Vas no longer felt like safe haven, not after what a tenday of travel through its back roads had revealed to Mertle.

Three destroyed villages dotted the hills of Vas's western shore. They had found signs of passage, of many feet trampling the ground among the destroyed homesteads, but those got lost soon into the ever thickening forests.

No corpses, no beetles aside from desiccated shells, and no signs of the priest that had survived Falor's attack. The absence of proof had only served to deepen the unease.

Dread lingered. In every silence, behind every crumbling wall, in the shade of every tree and the rustle of every bush. Mertle felt it like settling snow, heavier by the day, colder, impossible to ignore.

Something hid in the forest, and it was terrible.

To top things off, Deidra had disappeared entirely. Her promise of handling Mertle's retreat from the prince's retinue—not that Mertle wanted to follow up on Deidra's plan anymore—never came to pass. Had the night weaver been visited by the Dryad and warned off? Or had she changed her mind?

Thing were happening, set to change the face of humanity's realm, and Mertle felt caught in one of these riptides. Though if she were headed for the rocks, or out to sea, she wasn't yet sure.

Falor had marched them relentlessly after the fourth village they'd found destroyed. Whatever semblance of good humour he'd held before was now gone, the prince fully retreated into himself, only barely communicating with his men or Quistis. The mood around each campsite was sour and sullen, filled with whispered, cutting remarks that never developed into conversations of any kind.

If she chose to leave, she wondered if Falor would really allow them to head out on their own. Or at all. The suspicion she'd felt from him in the early days was still there, buried beneath more immediate concerns. But it wasn't just once that she'd felt his interest on her, like the electric feeling just before being struck by lightning.

"I think we're getting near," Mertle said to Tummy as they settled for the night. "He's been even quieter than usual today."

"Aye," Tummy said.

He sat propped against a tree, wrapped in a blanket. More for fear of rain than cold. The nights had been getting progressively warmer, the heat of thaw barely kept in check by their progress north-west, towards the mountains and the edge of Vas. The smith wore a beard now, not having bothered to shave in the days since the first village.

Mertle shook herself as she realised how they'd come to think of that fateful event: the first village. Now they knew of four in total that had suffered the same fate. Only the gods could count all the others that lay scattered among the high hills and through the thick fir forests. Thousands of people could be dead.

Or worse.

"There's the taste of salt on the breeze," she said, more to occupy her mind rather than make conversation. "We're getting closer to the edge."

"Aye," Tummy rumbled again, refusing to be drawn out. Like her, he worried of what was to come.

He'd seen villages purged by the aelir, way back in what felt like a different life altogether. They'd done it for myriad reasons: imagined slights, disease, failure to meet quota. She and Tummy had passed through places like these before, seen the empty home, smelled death on the breeze.

The deeper they dwelt into this mystery, the closer the spirits of home loomed, a history neither of them had ever really forgotten. Just buried. In a box. Beneath their forge.

The box lay open. Mertle wore its content beneath her travel clothes, loathe to part with them anymore. The knife hung on her belt, constantly thrumming now, a sure sign the commander's nerves were on edge.

Quistis wandered away from the small fire and came by them. Falor lay on his side, back to the embers, seemingly asleep, with Barlo several paces away, the same. Vial and Quistis had the first watch of the night.

"You should rest," the healer said. "We're going to keep shorter watches. Four per night. Better for all of us." Her voice was terse, tired, with undertones of worry.

Mertle looked past, at the resting figures, then up at Quistis. "He's scared?" she asked, as quiet as she could.

Quistis shook her head minutely. "Angry. Worst than I've ever seen him."

For the moment, Mertle wished she'd shared her sign language with the woman. It would've made conversing far easier without the fear of being overheard.

"Are we close, then?" she asked.

What she really wanted to know was how this all affected the plans, but doubted Quistis knew anything more than they did.

"Tomorrow we'll reach the prison, yes." Quistis lowered herself on her haunches, staff laid across her thighs. "We will see if Cinder lied or not. I… don't know what happens afterwards. We've discovered plenty to occupy us for a good, long while."

Her voice had dropped to a whisper, so Mertle matched it. Falor hadn't told them of their destination, not in actual. Mertle and Tummy had followed under the pretence of safety in numbers, worried of what the road could hold if they split from the Storm Guard cell.

"What then?" Mertle asked. "What do we do? How do we help Sil?"

Quistis shook her head again. There were heavy bags under her eyes, and those looked like they'd get even worse come the morrow. Shorter watches meant she'd be on watch at dusk and at dawn, her rest little to none.

"I have no idea what's next. I don't think Falor knows either." She sighed heavily. "If Cinder spoke truth, then he'll probably want to talk to the empress of what we find. We'll head to Aztroa, most likely, or try and pick up the trail of that plague priest." She shrugged. "I just don't know. He's not talking to me."

"Want I take first watch?" Mertle asked. "You look wrung out."

They all were. Always on the edge. Always listening, watching, feeling for danger. Nothing ever came at them, not even the wild animals of the forest, but they couldn't simply ignore the threat. All of them had seen what those monsters could do, how dangerous they could be. It made carelessness hard to enact.

Quistis didn't answer and, instead, rose and headed back to the fire.

"Well, that was enlightening," Tummy said. He rapped a knuckle on the tree to draw her attention.

"Escape?" his fingers signed.

"No," Mertle signed back. "Follow through. Learn. Wait. Watch. Not enough information."

"Aye," he signed back. "Stupid risk. You're holding out on me."

Mertle felt her heart rise in her throat. She hadn't had a chance to explain the Dryad's visit, but Tummy had felt it on her regardless.

She signed, "I'm sorry. Had no time."

"Understood. Problem?"

"Maybe. Don't know. No information."

That was the crux of it. She had set out to head to Aztroa to take Tallah's place as the wayward Aieni heiress, become part of the Storm Guard and hold suspicion off until the sorceress reemerged. It was all a gambit against the empress, one that had been set in motion by Deidra, Quistis, and Aliana. Of all those, only Deidra seemed to have any idea of what was happening now, and she'd gone into the wind, leaving them all adrift.

Mertle wondered at the coincidence of events. The visit she'd received from the Dryad, secretive and quiet, hadn't shed any light, but had promised Sil and the rest would emerge soon.

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But where? How? And why?

She had no answers, just the goddess's whispered warning that Falor needed protecting. Mertle couldn't really imagine a threat that could hurt the Storm Guard commander, not after what he'd demonstrated when dealing with the beetle-controlled villagers. She doubted even Tallah could stand up to him in any real fashion.

So what, then, was Mertle doing there?

Sleep overtook her while she turned the question on all sides and prodded at all possibilities. She continued to do so when Barlo woke her for third watch.

She didn't manage sleep again during fourth watch and, instead, stood near the embers of the fire, as drawn in as Quistis and Vial. It had all gone wrong and there was no way to shake loose of the situation, none that she could see at least.

But with dawn, came the promise of at least one mystery being solved.

"We're reaching our destination today," Falor announced while they drank watered-down coffee. "It shouldn't be more than another day's march."

His eyes were sunken in and dark, his cheek covered in a thick beard, and his clothes were filthy. All of them smelled of the hard wilderness trek.

"Can you tell us now what we're doing here? And where here is?" Mertle asked. She and Tummy had tagged along after all, even when Falor had given them their head to run. Officially, at least. "I think we're owed at least a bit of trust by now."

Falor stared straight through her, as if he wasn't even sure who was talking. Finally, he snapped back to himself.

"Ah, yes… quite, you're right, lady Mergara."

"Mertle, please."

"Right." He puffed out his cheeks and scratched at the beard on his cheek. "Where to start?"

"With where we are?" she suggested. "Or the reason why we've come so far out into nowhere? I don't know the maps of Vas well, but I was under the belief that the west of the continent is largely uninhabited past Bastra and Garet."

"Uninhabited, yes. Unused, no," he corrected. "We are here to check on the prisoners of the Empire. We're seeking Drak's Perch."

She knew this already, courtesy of Quistis, but did her best to gasp. It stifled a yawn.

"The prison? Way out here?" She forced her voice into showing a mixture of wonder and dread.

"Where else would you keep the worst of the worst?" he asked without a hint of reproach.

"And there wasn't a road that we could've followed instead of roughing it?" She made a show of massaging her calves and thighs.

Falor shook his head. "Every trip out here is done by shards. This location is supposed to be secret." He gave both of them a meaningful look. "While the two of you have been brought into this… excursion against your wills, I trust you will understand the gravity of what I am sharing with you."

All of a sudden, the air of distracted energy lifted off the commander and he stood straight-backed and hard-eyed. Mertle felt a shiver run through her, bringing with it the memory of that blast he'd performed. If this man so desired, if he believed she or Tummy were a danger to his mission or land, there would be nothing she could do to prevent him from wiping them out of existence.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded softly. "I understand," she said, voice trembling out of very real fear.

"Good. Then I won't waste your time and mine with threats and declarations. Keep secret all you'll learn today. That is all I ask."

Again, she nodded.

You're falling into this man's confidence. Soon you may not even need to pretend to join his force. Sarrinare grinned in Mertle's mind as she whispered her poison. You were always quick to slither into positions of trust. It's why I elevated you out of the filth, to serve my cause. However far you run, servant, you will always remain my creature. My creation.

Mertle looked around at the others, trying to hide the cold sweat breaking across her back. Vial and Barlo regarded her with cool detachment, hands away from their weapons, but near enough that either could spring into action at a whisper from the prince.

Quistis said nothing. She was busy rearranging her flasks and drawing new ones from her rend. Mertle noticed with some satisfaction that the slit in the air was considerably smaller than the one Sil normally produced.

"Tummy?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. "I want to go forward. Will you come with?"

Tummy nodded, "Aye."

There wasn't any need for more. He understood the risk as well as she did. Though it had been clear for a while now, accepting the secret meant they would lose the easy peace they'd enjoyed in Valen. Whatever they learned here, the Storm Guard would not simply allow them a free leash once all was said and done.

Whatever happened next, Mertle and Tummy would be marked. She didn't believe for a moment Falor would simply take them at their word.

If he did, they wouldn't be here, trying to see a secret prison. He would've believed Tallah's words, or his mother's and acted accordingly. He'd come into the wilderness to see for himself.

"Then this is my concern," Falor said. "I believe this prison, Drak's Perch, might have been compromised at some point in the past. This information came to me from a source whom I believe, at the very least, was convinced of some foul play going on here. With what we've seen on the way, I'm wary of what I might discover. So we will treat this as possible hostile territory. Mertle, you and Tummy will be with Barlo as we move forward."

He cracked his knuckles as he spoke, the sound sharp and loud. Quistis winced with every pop, giving his shoulders a black glare.

"Away from me, what he says is law," Falor went on, seeming to come more and more alive. "We will not announce ourselves but instead try and get as close as possible to gain an understanding of the situation. I want to know what's going on there and if the empire is still in control of the prison."

"What happens if it's not?" Mertle asked.

His black eyes rested on her for a long breath. She felt her stealth suit tighten and constrict around her chest, as if it meant to protect her. Falor couldn't know of her talents and training. The only one of the group, save for Tummy, who had an inkling of what she could do was Quistis. And that one's secrets were at least as heavy as Mertle's, so the healer wouldn't have betrayed her.

Finally, Falor's eyes moved away and he looked to Tummy, staring in the same fashion. The smith returned the prince's gaze without hesitation.

"If we discover this place is truly lost, I will destroy it. As for the two of you: don't take any unnecessary chances as we advance. Don't get nearer than you need to be. Don't engage any person you might see. If you are discovered, quietly surrender and claim being lost."

"What happens if we see that priest in there?" Mertle asked. "I think he'd recognise us immediately." She thumbed in Barlo's direction. "And I know Barlo has a reputation in the empire. I expect he'd be easily recognised here."

"If the priest is in the castle, I'll know," Falor said, eyes darkening. "That creature won't escape me again."

Mertle believed him. All that remained now was to get on with things. The sun was climbing high in the sky and the day was getting stifling. They'd camped in a dense patch of forest, to better hide their campsite smoke. Now that protection threatened to suffocate them.

"Vial, you're on Quistis's side for this one," Falor finished his orders.

"I'd much rather we don't separate," Quistis said levelly.

"Same," Falor agreed. "But case we must scatter, I want everyone knowing what's expected of them. Make a note of this position and work your way back here by nightfall. Focus on your safety first. The goal is reconnaissance, not combat. Are we all clear?"

Muttered approvals sealed the moment and Falor signalled for them to head out. They'd rationed out spare gear that was easier to carry—food rations, water, and their weapons. The rest remained stored in Falor's spacious rend.

Of Drak's Perch, Mertle only knew that it was a near mythological place. Stories of it had made their way across the Divide and travelled deep into the aelir Dominion, grown fat in telling and retelling, each more absurd than the next.

Tallah had mentioned it once, in passing, but had never explained more about it or its function. This was where the empress would imprison the worst of her enemies, those that had wronged her in some terrible way or those deemed too mad to be let loose ever again. The bones of the witch Iliaya were said to rest beneath the prison grounds, along with a thousand other dissenters.

It was as legendary a place as any could be on Vas, a hole of no return and no salvation, the end destination for any that opposed the Empress Catharina and her Eternal Enlightened Empire.

Now, as they made their way through the forest, Mertle finally glimpsed the edifice rising above the forest's canopy, casting a long shadow across the trees, even as the forest dipped into a depression.

They emerged onto an outcropping of rock and got a clear view of what came next. The forest dipped aggressively down into some caldera. Its walls had been overrun by the forest, a thick, green carpet stretching on to the far horizon. It was odd not to see mountains anymore but, instead, the clear blue of endless sky. That way they would reach the sea, after maybe a few more days of walking.

At the bottom of the forested crater squatted an ugly, black lump of a fortress. It was surrounded by tall walls of stone that beat back the forest and allowed for a small courtyard just before the castle proper. It was brutal in its appearance, its many towers and spires giving the impression of a clawed hand reaching out of the ground, grasping for the sky.

Even from afar Mertle could see the place lay empty and dead. No movement marred its walls. There were no figures in the courtyard. And most glaringly of all, the black gate lay yawned opened, shattered and thrown to the ground by some great force.

"Well, that be promising," Barlo said as he craned his neck for a better view. "There's corpses all over."

Mertle couldn't see that, but a vanadal's eyes wouldn't lie at that distance.

If she couldn't see the dead, she could smell them. Even afar, miles away from the gate, she could smell the rot climbing up to her on the forest breeze. Not the dust of the long grave, but the sticky sweet rot of early decay.

This place had just fallen. The dead were not done ripening.

Falor raised his fist, closed it, and they all fell in position behind him.

Tummy signalled a single word. Mertle nodded and signed back, "Yeah. Bugger."

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