Imago Ch30: Clockwork Kingdom

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Lyra’s crouched in a clearing, her eyes closed, her wings spread to dry them as she sings. Ian stands guard over her, the tire iron held firmly in both hands as he keeps a wary eye on the treeline. The snap of footsteps draws both of their notice. Lyra falls silent, letting the echoes of light shimmer and fade away.

"Lyra, wait-" Ian starts, but she’s already off, quick footfalls striking sparks across the forest floor. Lloyd barely has time to step into the clearing before she launches herself into him, hugging him tight. 

"Thank Christ." Ian says, jogging over. He gives Neith a worried glance as she emerges from the trees, but she brushes him off with a shake of her head and a tired wink. 

"You're both alright?" Lloyd asks.  He looks questioningly between them, taking in the mud and bruises and residual swamp scum. They look wrung out, but everyone’s alive. 

“Fine.” Lyra steps back, prodding at him with her talons. “Are you?” 

Lloyd nods. 

"My head's full of pondwater and I can still smell those leeches.”  Neith grumbles.

Off in the distance, something takes a single thunderous step. 

It echoes through the trees, followed by a wave of light. The party goes silent.  

Another step.  

Then another. And another. Growing louder. Growing brighter.  Ian swallows. "Issit me, or is whatever’s makin that headed our way?"

"It's tracking us." Lyra says. "I don't know why.."

"Maybe the alp-luachra is on the outs with the landlady." Neith mutters, taking a step back away from the light. "Or it’s the landlady herself.  How do we lose it?"

“Fly. But…” Lyra shrugs helplessly. Lloyd feels the dread wash over him. 

"ELLLLLLLLLLLLE" A monstrous voice bellows. It’s a low, belching roar, something coughed up through hundreds of throats. "ELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE"

The last time Lloyd heard a voice like that, it was croaking at him through the bars of a cage.

"It’s the alp-luachra!” Lloyd says, fighting back panic. “W-we can’t outrun that! Ian, the salt! Tell me you have the - "

“Wait.” Ian holds up a hand, looking in the direction of the sound. There’s a few more crashing steps, then another cry. 

"ELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE...!"

"Doesn’t that sound like…like someone callin’ for their lost cat?"

"...no way." Lloyd breathes. "Can't be."  

But how could it be anything else? He straightens up.  “Should we just…?”

“You or Lyra.” Ian shrugs. Lyra draws in a gasp, realising what he’s suggesting. 

Lloyd smiles, turns, and cups his hands around his mouth.

"We're HERE! We - hmmmf!"

Neith claps a hand over his mouth, grabbing him by the jacket and spinning him around. 

"Are you daft?" She hisses. But it’s too late. The creature’s pace quickens, crashing through branches and shouldering aside saplings, neon-gold currents of aether lighting the clearing almost as bright as day. It emerges from the trees, towering above them in a wild, seething mass. One amorphous limb pushes around a tree trunk, splitting and reforming on the other side, as the hundreds of bright orange spots that form its single eye swivel down to stare at them.

"Ellllllllllllllle!"

The voice is a delighted trill this time, the lower side of feminine. Two writhing hands reach down and scoop up Lloyd and Lyra in rubbery palms.

"You have chaaaaanged! I almooooost didn’t recognize youuuu!"  The amalgam fusses, prodding gently at them in a manner strangely reminiscent of Lyra’s examination of Lloyd. “I waaaaas so worrrrrrried! Greenteeeeeth, she didn’t haaaarm you?“

"Neith II?" Lloyd asks, watching the slithering forms. "Is that you?"

The enormous ‘eye’ of the alp-luachra bobs in acknowledgement, then circles, fixing on Ian. "Ooooh, and Iiiiian is here toooo?” A third arm emerges from the wormpile, lifting him up to join them.  "Aaaand alsoooo..." 

The alp-luachra mass boils, tiny orange spotlights flickering to an angry red.  "The unseeeeelie."

A fourth arm coils out. Neith steps out of the way.

"Paws off." She snaps. "Lolly told us she turned you loose!" 

"S-she wriggled off! I thought it was what she wanted!" Lloyd protests. "I was so worried, but I guess I shouldn’t have been. LOOK at you!”   He cranes his head back, taking in her full size. “What have you been eating?” 

Neith II laughs, a thousand little chirps twining into a tittering cacophony.

"Many things! But I am not large becaaaause of what I have eaten! I am large because I am many."

Lloyd smiles anxiously. "I had no idea you were such a s-social butterfly."

Neith frowns. “‘Many things’, now that’s specific.”  

The big orb blinks, then lowers sheepishly. "I nnnnnever apologized for whennnn we first met. I didnnnn't plan to eat you…just a quick taste…but then you rannn, and me and my old friendssss... we felt the Call.”

“We understand.”  Lyra says, bobbing her head.

“All the saaaaame. It.... would nnnnnot happen againnnnn."

“Neith II, you just saved us.” Lloyd moves forward, the worms parting around him to buoy him up. "It's just so good to see you! And talk!"

“Nnnneat, right?”  The alp-luachra’s head parts in a wide, toothless grin. "Whennn I was one, I couldnnnnn't understand you so welllll… but I knew yooooou cared for mmmmme. Yoooou were so strange. Nnnnnot many singlebodies caaaare for amalgammmsss like us.”

The alp-luachra lifts her hands a little, bouncing Lloyd and Lyra as she studies them.  “But thennnn againnnnn… mmmmaybe… not so singlebody?”

“It is a long story.”  Lyra says. Lloyd grins. 

"If we’d thought to bring them, we could have told you over a bag of crisps - "

"CRISPSSSSSS!”

The force of the bellow blows Lyra’s antennae backwards and sets Lloyd’s ears ringing. The mass of worms slithers apologetically, although most of them are noticeably salivating. Lyra pats the closest one gingerly. 

“I don’t think a bag would have been enough.” 

Worms retract back into Neith II’s face as her grin broadens. "Mmmmaybe it would be enough if I did not shaaaarghlrghblae - " 

Her face quakes and ripples, alp-luachra puffing and surging around each other in outrage. For a moment, Lloyd’s worried the whole creature might just fall to pieces, but Neith II reforms with a testy squelch. 

"Fffffine. Weeee could each have a biiiite."

"M-maybe someday we’ll bring you a whole cartful." Lloyd offers, unable to keep a tinge of wistfulness out of his voice. She tilts her head, her eye furrowing with concern. 

"Ellllllllle, what has happennnnnnnned?  Why are yoooou two? Wheeeeere is Astraea?"

Lyra shakes her head, still petting individual worms. They’re starting to cluster around her, butting heads over access to her hands. “There is too much to explain. But… there was an attack."

The alp-luachra squints, thinking hard. "... whennnnnnn I was waiting... I rememberrrrr... the scent of danger. Aether in the airrrr. It was… why I fled."

"You were scared." Lloyd says.

"Yessss, but… I shhhhould have stayed.” 

The mass of scavengers squirms in regret. Quietly, Lloyd puts a hand out, following Lyra’s example. 

“But thennnn…I wouldn't have saaaaved you from the Greenteeth. So maaaaybe fate had otherrrrr plans." The alp-luachra lowers them back to the ground, leaves crunching under their feet as her worms part. "So yoooou came from the Wilds... to returnnnn to Xylia?" 

Lyra nods. “Astraea stayed behind during the attack. We’ve returned to save her.”

Neith II lifts her head to the left, closes her eye, and inhales deeply. “Xylia. Sheeee is… strange. Blood and…stagnant wateeeeeers."

“Stagnant?“ Lloyd looks up. "How? Half the city is canals and fountains!"

"We dooooon't knowwwww. We mooooostly know the swaaamp. And the bonnnnnnes. And the Greenteeeeeth."

"Well, we're not going to find out by standing around waiting for someone or some thing to show up and grind our bones." Neith grumbles, looking anxiously around at the woods. "Thank you for turning up, we shan't keep you from your important business."

"That remiiiiinds meeee."

In one quick motion, the alp-luachra’s fourth limb curls around to snatch Neith up, pinning her arms and letting her legs dangle metres from the ground. She flinches back as the eye leans closer.

"The nnnnname, Neith II. We do not care forrrr the association."

"O-oh." Lloyd swallows. "I suppose it was just a bit of a laugh. Is there something you’d prefer we called you?"

“Hmmmmmmm…”

The alp-luachra hums, pondering. Neith tries for a more aggressive kick, and a tiny worm slithers out of the arm and nips her on the nose. It’s just a flash of motion - a curved of the flank, a cheeky blink of the eye -

Lloyd would know that anywhere.

"There you are, nibblemonster!"

Lloyd ducks past Neith’s dangling legs, and Lyra flits up to the arm, settling near to the little creature and scritching her under the chin. She trills and lifts her head. High above, the conglomeration mirrors the motion. 

"Mmmm… Nibblemonster. Thissssss is an acceptable name."

"You've got to be joking." Neith rasps. 

"We can get the papers drawn up when we get back, yeah?" Ian chuckles, walking over to join the others. "You bloody gremlin, I was right worried about you."

Nibblemonster slips free of the amalgam with a wet pop, falling several meters to land deftly in Ian’s hands.  The moment she breaks contact, something changes in the titan. It grows a little bulkier. Its grip around Neith tightens.  

"...Nibblemonster?" Lloyd asks, looking anxiously between her and the creature. "Are you still...?"

Nibblemonster chirrups, blinking questioningly out at him.

"Sheeee does not understand." The mass rumbles. Its voice has shifted, growing rough and thick, like a knot of weeds in a deep pond. Its hand opens with a snap, unceremoniously dropping Neith to the ground. She scrabbles away at speed, brushing frantically at her jacket. 

"Understand...wait. Wait." Lloyd picks up the little alp-luachra, holding her in both hands. "Hold on. Are you saying you want to come with us?”

Nibblemonster chirps happily. 

“But you have a colony here.” Lyra peers down, puzzled. “Shouldn't you stay?" 

"She wannnnnts to go with you." The alp-luachra rumbles, watching Nibblemonster squirms up Lloyd’s sleeve. "She understood, when she was still part of us, what that meant. What shhhhhhhe would lose." 

"...oh, Nibblemonster." Lloyd’s voice breaks as she wriggles out of his shirt and into his hair. He pulls the hood of his jacket up, tucking her in snugly.

Lyra looks up at the mass. "Thank you for taking her in while she was alone."

The alp-luachra nods, then stands. "Iffffff you should ever need to speak with her again, seek usssss out. Good luck on yourrrrrr journey, friennnnd of amalgam." 

"And good luck on yours. I hope we haven't put your, er. Neighbour off of you." Lloyd looks back over his shoulder. The mass chuckles wetly.

"Greennnnnteeeth grumbles... but shhhhhe will survive.”

"Is Xylia far?"  Lyra chimes.

The titan points. “It isssssss beyond. Jussst…beyond."

The creature lowers its arm, bows its head in acknowledgment, and slithers backward between the trees. In moments, even the orange glow of the eye has faded into the dark. 

He can feel Lyra slipping up behind him, skating over the forest floor like a ghost. She puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. Nibblemonster takes the opportunity to nip at her finger and jump ship to her arm.

A soft, musical giggle drifts through the air, sparking tiny lights through the leaves. Lloyd whips around. 

"Did you just - "

"Hm?" Lyra tilts her head curiously, the motion mirrored by the alp-luachra settling against her neck. Lloyd gives her a suspicious look. 

"...never mind." 

Ian gives Neith a hand up, dusting off her shoulders as she swears under her breath. "Right. Let's go before something else realises we're all alone." He brushes a straggling bit of pondweed from the unseelie’s hair. 

"Just beyond." Lloyd says, turning to the direction the titan had pointed. "We should see the light any time now."



"I don't understand." Lloyd says, the wind cold against his face. The walls of Xylia rise ahead of them, impervious and imposing. But the lights…

The lights have all gone out. 

The once-living city rears before them like a bleached skeleton. Gateways stand open, exposing empty cavities to the shadows of the forest. Black vines already creep across the salt barriers, winding up the pathways and pouring in through Xylia’s unguarded entrances. 

Lyra darts ahead and takes to the air, her movements sharp and urgent. She passes through the open gate, Lloyd and the others hurrying to catch up. She descends into a canal, now silent and nearly drained. What little liquid remains is murky and still, free of any aether. Lyra kneels down and touches a talon to the surface, brings it up to her mouth. The flavour twists through her like a knife. 

"Stagnant waters." She rasps, flicking it off her hand.

Ian crosses under a kneeling Guardian, staring up in wonder. The aetherlight that once filled the clockwork titan has gone out, the copper plating already beginning to oxidize in its absence. "Was this how you left it, mate?"

"No." Lloyd says.  “Not even a little.”

"Shh!" Neith raises her hand, pointing to a house. 

There's something in the window. A shape - a pair of rabbit ears and wide eyes, watching them. A brownie, Lloyd realises. Neith takes two quick steps closer, reaching for the sill, and the little fae slams the shutters closed. She recoils with a curse, waving her stinging fingers, as a hidden deadbolt slams home.

“Cheeky little creature.” Neith snorts. “But at least we know someone’s home. Maybe everyone’s just minding their own business."

A cold breeze picks up, sending a cloud of crumpled black shapes skittering over the rooftops to spiral down among them. With their sharp silhouettes, they look like a flock of paper-thin birds. Lyra snatches the closest one out of the air, holding it between her thumb and finger. She narrows her eyes. 

"Lloyd..." She gestures, waving him closer.  

It’s a leaf. 

Black and dead, curling in around the edges. 

"Xylia’s dying." Lloyd whispers in horror, turning to peer at the black silhouette of the Grove’s deity. The light hasn’t simply gone out, and the leaves aren’t just darkened. They’re rotting away. Lyra shakes her head. 

“No. He’s killing her.” 

Lloyd realizes she’s right, and starts to run. 

Black leaves crumble beneath his feet, flaking away into nothingness. Footsteps ring out behind him, hot on his heels. Neith, Ian, Lyra. Something crawls inside him, gnawing in his guts. It should have been Evander, waiting to face them. Blazing light and rigid control. But this? The darkness and rot?  It’s somehow worse.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the Tree, using it as a compass through the city.  Her canopy is the most decayed. Some branches have lost their leaves entirely, standing bone-white and exposed against the sky. Are they too late? Is this irreversible? Lloyd pushes the thought down. The Grove’s done terrible things to him and Lyra, the Humanists, the nymphs, so many of its own people - it’s undeniable. And yet, he can’t accept the city’s death. It would take something with it, something he’s unable to surrender. 

The Tree grows larger as he picks up speed, running faster, gasping for breath. Now he can see the base of the Tree, rising up from her roots. Light still lingers here, guttering like a flickering candle, but still alive and pulsing through the wood.

Lloyd breaks into a dead sprint and Lyra takes to the air. They're outpacing the other two, but they can't slow down. They have to know. They have to see what’s left. 

The doors hang wide open, welcoming them inside. Swallowing them whole.

The entrance hall is filled with dryads, dormant and unmoving. They’re almost unrecognisable. The dryads crouch or kneel, hands pressed against the cobbles, trees sprouting from their backs. Faint red light glows like embers where they touch the ground, slowly flowing back into the Great Tree. Their unseeing eyes gleam among the foliage, pulsing in time with the current. 

"What are they doing?" Lloyd calls between gasps, dodging around a half-fallen dryad three times his size. They’re starting to come in clusters, small groups blocking side passages with their intertwined branches. 

"Returning Her light!" Lyra says, swooping down to the half-open doors of the main hall. She forces them open with a grunt of effort. "They're keeping Her alive.”

Lloyd coughs as he stumbles into the amphitheatre. It’s pitch black inside, and there’s a layer of ankle deep dust. Lyra lands before he can warn her, her wings kicking a great cloud of it into the air. He coughs harder, raising his hands over his eyes until it settles. When he lowers them, his heart stops. 

The amphitheatre is utterly overgrown. The dryads are packed thickly here, their hands splayed and fused to the living wood, shrubs and bushes sprouting up around them in a riotous tangle. There’s no order to them, except the group that stands at the centre of the room. Their hands bound in shackles, they’ve arranged themselves protectively around the tallest of their number. Her bark is grey, her face obscured by drooping willow branches.

“Fili.” Lloyd whispers. Lyra nods, feeling a momentary flutter of hope. If Astraea is anywhere, she’d be with her. 

“Lloyd?”  Lyra calls, but he ignores her, striking out for the shackled dryads.  The dust grows deeper, and he has to hold a hand over his face to keep from breathing it in. The far end of the room slowly takes shape in the dark, out beyond Fili and her cohorts. Evander’s throne looms like a monolith. There’s something there, at the foot, flashing and glowing, nearly concealed behind a tangle of briars. Lloyd squints.

It’s an ornate, full-length mirror with a heavy oaken frame. Behind the glass, golden light crackles and flashes, twisting into symbols. Lloyd can’t understand them, but the feelings behind them are utterly clear. Helplessness. Despair. Fury. He slows to a stop, giving the dust around him a second, horrified look. It spreads out in a perfect arc from the mirror.

"What is all this?" Ian calls from the entryway, coughing in the dust. He’s just caught up, looking anxiously around the room as he brushes away the ash, Neith a step behind him. 

"It’s Evander." Lloyd turns.   “It’s all Evander.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence, and then Lyra flickers into the air.  "Astraea!”  She cries as she skims over the dust to land near the chained dryads, pulling aside branches and peering into faces, leaves fluttering in her wake as they’re dislodged by shaking hands.

“Lyra!” Ian calls after her.  She glances over her shoulder as he catches up, then turns away, continuing her frantic search.

“She’s here! She has to be! The court was still sentencing, Evander wouldn’t - “ her voice breaks “ - he can’t have - “

“Hey, hey.”  Ian puts a hand on her arm. “We don't know anything yet.  Let’s keep our heads, yeah?  Work together." He looks over his shoulder, catching Neith’s eye. She hesitates, then nods, striding over to Lloyd. He’s staring around the room, still caught in the awful scale of the destruction. Neith tugs his jacket, and he jolts, as if waking.  After letting him get his bearings, she leads him over to Ian and Lyra.

"Alright, then.”  Ian gestures to the dryads.  “This group with the chains. That's our side?" 

Lyra stands stiffly.  "The one at centre, Fili… that’s… Astraea's mentor." 

“Alright. Let’s check the lot, then.”

It’s easier with a clear direction, Lloyd is able to wriggle into the undergrowth, ducking past the more delicate-looking branches. Neith paces around the periphery, although she’s less careful with the dormant dryad's limbs. Lyra flutters overhead, flying where the branches are too thick, while Ian stays outside the cluster, checking single dryads just to be sure.

Lloyd finds some of them half-familiar. Most are younger, close to Astraea's size. Twigs scratch at his arms, tug at his jacket. He can feel Nibblemonster receding into the back of the hood as he pushes through the last of Fili's followers. The elder dryad stands alone, her face lined, her eyes closed. A thin, fragile-looking leaf drifts down from her head. Lloyd catches it before it can fall to the floor. 

"...I don't think she's here." He places the leaf gently on the back of Fili's hand.

Lyra lands next to him, looking up at the dormant elder with distant eyes. When Lloyd takes her hand, her fingers are cold. She pulls away, her face lighting with sudden, terrible energy.

“We should check everyone.” She says, turning toward the stands. Lloyd shakes his head, as if the gesture could dislodge the defeat settling in his stomach like a lump of iron. 

“She wouldn’t be in the audience. Why would they separate her from the rest?”

“The salt cellars, then.”

“... Lyra, they were clearly in the middle of sentencing when Alastor attacked - “

“NO!”  Lyra bares her teeth, her wings lifting.  “She HAS to be here!” 

“Lyra - “ 

“Here’s something to chew on.”  Neith says as she pushes her way into the circle, Ian at her side. Her voice is sharp as a knife, cutting through the tension - although Lyra’s still grimacing like she wants to bite something. Neith raps her knuckles against Fili’s arm, letting the sound echo through the amphitheatre. “Dryad here, dryad there, dryad everywhere you look. But apart from that one little house-mouse in the city, there’s no one to order about, is there? No guards? No nymphs? They can’t all be hiding behind the curtains, can they?”

“... could Alastor have killed ‘em?”  Ian offers in a low, somber tone. Neith shakes her head, pointing in the direction of the flickering glow. 

“Then why’s there only one mirror? And why not finish off the dryads while he was at it?” 

“Dominion.” Lyra answers, as if she’s finally caught something she can sink her teeth into. “He’s taken Evander’s place. That’s how he’s killing the Tree, stopping the flow. This is his city now. His Domain. Those bound to it are his as well, whether they will it or no.” 

“Then why hasn’t he parked his arse on the throne, lolly? Don’t tell me all he wants is another little bar all his own - ” 

“No.” Lloyd breathes. “That’s not what he wants at all. But he doesn’t want the throne either. He told you, Lyra, he said he wanted everything in its ‘proper place’. Which means - “

“ - the gate.”  Lyra finishes, her eyes going wide. Before anyone can say another word, she takes to the air, cutting a path straight through the open door.

“L-Lyra, wait!”  Ian yells, plunging into the undergrowth. Lloyd dashes after him, Neith close behind, as they work their way through the tangle and back into the gloomy throne room. She’s already gone. They hurry through the entry hall, away from the dust, back out into the open air before the bridge.

“Lyra!”  Ian calls, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Up here.”  

They look up  Perched above the doorway like a gargoyle, shielding her eyes, Lyra points into the distance.

“It’s that way. The air feels…alive. Like a storm. But there’s something else. Something…stirring.” 

“He’s here.”  Lloyd says, his jaw tightening.  “He’s still in Xylia. Which means - “

“- Astraea is with him.” Lyra finishes. She lands next to him, still staring toward the portal, one talon outstretched as if she could reach out and pluck it. 

“But why?”  Neith asks, her voice tight.  “Why would he single her out?”

They both fall silent. Lloyd stirs first. 

"The day that Lyra tried to kill him.” Lloyd starts.  “Didn’t he… promise Lyra that he would find her Keeper and..."

"... that she would never trouble me again.” Lyra finishes, her voice going distant with horror.

She’s already running before the others have a chance to process the implications.  Lloyd bolts after her, racing across the bridge, and with a curse Neith grabs Ian, dragging him in their wake. 

It doesn’t take long for Lloyd to see what Lyra meant. The road to the portal isn’t just dead, it’s wrong.  The ground drops away, cobblestones floating on nothing. Channels of sluggish, stagnant water freeze into rippled mirrors. Archways twist into slowly-churning gears. Footsteps and wingbeats fall into a measured, mechanical pattern.

tik

Lyra slows. 

tik 

Lands. 

TIK

Spreads her talons as if to attack the very world itself.  Lloyd reaches her just in time to hear the crash of booted feet, rhythmic and ruthless. Behind him, Ian hefts the tire iron, and Neith slips a jawbreaker from her pocket. 

An armoured column of spriggans march lock step around the corner, moving stiffly, visors down and spears raised. They come to a stop a few metres away. A single spriggan steps forward. 

“Ho there, Lloyd Morgan!" He says. He looks identical to the rest, but he sounds exactly like Trystan. 

"Where are you?" Lloyd demands.

“Where I am.”  The guard lifts his visor, smiling lazily, his eyes a blank, empty, gold. "If you would like to join me, I’d be more than pleased to welcome you all as honoured guests!”  

"Where's Astraea?" Lyra hisses.

“Oh! My old partner Lyra!  Don’t tell me you’ve come all this way for your Keeper.”  The possessed spriggan pulls an exaggerated face, as if to hide the genuine surprise in his voice.  “I told you, didn’t I?  I’ll take care of her for you.” 

“Release her!”

The spriggan tuts and shakes his head hopelessly.  “I suppose some habits run deep. I’m afraid I can’t release her, but you are welcome to pay us a visit. Lloyd, Ian. You as well, of course. And… Neith?  Of all people! There's no dosh at the end of this rainbow, lass. You can't honestly still be doing this for a payout."

"Maybe I'm doing this for the chance to make you choke on your teeth." She says, her voice syrupy-sweet. The spriggan chuckles. 

"Ah, how could I forget. What is self-interest to a fae offered a chance at spiteful violence? Well then, come in, come in! My new toys can lead you here. And do watch your step."

The spriggan turns on his heel and disappears back into the column. Without a word, the guards about-face and march back the way they came, moving to the beat of the unseen clock. 

Neith shakes her head. "This couldn't be a more obvious trap." 

"... but he has Astraea" Lloyd says.

“So he says.”  

“As if we have another choice.”  Ian tightens his grip on the tire iron.

"... I’m going." Lyra says. "I do not fear the road ahead. The darkwood takes us all someday."

She moves forward, Ian stepping up to flank her. Lloyd hangs back, extending a hand to Neith.  “Coming?”

"I don’t have a death wish, lolly.” She says, kicking a bit of rock. It soars past him, tumbling into the void. “So I’ll be focusing on being the one doing the killing."

“I’ll make a note.”  He says grimly. She takes his hand, and they hurry after the others.

None of the spriggans acknowledge them as they’re led down the floating street. The further they go, the worse the changes become. The skyline of the Wilds is swallowed up by a blank, featureless void. What few, faint stars exist fade into conglomerations of gears, endlessly turning to the beat of the invisible clock. Lloyd has to fight to keep his steps from falling back into the same rhythm. It's difficult, but it feels worth doing.

Ahead, the cobbles give way to mouldering carpet. Bookshelves hem them in, stuffed to overflowing with folios and dog-eared papers and battered tomes. The whole of the space feels like a frenzied labyrinth made up of tortured and random pathways, far beyond reason or logic.

The spriggans slow to a stop at the closest row of bookshelves. One reaches up, pulling down a volume. A hidden catch clicks. Gears spin and churn to life, splitting and sliding either side of the shelf away into the empty void. Behind it is a light almost too bright to look at, filling a chamber walled in by the maze of shelves. 

As the group's eyes adjust, they can see hundreds of dead-eyed, unresponsive nymphs lining the edges of the hidden room, staring yet unseeing. Lloyd spots Cordelia among them, sitting slumped on a discarded pile of mouldy folders. The floor is littered with piles of oddments, trinkets and refuse, torture devices and treasures. The detritus of a long-frayed life. Mirrors cluster the walls, filled with hollow faces that peer out in despair. The King’s mirror stands as a centerpiece, displayed at the foot of a stack of cages. 

At the centre of the room is the portal itself. It’s activated, but the glow is far more intense than any time Lloyd or Lyra have seen it. It burns and roils, the air around it shimmering with heat and shaking the earth with violent energy. Aether pours endlessly into its surface, flowing from a figure chained to an altar before it. Writhing and screaming, aether surging into her through burning channels in the ground from every corner of the Wilds and whatever remains of Xylia… 

…is Astraea.

"Welcome, my friends!"

Alastor strides out from behind the light. The shadows flee his face, a golden youth with a bright blaze of sandy red hair. He sketches an elegant bow as the spriggans stand to attention, the clash of their pikes almost drowning out the dryad’s screams.

"Welcome to the end of the story."


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Hey all! Rin here!

L and co have come a long way, and it's all been leading to this moment!   You didn't think we'd get a finale without a proper damsel, did you? And YES YOU CALLED IT WITH NEITH II. It's good to have Nibblemonster back 🥰

Check back Friday, April 18th at 12p EST for Imago's GRAND FINALE:
Ch31: The Flickering Light

...and thanks for stopping by!