CHAPTER SEVEN
Depths and Steel
"You want the Saltmaw Caves?"
The guild attendant—a different one from yesterday, this time a weathered human woman with a scar across her cheek—looked at Orion like he'd requested directions to his own funeral.
"That's what the posting says." Orion held up the quest notice. "Clear out the creature infestation in the Saltmaw Caves. Reward: thirty silver."
"I can read. I'm asking if you're sure." The woman leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Those caves have eaten three parties this month. Silver ranks, all of them. Good adventurers. They went in and didn't come out."
"What's in there?"
"That's the problem—we're not entirely sure. The survivors talk about things in the dark. Clicking sounds. Too many legs." She shuddered. "The guild's been considering upgrading it to a Gold-rank quest, but the merchant consortium that posted it is throwing a fit about the increased cost."
"So it's dangerous but cheap. That's why it's still on the board."
"That's why it's still on the board," she confirmed. "Look, I'm not trying to talk you out of work. But I've seen a lot of fresh transfers come through here, eager to make a name for themselves. Half of them take quests they're not ready for." Her eyes flicked to Nera, who was examining a display case of recovered artifacts nearby. "You've got someone depending on you. Think about that."
Orion appreciated the warning. He also knew that they needed money, needed to establish themselves quickly, and needed to prove they belonged here before anyone started asking too many questions about where they'd come from.
"We'll be careful," he said. "What can you tell me about the caves themselves?"
The attendant sighed—the sigh of someone who had given this speech before and knew it wouldn't change anything.
"The Saltmaw Caves are a network of tunnels carved by the sea into the cliffs south of the city. At low tide, you can access the main entrance from the beach. At high tide, it floods. The creatures—whatever they are—seem to come from deeper in the network, from passages that go below sea level. Nobody's mapped how far they extend."
"Tidal access. So we have a time limit."
"About six hours between tides. Get in, do what you need to do, get out. If you're still inside when the water comes..." She drew a finger across her throat. "The caves don't forgive mistakes."
"Understood." Orion took the quest notice. "We'll report back by evening."
"I hope so." The attendant stamped his paperwork with more force than necessary. "I really do."
* * *
"She seemed concerned," Nera observed as they left the guild.
"She's seen people die taking this quest."
"And we're taking it anyway."
"We need the money. And we need to build a reputation here." Orion adjusted his pack, checking that his supplies were secure. Rope, torch, antidotes—he'd purchased the recommended countermeasures for cave poison the day before. "Besides, the other Silver-rank quests were all long-term contracts or escort missions. This is the only one we can complete today."
"I'm not arguing." Nera flew up to hover at eye level, her expression thoughtful. "I'm just making sure you're thinking clearly. You've been... different since we talked. About your power."
"Different how?"
"More willing to take risks. Like you're testing something."
Orion couldn't deny it. Since learning about his ability—Unknown Creation, Nera had called it—he'd been aware of it in a way he hadn't been before. Every decision felt weighted with possibility. Every challenge felt like a question: could he overcome this if he truly believed he could?
"Maybe I am," he admitted. "Maybe I need to understand what I can do."
"That's fair. Just..." She landed on his shoulder, her tiny hand gripping his collar. "Don't test it in ways that could get you killed. I've already lost you once. I don't want to do it again."
The memory surfaced unbidden—the forest, the blood, the desperate whisper of a dying man. The moment Nera had found him and somehow, impossibly, pulled him back from the edge.
"I'll be careful," he said. "I promise."
"Good." She squeezed his earlobe. "Now let's go fight some mystery monsters. I'm actually a little excited."
"You're always a little excited."
"It's part of my charm!"
* * *
The Saltmaw Caves opened onto a stretch of rocky beach about a mile south of the city proper. The cliffs here were sheer and dark, carved by centuries of waves into shapes that looked almost organic—like the bones of some massive creature jutting from the earth.
The cave entrance itself was a ragged mouth in the cliff face, perhaps twenty feet wide and fifteen tall. Even from the beach, Orion could smell it—salt and rot and something else, something organic and wrong.
"That's unpleasant," Nera said, wrinkling her tiny nose.
"The attendant did warn us."
"She warned us about creatures. She didn't mention the smell."
"Probably assumed it was obvious."
"Nothing about this is obvious. Obvious would be a nice meadow with flowers and maybe a gentle breeze. This is the opposite of obvious."
Orion lit his torch and stepped into the cave.
The darkness swallowed them almost immediately. The torchlight pushed back perhaps fifteen feet in any direction, revealing walls of wet stone covered in barnacles and seaweed. The floor was uneven, slick with moisture, and littered with debris—driftwood, shells, the occasional bone that might have been fish or might have been something else.
"Stay alert," Orion murmured. "And stay close."
"I'm literally in your pocket."
"Closer."
"That's physically impossible!"
They moved deeper. The main tunnel branched several times, but Orion kept to the largest passage, reasoning that the creatures would use the most accessible routes. The smell grew stronger as they descended—not just rot now, but something acidic, something that burned the back of his throat.
"I hear something," Nera whispered.
Orion stopped. Listened.
There—at the edge of perception. A clicking sound, like stones being tapped together. Rhythmic but not quite regular.
Coming from ahead.
"How many?" he asked.
"I can't tell. The echoes are confusing everything." Nera's wings buzzed softly as she rose from his pocket, straining to see into the darkness beyond the torchlight. "But it's more than one. Definitely more than one."
Orion drew his sword. The blade was old—he'd had it since before meeting Nera, a practical weapon with no ornamentation but a solid edge. It had served him well for years.
He hoped it would serve him well today.
"I'm going to move forward," he said. "Stay behind me. If things go bad, get out and get help."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Nera—"
"I'm not leaving you." Her voice was firm in a way he rarely heard. "We do this together or not at all."
There was no point arguing. He'd learned that much in three years of marriage.
"Together, then."
They advanced.
* * *
The creatures attacked without warning.
One moment, the tunnel ahead was empty darkness. The next, shapes were boiling out of it—pale, segmented bodies with too many legs, mandibles clicking in that horrible rhythm, eyes that reflected the torchlight like clusters of black pearls.
"Cave crawlers!" Nera shouted. "Watch the mandibles—they're venomous!"
Orion didn't have time to acknowledge the warning. The first creature was on him, a mass of chitin and legs roughly the size of a large dog. He swung his torch into its face, heard it shriek as the fire connected, then followed up with his sword.
The blade bit into the thing's carapace and stuck.
For one horrible moment, he was locked to the creature, unable to pull free, watching as two more crawlers flanked him from either side. Their mandibles dripped with something that hissed when it hit the stone floor.
Then Nera's light exploded.
Not the small flashes she'd used before—this was something else entirely. A burst of radiance that filled the tunnel, blinding the creatures and sending them skittering back with screams of what sounded like genuine pain.
Orion wrenched his sword free and fell back, putting distance between himself and the disoriented crawlers.
"That was—" he started.
"Don't ask questions! Just kill them while they're blind!"
Sound advice. He pushed forward, using the precious seconds of confusion to strike at the creatures before they could recover. His blade found joints and soft tissue, exploiting the gaps in their armor. One crawler went down, then another.
But there were more. Many more. They poured from side tunnels he hadn't noticed, from cracks in the walls, from the darkness itself. The light had bought them time, but it had also revealed the true scope of the infestation.
"There's too many!" Nera's voice was strained. "We need to fall back!"
"No!" Orion didn't know where the certainty came from, but it filled him like fire. "We can do this. We have to do this."
He felt something shift inside him—that strange power, the one he couldn't control, responding to his conviction. His movements became faster, more precise. His sword found targets he couldn't see, guided by instinct that bordered on precognition.
Three crawlers fell. Then five. Then he lost count.
The creatures began to hesitate. They weren't mindless—some primitive intelligence registered that this prey was more dangerous than expected. A few at the edges of the swarm began to retreat, clicking frantically to their fellows.
Orion pressed the advantage. He was in that state now, that place where thought and action merged into something seamless. Every strike was perfect. Every dodge was exactly enough. He was fighting beyond his limits and winning.
Then his sword hit something harder than chitin—a rock, hidden beneath a crawler's body—and the blade snapped.
The sound was sharp and final. One moment he had a weapon; the next, he held a hilt and six inches of jagged steel.
The crawlers seemed to sense the change. Their hesitation vanished. They surged forward.
"Orion!" Nera screamed.
He didn't think. He couldn't think. He could only act.
His hand thrust forward—the broken sword, useless as a weapon—and something happened. Something impossible. The air in front of him compressed, solidified, became a wall of pure force that slammed into the charging crawlers and sent them flying backward.
The shockwave echoed through the tunnels. Creatures screamed. Stone cracked.
And then there was silence.
* * *
Orion stood in the aftermath, breathing hard, staring at his hand like it belonged to someone else.
The crawlers were gone—fled or dead, he wasn't sure which. The tunnel in front of him was littered with their bodies, pale shapes crumpled against the walls like discarded shells. Beyond them, the passage continued into darkness, but nothing moved there.
"What..." He couldn't finish the question.
"That was you." Nera landed on his shoulder, her tiny body trembling. "Your power. You used it on purpose."
"I didn't—I wasn't—" He shook his head. "I just needed to survive. I needed to stop them."
"And you did." She pressed against his neck, and he felt wetness there—tears, he realized. She was crying. "You stupid, wonderful, terrifying man. You did."
Orion looked at the broken sword in his hand. His grandfather's blade, the one he'd carried since leaving his noble family. Years of service, and it had finally given out.
"I need a new sword," he said, somewhat distantly.
"That's what you're focused on right now? The sword?"
"It's easier than focusing on the other thing."
"Fair." Nera wiped her eyes with the back of her tiny hand. "Okay. New sword. We can do that. But first—" She pointed down the tunnel. "—we should probably make sure the quest is actually complete. The guild wanted the infestation cleared."
"Right." Orion picked up his fallen torch, which had somehow stayed lit through the chaos. "Quest first. Existential crisis later."
"That's the spirit."
They continued deeper into the caves, stepping over crawler corpses and following the tunnels to what Orion suspected was the source. The clicking sounds had stopped entirely—whatever intelligence coordinated the swarm had apparently decided that this particular threat wasn't worth engaging.
They found the nest an hour later.
It was a vast chamber, hollowed out by the sea and colonized by the crawlers over what must have been years. Eggs lined the walls in glistening clusters. Half-eaten remains—fish, seabirds, things Orion preferred not to identify—were scattered across the floor.
And in the center, massive and motionless, was the queen.
She was dead. The shockwave from Orion's power had traveled further than he'd realized, and the queen—sensitive, perhaps, or simply unlucky—had been caught in its edge. Her enormous body lay crumpled, legs folded beneath her, mandibles slack.
"Well," Nera said. "That's... efficient."
"I killed the queen."
"You killed the queen."
"With my mind."
"With your... whatever it is. Unknown Creation." She flew down to examine the queen's body, keeping a safe distance. "The eggs are dead too. Without her to tend them, they won't hatch. The infestation is done."
Orion should have felt triumphant. They'd completed the quest, cleared out a threat that had killed three parties of experienced adventurers, and they'd done it on their first real outing in Coastal City.
Instead, he felt hollow. Something had changed in that tunnel. Something he couldn't take back.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "The tide will be coming in soon."
"Orion—"
"Later. Please." He couldn't look at her. Couldn't face the questions in her eyes. "We'll talk about it later. I just need... I need to be somewhere that isn't here."
Nera was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "Okay. Let's go home."
Home. He held onto that word as they navigated back through the tunnels, as they emerged onto the beach just as the first waves began to lap at the cave entrance, as they walked in silence toward the city that was supposed to be their fresh start.
Home. Whatever that meant now.
* * *
The guild attendant stared at them.
"You killed the queen."
"Yes."
"The queen that we didn't even know existed until now."
"Apparently."
"In one afternoon."
"We were motivated."
The woman—Orion still didn't know her name—looked at him with an expression that mixed disbelief, respect, and a healthy dose of suspicion. "The recovery team will need to confirm before we can process the full reward. But assuming your report is accurate..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Thirty silver doesn't feel like enough anymore."
"Thirty silver was the agreed rate."
"It was the rate for clearing an infestation. You eliminated the source. That's..." She struggled for words. "There might be a bonus. I'll have to check with the consortium."
"That's fine." Orion wasn't interested in bonuses right now. He was interested in leaving, finding a weaponsmith, and not thinking about what he'd done in those caves.
"Your sword," the attendant said, noticing the broken hilt at his belt. "What happened?"
"It broke."
"Against a crawler?"
"Against a rock. Bad luck." The lie came easily. The truth was too complicated.
"There's a smith in the Trade Quarter—Hammerfell's. Good work, fair prices. Tell them Della sent you; they might give you a discount." She stamped his quest completion paperwork. "And... thank you. Those caves have been a problem for months. You've done the city a real service."
"Just doing the job."
"Most people just do the job. You did it well." Della—apparently that was her name—actually smiled. "Welcome to Coastal City. I think you're going to fit in here."
Orion wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he just nodded and left.
* * *
The walk to the Trade Quarter was quiet.
Nera had retreated to his pocket after they left the guild, and she hadn't spoken since. She was giving him space, he knew. Time to process. It was one of the things he loved about her—she understood when silence was more valuable than words.
But the silence left room for thoughts he'd rather avoid.
He kept replaying the moment in the cave. The surge of power, the wall of force, the crawlers thrown back like leaves in a storm. He'd done that. Not his sword, not his training, not anything he understood. Just... him. His will, made manifest.
What else could he do, if he pushed hard enough?
What else might he do, if he lost control?
"You're spiraling."
Nera's voice broke through his thoughts. She'd emerged from the pocket and was hovering in front of his face, blocking his path with her tiny body.
"I'm walking."
"You're walking and spiraling. I can tell. Your jaw does that thing."
"What thing?"
"The clenchy thing. Like you're trying to crack walnuts with your teeth." She flew closer, pressing her small hand against his cheek. "Talk to me."
Orion stopped in the middle of the street. People flowed around them, Coastal City going about its business, oblivious to the crisis happening in this one small spot.
"What if I hurt someone?" he asked quietly. "What if I lose control and hurt someone who doesn't deserve it?"
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually." Nera's voice was firm. "Your power responds to what you believe. It makes real what you commit to. And you would never—never—commit to hurting an innocent person. It's not in you."
"But the crawlers—"
"Were attacking us. Were going to kill us. You defended yourself, and you defended me." She held his gaze, her ancient eyes bright with certainty. "That's not losing control. That's surviving. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." She kissed his nose—a tiny, ridiculous gesture that somehow made him feel better anyway. "You're a good person, Orion. You have a terrifying power that you don't understand, and your first instinct was to worry about hurting others. That's not a warning sign. That's proof that you're exactly who you've always been."
He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that he could control this, that he could be trusted with whatever strange gift he'd been given.
But trust was hard. It always had been.
"Come on," Nera said, grabbing his finger and tugging him forward. "Let's go buy you a new sword. Retail therapy. Very effective for existential crises."
"That's not a real thing."
"It's absolutely a real thing. I read it in a book."
"You've never read a book in your life."
"I've read several books! I read that one about the detective! And the one with the dragon!"
"Those are the same book."
"Are they? I thought the dragon was suspicious."
Despite everything, Orion felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "The dragon was the detective."
"That seems like a conflict of interest."
"It was a very complicated book."
"Clearly too complicated for me." She tugged his finger again. "Sword. Now. Processing emotions through commerce. Let's go."
He let her pull him forward, toward the Trade Quarter and whatever came next.
* * *
Hammerfell's was exactly what a weaponsmith's shop should be.
The building squatted at the corner of two busy streets, its walls black with old soot, its windows displaying an array of blades that caught the afternoon light. The sound of hammering rang from somewhere in the back—steady, rhythmic, purposeful.
A bell chimed as they entered. The interior was cramped but organized, weapons arranged by type and size along the walls. Swords, axes, maces, spears—if it could be used to hurt someone, Hammerfell's probably sold it.
"Be with you in a moment!" a voice called from the back.
Orion browsed while he waited. The quality was good—better than good, actually. These weren't mass-produced blades for conscript armies. Each weapon showed individual attention, small touches that spoke of craftsmanship rather than mere production.
"Looking for anything specific?"
He turned. The speaker was a woman about his age, broad-shouldered and muscular, with short-cropped black hair and burn scars on her forearms that marked her as a smith. She wiped her hands on a leather apron as she approached.
"A sword," Orion said. "Something practical. Good steel."
"That narrows it down to about half my inventory." She grinned. "I'm Sela. My father's the one hammering in back—he does the heavy work; I handle the customers and the finishing. What happened to your current blade?"
Orion held up the broken hilt. "Cave crawlers."
"Saltmaw?" She winced sympathetically. "Nasty business. Those things have ruined more good steel than I like to think about. Acid in their spit, eats through metal if you're not careful."
"It hit a rock, actually."
"Even nastier. Nothing worse than losing a blade to bad luck." She took the hilt, examining it with professional interest. "Old sword. Well-maintained, but the steel was never top quality. Surprised it lasted as long as it did, honestly."
"It served me well."
"I'm sure it did. But you need something better now." Sela moved to one of the wall displays, running her fingers along the hilts. "You're an adventurer, yes? What's your fighting style? Heavy strikes, quick thrusts, something in between?"
"Practical," Orion said. "I don't flourish. I end fights as quickly as possible."
"A man after my own heart." She selected a blade and drew it from its sheath. "This might suit you. Straight blade, thirty inches, single fuller for weight reduction. The edge will hold through a dozen fights without needing serious work, and the balance is designed for someone who actually knows how to use a sword."
She offered it to him. Orion took it, feeling the weight settle into his grip.
It was good. Very good. The balance was exactly where he wanted it, the hilt fitted to his hand like it had been made for him. He gave it an experimental swing, then a thrust, then a combination he'd practiced a thousand times.
The sword moved with him like an extension of his arm.
"That one," Nera said from his shoulder. She'd been quiet during the exchange, watching with unusual intensity. "That's the one."
"Your wife has good taste," Sela said.
"She usually does." Orion lowered the blade. "How much?"
"For this? Eight silver."
It was expensive—more than he'd wanted to spend. But the quest reward would cover it with room to spare, and a good sword was worth the investment.
"Della from the guild sent us," he said. "She mentioned a discount."
"Did she now?" Sela laughed. "Della's my cousin. She sends everyone here for a 'discount' that doesn't exist. But I like her, so I'll give you ten percent off. Call it seven silver and twenty copper."
"Deal."
Sela wrapped up the purchase with efficient professionalism, throwing in a basic sheath and a small bottle of blade oil. "Take care of it and it'll take care of you. And if you need repairs, bring it back here. I stand behind my work."
"I appreciate that."
"Most adventurers don't survive long enough to need repairs." She said it matter-of-factly, without malice. "You seem like you might. Don't prove me wrong."
"I'll try not to."
* * *
Outside, the sun was beginning its descent toward the ocean. The streets of the Trade Quarter were still busy, but the quality of the light had changed—warmer, softer, painting everything in shades of gold.
Orion belted on his new sword, feeling its unfamiliar weight at his hip. It would take time to adjust, to make this blade as much a part of him as the old one had been. But it would happen. Everything became familiar eventually.
"It suits you," Nera said.
"The sword?"
"The whole thing. New city. New weapon. New..." She gestured vaguely. "Whatever's happening with your power. It all suits you."
"I'm not sure 'developing mysterious abilities' is something that can suit a person."
"Sure it can. Some people are suited for quiet lives. Farms and families and growing old in one place." She flew up to hover in front of him, her tiny face serious. "That was never you. You were always meant for something bigger. Something strange."
"You sound very certain."
"I am certain." She smiled—that ancient, knowing smile that sometimes surfaced through her cheerful exterior. "I've known since I met you. There's something about you, Orion. Something that the world bends around. You're going to do great things. I just get to watch."
"You don't just watch. You're part of it."
"Am I?"
"You saved my life. You married me. You followed me to a new city when everything got complicated." He held out his hand, and she landed on it, light as a leaf. "Whatever I am, whatever I become, you're the reason I'm here to become it. That's not watching. That's... everything."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then her eyes went bright with tears—happy tears, this time—and she launched herself at his face, wrapping her tiny arms around his nose in an embrace that was ridiculous and wonderful.
"I love you," she mumbled against his skin.
"I know."
"Say it back!"
"I love you too."
"Better."
They stayed like that for a moment, standing in the middle of a busy street while people flowed around them like water around a stone. A man with a suspicious power and a pixie with secrets of her own, building a life together one strange day at a time.
It wasn't normal. It wasn't safe. It wasn't anything Orion had expected his life to become.
But standing there, with his wife clinging to his nose and his new sword at his hip and a city full of possibilities spread out before him, he thought maybe it was exactly where he was supposed to be.
"Let's go home," Nera said, releasing him and wiping her eyes. "I want to see the sunset from our window."
"That sounds perfect."
"It does, doesn't it?" She settled onto his shoulder, tucking herself against his neck. "Race you there."
"You can fly."
"Then you'd better start running."
He didn't run. But he did walk a little faster, and she laughed, and the sun continued its descent toward the sea, and somewhere in the Saltmaw Caves, the bodies of monsters were already being reclaimed by the tide.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. New questions. New complications.
But tonight, there was sunset and home and the simple joy of being alive.
Tonight, that was enough.
— End of Chapter Seven —