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“Why?” Orpheus gasped, noticing how shallow his breath had become. “I said I’d help—“

“And I believe you will, which is why I’m leaving these here.” Atticus withdrew a roll of tools and placed them on the floor before him—tools the hermits had left behind, that he had claimed for himself. Tools to work raw Netherflame. “And doing this.”

His encasements clinked loudly in the quiet when Atticus removed them.

His collar followed shortly after.

“Careful with your grip, now. We wouldn’t want you re-breaking your fingers after we’ve worked so hard to mend them. You’ll need them, after all. This prison cell is built for mages. You can use your magic within it, but don’t bother trying to break out. I’ll send along your first task shortly. For now, get some sleep.”

Atticus rose to his feet, medical bag in hand, cold eyes watching Orpheus’ until exhaustion dragged him into the choking darkness of a poisoned peace.

Within the dark cradle of Sanctuary’s walls, the dreams came unexpected and fitful. Orpheus woke to a world he did not know, a land limned silver and violet, where the dark sweeps of a ruinous countryside blossomed with the promise of night, rather than day. Amongst it he walked, through the sprawling desolation, different from the numb nothing of the Rim, because this landscape breathed. Like the chasm he’d closed, violet light burned from deep within a fracture he couldn’t see the bottom of, silver fog curling under the twilight eclipse of a corona sun.

Where the Rim felt dead, this place felt alive. And Orpheus realized, with sudden certainty, exactly where he was.

Hell.

This beauty was Hell?

He wandered for a long time, over hills and down ravines, into ruinous hovels that cut shadows from the dark, creatures following him, Hell beasts, perhaps, but the likes of which Orpheus had never seen. They didn’t hunger like the creatures he’d encountered did. They watched him curiously, white eyes glowing in the mist, darting away before he could get close. In the distance, some great beast howled, but it remained far away, the peace he encountered in this strange landscape undisturbed.

When he found it, he couldn’t stop his tears.

“Oh, hello there, little one.” In the foggy twilight, his voice carried, the little patch of Netherflame wiggling as if in response. He crouched before it, the crack in the world it crawled from tiny, the flame it birthed a babe.

Orpheus scooped it up without a thought. Cradled it to his chest as a mother might her son.

Then he closed his eyes, and he wept.

Interlude

The Visitor

Autumn arrives at the farm and with it, Milo’s death.

“We can’t plow the fields,” Mum says to Dad that evening, sweeping in through the big bay door, hands painted red. “We’re not going to be able to plant this season.”

“Paid through the winter, aren’t we?” Dad says, Mum’s quiet ‘with nothing left for us’ smothered by his hammer, the staircase they’d built to replace the loft’s ladder finally taking shape.

While his parents’ voices grow hushed, Fenrir focuses on his task. He likes working with his hands. Swinging a hammer is almost like swinging a sword and he pretends the nail is a crossbow bolt, the plank old Snake Tail’s head.

That’s what you get for trying to eat my sister. He doesn’t have as much time for his stories as he used to. The farm is a lot of work, and he helps as much as he can, even if it doesn’t seem to make a big difference. Fenrir is strong but strength can’t make carrots or potatoes grow so he works on the barn instead, plans to move onto bedrooms once the staircase is complete filling his head.

He puts aside the hammer when his stomach grumbles and wonders if he should remind Mum that they’ve forgotten lunch every day this week. Instead, he checks the sun and realizes it's almost supper, then climbs down the staircase to find Alina and Elise.

Elise is crawling now and Fenrir likes to follow her, letting Alina lead them in their afternoon adventures once the animals have been fed and before supper is on their plates. Today, Alina skips up the hill to the pasture where their single goat and Milo used to graze. Milo’s dead now and the goat is skinnier than she was when Mum and Dad first brought her home, but they find where she’s chewing on some scraggly brown grass and Fenrir lets Elise stick her fingers through the fence for the goat to nibble instead.

It’s from that vantage he sees a man arrive on horseback.

He’s got a dark coat and big brimmed hat and even from here Fenrir can tell he’s clean because his boots are shiny.

Fenrir waves.

The man pauses, face turned up so that light catches his eyes beneath the brim, then he turns towards the barn and heads inside.

Fenrir thinks that’s a little strange because even in the Rim people knew to knock.

They play for a few minutes longer, not stopping until his stomach starts to growl. Supper is still an hour or so away, but Fenrir’s hungry now and he thinks maybe Dad will sneak him a snack while Mum’s not looking. He got all his chores done and some extra too, so a little treat wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?