What felt like a long time passed as the Coreless and I traveled swiftly through the dim caverns and tunnels. Glow-caps and more lit our way, casting shadows that walked alongside us throughout the journey. I could see signs of past bad-things lining the walls; a scratch here, a gouge there. Despite that, none came to meet us. It might have been the silence of their steps, the way that they traveled softly across the stone. It might have been the speed of their wandering, leaving little room for ambush or confrontation. It might have been the strength that they exuded, more than a match for most of the bad-things that spotted us along the way.

More than likely, it was simply that the bad-things had found something else to hunt.

The Coreless hissed softly among themselves as we went, and I could almost taste the tension in the air. I still didn’t know what had roused the Coreless from their many-nest, only that it would not be something good. They were too worried, too hurried. Something was happening.

The screams met us along the way, rushing by with the cloying taste-scent of fear, sweat, and exhaustion. They called to me, both through nature and need. Something inside of me wanted to slither from my perch on the-female-who-was-not-Needle, to push ahead and seek out the tempting flavors; the part of me that I shared with the bad-things, the part that wanted to sink my fangs into anything that was weak and not made by my Core.

Another part of me needed to slither ahead for a different reason; it needed to set its claim over the sources of that weakness, to mark the Great Core’s future minions with its divine light before they became marked by blood and death instead - because that was what was happening, I knew. There were Coreless in the tunnels, and they were fighting. They were dying. I could hear them now, the ones that we had left the many-nest to save. I could taste them.

Those two parts of me, as contradictory as they were, combined in their efforts to spur me onwards. Despite that, I stayed - if only because the-female-who-was-not-Needle would take me there far faster than my own slithers would.

I could only hope that we arrived before it was too late.

The Coreless could not be claimed if they were already dead.

There hadn’t been any warning about this, no visions of the future brought by way of a tiny snake. Valera wasn’t sure what that meant. Did that mean that he thought there was no need for it? That everything would work out? She didn’t know, but she doubted it. The screams that they had heard told a different story entirely. They certainly sounded like they were in need.

Then again, did their little seer even think to save humans that it hadn’t even met before? He wasn’t human. Would he even care?

As much as it pained her to admit it, he probably wouldn’t. She could only hope that would change someday, given enough time - though the difficulties of Orken probably had been less than helpful in hurrying that day along.

She beat down the urge to run ahead of the others. Valera was faster than the rest of them; Kala might have come fairly close, but even the archer would have quickly fallen behind in a footrace. Still, she knew better than to throw caution to the wind, even in the face of such terrible screams. Even knowing that every wasted second might cost another life.

It was a ruthless sort of math, the type that had been beaten into her brain again and again over the years. The kind that had been hard to accept, especially for someone like Valera.

The weight of human lives were unequal. Some were worth more than others. Some were worth less. The life of a Seeker simply meant more than most.

As much as she might have wanted to rush ahead, to throw caution to the wind in a reckless attempt to save as many lives as possible, she couldn’t. That sort of decision might work out once or twice, but it would lead to her death soon enough. And if she died, anyone that she might have been able to save had she lived a full life was at risk.

Was it compassionate to save the ones in need before you? Or was it more noble to look beyond the moment, to account for the lives that cannot yet be seen, but still exist nonetheless? Or was it ignoble to sacrifice the chance to save those future victims, just because they couldn’t yet be seen?

Because those were the ones at stake.

Valera knew that she, like all other Seekers that worked to defend humanity’s civilization from the scourge that was the World Dungeon and its Cores, could not throw away her life carelessly. She couldn’t afford to get herself killed rushing ahead just so that she could save a few more people - not when living longer might allow her to save many more over the course of the years that would be lost due to an early death.

So, instead, she hardened her heart against the screams. She beat back the guilt. She felt her fingers grasp tight to the hilts of her blades, white-knuckled and trembling, but she didn’t run ahead of the others. Later, she could pick her way through the bodies. Later, she could put a face to the ones that she couldn’t save. Later, she could grieve.

Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one who was affected. The others picked up the pace as well, urged on by the embattled refugees. It was nowhere near the haste that she could have achieved if she left them behind, but they pushed onwards with enough speed to slow the furious drum beats that pressed into her skull.

They reached a twist in the tunnels just as a refugee stumbled around the bend. And then another. And another.

They were ragged and grimy, covered in the tattered remnants of once-sturdy clothes. Dark bruises found their homes beneath sunken eyes, and - for many - tear tracks cut through the dirt that coated their faces.

Valera rushed past them, hardly taking in their naked relief before she had moved on. She could still hear screams further on. They were still needed elsewhere.

She pivoted and rocketed around the corner, the little snake on her shoulder hissing loudly as the scene shifted.

A sea of refugees clamored and pushed through the tunnel, nearly filling it to its entirety. Above and behind them, dark shapes swooped and swerved into the teeming mass of humanity, screeching out as they raked at vulnerable heads with razor-sharp claws. Around the swooping figures, men and women stumbled, holding hands to their bleeding ears.

A woman shrieked, taking a claw to an upraised arm as she frantically defended herself. Elsewhere, a man desperately swung a wooden stick - a makeshift weapon, its splintered end told Valera - at a larger flier as it dove downwards. The bat-like monster shrieked as it approached, the high-pitched sound all but faded away by the time that it reached Valera’s ears; even so, it caused her ears to pulse and her eyes to water. The man, far closer than she was, did not fare so well.

His face screwed up into a pained grimace, and a trail of blood dripped from his ears. The winged monster’s claws dug into his skull, and he let loose a scream of pure agony. Despite that, the wounded man managed to grab the monster with his free hand as he fell, bringing it down with him. Neither man nor monster came back up, trampled by the trailing mob of humans. Valera engraved the man’s face into her mind, just as she had many others.

Even if they could not be saved, they would not be forgotten - not as long as she lived.

“Make way!” Captain Wren shouted from behind her, his commanding voice breaking through the chaos. “Seekers coming up on the left!”

His words had an immediate effect, the beleaguered refugees latching onto the hope that it provided. A path opened, and Valera took it.

A bowstring twanged behind her, and she caught a flash of motion as an arrow sped ahead. Valera winced, knowing that the arrow had been shot directly above a large number of men and women; a dangerous shot, if there ever was one. Still, she had faith in Kala’s judgement, and knew that the archer would not have taken the shot if it hadn’t been a necessary one.

Valera pushed onwards, her fellow Seekers behind her and an oddly furious snake at her shoulder.

Another woman fell with a despairing shriek.

Another face was carved into her memories, stored away for later.

Later, when she allowed the grief and guilt to have their way.

For now, she was still needed.