Chapter 62: Reparations

By the time Soren and Rylan had finished talking, the professor was done studying the dehumidifier, so Soren led them all outside. The first thing Rylan did upon exiting the staircase where the foghorn had passed away, was look up.

Though he’d known it would be the case, it was still a shock to see how much smaller the dome of fog overhead had become, how much lower it hung.

Seeing how dark it was, for a brief instant, Rylan worried way more time had passed than he’d thought. Then he realised the thicker layer of fog simply blocked more of the light coming from above.

A cold breeze ran over his bare arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It wasn’t just the cold, however. A familiar—if faint—sense of pressure made Rylan turn his head to the right, where he spotted a vague shadow moving through the mist.

Rylan squinted, trying to see if he could make out any hint of light from the creature’s spirit, but he didn’t see anything. Does my new vision not work on Malequints? Maybe I’m just too far away...

They made their way back to the mostly rebuilt wreck of the Soggy Shepherd and found it lying awfully close to the edge of the dome. There, they met up with the rest of the Black Sheep.

Soren immediately rushed over to the captain, and started talking to her in hushed tones. The professor joined them at a more sedate pace.

Rylan rubbed his bare arms, glancing around at the rest of the assembled crew.

Ezra was doing training exercises with his new, still-barebones prosthetic, trying and mostly failing to pick up a cup of water. Holly was watching him closely, but occasionally shooting worried glances at the others, and particularly Captain Hammermore.

Yuel and Nazyr were standing a little closer together than usual, Nazyr’s hand comfortingly on Yuel’s shoulder, their faces grim.

Only Halloth seemed stoic as usual, his face implacable under his many tattoos as he stood there waiting, the little trowel and watering can he was still holding almost comically small in his hands.

Watching them, this little community that Rylan had gotten to witness from up close the last couple of weeks—had gotten to be a part of—made an uncomfortable feeling grow in the pit of his stomach. He averted his gaze.

Things seemed to have gotten a bit heated between the captain and Soren... and they were both looking his way. Watching the captain’s dark eyes burn holes into him, her sapphire spirit shining bright inside her chest, Rylan felt his hackles rise and his heartbeat accelerate.

Then the professor pulled on her sleeve, and whispered something in her ear from the other side. Her eyes narrowed, then widened. She nodded. She finally broke eye contact with Rylan only when she stepped forward and looked around at her gathered crew. “I know you’re all wondering what happened. Why the dome shrank. However, I’m not here to address that. What’s done is done, and there’s no point in assigning blame.”

Rylan shuffled his feet, trying not to look too guilty. He was glad the captain wasn’t publicly blaming him, as he’d gotten quite close to most of the crew, and he hated the idea of them looking at him differently. Even if he did deserve it.

“Instead, we’re going to work towards getting out of here before the dome shrinks further, or fails entirely,” Captain Hammermore continued, her voice growing louder as she gathered steam. “Make no mistake, people, we’re living on borrowed time. That means effective immediately, there will be no more playing around, no more hunting and food-gathering expeditions. We’ll eat rations, and everyone who is not working on finishing up the ship’s renovation will help with the search for Aetherium, no exceptions. Halloth will be in charge of rationing, and Ezra and Holly in charge of making it palatable. Nazyr, pick whoever you need to help you work on the ship; we need that new topside floater operational and fast. Everybody else, prepare yourself. Our search starts after dinner, and will continue until the light grows too faint to continue. That will be all, dismissed.”

Having been freed from the chore he used to hate the most, Rylan found himself with mixed feelings. He shared a glance with Nazyr, who shrugged at him, seeming just as bemused.

He turned and approached Tamina, who was standing several feet to his left. “So... looks like we’re no longer needed in the kitchen, huh?”

Tamina looked at him coolly, not responding.

Before Rylan could say anything more, he felt a presence approach him from behind and turned towards Captain Hammermore.

“You, girl,” the captain barked. “I’ve got a job for you; the fog condenser is still at the previous edge of the dome, and it needs to be fetched.”

“Consider it done,” Tamina said calmly, straightening up.

“Good. Take Yuel,” the captain replied, motioning with her head towards the blond former pirate.

Tamina nodded and slipped away, leaving Rylan alone with the imposing woman.

“Milady Hammermore,” he started. “I, ehm, I’d like to apologise for my rash actions. I didn’t think through the consequences for... for your crew.”

Captain Hammermore turned towards him, her gaze sharp. “No. You didn’t,” she replied in a low tone of voice. “But spirits willing, you’ll get a chance to make it up to me yet.”

Before Rylan could ask what she meant, she’d already whirled around and started barking more orders at Nazyr, who appeared to have recruited Halloth to his efforts to hoist the repaired tarpaulin over the framework for the new floater.

For a moment, he shuffled his feet and looked around, not sure what to do or who to talk to, feeling more lost than he had in weeks.

[You all right, Boss?] Stan asked.

‘Not really,’ Rylan said honestly. ‘I think I fogged things up pretty badly, Stan, and I don’t how to fix it.’

[Well... me neither, Boss. But I’ll do whatever I can to help you!]

‘Thanks, Stan. I appreciate it.’

Rylan shook his head at himself. Stan had the right of it: if he didn’t know what to do, he’d just have to help others until he figured it out. There would be time for pity parties later.

Taking a deep breath, Rylan straightened his spine, and went over to where Nazyr and Halloth were struggling with the tarpaulin.

With a groan, Rylan stood and stretched his back, stiff from bending over and rooting through rubble in his section of the search grid for the better part of a day, for the third day in a row. Even with the advantage of Stan, who could locate pieces of metal if they weren’t too deep beneath the rubble, it was slow going.

Unfortunately, Stan wasn’t able to distinguish between different kinds of metals, as he didn’t see the world the way Rylan did, and couldn’t make out colours. He claimed to be starting to get a feel for the textural difference between copper and steel, at least.

Most of the scraps of metal Stan had detected came in the form of things like belt buckles and hinges. Hence, in the process of digging them out, Rylan had unavoidably unearthed a variety of dressers, chests, and footlockers, but none of them contained much of interest. He’d mainly found ancient articles of clothing, their textiles frayed and yellowed, the leather cracked and warped, desiccated after centuries of exposure to perfectly dry air.

The metal scraps themselves had generally kept better, but unfortunately, none of them were yellow or gravity-resistant.

In general, most everything of value seemed to be gone, likely taken by the citizens as they’d gradually left the city. No wonder we’re not finding much. This place was picked clean even before it fell to ruin...

Rylan had racked his brain, reviewing what he remembered from Maris's visions, but had come up with nothing useful.

He had put two and two together and realised that the orb she’d inhabited was likely made of pure Undium—or ‘seametal’ as Soren had called it, a name that actually made sense now—and while it was valuable, it wasn’t what they needed.

The professor had already confiscated the entire spirit cage anyway, orb included.

Still, it was interesting how connected Maris had felt to the metal. Other pieces of Undium that had been part of the water-transport system of the Hermeans had clearly stood out in the memory-vision he’d experienced. But no Aetherium.

After coming to the conclusion that Stan might have a similar connection to Aetherium, the Divine Metal he inhabited—and may have even been born from, if the gospel of Zenithism had it right—Rylan had theorised Stan might be able to recognise Aetherium if they came across it.

Thus, after the second day of fruitless searching, he’d snuck the spiritgear into the professor’s workplace to test his hypothesis by getting Stan up close and personal with the small-scale model of the Aetherium construction the old man wanted to build.

Unfortunately, Stan didn’t sense anything different about it until he got up real close, and even then, he wasn’t able to definitively say if he was really feeling something or just imagining that he was.

In general, it seemed like Stan’s senses worked very different to the older spirit’s. Maris had required water to sense things, but what did Stan require? Rylan wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it didn’t work well underground.

Either way, there was nothing for it but to keep searching the old-fashioned way, so he rolled his neck and, with a sigh, continued trying to pull their latest find out of the rubble.

Even if he increasingly felt like what they were doing was a waste of time and effort, he had to keep going. Not just because he didn’t want to be seen slacking off, but to keep his mind from going in circles, and distract him from the growing ball of dread and guilt in his stomach.

That night, after dark had fallen, dinner was once again a sober affair. From what Rylan could tell, Ezra was a good chef, but there was only so much you could do with dried rice and mushrooms.

The mood around camp was notably low, and the bland food didn’t help. Dreadmaw was circling the significantly shrunken bubble every day now, its large shadow a constant, threatening reminder that time was running out.

Rylan had confirmed by now that there was a pretty harsh distance limitation to his new spirit vision. It actually seemed to work more like Stan’s senses than his own, as he could dimly make out the lights from his fellow Quinthar even through walls, but not from a distance, even if he had a straight line of sight on them.

He didn’t need to see to know it was Dreadmaw, however.

If they couldn’t get the Soggy Shepherd up before the bubble collapsed, then working on it might become very risky. Odds were, they’d have to wait for the massive Malequint to leave on a hunt, then try to escape the area on foot. It would be dangerous enough for the Quinthar, let alone the commoners, who didn’t enjoy the benefits of Skills, a Mana Shell, and improved recovery on demand.

Their precious, precious time was dwindling, and it was Rylan who had stolen it.

He glanced at Tamina once more. The slightly older girl was sitting by Holly on the other side of the stove, making quiet conversation. For a moment, he caught her eye, then she looked away again.

Rylan let out a sigh. He’d been trying to get her alone so he could talk to her, but between all the hours they spent looking for Aetherium and Tamina seemingly avoiding him, he hadn’t managed yet.

Soren plopped down next to him on the cot, looking haggard as he stirred his bowl unenthusiastically. “Hey Ryles... found anything today?”

“Nothing but dust and scraps.”

[And a hairpin!] Stan reminded him. [That was pretty cool, right Boss?]

“And a cool hairpin,” Rylan added obligingly, pulling the long and sharp piece out of his knife belt to show to Soren. He was quite sure it wasn’t pure silver—likely some kind of alloy—but it was certainly pretty. Especially the top, which was shaped into a kind of abstract bird.

Soren leaned in and oohed appreciatively. “Might make a nice peace offering to Tammy,” he suggested.

Rylan shot him a scowl and shoved it back into the belt.

Soren held up his hands in mock-innocence. “Just saying.”

After that, the blue-haired noble thankfully changed the subject. Still, a little after dinner, Rylan decided to leave Stan in their tent for privacy, and approach Tamina once more—definitely not due to Soren’s suggestion—with the hairpin securely tucked into his sleeve.

He managed to catch her putting her freshly washed hair back in a braid, which should give him at least two minutes.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “How’re you holding up?”

Tamina glanced over, then away again with a sigh. “What do you want, Rylan?”

She didn’t sound angry, just tired.

Rylan swallowed. “I’ve been meaning to apologise, actually.”

Tamina pursed her lips. “Go on then.”

Rylan took a deep breath. “Tammi, I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t mean to put us all in danger. Or, well, more danger. I just... I got overwhelmed by my emotions, by her story, and I wanted to help. Nothing else seemed important at the time. ”

Tamina’s hands slowed as she listened, briefly coming to a completely halt before she continued. “The right thing...” she repeated wistfully. “It’s rarely that simple, though, isn’t it? You did a kind thing. It’s not the same, not nearly always.” Finally, she finished up her braid, tying off the end with a small length of string, and turned to face him. “But I suppose it’s not really been fair of me to hold your choice against you when I don’t know what I would’ve done in your shoes, so... fine. Apology accepted.”

“So, we’re good?” Rylan asked, a smile starting to form on his face. He surreptitiously shook his sleeve a little, allowing the hairpin to slide down a little, ready to be presented.

“I guess,” Tamina said, folding her arms across her chest and cocking out one of her hips. “Look, Rylan... I like you, I do. It was fun to pretend we could have... something, for a while. But the bubble we are living in is quite literally about to pop. The real world is knocking, and one way or another, it won’t be denied. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Rylan blinked, ice pooling in his stomach. “Yeah, no... I get it.”

“Good,” Tamina said, straightening up and half turning away. “Get some rest. We’ve got our work cut out for us if we’re to make it out of here alive.”

Tamina started to walk away, and Rylan let her. The bird-like top of the hairpin lay like lead in the palm of his hand. He shoved it back up his sleeve, turned around, and left as well.

That night, like the last few, Soren lay in the middle, a barrier of neutrality. Rylan lay on his side, facing away from his friends, mulling over everything that had happened, and where he’d gone wrong.

I should’ve trusted Soren. Fog, if I’d trusted him in the first place, we wouldn’t be down here at all!

On the other hand, the Thistlethorns hadn’t exactly given him reason to trust them either, locking him in an ankle band. But then again, he’d run away before...

Round and round it went. Exhausting as it was, his mind kept racing.

[What’s the matter, Boss?] Stan asked after a while. [Can’t sleep?]

Rylan sighed. ‘No. Not really. I really fogged up, Stan... Keeping Maris imprisoned wouldn’t have been fair either, but now... How many of these people will make it out of here alive if we have to leave on foot?’

[That’s a tough one, Boss. Realistically speaking, probably fewer than—]

‘It was a rhetorical question, Stan,’ Rylan sent, trying not to let his irritation bleed through.

[Ah, right, one of those. Still don’t quite get the point of them.]

‘The point... well, there isn’t always a point,’ Rylan replied tiredly. ‘Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes they just are. Things don’t always have meaning, unless we give it to them.’

[You’re not talking about rhetorical questions, are you? Hey! I did one! I did a rhetorical question!]

Rylan smiled despite himself. ‘Good job, buddy.’

[Thanks! But Boss... it sounds like you’re saying all this, you coming down here, it was all pointless? I don’t buy that for that one second. You came all the way here, following her cries for help, and you saved her. More importantly, you saved me, your new bestest friend! And if that’s not enough meaning for you, Boss, well fog, go out there and give it meaning!]

Rylan frowned. ‘I’d love to, Stan, but we’ve been looking all over. There’s no Aetherium anywhere!’

[Isn’t there? I’m made of Aetherium, aren’t I? I mean, I’m not saying we should melt me down—that’s obviously a terrible plan, and there’s really no reason to consider it whatsoever—but there’s gotta be more Aetherium somewhere, right?]

‘Probably, but we can’t enter the Equipment Dungeon again,’ Rylan sent back, shaking his head. ‘The only Dungeon we haven’t entered yet is...’

Rylan’s eyes widened.

 Author's note:

Dun-dun-dunnn! ^^

We obviously weren't going to leave without seeing the inside of the last Dungeon, right? ;)

Anyway, thanks for reading! :)