The fire threw writhing shadows across the cavern. In the flickering gloom, the sleeping forms of Zeen and Ezy were small, huddled shapes, dwarfed by the immense stone. In the black pool, the Gem-Croc’s breathing was sending lazy ripples across the water’s surface.

  Trenn pushed himself from the unyielding rock, the ghosts of the dead flashing behind his eyes with every blink. He paced in a futile attempt to outrun his mind.

  His fingers pressed against the amulet at his chest. He focused, letting his senses unspool. The world resolved into the familiar landscape of shimmering tethers.

  He saw the cords to Skate and the line to Bomber. He saw the thin thread linking him to Ezy. And he saw Mara’s. The complex braid of their shared bond blazed in the grey landscape.

  Mara shifted in her sleep. Her distress was leaking through the tether.

  He stood, making his ribs scream in pain as he crossed the fire-lit space to stand near her sleeping roll.

  He lowered himself to the ground beside her. The fire hissed, spitting a shower of embers into the heavy silence. She was troubled, scared even. He could feel her fear. A nightmare, maybe?

  He eased himself onto his back, staring up into the oppressive, invisible dark.

  A moment later, she turned toward him, a whisper of fur on stone. The firelight caught in her amber eyes, turning them to molten gold.

  "I thought you were sleeping," Trenn smiled.

  “What is it, Wild Mage?” she asked, her voice a rough whisper.

  He turned his head, meeting her gaze. He slowly reached out to her and took her hand. His calloused fingers brushed against hers. The muscles beneath the soft fur were knotted wire. His thumb traced the fur on the back of her hand. “Tell me about the Order of Mage.”

  “The Order is... different. Alien,” she began, her voice a low murmur. “They’re an isolationist nation that spans across multiple rooted worlds. Infamous amongst Guardians,” her voice cracked.

  "Mara, I'm sorry, you don't have to talk about this if—"

  “I'm fine,” she said, but a tremor in her voice betrayed the words. She looked down at their joined hands. A phantom motion rippled through her fingers, an instinctual flex of muscles searching for claws that had turned to dust. The loss hit him through their tether.

  "They kill billions on one world, save billions on another," she continued, her voice hardening into a low growl, laced with an ancient, inherited bitterness. But she paused. Something complex spread across her face.

  "They’re shuffling pieces on a board, deciding who lives or dies," she said, the words heavy with a terrible irony, "if it were not for their intervention, the Shears would have destroyed the planet you’re standing on long ago. And you… Well, you would be at home. Studying... Phys Ed. On an Earth that is not doomed to destruction”

  A silence settled between them, thick and profound. “I see,” he said. “And what are they? Humanoids with eagle heads? Or is it owl heads?”

  A flicker of puzzlement crossed her vulpine features. “They’re aliens, Trenn. Aliens don’t have animal heads.”

  A soft laugh escaped him. “Well, you do.”

  Her amber eyes widened, a brief flash of dawning surprise. A wry, tired smile touched her lips. “Okay, ” she conceded. “Races alien to me don’t have animal heads,” she corrected.

  "I’ve never seen a Grimoire Mage myself. The stories say they’re not born. They’re made. They’re... things. Carved mannequins, all identical. The only difference is the color of the light that bleeds from the slits where their eyes should be."

  A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. "Spellcasting mannequins? So, my grand plan is to get rescued by... what? Dumbledore's Army of Department Store Dummies?"

  The Gem-Croc’s back was a landscape of scale and embedded treasure, a living island gliding down a subterranean river. The only light in the humid dark came from the Stomper’s core, its orange pulse throwing dancing shadows across the wide tunnel. The air was thick with the scent of stagnant water and damp stone.

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  At the front, near the giant crocodile’s immense head, Trenn navigated, the weight of Mara’s severed bond a storm in his mind. Skate vibrated smoothly on his head, its obsidian surface a strange comfort against his scalp. Nearby, Bomber flew in lazy circles, a splash of vibrant color in the gloom.

  Ezy sat in the battered cockpit of the Stomper. A stick of charcoal flew across a notebook. “I think I can use the Fire Elemental to make the Stomper jump,” she mused aloud, scribbling away.

  “The torque converters would need a complete overhaul,” she continued, tapping her charcoal against her notes with a rapid, excited rhythm. “And I’d have to redesign the entire piston assembly to handle the explosive energy release…”

  Further back on the Croc’s jeweled carapace, Zeen snorted. “Sure, make the tin can jump. Try not to blow a hole in the ground.” He grunted, prying a particularly stubborn emerald from a crevice. “Let me know when you’re ready to move to the monetization phase?”

  As the Croc glided past another bend in the subterranean river, Trenn’s gaze caught on something carved into the high tunnel wall—the unmistakable arch of a massive doorway, sealed with rockfall from ages past. A hundred feet further, he saw another, and the faint outline of what might have been a balcony.

  “Ezy, what are those?” Trenn asked, pointing. “Were people living in the walls?”

  She lifted her head from her notebook, her eyes following his finger. A flicker of ancestral pride touched her features.

  “They built cities down here. That’s why the Old Pathway is so wide and high,” she said, her gesture encompassing the vast, dark space around them. “Thousands of Gnomes, living in the dark, to dig the Old Pathway. Generations were born during its construction and died before their children ever saw the island.”

  “That’s amazing,” Trenn said, a new respect for the scale of their journey settling in as he scanned the walls for more signs of the lost cities.

  Further back, Zeen succeeded in prying loose the gemstone he’d been fidgeting with. He was stuffing the glittering nugget into his rapidly filling pack. His pockets were already brimming with stolen gems. Mara’s lip curled in contempt.

  Zeen met her glare and, with a roguish grin, offered her a particularly fine raw crystal. “For you, my lady? A token of my affection.”

  Mara didn't speak. She turned her head, her amber eyes locking onto his. The playful grin on Zeen's face slowly froze, then vanished. He swallowed hard, the bravado draining from his expression under the weight of her silent, predatory stillness. He quietly put the gem in his pocket and went back to his work, making sure to do it more discreetly.

  A low hum emanated from the amulet at Trenn’s chest. It was humming on its own. A prickle of unease crept into his mind. His hand went to the heavy stone.

  In front of them, the riverbank widened into a massive causeway. The Gem-Croc hauled its immense weight from the water, a movement like a tectonic plate shifting. The smooth glide was replaced by a rhythmic jolt that vibrated through them all.

  BOOM… the amulet pulsed as the Gem-Croc’s foot hit the ground.

  Each step was a small earthquake. And with each step, the amulet pulsed. It was in an unnerving synchrony with the creature’s gait. A tremor from below, a thrum against his ribs. He touched the stone again, his focus narrowing on this new behavior

  BOOM… the amulet vibrated again and stopped immediately as the Gem-Croc’s foot lifted from the ground.

  Patrolling the vast expanse of the creature’s back, Mara moved with a different grace. On her hip was Trenn’s kris knife. She had refused it, but he had insisted.

  She pulled a bronze-tipped arrow from a crevice in the creature’s hide, then another. She noticed dented and cracked scales. She paused, spotting a third arrow, this one planted through a scale.

  She pulled it out. It was sturdy. It didn’t break. It was lighter than the bronze arrows, and balanced; its fletching some iridescent, unknown feather.

  BOOM… the amulet hummed as the sound echoed through the cavern.

  Mara made her way to the front, her voice raised to cut through the booming of their passage. “Hey, I think this one’s enchanted, but I can’t hear its radiation. Do you feel anything?”

  She held the arrow out to Trenn. As he reached for it, the Gem-Croc took another shuddering step.

  BOOM… the amulet thrummed, and its leather thong snapped under the strain.

  CLINK. The amulet skittered across the gem-encrusted hide. The instant it left his neck, the world plunged into darkness.

  “No!” Trenn tripped and stumbled. The only light in miles was the Stomper.

  Before he could regain his footing, the Gem-Croc made a sudden, violent, bucking motion that sent everyone flying.

  Bomber dove and caught Zeen, struggling under the unexpected weight. The Stomper crashed hard on the ground, Ezy secure but violently shaken inside the cockpit. Mara twisted in mid-air and controlled her fall, landing in a somersault.

  Trenn hit the mud hard. But the impact that should have knocked him senseless was absorbed by Skate, who’d become slightly malleable at the moment of impact.

  A deep, unnatural growl—no, a laugh—echoed in the cavern. Slowly, the Gem-Croc turned. Its good eye was no longer ancient and reptilian. It was a spherical void if it contained an endless, empty universe inside its one eye.

  As the team scrambled to their feet, the Gem-Croc spoke, making Trenn’s blood run cold. “Than-kk yo-u, T-rrr-ennnn, fo-rrr thi-iss... bo-dy.” Its voice was not coming from its throat. A deep resonance that emanated from inside its body. As if it were modulating its breathing and growls instead of using its vocal cords.

  It stretched its massive, jeweled limbs, feeling the immense power that was now its own. It fixed its two mismatched eyes—one a mangled ruin, the other a pit of nothingness—on the small, terrified figures before it.

  “As a re-wa-rrr-dd,” the echoing voice declared, “I wi-ill ea-tt yo-u.”

  It paused, its gaze lingering on Mara, Ezy, and the terrified Zeen.

  “An-dd yo-ur... ff-rrr-ien-ds.”

  very long time. The other shoe has finally dropped, and it landed right on top of a giant crocodile.

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