I am somewhere warm. It’s dark, and there is no air to breathe, under this thick fluid resting heavy around me. I have to get out. I’m not safe here, something is coming for me, from all directions.

I can feel how sorry it is, for what it’s about to do to me, but its will is undeniable and I’m about to be ripped from my leathery sanctuary, just like everyone.

I spasm as I feel pain shoot through my body. In double vision I take in my surroundings, I’m not there anymore. 

My hands are strapped to the edges of a slab, fingers gnarled. I can feel that instinctual, hated bloodlust that seethes out of my shock but I’m thankfully secured too tightly to act on it. I think this is the first time I’ve been cognizant of it in the moment, like I’ve receded into my skull to study it as it takes control from me.

Someone leans in; I think it’s Nym, but he’s masked up in olive drab, wearing scrubs with a built-in full face covering. Someone else is here too; he is staring intently at me as he handles a syringe. I recognize those eyes, glassy and piercing all at once. Why is Suraokh here?

Stupid question, of course he’s here. A better question would be why didn’t he come sooner? He can stop me from medicating but not from getting myself eviscerated?

I almost don’t register the prick of a needle amid the searing, electric sensation that feels like it’s going to rip me to pieces, but I’m gone again the moment I process it.

I am somewhere cold.

I am weightless here, body illuminated by a distant point of light somewhere off to my right. To the left, there is nothing. My pieces drift toward nothing. As I think of reaching for them, my arm joins them.

So what is this, is this death? I don’t remember this part, but then again, I went out pretty suddenly the first time.

There is a sound. Filament monitors whining as they power on, whining forever. An incessant tick-tick-tick-tick-tick of paper being wasted. It’s coming from the light, spreading out a thin line across a black horizon. I turn my hollow body toward it and I am somewhere else.

Hard surfaces hold me in place, ridges like molars digging up against me as I become aware of the deep crag of bone around me. Only a sliver of light pours in, but my vision exits my body, traveling out through the crevice. Something floats in the cavern beyond; well no, one can’t call it a cavern, it’s hardly big enough for the object inside.

It’s an orb of sickly gray flesh, my only company here, occasionally rippling from some internal impact, with harder, sharper objects making stark impressions. I think I’m watching a gestation, something about to break free.

I was just there, I think. It feels like I should be in there.

And then I am, and the fear is back. I plant my single leg in a keratinous divot and push, limp arms useless as I rely entirely on the shape of my plated spine to rip through the vesicle containing me. This is not my body, clearly. But oh, it wants to be. These memories want to be mine.

Memories, yes, this is something that happened already. I am so sure I was being pursued, that I still am, and for every second I spend in this floating shelter in the heart of the world, what’s coming for me draws that much nearer.

“Pursued” is the wrong word. This perspective is unaccustomed to words.

It’s more like it has already consumed us all whole, and this is the impending crunch of vast muscle, snuffing out stars on contact on the way to break the bones of our worlds.

I tear through the skin, and rather than break into open air, the suffocating pressure of a frigid ocean pours in, clinging like gristly bile, and beneath it, I fade out.

I’m on the slab again. A shallow pool of ink flows over the lipped edge; Nym’s arms are stained with it, apron flecked with it. I draw erratic breaths, feeling it gush up out of me when I exhale, crackling at the back of my throat.

We make eye contact, and the look he gives me through his clear lenses is the same kind one gives when telling someone everything will be alright when both parties know good and well that won’t be the case. I can feel his hesitation, and I’d tense up if I had the strength or parts to do so, before cold metal probes the empty cavity of my back again and sets my nerves literally writhing.

And then I’m in that cold place again. I like it best here, I don’t have to feel anything. It’s my own body but there’s no pain. And there’s no… I want to call it fear, but that’s not right. I don’t think that other body has emotions the same way we do. It took me until now to even process that I dislike the way it felt.

This space is subjective, I think. This is just how I’m processing things when all other stimuli fade out. I wish I could remember if I’m supposed to go toward or away from the light. It feels right though, even as I’m being guided away from it by the remnants of whatever momentum initially brought me here.

I try to focus on it. It isn’t blinding enough to hurt my eyes, but I can’t see anything in it. There’s no life flashing before my eyes, no incarnation of myself appearing to comfort me as I slip from this world, but I do hear things. Those mechanical sounds are fading out now, replaced by Nym’s voice. He’s saying something I can’t make out but his tone is distraught. He tries to collect himself, but before I can ever learn if he reached a false calm, I hear the sound of waves in the canal outside, and I almost feel the rush of cool wind…

I’m something else again, thrashing against the onslaught of pressure that rips away my sanctuary. Bladed, jointless, scarlet fingers scratch against the cavern walls, and I hurl myself against the surface as if I could simply phase through but I’m not ready. I float back into the empty space in defeat, a thick film starting to grow out of my caparace and peel off, growing hard and losing pliancy as it swells around me, fluid discharge creating a bath at its lowest point as I once again envelop myself in a sallow skin cocoon. I am trapped, senses pointing every which way and only beholding the end of everything.

The whole sensory experience of it falls away, replaced by pain again as I half-wake once more to purge more ink; I’ve got no core strength so it simply floods out of my slack jaws. Nym quickly vacuums it up, and dials up the flow of intravenous ectoplasm coagulant. He looks terrible, his fur matted and ragged, his eyes sleepless, and yet, he seems relieved to note my brief return to consciousness.

It’s okay, Merion, I imagine him saying. It’s okay.

I can’t know for sure what he’s saying; the part of my brain meant to parse incoming language isn’t present right now, still lost in the fog.

I try to remember where I was before this. I just told you about it, I think, but now it’s only as clear as if someone else had told me about it, too.

My eyes shut again, and I leave all that behind.

When I come to, I’m on my back, staring up at harsh lights, but the sound I’m accustomed to hearing from them is completely absent; in fact there’s no sound at all but an imperishable ringing in my ears. Someone stands close at my side.

He takes my hand, it’s a grip I know well. I turn my head slightly to look at the face of my father, his expression one of relief. He says something I cannot hear, squeezing a little bit tighter, and I am relieved. I am at peace. I am safe. But I can’t do this again.

Somewhere far away, I want to scream. Here, I begin to salivate, and that peace dissolves like a mouthful of salt.

I remember this. No matter how good I’ve gotten at not thinking about it, it’s all too clear right now. The first time I came back from death, and all the complications I brought with me.

The next few moments, even recalled now, are fragmented and blurry. Tubes snap, wasting fluids. A cart tips and hits the white tile floor, scattering its contents. Like everything, its fall is silent, my ears filled with nothing but tinnitus and the pounding rush of serum as my heart convulses with unnatural vigor, rising to a deafening onslaught as my teeth find a soft place to sink themselves down to the gums.

The amber glow of my gaping chest shines spotlight bright as I hold him down, unable to restrain myself anymore than he can.

He’s not trying to. As I bear down, his hands are inside my chest cavity, projecting a healing light, not for himself, but for me. The crunch of my jaws draws blood, and even as he cries out soundlessly, he’s more concerned with holding my innards in place than protecting his own.

Everything blurs again, lost in shapeless red and black and white. Once I can make sense of it again, he’s seated mostly upright, leaning against the base of a cabinet as I help sanitize his wounds. He used all his radiance on me, after all, there’s none left to simply mend those deep lacerations. I’m not very much help, blinded by my own tears as I sob out my apologies.

I’m sorry. I don’t want to be like this. I’m so sorry.

I draw a sharp breath as I finally, truly awaken. I know it must be real this time; the dull bed-ache plaguing my ribs is too mundane and persistent for anything else. I’m back to lying prone, with my head turned toward a small, naturally lit room. The light blue walls form a corner at a weird angle, and I can tell from the view that I must be up on a high floor, with only similar towering structures visibly peeking above the cut stone windowsill.

I’m on an infirmary bed of inelegant make, but someone has gone out of their way to make it cozy despite that. I have never felt quite as adequately supported by pillows as this, packed in to make sure I’m nice and stable.

Through the open windows, I can hear bells, big and resonant and rhythmless, filling the air amid an announcement I can only halfway make out the words of. I begin to get up, hoping to get a better listen, but my chest and abdomen tense at the pain, which is itself painful in turn.

“Hey, hey, don’t try to move so quickly,” Nym chides, rushing to my side. He’s out of his protective equipment now, almost back in his usual attire of nothing but loose pants and a woven apron tied around his hips, save for the bandolier of medical supplies he’s got fastened corset-style around his slender waist. “We’re in one of the palace’s peripheral towers; you’re safe here. The worst is all over, but that spine is still new, you’re going to have to be gentle with it.”

There’s only one other time I’ve been so happy to see someone; I’ve just shared it with you, after all, even if it turned bitter so quickly. I don’t even feel a little guilty about holding this moment in the same regard.

I swallow before I dare trying to speak; I’m absolutely parched, but at least I’m mentally prepared for how terribly hoarse I sound.

“You saved me.”

Of course he did. Simple, stupid observation, I know, but it bore acknowledgement; I think he needed reassurance of that fact as much as I needed it.

“It wasn’t easy. Our plush friend helped me get you stable.”

“Suraokh?” I croak. It’s amazing how natural a name like that feels when it’s croaked. “What did he do? Are you okay? Was it still there?”

By “it” I hope I’m being clear enough, but he moves past it.

“I’m fine, let’s worry about you first,” Nym insists. “He mostly just advised me. I saw a lot of things I didn’t quite understand while you were open, and he ensured there wouldn’t be complications as long as I followed his directions.” He pauses, trying to smile consolingly, but his eyes disengage like he’s trying to take a moment to choose his next words carefully. “You’ve got some unusual internals, don’t you?”

Shit. I was worried about that. …But why am I still worried? Suraokh knows he knows; if he’s going to be upset with anyone, it’ll be me.

“Did he tell you all about them?”

“Not really. He was secretive on account of not wishing to divulge anything Jen would rather I remain ignorant of, but at the same time, I don’t think word of our little attempt at espionage will be making it back to him, either. After all, it was pretty clear Suraokh shouldn’t have let this happen to you, either. You can tell me about them some other time, okay?”

“So he’ll be keeping an even closer eye on me… great.” I have more to say than that, but I succumb to a sudden coughing fit, ensuring the dull pain in my chest never leaves my attention entirely.

“Water, you need water,” Nym urges, passing me a square-edged bottle, and holding out a handful of pills. A lot of pills. “Take these too, if you can.”

Leaning up enough to manage it takes more effort than I’m happy with, but that hit of hydration feels like divine intervention after getting all my fluids injected for so long. …At least, I assume it’s been long.

“How long was I out for?”

“Over a week,” Nym says, which nearly makes me cough in mid-sip. “A lot of that time was just acquisition of new parts. There was a lot we couldn’t save…” He strains to get that sentence out, as if ashamed. “You still have the one lung but we had to close up your thoracic cavity around it. There was no saving the other one, it was contaminated. It’s a good thing it’s not such a vital part for you anymore, but you’ll notice its absence. Maybe we can do something with the extra space in the future.”

I’m sure my expression already conveys no small deal of dismay, but I feel it worsen further still as he continues.

“Parts of your liver had to be removed too, but it was simple enough to stimulate regeneration from the leftover clean section with some vivicalligraphic acceleration. Several other organs were just collaterally hemorrhaged; nothing a little modern medicine and magical assistance couldn’t save either. Your intestines, we weren’t so lucky with, they’re about ten percent shorter overall, and your floating ribs and scapulae are entirely prosthetic.”

I reach behind my back despite the ache, and my fingers find metal before ever coming close to my spine. Domed, gently pointed plates in roughly the shape of my shoulder blades intersect my skin to rest above it, anchored in exactly where the old bone once had been.

“Thankfully, most of the contamination was around your spine, and you were already in shape to have it swapped out. The thing that did this to you… did most of the work.”

“What do you mean, contamination?” I ask. I take another sip, water going in first, and then the whole handful of pills, a habit I formed young and never really broke. If I tried it the other way around with so many, I know I’d gag, and I’ve had just about as much of that as I can tolerate by now.

“It’s the best I can think to call it. You had been… infested, let’s say, by a number of thread-like organisms, like worms, but… dry. Reminded me of particularly bristly yarn. They were very attracted to your nerve endings, and some seemed to want to… interface with your heart, but thankfully they didn’t seem to be able to breach it. Those that strayed and ended up among your organs did too much damage, but I did pull out every single one.”

I start to shudder at the thought but the onset of the spasm is painful enough to cause me to collapse again, landing prone. “You’re sure?”

“Don’t worry, I’m positive,” the fox consoles me. “They all grew quite agitated after the removal of the last one. I’ve destroyed most of them, but the few samples I’ve retained are far, far away from you. I haven’t had a chance to study them much, in light of recent events, but given their effect on you, I think it’s safe to say they and our mysterious bone fragments come from the same source. From what Suraokh said, you’ve got a powerful self-healing potential, but they interfered with it rather severely.”

“You did see it too, then? …The source?”

He fidgets. “…Are you sure you’re ready to talk about that?”

I nod. There’s not much to say, really, I don’t have any conditions to add. However powerful the encroaching feelings of manifesting trauma are, they aren’t yet fully formed. In this moment, the need to know outweighs them.

“Alright, then. I did, but only for a moment,” he confirms. “The monitors around the two of you flickered on for just a couple of seconds, and then it reacted like it was in pain. I’m guessing it was exposed to those hazardous images we were warned about.”

Hazardous even without eyes to see them. I feel the urge to shudder again but I do all I can to stave it off while it’s still just an uncomfortable tingle in the lowest of my new vertebrae.

“But they didn’t affect you?”

“Oh, no, I’m sure they would have if I didn’t take cover. But the screens clicked off pretty quickly after that. No sign of…. it, after that, but then again I didn’t wait very long to gather up what remained of you and sneak out.”

“Did you at least find the answers you needed?” I ask as I finally succeed in uprighting myself, sitting on the edge of the bed, but even the gentle, cool breeze wafting in is at risk of knocking me over in the state that I’m in. 

“I took some images,” he says, tapping one of the lenses he keeps positioned on an articulable wire, “but I came away with more questions than answers. Sure, now we know Oleander and my brother are in on some kind of conspiracy about…” he begins to pace, medications in their bottles in their straps rattling in rushed beats as he circles about the empty floor space. He flails his hands a bit for emphasis, failing to find the words he wants. 

“...whatever all this is but I’m no closer to understanding what any of it means! Apparently now there’s a brand new species we know nothing about, except the Archivists have been making all sorts of things out of their remains for who knows how long! Even if we ignore that, I didn’t even find anything on Tsing like I hoped. She’s probably part of whatever project this is, or what’s left of her, anyway.”

“You’re likely right. I did find a collection of files on her, actually,” I offer, and the way he perks up makes me feel awful about how I’m going to finish this thought. “...I didn’t get to look at her folder. Or mine, for that matter. I got distracted by Suraokh’s.”

“That’s still something for you, then! What did you find out?” he asks. He stops pacing long enough to turn to me, fingers steepling in anticipation, candid in his excitement that it wasn’t all for nothing.

“Not a whole lot. A name came up I had seen somewhere else so it might be a lead but I just don’t know enough yet.”

The apex of the little cage he’s making with his hands swivels forward, aiming to the floor in time with the droop of his fluffy ears. “It would seem we both came out of it with more questions then… I really am sorry, Merion. All this for so little. I didn’t even get an image of the thing that did this to you…”

“Don’t apologize, it was my suggestion anyway. If I’m right about what scared it off, I think you’re probably better off not having any pictures of it.” I try to stand, but the total lack of stability in my core turns me to jelly the moment I dare to rely on it.

Nym reacts quickly, grabbing me delicately around my arms to stop me from hitting the floor too hard. His face is so close to mine now, a view I don’t typically get with such a difference in our respective heights. I was never used to being the tall one among other morphs, after all. He can’t disguise his worry, but even through it, he still smiles. I manage a little smile myself, but I’m doing just as poorly at hiding my sadness. I feel like I’m putting so much upon him like this. Even if he minded, I don’t think he’d say so.

The way the sunlight haloes through his fur now, I can’t help but think it makes him look even warmer, a beacon of comfort in the chill of the room.

“Hey, now. You might not end up needing any physical therapy beyond an initial calibration, but you should rest a little bit longer,” he coaxes, helping me back onto the bed, where my own warmth will suffice. So I tell myself, anyway.. “Is there anything I can get you? You must be hungry after only being fed through a tube for so long.”

“I’m actually alright for now, but thank you,” I assure him, delicately working myself back into the indentation left by my body. “But… Nym, what are we going to tell Jen?”

“Don’t worry about him, I’ve been making excuses. Yhana has some specifics since she’s asked about you, but as far as Jen knows, you’ve been helping me work out the kinks in a new spinal apparatus, and that’s not entirely a lie. I do hope it works well for you.”

“Give me another day or two, then we’ll see…” I say with wry resignation, shutting my eyes again. I don’t think I’ll be able to doze off, but I want to rest, all the same.

“I’ll give you some space, but I’ll be nearby,” Nym says, and then I hear him leave through the door.

I take a deep, restful breath. Well, no. As deep as I can before it starts to hurt. I’m going to miss that other lung. The bells haven’t stopped going, nor has the looping announcement, distorted by an overlapping chorus of itself. At least it makes for decent white noise to tune out to.

Or rather, it does for a while, until I begin to isolate the words enough to hear them clearly. One eye drifts open again, staring morosely off at nothing as I begin to contemplate them.

I’m glad I got to pass through Jeden before the war got to it. I remember thinking it was such a nice city when it was still there.