The bare road that led north-east out of Amsterid, despite quickly transforming into a barren dirt path, did little to disclose the fact that it headed directly for the boundary between the Imperial Kingdom and lands that few dared to step foot in. If they were to travel for several hours on this path, Syco and the others would eventually climb a small hill, and at its summit, encounter a wide view of gradually dying lands, culminating in a distant red and black that was undeniably demon-kin territory.

My memories had become garbled, if they remained at all, but I had apparently crawled my way down this dirt strait—or nearby it—until Cris had found me, nearly collapsed from dehydration. But with how the varied greenery brimmed with vibrancy, and colourful butterflies danced from flower to flower, it felt absurd that something as crude as desperation could exist here. On the right side, old oaks towered overhead and created disjoint canopies over the road, such that the sun’s heat never grew too overbearing, but the soft breeze didn’t get a chance to dominate the senses with its morning chill. Cicadas chirped throughout the woods; on the left were green fields covered with vegetable and fruit farms, gapped only by streams and small rivers that passed by. Cris had just explained that the soil here was quite rich, and the rodents and larger wild beasts that might trample certain crops tended not to travel too far out here.

“When Amsterid was first born, it was a troubled area. Only young or brave men would risk life this near to the lands of Demon-kind,” Cris said. She was carrying a short, thick blade in her belt, but otherwise, rather than gearing up, she was only wearing a loose-fitting unsleeved top and thin shorts. The muscles that built her small frame stood out impressively now, and her gait was very light. I had thought her frail—and she was certainly thin—but she likely had ample strength. When she glanced at Syco, her emerald eyes and amber hair, tied in a side-tail today, shone dazzlingly in the fleeting sunshafts.

“With how often those early settlers were raided by scavenging demon-kin, it’s a wonder that we have such peace today,” Varus took over. “All thanks to our great soldiers, heheh. Did I tell you, Cris? My old master was there at the siege of Darvaza! Still going strong, that old man. He might have even travelled this same road.”

Opposite to Cris, Varus was covered in tough leather and sporadic plate. He, too, carried a sword; curved with a sharp hook at the end, and larger than Cris’s. He seemed to always be grinning, and had short, brown hair.

“No way. He must be in his seventies now. And he didn’t drop by, did he?” Cris asked.

“Well, you know him. Always looking towards the next battle. Though I heard that he might finally be retiring after this,” Varus said with a hint of disappointment.

Those two walked in front, while behind and to the left of Syco was the final member of the party. He hadn’t spoken much. This boy looked to be the same age as Cris, or even slightly younger. He had messy black hair, of which a one-third chunk was shaven short, and his gaze was sharp. He wore a black tunic and pants, which must have been terrible in this sun, but he seemed to be unaffected. Cris had said his name was Karl. Whenever he noticed my glance, he would stare at me. I could even feel it on the back of my skull for a while after. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to him.

“We’re here,” Cris announced.

We had just crossed over a deep ravine, at the bottom of which was a churning river. On this far side of the moss-covered wooden bridge, the trees and ordinary flora abruptly disappeared. Instead, amongst the tall grass were taller ferns—thin, but sturdy and with a silver tinge—and wet patches of mossy rock. We had diverged from the main path just minutes earlier, but this alcove in the hills began to feel like a separate ecosystem to what had been before.

“Okay,” Varus addressed the three of us, “this is the last known location of Holly Ophelia and Rea Bearish.” He stopped and surveyed the area in a circle around himself, as though hoping to spot a human figure somewhere within view. “There shouldn’t be anything to be wary of out here. Right, Cris?”

“Yeah. I’ve only come here a few times to get some mostwurm for Miss Ophelia, but I’ve never seen even a weed-fox here.”

“Good. So for now, let’s just look around and reconvene in twenty minutes.” Varus scratched his head, seeming unsure of his own instructions. I could imagine that in a small village like Amsterid, outings such as this were a rare occurrence.

I nodded, as did Cris and Karl.

The field was wild with its unique foliage, but the area was only several acres or so, cut off by rising cliffs, or the ravine at their backs. The butterflies and bees that roamed the cultivated area around Amsterid were absent, and had been for some time now, but even if these curious ‘weed-foxes’ weren’t around either, this spot wasn’t devoid of life. At eye-level, on one of the taller ferns, was a small red insect; it looked like a ladybug, but its shell seemed more smooth. It may have been a transparent bulb with vivid red essence inside. When I put my finger up to the leaf, the creature happily jumped across to it, and explored my hand with the lack of regard for gravity characteristic to the insect kingdom.

But, right, I was supposed to be helping with the search, not getting distracted. I spotted Cris sitting on her heels a short distance away, closely inspecting a large boulder. I decided to approach her.

“Have you found anything?” I asked.

“No, nothing,” she answered. “But I’m not exactly a hunter or a tracker. I spend a lot of time doing chores and work outside, like favours for others in the village, but when it comes to something like this…” she trailed off.

“Ah,” I said. I wanted to ask why exactly she brought me along, but her mood didn’t seem receptive to superfluous questions at the moment.

“Honestly, I’m just waiting,” Cris said quietly. “The only place we’ll find Holly and Rea are in the cellar. But Varus isn’t going to want to go down. He has other pointless things on his mind today, he’ll be too anxious. It’s bad luck all around.” She sighed dejectedly, shivering slightly. “I guess I’m anxious too though, hehe.” Thankfully it was dead silent in this field, otherwise it would have been difficult to hear Cris’s sombre voice at all.

At the far end of the field was a crumbled structure of marble-coloured stone, white-bright in the glare of sunlight. Karl was nearby it, pacing back and forth.

“Is that the ‘poppy cellar’ that you mentioned?” I asked, nodding in its direction. Cris murmured a confirmation. I sat down in the soft grass and asked “Is it a dangerous place? I’m a bit curious.” Some impulse drove me to dive into this ‘cellar’ and discover what secrets it held; what people had left behind, or what had made the place its home. But I kept the urge in check. It was a tangent that wouldn’t make my being here any more meaningful. The only knowledge I needed was that which would help to fulfil the epitaph.

“It is. It’s a labyrinth, made… well, nobody knows who or why. If Holly and Rea did go inside, they wouldn’t have had reason to go further than the first layer. But we can’t know whether a beast has made its home inside, or whether the air is safe to breathe. So—“

Cris suddenly stopped talking. She stared towards my arm, and her face didn’t move a muscle. I wondered, was that strange behaviour of the villagers happening again? My heart began to resound in my ears.

“What is that?” Cris asked, voice shaking. Thankfully, the phenomenon wasn’t happening again. Cris was pointing at the little ladybug-thing skittering across my arm.

“I saw this little guy on one of those ferns,” I said. “I-Is it dangerous?!” I hoped not to feel the sudden prick of a bite on my skin.

Cris didn’t answer. Instead she leapt to her feet and yelled out for Varus and Karl. “We have to go! Get to the bridge!” She pulled my arm and led me into a run, right across the field and over the bridge. The other two were close behind. The as-ever peaceful scenery was indifferent to the sudden urgency.

The moment that Cris made it to the other side of the bridge, she came to a crashing halt. She had slammed into something, but nothing was there. She fell to the stone floor, blood beginning to pour from her forehead. I immediately tried to crouch in front of her to get a look at the damage, but my arm hit into something solid. Huh? A smell assailed my nostrils, a red smell. Wait, stone floor?

Right, the ground below Cris was stone, although we were on a wooden bridge. My vision blurred, and the sunlight seemed to disappear. I leaned back against the stone wall.

The sky was dark—it was stone too. Cris held up her arm, palm open, and a flash of light erupted from her hand. When my eyes adjusted, I found that I was at the dead end of a grimy stone corridor. Cris was groaning with pain as light poured from her bare hand. Varus and Karl made voiceless noises of confusion as they looked around them, seeing something that I could only guess matched my own dizzying experience.

“What… is this?” stumbled Varus.

“We’re already inside. The poppy cellar,” Cris said.

The other two silently absorbed this.

Somehow, without them noticing, the four of them had entered into this dark place. I couldn’t imagine how such a thing was possible. Had we not simply wandered about a field, far from the entrance to this cellar? And yet, we were inside before we even realized it.

The walls dripped with liquid, and healthy green vines criss-crossed from floor to ceiling. The ceiling too, on closer inspection, was covered with vines. Along the vines were red growths, sprouting in a complex shape, symmetrically beautiful but somehow hideous. The petals of the growths appeared to undulate in the breeze; but there was no wind here.

Something more important gripped my mind however. I turned to Cris and crouched, unable to contain myself, and pointed at her light.

“I-Is that magic?!”