Grae slowly descended the steps towards the dungeon’s ruined heart.

It was a wide chamber full of water. At the bottom of the basin, half-concealed by the algae and pond scum that grew across the surface, there was the submerged skeleton of a massive two-skulled rat that had served as the dungeon’s last defender.

And rising from the filthy lake, on a pedestal of stone, was the core.

A single brutal cut had broken it down the center, splitting open the green-eyed jewel and throwing fragments into the water. Even now, Grae could feel the faint and lingering power that clung to the core, like the smoke of a flame extinguished.

At the edge of the lake, Grae bent to one knee and lowered his head.

“I am your child…” He said slowly.

“Not your favorite. Not even one you thought about, often.” It was true. In all his young years, Grae had not stood out much. His siblings had run faster and stronger. Grae had nothing to recommend him- except, perhaps, for the stubbornness with which he’d clung to life. To the halls where he was born.

Long after the other survivors had faded into memory, Grae had still refused to die, because he refused to leave this place. Had it been love? Had it been guilt?

Perhaps it was both. Duty.

“But…”

“I am your child, and I failed you.”

Grae had hidden in his secret chamber when the slaughter began. When the humans had come with their flashing blades and terrible magics. For years, he had made amends by keeping the dungeon as filthy as he could, by patrolling empty corridors, by tending as best as he could to the tomb of his maker.

“This place…”

“Is nothing anymore. You made it full of life, and filth, and noise. You turned walls of dead stone to place where muck and fungus thrived. You brought crude and happy children forth from nothing but scraps of rotten meat. All of the little you were given to work with, you made shine. I miss you. I miss the world of your creation, small and poor as it was.”

“Some day I will come back. When I can do what you did, and give this place life.”

“But I know I am a long ways away from that.”

“I wish you could guide me…”

“I wish you could see how far I’ve come…”

“I wish I’d been braver.”

This was a hundred times more words than Grae had ever spoken, or ever felt the need to speak. His mouth felt dry and his eyes ached. But they were words that had always been written on his soul, even if he didn’t understand them, or know they were there.

He no longer felt any resentment for being snapped free of his happy, boring life by the gift of thought.

It was enough to be able to speak.

Grae departed.

---

The gate to the dungeon was a massive sewer grating. The bars were bent and shattered, the edges rusted. Massive cockroaches scuttled into the dark as Grae approached.

This was the farthest he’d ever come before. The grate led into a pit, where humans had thrown their refuse. Every day he had dutifully glanced through the bars to see if someone had thrown down some bone, some rotting scraps, the things the dungeon had created life from…

Nothing.

Now Grae squeezed his enormous body through the grate and began to climb out of the pit. His claws scraped at the stone, his lanky body climbing, climbing…

The pit was deep. It was carved like a reverse pyramid into the earth, sloping down steeply. At the top there were stairs and balconies where humans had descended to throw their trash, and above that, high above, he could finally see an open sky.

It was beautiful.

A blue jewel of infinite proportions, marked by streaks of white cloud.

Grae climbed until he reached the edge of the pit and pulled himself over, out into the ruins of a dark city. Everywhere he looked there was decay. Threads of green vine pushed through red cinderbricks. Windows were shattered to sharp teeth of glass lingering in empty frames.

The streets were broken, the cobblestones pushed apart by weeds growing from underneath.

Grae stared out at a scene of desolation.

The empty houses reminded him of cast-off snakeskins. The high towers scraped at the sky like the fingers of a clutching hand. This place…

This was the same isolation and sorrow that filled the dungeon.

What had happened to this proud city, with all its bright colors now fading?

Why did he not see any sign- not even a corpse, a skull, a bone- of a human being?

Grae shivered suddenly, a wind howling down the empty street, channeled into a fierce and cold power by the narrowness of the buildings. It pierced through his shaggy fur and made him shake in discomfort. The air was unruly here; it moved with its own will.

Something else moved. In the shadows, something gleamed.

Grae turned his head and lifted his hand, preparing to unleash the power of his Water Bullet.

Out of the alley stepped a thing made of cloth. It was bright and cheery, a whirling blob of colors. Rags of every shade and hue spun around and around like a whirlwind, and it walked on three stump-like feet, rotating with each step.

It was moving towards him.

Grae stepped back.

“Inspect?” He asked. It was a question, not a demand.

[ Ragdoll ]

Red

Hollow

Formed when an Estate gathers together many fragments of textiles around a minor heart, this being protects the Estate within, serving as a scout and a hunter. It has few offensive capabilities, only able to grab and smother. Using magic it can split and divide to cover more ground. Aggressive towards any living creatures not created by its Estate.