turn back when the wind gusted, rooting her to the spot.
It was colder than anything she’d experienced yet, burning through every layer she wore and freezing her to the core. It pitched and howled, swirling into a song demanding she stay right where she was. And from it rose a voice, lilting as it called aloud and dripping with derision:
“Light and dark, black and white… Always straining to strike a futile balance. Why not let it all be grey?”
The wind faded, drifting back into a cool breeze. A sound of soft clacking against stone filled its place. Nyklo— finally released from the wind’s siren song— spun around herself, searching for the source but saw nothing beyond pallid moonlight. The voice continued, sounding close:
“It’s both; it’s neither. Nothing to worry about… But they wouldn’t understand, would they?”
The last question felt pointed. That the voice wasn’t calling into the endless aether of the Ruins anymore, but speaking directly to her. Her fur prickled. What did it want from her?
“What do you mean?” Nyklo called into the night. But she received no spoken answer, only the sound of beating wings getting louder and louder and loud—
“GUH!”
Nyklo sat up, fanning away the Moon Moth that was frantically buffeting her face with its wings. “C’mon, Silvit, do you hav’ta?”
Oh. She’d fallen asleep, she thought as she stared bleary-eyed at the campsite, back in the bowels of the labyrinth. Back to the towering stacks of ancient stone bricks instead of the impossibly large slabs of solid stone. How did she not notice?
It had all been a dream.
The Moth returned, fluttering directly in her sightline before dancing away. Nyklo watched her pet as it flitted through the air, swirling around the campfire— now reduced to smoldering ashes— before it lighted briefly upon Astra, the elderly harpy shivering in his sleep. That wouldn’t do. She rose to her feet, shaking her head and feeling clammy, as she shucked all of her blankets to the ground but one. The final she carried over to Astra and flung it over the shuddering mass, humming as he settled.
Next, she padded over to the remains of the fire, picking up a stick from a pile of tinder. Maybe if she could find some buried embers, she could stoke the flames back rather than rebuild it all from scratch. Wielding the stick like a poker, she knelt by the campfire and began to sift through the ashes. But, unfortunately, all she could find were crumbling cinders that rapidly cooled from the winter wind. Nyklo puffed her cheeks and leaned forward for a closer look, dreading the thought of building the fire anew, when a shine in the ashes caught her eye.
“A feather?” She mumbled aloud as she dug the object from the cinders. And it was. A large, inky black feather, singed around the edges and reflecting back the (decidedly normal) marigold moonlight from above. Standing again, Nyklo glowered down at the mysterious feather. Something about it was familiar, but whyever hid deep in the back of her mind, tauntingly just out of reach. It consumed her though, focusing on nothing but the odd black feather.
…
“The old man’s much more tolerable when he’s asleep.”
Nyklo squealed, tail bottlebrushed, as she whipped around to face the intruder. She’d been getting startled way too many times tonight, asleep or otherwise. And when did Pellumi get there? It must have been the middle of the night! What would he even be doing at this time?! She glared at the elf as he strode closer, casually twirling his staff in his hands.
“What do you have there?” Pellumi spoke again as he closed in, carelessly plucking the feather from Nyklo’s hands. Bewildered by the audacity, she watched wordless as he held the feather up, inspecting it with an all-too-serious expression. He then turned his attention towards her.
“I’ve never seen anything like this in the Ruins. Where did you find it?”
“I, uh, it-it was in the fire,” Nyklo stuttered out (“Smooth,” a little voice in the back of her head supplied unhelpfully).
Pellumi gave a little noncommittal noise, pocketing the feather. “Well, I’ll be confiscating this, then, interloper.”
The elf gave a sweeping bow— shooting a playful wink at the dip— before straightening again and rapping his staff against the stony ground. In a puff of smoke he vanished, just as quickly as he had appeared.
Empty handed and impossibly flustered, Nyklo dropped her head back, staring straight up at the sky and the golden moon above. She was left with nothing but already half-forgotten dreams and whatever memory she could retain of the strange black feather. And now she definitely had to remake the fire. It was going to be a long rest of the night; but, at least she could enjoy the quiet.
A snore broke the silence.
