“They can talk?” I asked, picking myself off the floor. The left side of my environmental suit was blackened slightly, the shoulder’s blood red insignia of House Winterscar still legible however. Barely. I’d have worried about weave integrity from something like that, except I had bigger icicles to worry about. A lot bigger.

Father's hand whipped the knife back out of the creature’s neck, shutting it off and flicking it back into his boot with his usual flourish. “A fool can talk. That doesn’t mean he says anything.”

“But can we actually communicate with the automatons?” I asked, “Maybe we can find out why they hate us so much? Or where they come from in the first place?”

He shrugged in response, walking to the empty window frame. “The songs of faith imply that the machines came from oblivion, deep in the space beyond the world. The gods are holding the worst of them from reaching earth, but the ones already here, that is our duty to keep in check.”

“I know what the songs say, but those come from our clerics. I mean what do the automatons themselves say?”

“No one knows.” Again he shrugged, climbing out the open window sill. “Not all of them... ‘talk’ either.”

“There isn’t a single person that tried to capture one?” That seemed… odd. Was there a technical issue in the way?

“Maybe some have. If they learned anything important, they kept it to themselves.”

I couldn't have been the first person to ask this question, so why hadn't a word about this make it up to the surface? The only way this made sense to me is if they somehow evaded capture. Which was impossible in the long run. There had been a war with these machines for centuries.

Unless… “Do they explode if they’re captured? Or shut themselves down?”

Father didn’t give an answer, waiting for me to pass over the barrier. He had used the open window, so I followed suit. Without the bulky suit heating systems, I was light on my feet. Pulling myself through was easy enough.

"We've never tried to capture one of these things while down here." Father said. "If they explode or turn themselves off during capture, I couldn't answer you. I've never seen the small ones explode before either. They're usually killed off quickly at range."

Considering it took only a well-placed round of bullets in their skulls to take them down, I could understand what Father explained. They seemed more specialized at hunting down lone or separated targets. Surely machines could create more optimized weapons. It seemed like terrifying people was their primary objective over being competent at killing. The thing had toyed with me even.

Outside I could really see the scale of the drake. It was massive, even dead on the street it towered over me. To think it had been killed in a matter of seconds, by a crippled man no less. "What makes these things tick? It said someone had sent it, who?"

“Keith. Enough. Those questions don’t have any answers, we need to leave. Now.” He motioned me to climb on his back. Seems like we were ignoring the possible salvage opportunity from the drake. Understandable, since other machines would be coming here soon.

A part of me balked at that, it certainly felt like a waste to at least not nick something from all this. But I could recognize we had enough power cells in my pack and time was more premium then another one.

He picked back up at a breakneck pace, jumping back onto the roofs to get a clear line of sight to our goal.

“Can math theories be disproved?” He asked a few minutes into the journey.

I immediately knew that question was bait. It couldn’t have been more obvious bait than if it had been a steel trap with a ration bar waiting over it.

But bait wasn’t bait unless it was tempting. I bit. “Yes? Where are you going with this?”

“Can you disprove that two and two make four?”

“No.” I wasn’t quite sure what else to say about that. It’s not likely that sort of basic building block could get disproved anytime soon.

“Automatons are the same,” He said. “They’re programmed to kill us. Anything they say might as well have no correlation to their actions.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean it can’t ever be disproved in the future. People in the third era thought magic didn’t exist.” I pointed at his knife. “And look, today we have the Deathless and the occult arts. Someone must have discovered it by asking questions on things everyone else assumed was fact.”

He groaned in frustration, audible even over his running steps. “I’m trying to talk to you in a way you might understand, boy. These things - they can’t be reasoned with. They simply can't! You’ll only give them an easier time killing you.”

I decided not to press the issue. I didn’t agree with him, but I could understand his point of view.

The first sign we had that we’d come near the end of this city was the lack of teal glimmering lights. The mites simply didn’t appear anymore. It gave the surrounding environment an eerie, lonely feeling. There were no people, no voices, no sounds besides that of Father’s tireless sprint forward.

The buildings here soon showed signs of disuse and destruction. Gouges on the sides of the walls remained unrepaired. Roofs collapsed. Walls broke down, and even the city lights were occasionally swallowed up by darkness. The only thing that remained undamaged was the light from above. It flowed from the surface, through the cracks in the impossibly huge roof of this city.

We’d reached the mountain base, buildings became more sparse and rocky uneven, ground started to come into vogue. Chasms leading further down into the underground appeared, but if they truly led to the level under us or just a dead end, I’d never know. It was really something to realize maybe a few dozen meters under our feet was the ceiling to a whole other world, the second layer down.

How any of it didn't collapse was probably something only the gods would know.

We weren’t halfway up before I heard distant shrieking. Father instantly bolted behind a rock, grabbed me off his shoulder and dumped me into one of the crevices. It was a tight fit, but I was completely obscured from view at least.

“Stay out of sight,” He hissed, staying up on the surface. “A pack of screamers in the distance, likely searching around the machine I killed. They have poor long distance eyesights unlike drakes. We should be able to hide from their patrol.”

The automatons in the distance howled, moaned and screamed fury. I couldn’t tell if they were getting closer or further.

Father brought out his rifle. Muttering under his helmet. I brought out my own pistol, freshly reloaded and ready. This time I swore to myself I would do better then the first time we’d had to fight screamers.

Minutes passed by in the tense silence.

The sounds faded away, replaced by relief.

“We’re clear.” Father confirmed, breathing out a held breath. “They didn’t catch sight of us.”

I breathed out slowly myself, muttering and climbing back out. “How does anyone manage to live down here? They’d be attacked day and night at this rate.”

“The undersiders would have all gone extinct a long time ago if they had to constantly keep vigil against all sides. Even with their armors. No, they have some kind of repellent shield to protect their cities.” Father said, lifting me the rest of the way out.

"Some kind of new lost tech?"

“I never learned the details on what they used to protect their cities, they’d never let us surface dwellers anywhere deeper into their cities. Only the trade market zones allowed us entry."

“Right, of course they wouldn’t let savages like us learn how to live underground.” I sighed.

“It’s not a perfect solution. It doesn’t work forever. They need to fight off waves of attacks during the times their shields go down.” He stretched out his hand, making the hand sign for thirst. “Have reserve water?”

A check in my suit showed I still had a good amount left.

I took a big sip for myself and then unhooked the flask from the inside of my suit and passed it over. He sat down and leaned back against the rock with a groan, unclipping his armor’s water flask. He transferred over my flask’s contents to his own.

Neither relic wielders or scavengers could take our headwear off to drink on the surface for obvious reasons, so it was integrated into the suit, closer to our bodies in order to remain unfrozen. Normally, I’d be drinking from a straw, if I still had any of my headgear.

When he handed back the canteen, it was half empty but still had some reserves left.

“Should we keep moving?” I asked.

“Best be sure they’re all gone, stragglers included. Eat something in the meantime.”

I brought out my rations, dried frostbloom wrapped around flash frozen printed meat, with a few sweet spices and salt to mask most of the bitter taste frostbloom was notorious for. One stick could be a full meal. Not the tastiest, but easy enough to eat. Can't argue with the results, that little miracle weed had everything needed by a human diet.

Designed by the gods some say, since it seemed extremely unlikely that anything could survive on the surface - and also conveniently be able to sustain the human population indefinitely. Someone was looking out for us.

I had no idea when I’d be able to eat another meal, so good or bad, I’m filling up. We’d been down here for just about half a day now, maybe a few hours more, this would let me keep going for another day.

Father crossed his legs and fell into meditation, likely reviewing the past fights in his mind to see what could be learned. I did the same, but instead considered the automatons and what people believed they’d originate from.

There were hundreds of sub-religions, each having their own unique take on that question, but none as popular as the big three.

The imperials believed the machines had been created by the ‘violet goddess’ from deep in the heart of the world, to be her foot soldiers. At some point in the distant future, some massive apocalyptic war will break out, and that evil goddess was preparing for it. The imperials saw it as their duty to prepare their own army, so that when their sun goddess appeared to lead the fight, they would join ranks with her. Which made them the only religion with a heavily organized military structure.

I’d never met Puritans, but I’d read about them. They believed that the world had been one giant metallic mind that got split into fragments. The 'good' fragments of the mind found a way to cast away all metal and become living beings. The automatons, naturally, were all the evil parts that chose to stay tainted with metal. So to them, we were even related on some level.

As for us Exodites, the songs weren’t exactly subtle in their messaging about outer space.

The problem is that all three possible explanations were completely different from one another.

Exodites believed the automatons come from the darkness between the stars and more of them could appear if our gods in their orbiting fortresses weren’t holding them back.

Imperials believed automatons had been created here in the heart of the world by a malignant force that wants us all dead.

And puritans believed we were all part of the same mind at one point, and machines were all of our evil castaway thoughts cranked up to eleven - so technically we created the machines.

Which one was right?

I really wanted to hear something more evidence based, to hear from the automatons themselves. But for all I knew they might have conflicting religions of their own. If machines even worshipped gods in the first place.

That drake had said someone had sent it. So who had enough pull to command machines? An imperial would instantly say it was the violet goddess, but it really could be anything. Or just ‘noise’ like Father suggested.

So far the imperials seemed like they had something right, with the machines having a violet coloring. If those drakes were repeating the same lines to anyone they attacked, it would make sense this sort of conclusion could slowly coalesce into a religion.

I mulled over what I knew, but there was nothing else I could squeeze.

Having exhausted that possible source of information, I turned to the other side of the coin. If there wasn’t anything else to learn about the machines, perhaps there could be something to learn about their ancient enemies. And there was someone who might know more.

“Can you tell me more about the Deathless?”

Father glanced at me, breaking out of his meditation. “No doubt you guessed by now that the conflicting rumors are intentional? I expect a convincing argument on why I should share.”

I’d expected this. “Not everything about them is going to be a kept secret. We know they can live forever, and stand on the surface of the world for example. Is there anything else that you can tell me about them that isn’t an operational secret? We’re underground already, if you wanted me to be in the dark about this part of the world, the snow’s already in the suit.”

Father stayed silent for a moment, likely picking out how to answer. “Everyone tunnel visions on their powers, but not on the patterns around them. There are... generations of Deathless. Different powers, different ways they've appeared, different drawbacks they have. Each generation seems to build on the previous successful iteration. Lord Atius is among the older generation.”

I’ve heard a lot of conflicting rumors, but this one’s new. Generations of Deathless? Iterations? “I can see how that contributes to all the confusion about them.”

He nodded. “Something they've leaned into. The Deathless themselves know very little about their own origins. One of the unifying factors across all the generations is that they’ve all lost their memory.”

I’d heard that rumor too, though hadn't put a lot of stock into it. “They lose their memories every hundred years?”

“No. As far as Lord Atius knows, only one generation loses their memories each century. The rest lost memories the day they gained their powers.”

"How much do they lose?"

"All of it. There are no Deathless that remember who they were before they gained their title and powers."

“Some sort of experiment happening underground? And the Deathless are the experiment subjects, tossed out into the wild or something?”

"You have such a strange imagination, boy. That's the first thing that goes through your mind?" He shook his head. "No. The earliest memory Lord Atius had was opening his eyes into an empty room with a written note, in his handwriting. Asking him to save a village. No lab, or experiment. He suspects he'd stumbled on something, while he had been human. There's more to it, but that's all I would expect the public could know about. And all I can tell you.”

That was a lot to unpack. If Atius’s previous self had the time to both write that note, and direct it - that meant he’d known what was coming. It could have been a choice to become a Deathless. If he'd been forced into it, he might have mentioned that in the letter. And if it had caught him by surprise, there wouldn't have been a message in the first place.

“I’m guessing he succeeded in protecting that village?”

“For about a hundred years he did. But it grew too dangerous, so he led that city up to the surface.”

Oh. “The clan.”

He nodded. “That is part of the clan history. He doesn’t go out of his way to point out he’d lost his memory, although he won’t hide the fact either. You could consider it an open secret.”

All right. So the Deathless have generations, each building on the previous ones, similar to evolution? Makes a lot more sense now why there’s so many different stories about the lot.

Memory played some kind of factor that couldn’t be avoided for any of them. Though there was one generation that had it worse in that regard.

“Why is Atius not down here, fighting off the machines?”

At that, Father shrugged. “That is one question I do not have an answer. I suppose he is up here because he wishes to be. Perhaps the gods did not only choose the greatest warriors to become Deathless, but they've also seen fit to choose wise leaders as well.”

I'm starting to see a macro pattern here. The surface clans had a renewable source of energy from the celestial fly-overs, renewable food from Frostbloom, structures that appeared pushed up from the underground built to protect a population, and empowered immortal heroes picked from the best humanity had to offer, to lead the clans.

All added together, it pointed that someone powerful had a vested interest in keeping the surface dwellers alive. The obvious answer was the gods. Only they could have such a reach. I wondered what gifts they bestowed on those who lived underground.

“It’s unknown why the Deathless seem compelled to fight the machines, or protect humanity.” Father said. “Lord Atius has a theory that only a paragon would choose to give up all memory in exchange for power. Such a trade is akin to death, or to surrender your body to another soul. He believes that the person's nature remains even if their memories do not.”

“Well,” I said, chewing on my ration. “If I were a god in charge of picking people that’ll stay around for eternity, I’d pick the best humanity had to offer, that’s for sure.”

People like Kidra would have been who’d I’d elevate to Deathless status, were it me picking.

“Were it only like that forever.” Father said, a note of trouble in his voice.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I doubt we will run into any, and I hesitate to tell you this. However... you might need to know what to expect. And it's only a matter of time until you learn about it." He nodded, almost as if trying to convince himself. “The new generation appearing, as of a year ago, are... unhinged.”

Gods above. Unhinged Deathless? Machines were already an impossible feat to overcome completely, but immortal demi-gods with paranormal abilities turning against humanity?

“By unhinged, what exactly do you mean? Are they attacking the undersiders?”

“They’re still hostile to the machines and fight any they meet, but they have also been known to attack civilians. They fight among each other mostly. For weapons, armor, trophies, or simply the thrill of it. They have their own jargon, guilds, and culture. They can talk to one another across massive distances. Lord Atius and all the previous Deathless don’t understand these new ones. We don't know much about the situation down here, only small bits and pieces of rumor are added each time we dive down for a mission.”

Deathless are rare, it’s common knowledge that each year, perhaps five more appeared - in the whole world. Five unhinged demi-gods could be contained by the other Deathless working together. However.... “You make it sound like there’s hundreds of them running around.”

“Not in the hundreds.” Father said. “In the hundred thousands.”

I froze. An entire army of them stomping around the world?

He continued the the strange news. “Already more Deathless of this generation have appeared, than all the previous ones put together. Twice over perhaps. All in this single year.”

“How are the undersiders handling it?”

“Not well. Before, Deathless were heroes who were welcome with open arms by their very nature. Now, cities keep a closer watch on them than they would a passing surface dweller like myself.”

That must be a lot of scrutiny. The undersiders hated the surface clans. The only ones who had friendly relationships with us were the more recent clans who'd settled back down and hadn't yet lost their surface culture. And the imperial pilgrims.

Which makes sense since imperials worship the sun goddess. And the sun is visible only in one place.

We quite treasured the pilgrims when they did come up. They’d offer us food and tech, and in exchange we would supply them with the best gear, guides and protection they needed to successfully go out into the surface.

I might be underselling just how much pilgrims are treasured in our culture: Entire blood feuds between clans or great houses were put on hold anytime the pilgrims were around.

Wait. Talking about the pilgrims, “How are the imperials handling it?” An army of Deathless appearing would be alarm bells for the great war of theirs.

“Not well.” He sighed. “Many see this as the sign of the end times, as you’d expect. Most don’t know what to think about this new iteration. They used to be seen as the messengers of their sun goddess. Now, nobody quite knows what the future holds. The world is changing, that much is certain.”

He stood up, signalling the break was coming to an end. “Lord Atius had ordered information about this be kept secret. He wanted to see how events would play out first. However, he knew it was only a matter of time until the next pilgrims arrived up and shared the news. You would have found out soon enough.”

Rifle left hanging on his strap, he motioned me over. “That’s enough time spent for now. We need to be moving.”

I settled in position on his back, and he took off again up the slope.

We’d soon arrive at the tunnels, and leave this endless, multi-layered city. I prayed it would be safer in these caves.

I prayed these new Deathless were still friends with humanity in general.

But most of all, I prayed the gods were watching over us right now.