I push one more branch out of the way, not caring at all about the sound of it breaking. Normally I avoid doing so, being much easier and smarter to just slip around them. No tracks, no warnings, and, even better, no callouts to monsters about where you are. But in this area of the Everfree Forest the rules are reversed.

First of all, it has been too eerily quiet. Too much for even it being near Ponyville. The second reason is that this is Ponyville. Each monster I kill is one less that hops around here. So far, I encountered none. Either the Lunar Guard’s training excursions have really done that good of a job or what is mostly left are Timberwolves and they stay away from me.

Gobrend had a great idea—same as I have a great idea on which crippled fucker told him about my problem with my memory. ‘Attempt to follow threads of any old memory you have’, he suggested, ‘and they might unearth forgotten ones.’ I decided to give it a shot, especially since I’m all alone in here. That why I’ve been singing every little thing that I can remember at the top of my lungs.

“That’s the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it, uh huh uh huh. That’s the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it, uh huh uh huh.”

Of course, that means if I happen to meet anyone in here I will be forced to murder them now, because I sure as hell won’t be explaining to Luna why I was dancing my way through the Everfree Forest.

I almost had a heart attack when I heard splashing while I was crossing the river, but it turned out to be just some big, purple, harmless-looking, water lizard that watched from a distance. At least that one won’t ever go tell anyone of my rendition of ‘splish, splash, I was takin’ a bath.’ First time I ever see a dragon-like creature rocking a mustache though.

Still, despite doing my best to ring the dinner bell, I don’t see a thing. Either the animals and monsters in here have gotten wary of me, pretty much like the Timberwolves, or my music selection is spooking them. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame them.

I’m going to get someone else to take a walk in here tomorrow to make sure. Probably Leaf Bitch; can’t have her thinking I’ve been going soft, and she’s kind of earned that.

“You spin me right round, baby, right round, like a record baby, right round, round, round…”

“You spin me right round…” I mumble, bending another dried out branch in my path until it snaps. I hold on to it and break it in smaller pieces against my chestplate as I keep moving, enjoying the satisfying cracks.

I had spun Luna around once, I remember. The day she finally managed to get that spell that duplicates a laser to do something more than a light show. She was laughing, exhilarated that she finally had an advantage to make up for the loss of such a portion of her magic. She had jumped up to me, I picked her up and—

—her dress swooshes behind her as I spin her around. Her legs almost touch the wall and I pull her back to my arms before she gets hurt by accident. She would be bouncing up and down if I wasn’t holding her up against me. I take one hand off her back and squeeze her behind.

“Oh my god!” she cries, still laughing and slaps me lightly. “We told your mom we’d just be listening to music, not letting you feel me up!” Her eyes sparkle with light. I think I love her eyes the most. Her lips come second.

I bend my head and kiss her, partly to shush her up, partly to stop her from storming out and having a laugh in my expence along with my mom as they’d team up and try to make me out as some kind of a pervert. Mostly though I just kiss her because I want to.

“Just music!” she repeats a few seconds after she’s had her fill of kissing me back.

I grin at her. “Alright. Music it is.” I reach to the mouse and start the next playlist.

‘You spin me right round’ starts blasting through my cheap speakers.

“Noooo!” she cries, her beautiful lips spread in a grin, covering her ears. “Not this earworm, you monster!”

I spin us both around again, faster and faster, repeating the refrain until the back of my legs hit on the side of the bed and I throw us both on it. She is still laughing nonstop. “You spin me right round, Vivi, right round, like a record, baby, come on!” I sing along, prodding her to join me.

“I’ll never get it out of my heeeaad!” she yells, laughing, and I pull her back in for another—

“Vivian,” I breathe out. That was her name. Vivian. I called her Vivi. I… I can’t believe I forgot it. I can’t believe I finally remembered it! “Vivi, Vivi, Vivi, Vivi!”

One of the trees I come up against is unlike most of the others. This one has a smooth bark, not the usual cragged, rotting bark. Fresh and lively. There’s a small clearing too, not much, only a small area of a couple of meters of clear sky. Enough to lighten the place though. I ran my fingers down the trunk, and then do so again after taking off my gloves. It feels like it’s almost polished.

I take out the dagger from my belt, and start carving. I feel euphoric. Happy. Alright, perhaps a little sappy as well. I carve the outline of a heart and I almost let the dagger drop when I realize what I’m doing, my palm covering the face of the helmet as I groan. Not that sappy! But I don’t stop, I keep on going. She’d love this. She would do this adorable little shriek she used to do. Heart is done. Now, top left, I need my initial. I pause, thinking fervently.

I just want the initial. Just one letter. I should be able to remember this much. Just one letter, one single letter. Think. You remember hers. What was yours? What did they call you?

Hey, …… How is she? Any news from the doctors? Is there going to be a change?

She’s gone! …… she’s gone! She’s dead, stop fighting, stop! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, …….

I’m going first. Better make sure one of us gets to the other side first, huh? Hey, ……….! It’s just like back home, remember? The river when we were kids? Only… Vivi isn’t here this time… Alright, bad choice of memories. Sorry.

Dad, the people back there asked me what my name is. Do I have one? Do you? I heard you say one while you were asleep. Is that one mine or—

I carve out an R. It’s good enough. I don’t use the Equestrian alphabet, though that is a little stupid when I think about it. If someone sees it they might guess it’s me. Next one, bottom right. It started with a V. Vivian. Vivian, Vivi, Vivi. I carve down a line…

...and stop. The euphoria is gone.

Follow the thread. I did. I remember where and how Vivian died. That is enough of a shot in the heart as it is. There’s more. I remember more. Far more.

We left her back there when we left.

She stayed there, walking and moaning along with all the rest. We didn’t… We didn’t give her rest. We thought… We thought we’d be able to come back once we got home and knew the way, that we would return with help, that I might be able to save her after all. I had forgotten that—

“Fuck!” I yell, kicking at the tree. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I start pacing. I had forgotten! Fucking hell, of course I did. Who in his right mind would want to remember… Stupid, fucking bird and his retarded, moronic suggestions! Like it wasn’t enough knowing that I killed her! She’s still there! She’s still there!

I go back to the tree and I drag down another line, half-heartedly. What was it I told Luna back when we were on that area where she had burned down a village so long ago? ‘What matters is that someone remembers, not the monument’?

I fucking remember now. And if I’m lucky I’ll forget it again. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time I don’t know what I’m talking about. Maybe a monument is something. A stupid, sappy carving on a tree doesn’t merit to be called that, but it’s all I can do now. Maybe it’s enough.

I pick up the pack and go on my way once more. I turn back to take one last look, feeling shamed.

R might love V. But I know for certain that V wouldn’t love R.

The ravine wasn’t much of a problem. I had brought rope with me, but I didn’t need it after all. I found a path leading down, almost carved into the wall of the cliff. Weird. It’s like it wants people to be able to find it. It could have been carved by someone else, maybe Celestia, but I doubt she comes around every few years to make sure it’s still here. Something keeps it in good condition.

Eh. I’ve seen weirder.

It’s darker down here, but it’s the good dark. Safe and still able to see just fine when I get used to it. There’s nothing hiding in here but me. I look at the northern direction the gorge is following. Not so much over there. The darkness that runs down that direction is not the good kind of dark.

I set off towards it. I want to make sure of that danger first. It’s a few hundred meters down the gorge, and it takes me a while to reach it as I climb over rocks and half-covered pits. Harsh ground, so unlike the other direction, one more thing to turn me wary. It turns out to be exactly like Luna described it to me. There’s the hidden opening of a cave on the side of the cliff, crouched between the folds of the crevice. Even from here it looks like it might be nothing more than a shallow cave, but I already know that it is not.

It is an entrance. And it leads down to the real Everfree Forest.

Nothing has been through in years at the very least, though. No fresh marks of any kind. No upturned rocks, no claw marks, no hair, scales, or worse. Just the air breathing in and out of the darkness.

I don’t actually need to go in. I don’t want to go in. There’s danger and death in there, I can feel it from here. My gut screams to steer away from there. Luna driveled in me the need to never go deeper than a couple of meters, and those with the utmost care.

But Luna’s memories might be faulty. I should make sure, I need to see what kind of danger lurks so near my Twilight and my Spike. If I know more then maybe I can stop some of the guards get killed because of me. Perhaps I could place some bait or just throw a few torches in...

She’s still in that city. Dead and walking. You left her there.

I go inside. This is definitely not the good dark. I can feel goosebumps run all over me. I can almost hear them holding their breath, same as I. Somewhere down below the slow dripping sound I’ve been hearing stops, then resumes from another direction. I follow the steep decline for almost a dozen meters, dragging my feet on the ground, when I can feel the difference.

It feels as if I crossed an invisible line. Far from where I stand trying not to lose my senses, I can smell the air coming from the other end of the tunnel. It smells like pine trees, water, and blood.

The smell lessens, as something moves and blocks it now. The darkness moves.

It shoots like a harpoon from somewhere below and the hook scrapes along my armor with the piercing sound of nails scratching a blackboard, utterly failing to penetrate it. The curved talon, or bone or whatever appendage this thing might be, manages to secure a grip on one of the armor’s ridges on my neck. There’s the lashing sound of sinew being pulled taut, and I’m pulled through the air.

Maybe a torch would have been a good idea after all.

I half land, half crush on a pile of short fur. There is not the tiniest hint of light in here, but the fury of the thing as short talons scratch the surface of my armor leaves no question as to whether it is friendly or not. My head gets knocked, and I accidentally bite through my lip. Not a moment later, I feel jaws wrap around my left pauldron, needle teeth gnashing against the metal.

Fucking hell, how big is that thing? If it had gone for my head instead, it would rip it off! I start fighting back, holding back groans of pain as the shock from the slashes on the armor reach my body. I pull a dagger out of my belt and strike, fast as I can before it changes its mind and moves its head from where I know for certain that it is now.

The dagger’s point gets stopped by a thick skull, and lodges there for a half-second, the thing growling in anger as I hurt it. Almost panicking because I can hear the leather straps groaning in protest, I pull the dagger out, grab the extremely large head with my left arm, and pull it sideways as much as possible. Then I try again, using a wider arc and much more force in my swing.

The dagger doesn’t slow down. It enters the skull with the sound of a cleaver hitting a butcher’s block, and the smell of fresh blood infests the surroundings.

It becomes a frenzy after that.

There’s fresh meat lying down now, and too many hungry mouths. The corpse of the creature is ripped away from me as a huge mass leaps on it, fighting among itself for first rights. The subsequent bloodletting inspires more into the fray. Growls, howls, and screams echo in the tunnel, the scent of blood and bowels filling every nook and cranny.

The screams are a terror of their own. Some of them are like harsh whistles, other like giant cats. The worst are those that could be coming out of the mouth of people I’ve known. Almost human-like or pony-like.

I don’t get a reprieve. The blood that splashed on me attracts them to me. The unknown in the dark lashes out, and I feel an impact on my torso, throwing me sideways. Teeth, impossibly long tongues, hands and tentacles reach for me, some trying to find flesh to puncture, others trying to rip the armor off me.

They are on me, trying to crack me open like a nut. At every attempt to get up I get thrown back down, my head slammed against rock. I try to push them off and almost lose my hands as jaws snap for them. There are too many, too heavy. I scream at them, and they scream back. The bandolier of grenades on my chest is ripped and gone.

I reach for my thigh. I still have one left, one I can still use. I take it out and remove the tab which blocked the runes from activating. All that stops it from going off is the fact that I’m holding on to it.

I try to throw it, but they won’t let me. I’m being shaken left and right like a ragdoll, and it’s a wonder my spine hasn’t snapped already the way they twist me. I get my chance, a single moment where I can move, and let the grenade fall, jumping into them.

One second. Something wraps around my throat. Two seconds. It starts choking me, but I can’t fight it off. Three seconds. My right arm is taken in a solid grip, and it start pulling. Four seconds. A long talon has found a gap and is sinking into my sides while my arm is in danger of being torn off. My shoulder is in flames, and it’s about to pop off.

Five seconds.

The flash grenade goes off. The light is blinding, even with my helmet on and my eyes closed. The explosion of sound makes my ears ring and pain blossom in my head. The screeching of the monsters around doesn’t help either. But they let me go. I can stand up. I got a few seconds I can use.

All I know is that I hold my hammer with my right hand and another dagger in the left.

I feel bones break under the hammer head. I feel flesh punctured under its hook. Flesh is sliced across the dagger’s razor edge, and too often I have to fight back without weapons, the bodies too close to swing. They come back on their senses and are back on me, and I pummel everything in range with the thick vambraces on my arms, I grab on one of them and my knee keeps going at its belly like a jackhammer, the horns on it slicing it open until I feel a gooey mass run down my legs.

For every strike I hand out, I receive five. The armor stops almost all of them, but the bruises pile up, and I am almost certain one my limbs was going to be torn off me in another two separate occasions. A few more teeth and a few more claws manage to find the seam of the armor, drawing blood but stopping short by mail and the padding underneath from doing too much damage.

The mass of teeth fights against itself as much as it fights against me now. Every kill means one or more out of this fight as another smaller skirmish breaks over the warm, bloody meal. As the blind battle rages, the sound of fighting is replaced by the tearing of flesh and satisfied snarls as they sate their hunger.

I lose myself in the fight. More than once I come back to my senses as I scream like one of the monsters themselves, bashing bodies until they stop twitching and snarling my way to the next one. Then everything goes numb again, action replaces thought and monstrosities become mere slabs of still-moving meat, and I don’t know if it’s seconds, minutes, or hours until I get back to my senses for a brief period of time before I lose myself again.

There is a small reprieve. I can move on my own and I’m no longer dragged from one melee to another. I take deep breaths, trying to catch up my breath. Despite my exhaustion, I listen intently, wary of them. My hearing is not that good when wearing the helmet, and my ears still ring with the knocks I’ve received. It’s not good good but it’s enough, and even if what is attacking me now is silent, there are still cues. An inhale. Muscles flexing hard enough to sound like rope twisting. Air being displaced. I raise my arm up just in time to protect my head.

It sounded almost like a whip. I grin. It’s only one and it uses a tentacle, and if that’s how it attacks it will do fuck all on my armor. With that kind of speed and thinness, even if there’s a talon at the end of it it won’t pierce through. I pull back just a half-step and invite another attack.

It obliges. I manage to bait it upwards a couple of meters nearer the entrance this way. Two meters away from what skirmish is still fought and from the noises of corpses being devoured. There’s a hint of light as we move towards the exit. I can see what one of the things down here look like if I get it close enough.

But the thing-in-the-dark stops. It probably rethinks on whether it should keep going after this bloody thing that moves too well despite the fights it has been in, or go back and try to claim a corpse. I don’t let it go.

I step forward. It attacks again. No dodging this time. This time I block. I take another step forward, and I hold the hammer at the top and bottom of the handle with both hands. The tentacle wraps around the midpoint of the hammer, and it tries to pull it away from me. Well fuck you too. That’s mine, you’re not getting it, and you’re the one getting fucked over for almost eating me.

I shift my grip so it’s on the tentacle, not letting it go of the hammer. It’s like almost fishing now! Come on, fishy, fishy. Let’s get a good look at you before I gut you. Come on. Up we go. And up. And up. It’s fucking strong as hell, and I’m dragging it up an incline. It’s strong, but not strong enough based on the weight and mass I can feel I’m dragging. It must be weak. Hungry or wounded.

All of them must have be like that. No wonder they didn’t manage to shred me apart with as many as they were in there.

It starts screeching and it crackles and pops. This is fun. Heavens, maybe I should get a hook and spend an hour or two every day here. This could make a nice hobby and I’m feeling mean enough to cause some suffering back to them. If I had the time, that is. One more pull, and an outline becomes visible. A few more, and… and…

That’s not a fucking tentacle.

That’s a finger.

The nail is thick, jagged, and warped. The skin is shrivelled, and unlike anything human or even animal I know of. There are spots where it is covered with hair and spots where it is bald. A moment later I realize that these are not hairs as much as tangled soft hooks.

It’s thin and composed out of dozens of knuckles. It tries to pull back. I grab the disgusting appendage and pull. It lets go of the hammer, tries to escape, and its knuckles strain and break as it wrestles to slip from my grip, but I don’t let it go. I keep pulling, reeling it in. I’ve got to see what it looks like, what is at the other end of the elongated finger.

I pull it to the light. I see its face. It has a mouth, it has many mouths, but no teeth. Soft, blood filled gums surround the horrid openings, located on a bulbous head, supported by a neck that looks like an open wound or gills. Fingertips wiggle in their depths. There are fingers everywhere, it’s reaching for everything around it, trying to hold on, to pull back. Most of them are far shorter than the one I hold, but still they try to drag their owner away, and I realize what the crackling noises were. Blood drips out of removed fingernails, and the white of bone is everywhere.

At the center of its mass, rows of finger rise up, pointing at me as if accusing me. As they do so, they uncover what they were hiding before.

What the fuck was I fighting all this time in there? What were all those things?

The eye is beautiful and feminine. It has long eyelashes, and its iris is a light, sky blue. A white teardrop pools beneath it, ready to trickle down. It immediately locks into my own eye, somehow figuring out it has to look behind the slits.

I stare back and I know that if the creature had a tongue, it would talk and beg, for mercy, for release. For help.

It knows what it is and... Heavens help me, this thing is… it’s…

This is a child.

Five minutes later I’m sitting three meters away from the entrance, catching my breath. I can just glimpse the creature’s remains. Its fingers are finally invisible, hidden among the blood and gore, and its eye burst to unidentifiable, thick, white mush under my boot.

I dig out dirt and use it to clean my hammer and armor, eyes glued to the freak’s corpse. It takes time. I’m covered in gore and entrails. It’s disgusting, and I don’t even have the time to take the armor off and look after the bleeding beneath. Not in here. None of the wounds feel too bad, but it’s hard to tell under the rest of the pain. Just flesh wounds, I assume. If it was worse I would have known by now.

I stop and wait patiently when I hear something extremely faint. Almost wet, like a mop slipping across a floor. The corpse shakes almost imperceptibly. A few seconds later it is dragged out of sight.

Then comes the renewed sound of flesh being torn, and a little while after the sounds of fighting as whatever else is down there wrestles its opponents away. They are extremely quiet even so. If I stood a few more meters away they would be completely silent.

So these are just the stragglers, taught to live in silence and carrion. The ones staying away as far as they can get from where the real threats and real rewards are; the weak ones. But even though they probably would be hard-pressed to make it even on the top Everfree, desperation has its own strength.

Weak as they are they would gladly prey on something even weaker. Like ponies. What Luna said is true. We can’t go down there. We’ll have to go near enough, though. We’ll have to find as many of the possible entrances as we can, all the climbable spots, and close them off. Otherwise something like the mud monster might come up again. The real terrors are all down there, containing each other, but every now and then one comes out.

If we can do it, that is. Luna’s not looking forward to that at all, and right now neither am I. Still, I learned something here. They are fighting against themselves. We can use that.

But this entrance is way too close to Ponyville.

Well, I knew I would have to do this one here. It’s why I brought so much dynamite. Time to start making holes. I heft the hammer, and prepare to get to work digging out emplacements for the explosives. I need to bring down as much of this tunnel as possible .

I just need a couple more minutes first. Just two more minutes to rest and forget that eye.

It takes some time for the dust to settle. The result is worth it. There’s no way anything comes through here again. I spend half an hour climbing on the rubble and checking every possible crevice, trying to feel any current of air. There is none. Completely sealed. Damn, I’m good! Still got it!

I pick up the half-emptied backpack and go down the other way. Time for the real reason I’m here. As I head south I remember that letter where Twilight wrote how Spike almost fell victim to a dragon that lives in the Everfree. I need to remember to ask Spike where exactly that dragon lives.

And then pay the fucker a visit. If I got enough dynamite left, I’m going to be nice. If not, I will make things personal. I’ve seen pictures of Equestrian dragons. They have big eyes. I wonder if he will die instantly if I shove a grenade in there or not. You know, for science. Or morality reasons. Whatever will fly.

I find the second cave entrance, the one I was really interested in. Large, grand, an almost perfect semicircle. Again, a call to attention. I never liked smart things that are not alive. They keep trying to make you think they think like you do. Sometimes they think that you think like they do. Creepy stuff.

I go inside, and the place lights up with a soft light that wasn’t reaching the outside of the cave nor was it visible from outside.

At the far end there’s a shining web. At least, that’s what I think I see at first. But then my head clears and I realize the crystal threads are branches, and the pattern I thought was there does not exist. But it looked so real for a second. Real and familiar. But it’s not a web. It’s a tree.

The Tree of Harmony.

Hello, little tree. I’m the lumberjack. Turn to the side and cough.

I take a few minutes to examine the entrance before I go deeper. It is too wide. I don’t have enough dynamite to blow all of this down.

I stop for a second, and rethink my previous train of thought before I cover my face with my palm. That’s what she fucking said.

I will just blow up the tree, and hope the explosion brings down enough of the cave to hide my tracks. Celestia has no idea I know about the Tree and she’s never seen what dynamite can do. With a little luck I’ll have no problem convincing her I had nothing to do with this. Hopefully it will do some magic explosion as--no, that would suck. A lot. Better make the fuse really long.

The Tree not as big as I thought. Somehow it looks bigger than it really is. It reminds me of a room filled with mirrors. The way it looks larger than it really is, that you can stretch and reach everywhere, and how, even though it is all the same but mirrored, everything looks completely different.

I move towards the Tree, examining its base. I hope the crystal it is made of is more like glass than diamond. I want to get even its roots if it is possible. Got to make sure this fucking thing never regrows. No more Tree, no more Elements. No more Elements, no more fear for Luna, no more threats for Twilight to face because of them. No more getting in the way of making sure that Twilight and Luna will…

… Just a few more, perhaps as few as one…

Focus. There’s something resembling a crack on the bottom left, right on the trunk. A crack or a structural weakness? Good. I can try to make a hole there and place one bundle in. I lift my hammer, point the hooked end at the crack and—

—he struck each Tree to their heart with his black spear, shedding their sap like blood. She immediately drank it up, her darkness bloating across the blessed kingdom, and Ungo—

—kill it.

The helmet clangs on the floor.

My stomach! My stomach is in agony! It feels like my innards are ripped apart by something, I can feel it in me, I can feel my insides burning-

Tell it again. Tell that part again.

I can’t I don’t I can’t breathe I need air air air vomit I’m on my knees and vomit still can’t breathe can’t breathe not the same not like this can’t breathe can’t breathe stay back stay back stay back…

Again. I want to hear that part again.

—it comes down black spears come down tearing ripping taking pieces eating cleaning harvesting feeding drinking biting pinching piercing hurting suffering torturing made for pain pain pain everything made for pain pieces torn torn torn torn into black water drowning drowning drowning I’m drowning—

He spread his power. He used others. A web of his own. He couldn’t devour the light so he had her to do it instead. That… is certainly an idea. Tell it again. I want to hear it again. Tell it all again.

—my skin burns it burns lashes rips stabs shots whippings teeth so many teeth and claws and nails and fire fire fire fire fire fire fire—

Again. Tell it again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

—bones break fracture crack arms legs ribs ribs ribs skull and jaw and fingers and shoulders it all heals and hurts and breaks again and again and again and again and again and the fire doesn’t stop the lashing doesn’t stop the pain doesn’t stop the laughter doesn’t stop—

…

…

I stay on all fours for almost half an hour, waiting for the shakes to stop. The nausea in my stomach fades away as time passes. Must have been the stink from the tunnel. I feel like I emptied my insides four times over.

This is bullshit. The Tree needs to go! It just made me dizzy for a while. It hasn’t won. It hasn’t fucking won! I wipe my mouth and look up. You haven’t won, you fucking little—

Oh heavens, there is no shortage of surprises today, is there?

There are growths on the top side of the trunk. Growths I didn’t notice before. Designs. Not carvings, but the inverse. They are marks. Marks I know. Celestia’s sun. Luna’s moon. Twilight’s stars.

Luna told me she thought there was something written on the tree, but she couldn’t remember what. Something important. I didn’t believe her, thinking it was one of the wrong memories. Heavens, I was wrong.

I stand up, trying to make the shaking of my legs stop.This is worse than whatever came over me a second ago. Far, far worse. What has this Tree done to them? How is it connected to them? I- I can’t destroy it! What if- What if doing so hurt them? But I have to!

It might be a trick. It’s must be a trick!

… I can’t risk it. It might kill all of them, and I can’t. I need… I need at least one of them. Just one.

“You know what? Fine! I’m not fucking blowing you up!” I take off my gloves. Then the dagger. Short cuts, but they bleed like hell. “But I am shutting you down!”

I run forward and place my blood-coated hands on the Tree.

The wind blows fiercely outside the slice on the weathered cliff face. There is a faint orange glow, barely illuminating the white fluffs that fall from the sky. There is a roaring as dry wood crumbles upon burning coals, and the fire flares up once more.

Inside the cave, deeper than where its current occupants currently warm themselves, the previous inhabitant is bled dry, his fluids drank greedily by the hungry soil. A slab of bear meat has already been cut aside, pressed between rocks as to be ready sooner.

What is this? How are you doing this?

A child, barely older than eight in form yet in truth much, much older, skimps out of its rough clothing, shedding wet cloth and hand stitched coat. It grabs the blanket left for it on the side, but with a flick of its bright blonde hair it changes its mind. It’s a young girl, and despite its travels through nightmare forays it is still beautiful and untarnished, body, mind and soul.

The girl scurries forward, and before the other occupant has a chance to stop her, a veritable giant, full of muscle and blackened almost whole, she ducks under his clothes, finding refuge between his warm skin and the clothes toasted by the fire.

Don’t do this to me. Please, please don’t do this to me.

“What the hell are you doing?” The man bellows, caught unaware and feeling cold wetness rub against him.

“I’m getting warm,” the girl child informs him petulantly, trying to bend her legs so she could warm her toes against the man’s belly. “Better now.”

The man shivers. “Are you insane, little one? Get out, get dressed, and just sit by the fire!”

“No! It’s cold out there.”

“Not if you sit by the fire! Come on, all you are doing is pissing me off,” the man warns her.

A small head covered in gold peeps out of the necklike of his clothes. The tiny nose almost touches his jaw, and clear blue eyes stare into his black ones. “I don’t want to,” she says, resting her head against his shoulder and pulling her arms and legs near her torso under his clothes, getting comfortable. “I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight.”

“Fine. Sleep half naked. Then tomorrow you can wake up with a cold and I will leave you back here to die alone,” the man says after a couple of seconds of his eyebrow ticking like a bomb.

“‘Kay. Goodnight, Daddy.”

The man lies carefully back down on the ground, as close to the fire as he can. “Just die in your sleep already,” he grumbles. He reaches out, and manages to hook the blanket the girl scoffed with a hooked finger. He folds it twice, and places it over the bundle on his chest, covering it and safekeeping its warmth.

A few extra pieces of cloth are folded likewise and placed under the head of the half-asleep girl. The man spends a few seconds measuring the burning rate of the firewood before he nods in satisfaction. Then he pulls the rough knapsack over to use as his own pillow.

The wind howls death and cold outside the cave for weeks, never reaching the two inside.

I didn’t mean to. I ran back. I tried to go back. I went back. I went back!

You shouldn’t be able to do this. You should be turned off. Dead. What are you doing? What are you trying to do? How can you possibly do this?

The man falls against a boulder, trying to gain his breath, hoping to restore his strength and push away the pain. Both physical and mental. He is still crying, though he is not able to tell. He just lets the tears fall, making their way down his face and drip to the dried stone desert.

No. I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to remember this.

There is still blood on his hands and on one of this trouser legs. Blood that sprang freely when the tip of the blunt knife he still has on his belt pierced through the artery of a woman he had known for most of his life. He had grown up with her, even if they had never interacted a lot as children, older than him as she was. But now she was dead, his face the last image she saw as he promised her lies.

It was a mercy, he repeated to himself. An easy death. She couldn’t move, he reasoned, and there was no way to help her. But he had wanted to. It galled him that he couldn’t figure out a way, that he hadn’t tried longer, harder, but he only had seconds! It wasn’t fair, there was no time. So he repeated to himself that there was none. That he did the best he could. Repeat it long enough, it becomes truth.

There was no other way. There was no other way!

The man keeps going, uncaring for the tracks he left behind him now. The blood dripping from his stomach was enough if those that inflicted it to him meant to follow, and he had no way to stop it, even though he tried. He doesn’t believe they will come after him either way. The burning pain tells him all he needs to know. He will live but only for a day or two, days brimming with agony and screams. They knew that.

He makes his way over rocks, crevices, and hills. Always one more, always the next one to be the last. There is no belief that he will make it. His steps are sloppy and he loses his balance more than once, hitting his head against the unforgiving ground over and over. Each time he takes longer to stand up again, sweating under the strain. The sun has set, and the cold is becoming almost more than he can bear, his bloodied body slowly losing the means to keep itself warm as time passes despite the fire burning inside him.

The man is dizzy, and his eyesight is blurred. He can barely think. Still he pushes himself. He keeps moving, not knowing how to stop, and then he sees something.

She stands, overlooking a tall cliff, and gazing up to the stars. Her hair is black, and she is dressed in dark blue that glitters with speckles of diamond and silver. Her skin is alabaster white, more akin to porcelain, smooth and beautiful, with an expression as vacant as she is of imperfection.

I… I don’t remember this. This never happened.

The man goes to her; he doesn’t know who she is or why she is standing there in this desert dressed like this, but sees no other option and he fears that if he keeps going all he will manage is to die alone. He is tall, yet she is at least as tall as he is, though elegant where he is wide and muscled. The man stoops and drags himself. She is standing tall and above it all, watching him with cold apathy as he falls prostrate at her feet.

“Help…” the man pleads, his arms losing their strength and unable to even lift his torso up. “Help me… please.”

The woman looks down, inspecting him as if he is an interesting insect. “Why?” she asks, confounded by the mere idea while the wind tries and fails to move her hair. Her voice is a black hole. When she speaks, everything else goes silent. All he can hear when she speaks is her voice, and the shy, terrified pulse of his heart.

“I… I’m dying…” the man says. He raises the hand that covered his stomach, displaying the wide, deep gash. “Help me, please…”

The woman stares for some time, her empty eyes drinking in the scarlet fingers. There are no irises in her eyes. They are pure white orbs, indistinguishable from her skin. “No,” she finally answers, smug arrogance covering her features and making no secret of feeling that spending more time on him is an act of great indulgence. “Why should aid come to you or why should your pain cease? What reason does the world has to bend down to your errant wishes, to mere ants such as yourself when it failed to obey the greatests of beings?” She turns back to the sky, forgetting the man dying on her feet.

But the man does not give up. The woman speaks no more, but he hopes she hears. He talks, and through words he tries to attract her mercy. He tells of a bus that crossed a world. He describes a city filled with dead. He speaks to her of other worlds, of torture, of pain he has felt, of losses he has suffered, of friends he still needs to protect. He begs, and begs not for life. He begs so as to die after saving a friend, not killing one.

His tale ends. A few minutes later the woman lets out a single dry chuckle, unadulterated malice in its deliverance.

“A boring tale. One more ant’s life winking out. A shame. I hoped for more. Something to move me, to inspire something in me once more. But there is nothing to be offered anymore, is there? Only to be taken.” She looks down at the man, a grin filled with more teeth that she should have on her face. A grin that shows her joy at seeing hope die and despair set in.

“The world is not fair,” she explains. “But I can make it. And I say it’s fair that you die like this. Broken. In pain. Alone. For you have nothing to give to me. None of you do. All you have done is take. The world itself takes. I take even more.” She turns and starts to leave, heading for the nothingness of the desert, her dress sweeping the ground and dust retreating away from her lest it offends her.

It isn’t real. This isn’t real.

The man’s world fills with pain. His heart fills ready to be torn apart, his torso is filled with acid, and his head feels ready to split apart as a song begins to scream its way into it. He has nothing else to say. Nothing to give.

Except a story.

So he gives her the greatest story he knows. He screams it out, the burning agony in his skull giving him strength.

“First, there was nothing. Then came the song, a song as rich and wide as the world. The song filled the void, its music dancing and creating stars, creating shapes and fate, bringing things it sang of to life…”

He tells the story for what seems to be a thousand times. He tells the story of the gems of light and the rings of power for what seems to be decades. He tells it through blood and pain and screams.

For a moment he is lost in a nightmare, and he wakes up in tears, fearing the woman was gone or a fantasy, but she is still there, waiting to hear the rest.

He tells it until the darkness and weakness claims him again. Until the light of morning pierces his eyelids.

There is no sign of the woman. Not even the cliff is there, and in the light of day he scoffs at the hallucination he had, driven by hunger, thirst, and pain.

The man stands up. He is still covered in blood, and there is a slight ache on his belly. He tentatively pulls his clothes up, decided to check on his wound. The cloth sticks on dried blood, and he tears it off by force. The wound stings, but it is nothing but a shallow cut and already healing. It will hurt as he walks, but greater pain has been a companion for a long time now.

He turns for the direction of the rift. His friends are there, waiting. Waiting for two of them. He closes his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears. His best friend’s sister is dead.

He has to think of what to tell him.

They just as well as killed her! They would have if they had found her, and they would have found us both if I hadn’t done it! What I told him was truth! It was the fucking truth!

The woman is dishevelled. There are deep lines on her face, and her hair is covered with more gray than should be appropriate for her age. It has gone almost pure white. She looks like a woman that has been condensing the pain of a week in the span of a day, and her body is feeling it, wracked by it.

… Mom? Mom!

A deep, musical ding-dong fills the house. The woman takes her time in drying the dish she is holding and turning off the faucet, only hurrying up when the weak voice of a young woman calls her, wanting to make sure her mother heard the doorbell.

“Mom? Mom, it’s the door…”

“I heard it, sweetie,” the woman calls back. “I’m getting it now. Do you need anything? Do you want me to come turn off your TV first?”

“No,” the younger voice answers. “Let it on, it helps me sleep. Just keep it quiet, please?”

I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t see, I swear. I didn’t… I didn’t… It was… It was...

The woman nods, not bothering to answer back. She always keeps quiet. She keeps her own cries most quiet of all, not letting her husband or daughter hear either during the nights when the hurt becomes too much. She goes to the door, her hand brushing the photo of her long lost child by sheer habit as she passes by the foyer. One broken. One gone.

There is a shadow barely visible through the rippled glass of the front door. The woman opens the door just as the doorbell rings again, and she sees a face she hasn’t seen in years. It’s skin is weathered by sun, rain and wind, and his eyes are older than they should be, framed by blonde hair longer than he ever had let them become and he’s dressed in rags, but she recognizes him at once. She’s had him stay at her house times enough that he had been almost a part of the family himself.

She never saw him alone. He never saw him without her boy by his side.

The man makes an attempt to speak, but the woman is faster. She pushes him to the side as she rushes out. Frantically, she looks behind him, to the sides, around her. She looks to the blond man around her, and as he raises his hands, she knows.

She goes to the street, screaming for her son, calling for her child, howling for a god to tell her this is a lie, and the man runs to hold her back, to rein her in, whispering that he’s sorry, that he’s so sorry, while a young woman inside calls for her mother, asking what is wrong, what happened—

The world fades.

My fingers slip on the crystal trunk, wiping the blood in shapes around it. I touch the Tree again and again, patting it in an attempt to find the proper spot, hitting it even, trying to bring it bring it back.

“No, no, no. Show her to me again. Show me home! You can’t do this to me, show me my home! Let me talk to her, let me talk to her! I’m here! Mom, I’m right here! Work, heavens damn you, work!” I cut my hands worse as I hit them against the sharp angles of the tree, but I don’t care.

“Fucking work, let me speak to her, just one word, one single word, please, please! Mom! Mom! I’m here! I’m alright, I’m alright, please don’t cry, I’m fine, please, please don’t cry! This isn’t fair, this isn’t fair! Let me talk to her! Please! Please! I’m sorry! I was my fault! IT WAS MY FAULT!”

The world outside the cave starts filling with sunlight when I finally give up. The Tree is covered on with blood, some of it dried up, yet its glow keep uninterrupted. I pick up my helmet and leave, abandoning the backpack and the dynamite behind. There’s nothing I care to do with it anymore.

I half-run out of the cave, my head bowed low. I lost.

The Tree won.

...

But I’m not giving up. I’m never giving up.