CHAPTER 17: ROUNDABOUT
Darkness consumed Siah's sight, swallowing him whole. His lungs heaved, but his chest refused him breath. His limbs felt bound in iron, unresponsive as though his flesh no longer belonged to him. His mouth was sealed tight, his tongue pressing helplessly against teeth. A heavy, suffocating silence pressed down on his ears.
Flashes of light cracked through the void. The brilliance seared his eyes, forcing them open against the darkness. From the trembling gloom emerged a colossal stone hand, weathered by age, fissures cutting through its surface like ancient scars. Mist clung to the ground, curling around its massive fingers. The hand rose from the cavern floor, palm turned upward, carrying a raised platform like an offering to the heavens.
On that platform stood a square pedestal, its sides carved with intricate patterns of flowers and curling clover-like vines. The engravings caught the pale glow as if alive. From its edges, a strange blue liquid dripped downward in slow rivulets, shimmering like threads of moonlight, their faint hum echoing in the hollow chamber. The scent was sharp and metallic, with an undertone like wet stone after rainfall.
Atop the pedestal four statues stood motionless. Their stone faces, locked in postures of reverence, seemed to lean toward unseen divinity. Their sightless eyes stared beyond him, but the weight of their worship pressed against Siah's chest. To the right, a staircase of rough-hewn stone twisted upward in a spiral, moss spilling over its edges. Each step glistened with dampness, as though freshly wept upon.
The cavern itself was vast, stretching into shadow. Gothic arches loomed overhead like skeletal ribs, broken pillars leaning as though moments away from collapse. The air was cold. A low drip echoed from somewhere unseen, its rhythm mingling with the hiss of the glowing liquid, like the chamber itself was breathing.
Siah's skin prickled. A sharp, inexplicable déjà vu sank its claws into his mind. Out of the mist, she appeared.
The woman ascended the spiral staircase, her steps deliberate, unhurried. Halfway up, she paused. Turning, she looked back at him. Her presence alone seemed to command the silence, to draw all light toward her. Her long black hair flowed like ink down her shoulders, framing a sharp, imperious face. Her eyes, narrow and piercing, cut through the haze and held him where he stood.
She wore a black garment that shimmered faintly in the dim glow, silver embroidery tracing delicate patterns across her waist and collar. Draped across her shoulders hung a cloak of thick white fur, its weight only amplifying her regality. The faint scent of crushed myrrh clung to her. Her earrings, small hoops etched with designs too fine for mortal hands, glinted with a light not of this world.
"How interesting," she said, her voice soft yet edged like a drawn blade. The air quivered with the sound. "What am I looking at?"
Siah blinked, his confusion mounting. His chest burned for air, but his eyes refused to leave her. Her beauty was otherworldly, a gravity that pulled the mind into stillness. "Is this a dream? What was that darkness before? Is this Kushim? Is Kushim a woman?" His words tumbled, desperate, raw.
Her brows drew together, shadowing her sharp gaze. "Critten King," she murmured, her voice heavy with recognition and disdain. "Mortal flesh."
Siah froze, his body refusing to obey his will. He stood as though chained to the floor. The woman turned again, descending the staircase toward him. Each step echoed, stone grinding beneath her heel. Her eyes never left him, piercing deeper with every heartbeat.
"This is the Fourth Rishon," she whispered, the faintest curl of her lip showing. "Exolux of Severance… Kushim. Your death was final at the hands of Santis how are you present so far in the future. It cannot be you before me."
Siah's pulse thundered in his ears. His throat tightened as though her words had sealed it. His eyes widened, drinking in every syllable as if they alone might free him.
"Blood of Degeneration," the lady hissed. The words slithered against his skin, making his blood feel unclean. She tilted his chin upward with her finger, her touch chilling him to the bone. Her frown deepened. "Eidolon… do they seek my wrath? Why send such a revolting thing to me?"
Siah's breath caught, trembling. Her gaze devoured him, her proximity suffocating, until she pulled away.
"I see… that's what happed." Her tongue clicked sharply, the sound slicing through the cavern's hush. She turned, her cloak flowing like a shadow in her wake. Ascending the stairs once more, she shed her garments with unbroken grace. The cloak slid from her shoulders like snow melting, the black silk of her dress pooling behind her.
Without hesitation, she stepped into the blue liquid. Her body entered as though dissolving, no a ripple broke the surface. The glow consumed her form, leaving only the faint shimmer of her presence behind.
Siah stood rooted, breathless, his thoughts vanishing. He could not summon words. Darkness surged again, rushing him like a tide. His lungs clenched. He thrashed within, desperate to move, to feel.
The crushing void from before wrapped around him with a voice smoothing his tangled thoughts. It was not sound but thought, threading directly into him.
"Seek a silent night; beneath the green leaf lieth hidden steel."
Siah's mind froze, the words carved into him like stone. His thoughts spilled in panic. "That's Kushim! What do you mean?!" Silence answered him. His cries only scattered into the dark. "Kushim! Who was that woman?!"
The darkness grew heavier, suffocating, devouring his pleas. He struggled, and failed. His body rebelled against him, his mind clawing against black walls.
Then—his eyes flew open.
The dim lamplight of the Crew's quarters returned, faint and flickering. His lungs dragged in sharp air. Sweat cooled against his skin. He turned his head, and Stetto's grin greeted him, teeth bared in mocking amusement. One hand pressed flat against Siah's chest.
"You must be new to this," Stetto drawled. "I could hear you struggling from my sleep."
Siah jerked back, scowling. "What are you talking about? Take your hand off my chest, you creep."
Stetto chuckled, rolling back toward his bed. "Give in to the evil spirit, or else it will feed off your consciousness. Your nights will only get worse." His tone was light, but the weight of his words lingered.
Siah sat up, chest heaving. His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Stetto turned his head slightly, eyes glinting before he exhaled a weary sigh. "I assumed you worshipped the Almighty's Solity… but it doesn't seem to be the case." He pulled the sheets over his shoulder, turning away. His laughter died, leaving only silence and Siah's ragged breaths.
Frustration twisted across Siah's face. His fists clenched as he sat, restless on the edge of the bed. The silence thickened until another voice broke it—low, hoarse, dragging itself from the shadows of sleep.
"It is more difficult to tie than it is to hang."
Siah's head snapped toward the corner. Lohim rose slowly from his bed, yawning, his movements sluggish yet deliberate.
Siah's brows knotted. "Lohim… what is he talking about? What is with these people and not being straightforward?" His voice cracked with exhaustion and confusion.
Lohim rubbed his face, then stretched, his joints popping in the dim quiet. His eyes flicked toward Siah with tired calm. "Sleep," he said simply. "We are faced with an impossible task in the morning."
The room fell silent.