The screams didn't stop.
Aspen lowered her hand—middle finger still extended like a monument to her own stupidity—and waited for the sound to fade.
It didn't.
They weren't in the room. The screams were out there, beyond the eyes, the walls, rippling through Hinter's hollows and terraces like a stone through water. Distant. Layered.
A choir of consequences.
There's no way. That couldn't be because of me. The spirits had settled. The pressure on her chest had eased to something almost breathable. The oath was satisfied.
So why do my lungs hurt?
She counted the threads in the room. Be logical. The times she scratched her arm.
She stopped at ten triangles. Five times it itched. The triangles pulsed in a lazy rhythm, unbothered by the chaos outside.
Her wings twitched. Tried to fold. Couldn't quite manage it. Tried again.
"Interesting."
Hierophant's voice cut through the white noise in her skull. Her eyes snapped to him.
He was still standing across from her, arms crossed like he was waiting for tea. His porcelain face was unreadable, but his green eyes were doing that thing again—studying her like she was a bug pinned to a board.
"You satisfied the oath," he said. "Indirectly. Cleverly, even. The spirits judged that as satisfactory. I'm proud."
Aspen swallowed and tasted copper.
Proud?
"D-Don't you hear them? Why… why aren't you helping them?"
"The spirits accepted your answer," he continued. "And, as expected, the importance of this event has rippled to the commonfolk with sufficient spiritual sensitivity. Which is…" he tilted his head. "Likely most of them. Names are quite important here."
T-Then..? "Didn't you hear me? Why are you telling me—"
"I am explaining this to you because you are ignorant, little sap. But despite that ignorance, you could be intelligent. You are useful, but you could be powerful."
"...What?"
"Important events ripple out into the world, the spirits manifest value physically. Spiritually. What do you think is the value of those screams?"
Aspen's mouth parted, but the bridge between her thoughts and her tongue had collapsed. She sat there, watching logic burn to ash.
"You asked me why I'm not helping them. Aspen, our new Hermit, it's because their screams feed the importance of this event. And you caused them. You are valuable."
Her jaw went slack, hanging on a hinge of sick flesh as she inhaled.
Slowly.
Savoring in air that didn't taste like his logic.
She looked down at her hand, her middle finger still slightly pronounced.
"How many?" The words came out wrong. Too flat. Like she was asking about the weather.
One of Hierophant's wings cocked up. "Difficult to say. There are only a few hundred of us."
Over a hundred people.
People screaming because I—
Eleven triangles. Twenty six times she scratched. Breathe in, breathe out. Grounding.
Why did I?
Her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her thighs, nails digging into fabric. The trembling didn't stop. It traveled up her arms, into her shoulders, down her spine.
Stop.
Her wings wouldn't fold properly.
Stop stop stop.
"Some of them fell," Hierophant shrugged, almost conversational. "When the frequency rang out, the spiritual weight was… considerable. I can vaguely see children, mostly. The elderly. Those too weak or untrained to keep flight—"
Children.
The word hollowed out her chest.
But there were no tears.
W-Why can't I cry?
"How many fell?" Her voice was still wrong. Hollow. Someone else's voice using her throat.
No, the wrong voice behind the wrong throat.
"Grace knows." Hierophant uncrossed his arms and turned to the curtain-way. His movements were fluid, unhurried. "We can use this to strengthen our rituals. More will be saved."
She stared at him. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"You—" The words stuck. "I… no, I didn't mean to—"
"Of course you didn't." He brushed invisible dust from his robes. "You were simply doing what I forced you to do. All you did was answer a question. You gave me information about our enemy."
He smiled and glanced back. It didn't reach his eyes.
"If anything, this is my fault. What could a little sap like you do?"
So calm. Made her want to scream.
But she didn't scream. Screaming required air and her lungs had forgotten how to expand properly.
Twelve triangles. She stopped counting the itch.
Hierophant moved toward the curtain-way. His footsteps were silent against the wood floor. Of course they were.
Aspen's voice stopped him.
"Why?"
Less of a question, more of a guillotine.
"Grace knows," he said. "If it aches, then learn. Become less ignorant. You only fell for my tricks because you knew little."
She didn't dare to look at him. She stared at the wall to his left. Her hands were fists. The shaking had spread to her jaw, teeth clacking in sensations she couldn't name.
At the threshold, he let the blade down.
"Tomorrow, someone will come to teach you."
She didn't resist it.
The screams were answer enough.
He left.
There was no door click or curtain swipe. Just an absence.
Aspen sat in the empty room and itched.
✦ ✦ ✦
Time passed.
Time was liquid.
Seconds or minutes or heartbeats.
Raine walked in from the curtain-way. She froze. Her wings were half-spread, like she'd been about to rush forward but thought better of it.
"You're shaking," she whispered.
No response.
Raine stepped into the room. There was no door to close behind her, no privacy. She moved slowly, the way one would approach a wounded animal.
Despite that fact she has rasps on her wrists and ankles. Was she punished for not immediately telling them?
"Everyone felt it." She said, "we all felt the urge to look—"
"I know."
Time passed.
"—confused and scared and some of the children even—"
"I know."
Raine's mouth snapped shut.
Aspen's eyes returned to the wall. She couldn't look at Raine.
If she looked at Raine she'd see the fear and the pity and the love for the body she inhabited and she couldn't.
She couldn't.
"Did anyone die?" Aspen said more than asked.
Raine bit her lip. "Some… may still be saved."
Some.
Aspen's stomach exploded. She swallowed bile.
"How many."
"You—"
"How many. Exactly. You'd know."
Raine's wings drooped. "Sixteen. Mostly children. Two elders. Most were in their homes, or were adults preparing for the ritual today. The adults didn't fall. We're lucky it was an auspicious time."
Sixteen people hurt, or dead, because she'd raised her middle finger like it was a joke, like it was clever, like she was so fucking smart.
"I need—" her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. Tried again. "I need to learn how to fly. So I can see them. And I need to learn how to ascend. Hierophant… said someone would teach me tomorrow. I need to—I can't… I need to—"
"Please. Stop." Raine crossed the room, crouching under the threads and kneeling in front of the basin-bed. "I don't know the details, but you can't—"
"I didn't cry." The words tasted like ash. "When I heard them, I couldn't even cry. And before, I thought I was so clever. And now—"
"This wasn't your fault."
Aspen finally looked at her.
Raine's eyes were wide and green. Like she held a forest within them. A forest of pretty plants, grace, and art. And her eyes were wet like it'd just rained.
"This wasn't your fault, you didn't know anything. He came when you were…" she glanced back at the curtain-way. "Most vulnerable. And whatever he said or did, you didn't know."
"So what?"
People died because I didn't know.
Is that supposed to be better?
She looked back at the wall. "I'm tired, can you—I just need to sleep."
She knew she wouldn't sleep. But Raine didn't need to know that.
Raine's expression crumpled, as always. "I-I can stay. If you want. I can—"
"I'm fine." Voice flatter than when she'd had the necklace. "I just need to rest before tomorrow."
"Aspen—"
"The Omen is coming."
The stakes came out smaller than she intended.
Raine stood slowly. Her wings were trembling now too.
"Please," she whispered. "Please don't go too."
Aspen's eyes widened, tears fought at the brim. So this is what makes me want to cry.
I'm disgusting.
"I won't."
Raine hesitated. Then she leaned down and pressed her forehead against Aspen's. Brief, gentle, desperate.
"Please," she said one more time.
Then she left.
There was no door click or curtain swipe. Just an absence.
Aspen sat in the empty room and itched.
✦ ✦ ✦
She didn't sleep.
She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Counting the grain patterns in the wood.
Eighty-three.
Eighty-four.
There was a constant rumble in the background. It started as the mushrooms dimmed. She figured this was what they called the Sleeper.
If she were in a better mood, she'd have suggested they call it the Screamer instead.
She pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw stars.
Sixteen people were paying for her cleverness. For the space she occupied. For the body she stole.
Her mother's voice whispered through her skull: What's wrong with you?
"Shut up," Aspen said to the empty room.
Hands still shaking.
Why does the night last so long?
There was a knock by the curtain-way.
Aspen's head snapped toward it. Her heart jumped.
"It's Quinn."
Not a question. Just a statement.
Aspen's throat was tight. "I'm fine."
"No you're not."
Silence.
Then: "Can I come in?"
"No."
Quinn stepped in anyways. She was wearing long, beige robes—something like pajamas—and her gray hair was down. Without her usual armor, she looked tired.
"You're husked."
"I'm fine."
Aspen looked down. Her hands were still trembling.
Fuck.
"I'm just—" The words stuck. "Thinking."
"Uh-huh." Quinn crossed the room, crouching under the threads. The same ritual. The same maneuver that told Aspen she was a burden.
Then Quinn smiled. "You know what I did the first time I got someone killed?"
Aspen's breath caught. "What?"
"I threw up. Then I didn't eat for three days. Then I threw up again. Felt like the sap in my blood was eating itself." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "Then I got so dizzy I fell off a terrace and broke my arm."
"...That's—"
"Stupid? Yeah."
"Sixteen people got hurt because of me. This doesn't compare."
"Sixteen people got hurt because the girl born today was forced into an impossible situation."
"I could've—"
"Hold on." Quinn's voice softened. "What could you have done? Fill me in."
Aspen's chest tightened. "I smiled. When I figured out the loophole to his plan. I was proud."
"Well, I am starting to feel it." Quinn stood. Crossed to the other side of the bed. "Some deal called the New Radiance. You could vaguely feel it out there, it's stronger here despite Anais."
Anais. Right, that's what he called these threads. "So—"
"Why should you feel bad for surviving? Even if it had consequences."
"That's—no, I still got them hurt. If I thought about it more, I could've done better."
Quinn poked her cheek. "The world's not fair. You know this better than me, no? Not sure what to call you right now, little sap, but sometimes you do everything right and people still get hurt. Sometimes you do everything wrong and everyone's fine. That's just how it is."
Aspen's throat closed up. Tears screamed at her eyelids and burned her cheeks. "H-How am I… supposed to fucking live with that?"
Quinn was quiet for a long moment.
"One day at a time. One day at a time. You have all the time to make it up to them, the healers got a lot of them. You can visit them eventually. You can apologize."
Aspen didn't smile, but her chest got a little bit lighter.
Quinn carried on. "But you need to focus on what's in front of you and you don't let yourself think too far ahead because if you do, you'll drown."
"I'm already drowning."
"I know." Quinn's hand found Aspen's shoulder. Squeezed gently. "So keep struggling to swim. That's something."
Aspen's vision blurred. She blinked hard.
"I can't do this," she whispered.
"Do what?"
"Any of it. Be here. Be the Hermit. Survive. Get back—" Her voice cracked. "How do I hurt sixteen people and just… keep going?"
Quinn's grip tightened. "By continuing to breathe. Oh, and eat and drink. You need those too, if you want to keep going."
"That's not helpful."
"I know." Quinn's voice was soft. "But it's true. You fought by using your brain, finding loopholes and whatnot, no? Learn to fight in this way, by just breathing. You can't hurt anyone by breathing."
But I'm hurting Raine.
They stayed in silence. Outside, Hinter slept. The Sleeper screamed. Inside, Aspen tried to remember how to breathe.
Finally, Quinn spoke again.
"Hierophant said someone's coming tomorrow to teach you about ascension."
"Yeah."
"It's me."
Aspen's head turned. "What?"
"I volunteered." Quinn's expression was unreadable. "I may not look it, but I used to be the High Priestess. I know a little bit. And I figured you'd prefer someone who doesn't want you knotting."
"...I see."
Quinn's lips twitched. A ghost of a smile. "I could call Raine too, if you want."
"No, I'm… just no, please."
Quinn tapped her cheek one last time. "Okay, that's fine."
"Then, what do I need to know?"
"Tomorrow." Her voice was firm. "Tonight, you rest. Or try to. And we handle tomorrow, well, tomorrow."
Then she walked to the curtain-way.
At the threshold, she paused.
"Little sap?"
"Yeah?"
"The sixteen who fell? Most of them will be healed."
"Most?"
"Most."
Then she left.
Most.
Aspen's hands wouldn't stop shaking.
The end of Day 1.