I wake up beneath the heavy covers, sun filtering in through the window. Ah, light. Wait. No, not sunlight. Illuminated moss, dangling from the distant ceiling of the Under, bright enough to awaken me. That’s right. We’re in the Under.

Purple eyes haunt my consciousness. Sukubid, prowling about outside. No real day and night, just the natural rhythm of sleep that comes and goes. Despite the sleep I got last night, I still feel tired. Exhausted, even. I can’t tell what time it is, due to the missing sun in the sky. I can’t even tell if I got a full night’s rest. A rap at the door stirs me from my thoughts.

“Firae? You in there?” Arrol’s voice.

“Yeah.” I respond back, but he seems not to hear. Another knock.

“Firae?”

“I’m in here, yes.” I say back, with more intentioned clarity in my voice, this time.

“It’s been ten hours, if the clocks they use down here are to be trusted any.”

“Ten hours since what?” Since I went to my room? Since I fell asleep? Since we fell down here in the first place?

“Ten hours since I went to sleep, which was an hour or two after you did. You dressed? I’m coming in.” The door begins to swing open before I have time to react, but thankfully I am actually dressed.

“You really shouldn’t barge in on people before waiting for an answer. It’s not flattering in the slightest.”

“Sorry, but this is important. Rourke, the barkeep from last night, yeah? The Xykyn? He mentioned something to me when I came down this morning. Said there was a Sukubid accosting you?”

“Is that all this is about? He got in my head, that’s all. Nothing more.” I say, and picture his face again. A charming elf, suddenly morphing into the disfigured, sinful face of a demon born from the actions of the many. It’s almost romanticized, how the Sukubids are described. No, they’re like universal slag, in a way. Life-spirits that got wasted away through impure actions.

“No, it’s about everything that’s happened. Not just that. Not even that. I felt the need to address it, though. Before getting into more important topics.” He sits down on a chair he pulled into the room with him.

“So, well, we have a lot to discuss, then.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Do we have to kill her? It can’t be the only way, can it?”

I pause, before looking him in the eyes. “Fuck no. Why would we resort to that? You can’t be serious.”

He looks at me, then looks down. “It’s certainly the easiest option. If we’re going to avert a crisis, shouldn’t we? I mean…” He starts to think, for once. “No, I get it. We can’t take the easy way, here. We can’t compromise our morals when there still might be a way. Prophecy’s prophecy, though. We need to prepare.” He looks past me, out the window.

“Prophecy’s prophecy.” I echo back.

“I guess we’re on the same page, then. We fight.” He sighs, and looks around the room. “Spacious.” He says, quietly.

“Hmm.” I grunt back, through my lips. Pensive? Tense? Anxious? All of these are apt descriptors to how I feel.

“You okay? You look tired.” Arrol says, bluntly.

“Didn’t sleep well, even though I slept long.” My response.

The air hangs still, stifling, in the room. Despite the window’s sitting open, it’s still thick, like a syrup or fog.

“Okay.” Arrol stands, again, and paces.

“I don’t think we can win.” I murmur, solemnly. Or, try to. I choke on the last word, ‘win’, and it comes out as a ‘whee’ sound.

“Neither do I. But, does that matter?” Arrol looks me in the eyes, now. I avert my gaze as he tries to lock eyes with me. “Look at me. Firae. We either fight, or we roll over. Either way, it doesn’t look great. But I’d rather face it head on than cower, waiting for it to come to me. Do you think those first Goldhawks… Would they turn over and let this happen?” Alec Gardan. “Alec Gardan, you think he would just let Daurellian win without a fight?”

“I would hope that he’s fighting now,” is all that I can find myself saying.

“Me too.” Arrol says. He reaches for his neck, and lightly rubs at it with his thumb, stretching the skin around his collarbone.

Quiet.

More quiet.

“What else did you want to discuss?” I ask, breaking the quiet which had overtaken the room.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. About everything. The fall, the day, the prophecy, the Sukubid, the goals we have. All of it.”

“I’m okay.” I say, lying not only to Arrol, but to myself. This creeping dread, this anticipation of the future. It’s overtaken me. I feel it, in a period of less than a day long, so far as I know. The firmament must have shifted, by now, the Lunar Goddess awakened and put to sleep. The sun must have rolled across the blue sky. “I’m okay.” I repeat.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Arrol says. “We’ve got preparations to make, then. I suppose Azur, Aelwin, and Dulwain will help us, as will Valicia.”

“Rourke, too, I think. He might.” I think of the Xykyn man downstairs. While he didn’t betray his real reason for being here, it’s more than just acting as a barkeep.

“Yeah. Rourke too.”

“I suppose we should go about meeting with everyone, then, and forming a plan.” I say, more to myself than Arrol.

He nods, and leaves, closing the door behind him. It’s time to prepare.