“Is, is there a particular reason why we need t-to run ourselves into the ground?” Lily panted, her legs burning until she thought they might simply collapse. She had thought that they would rest, now that the mines of the Twisted Spires were within reach, but rather, seeing their destination seemed to have only further inspired the crow-cursed demon.

“Skal.” he grunted simply, not even winded despite having ran for the better part of the day.

Finally, unable to continue, she collapsed onto the ground with her chest heaving. Every breath was like acid in her lungs, and her throat felt like it was ripped raw. She could taste blood in the back of her mouth, bitter and metallic on her tongue. Tears and sweat blurred her vision, burning in her eyes as she struggled to wipe them with dirt-covered hands. A shadow fell over her as she struggled to stand, and a clawed hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to her feet.

The demon had told her that the Fells this time were different, that the Skal’ai were hunting them. She shuddered, remembering the black mist that had smothered her into sleep and nearly death. If those words were truth, then they would need to flee beyond the mountains. The Capital could have the resources to help them, especially if the Skal’ai continued to spread. She knew a Me’jai of influence there, who could potentially convince the king to turn his efforts away from this war with Malifor. These Skal’ai were born from magic, if the old stories could be believed. Surely, magic could spell their end as well.

She had told the demon such, and now she regretted those thrice-damned words. It might be able to run sunup to sundown without stopping, but she was a mere mortal. Every day thus far had been a living hell; when she could run no more, then she had to put up with being carried like a sack of grain.

And so, wordless as a sack of grain, she found herself being hoisted once more. Although, admittedly, they covered far more distance when the demon was running, she was loathe to concede the point. She could only tolerate it in silence, letting the time wear on until finally they were at the foot of the mountains. It was dusk now, the sun throwing curious shadows on the stone, the openings to the mines hundreds of feet above them. Beating on the demon’s back with a sudden bout of urgency, she slid off with an awkward motion.

“Ca-can’t we stop a bit? We need—to plan.” she gasped, leaning on the demon’s shoulder as she suddenly swooned from a bout of vertigo. Pain shot through her limbs and through her chest, her bruised body protesting. Her heart felt like it was rupturing with every stroke, and her blood seemed to be made of fire.

The gods had heard her plea, and the demon sat on its haunches with an exasperated snort. “What?” it growled impatiently, tilted its head to the side in a gesture almost like a dog.

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before speaking. “We need to convince the diggers to let us through the mines.If they see you with me, they won’t even let us talk.” She looked up, meeting the demon’s gaze. “I need you to stay back and wait while I negotiate.”

With a snort, the demon blinked slowly and swallowed in nervousness. She had no idea how it would react; would it even be willing to consider her words? And yet, much to her relief—and to her unexpected surprise—it gave curt nod.

“I wait.” it growled, eyes flickering to look at the mines in the distance. “In grass.”

“Thank you,” Lily remarked, still shocked that it had been so easy. “We should rest, at least. I’ll leave in the morning.”

Once more the demon made a fire, striking the flint with those curious claws. Yet as it took the first watch, she began to wonder about how she could convince the diggers to let them through. She had glossed over the fact, yet she began to doubt in the silence that she truly could make them listen.

The Altarosan mines were dangerous and arduous, demanding great stamina and strength to work through stone and haul back the precious ores. The diggers were men once, but they had been changed by spells and generations of isolation in the mines. The first were said to be prisoners, criminals and the condemned who were forced to live out the rest of their lives in labor for the crown. Me’jai twisted their flesh to better work the stones, and, following their apparent efficacy, women were sent as well to grow a colony.

With broad stature and thick, corded muscle, they were well suited to the caverns that they dug. Coarse hair and tough skin protected against the cold air, while heavy brows and wide-set eyes let them better observe their dim surroundings. Ages of disuse made their eyes smaller and beady, functioning poorly in bright light outside. In the comfortable darkness of their mines, their skin took on a pallid color with a coarse, mottled texture like leather hide.

Their feet and hands were shaped like spades, their fingers twice as thick as a normal man’s. Some individuals even lost their fifth digit all together, not needing the dexterity but rather using the space for even more raw strength. Their shoulders merged with their necks, the sheer amount of muscle bound to bone and body making them unable to greatly turn their heads.

Every aspect of their bodies were made for working these mines. Their very bones were harder, strengthened by frequent fractures and minerals from the strange moss that they grew for food. Some were said to be able to fall from heights that would kill ordinary men only to walk away unscathed, and even their infants were supposedly able to be dropped with impunity.

The men labored in the mines, breaking through stone to find iron and silver, of which these mountains were full of. They would be hauled up in bucketfuls, where women would refine the ores in massive fires heated by coal. The products would be delivered to the Capital and other cities with carts and horses. In exchange, they received the meat and fruit which they held in short supply. The diggers were the lifeblood of the Altarosan army, and their services would be even more strained in these times of war.

A hoarse shout roused Lily from her sleep, a guttural noise of primal fear. Sitting up in shock, she gazed around in confusion and panic. There was an abnormal coldness to the air, familiar in its emptiness. She saw the demon recoiling, sinking on its haunches like a beast. She saw the fire throwing its shadow on the dirt, its tongues dancing as if it were alive.

And then the shadow reeled like a snake and threw itself at the demon’s throat.

The demon danced back, rolling to the side, and the Skal’ai landed on grass with a graceful motion, black mist billowing in the air around it. Without pause, it turned with unnatural ease and launched itself at the demon with a blur of shapeless darkness. The demon gave a wild swipe, its black claws sinking into the formless shadow, but there was no effect. The Skal’ai tore into its chest, the serpentine body undulating as it gorged on flesh.

Being devoured by Skal’ai, the demon could only thrash wildly. It rolled and tossed, striking itself against the ground and even clawing at its own flesh. Yet the Skal’ai refused to detach itself, clinging madly like a hideous leech. And as more and more of its strength was sapped away, the demon’s efforts began to slow.

In a panic, Lily turned to the fire and grabbed a bundle of the still-burning grasses. The flame scorched her hand and caught on her skin, but she struck the Skal’ai with it nevertheless. The hungering fire latched onto the shadow with unnatural ease, burning it like oil. Slinking back from the demon with a sickening squelch, it writhed and twisted like a convulsing snake, beating out the flame. Once no longer aflame, the Skal’ai bled back into the shadow of the campfire, shaking off glowing embers in an orange trail behind it.

Lily swatted her hand against her thigh to put out any lingering fire, turning to the demon hurriedly. It was sitting up with effort, bleeding profusely from a hole torn into its chest. The scales and flesh and been ripped apart, the bone visible underneath. Yet that blood was not from the wound itself, but seemingly rather from when the Skal’ai had pulled away. Instead, as she watching before her very eyes, the bleeding stopped as lingering tinges of black mist coagulated the wound. Even though the demon was breathing hard, it seemed not to have any sensations of pain.

“Are you alright?” she stammered, not used to seeing such a serious injury being ignored. The demon glanced down with almost a surprised look on its face, as if just realizing the ragged hole in its own chest. Yet before any answer could be given, there was a sudden flash of light.

She turned in surprise, seeing the campfire abruptly flare with brilliance. It took Lily a moment before she understood what she was seeing before her; the campfire’s own shadow was wrapping around it—over it—swallowing it inside a membranous mouth. The black Skal’ai snuffed the fire, even as the tongues of flame were desperately feeding on it. Ultimately, there were a few licks of flame that snuck out along the edges. Then, the fire was gone.

The Skal’ai writhed, coiling like a whip. That whip flashed itself at Lily without hesitation, without a single sound.

There was no weight on her body, no feeling of pain. There not even a single sensation of hers whatsoever; if it were not for the fact that her eyes were most certainly open, she would not even be aware of anything tearing open her own chest.

She fell on her back with a thud, head striking the ground with a crack. The Skal’ai was on her in a ironic reversal of just a few moments ago, yet this time this was no more fire to aid her. Fire, she realized. She could conjure it—at the price of her vahma, admittedly, but it was better than death no matter the price—and she opened her mouth to begin the chant. Yet before she had even started, the Skal’ai covered her mouth that cold numbness. Unable to chant, she could not form the needed rhythm to form the pact. Black mist numbed her muscles and stole away her strength; she could not summon even a spark.

Eyes wide, she bucked and twisted, scraping herself against the ground in the hopes of throwing the Skal’ai loose. Perhaps the gods heard her prayers, for there was a brief instant where she had feeling once more over her jaw. Hurriedly, she shouted at the demon, “A fire! Make a fire! Bu—” Then, the shadow covered her once more, and she could not breathe.

She could only watch the demon with pleading eyes, hoping that it understood. Yet her hopes felt dashed, for it did not even utter a sound. Was it dazed? Was it frozen in fright? She did not know, and she could feel unconsciousness clawing at her door. Her vision swam madly as her mind began to fade without any air. Half blurred by tears and eaten away by madness, she saw faint tongues of purple wrapping around her, twisting through the air around her. Yet she had heard nothing, and surely she was dreaming now.

But the sudden flare of heat against her skin made her realize that, in fact, she was not dreaming.

The air around her burst into fire as the demon finished the spell, the hungry flame immediately searching for substance. It sank into the Skal’ai with primal voracity, and this time there was too much for the shadow to bear.

The Skal’ai spasmed and twitched, hopelessly consumed by orange flame. As Lily threw it off of her, it lost more and more of itself to the fire. Finally, the blaze too grew smaller and died as the shadow disappeared. There were only embers, glowing gently on the grass, and the sound of her heaving chest as she struggled to remain conscious. There was no pain now, but she was certain that there would be agony in just a few moments.

Raising a hand to her chin, she felt raw flesh and torn skin from where the Skal’ai had ripped away her lips. Her finger came away awash with blood, numb from the black mist that the Skal’ai left behind.

Her voice raspy and her mouth struggling to form words, she looked at the demon, who had collapsed after its spell. “Chantless?”

There was a faint smile on the demon’s mouth, before it collapsed.