25 Contamination
“Vampire exploration teams carry a special relic,” Annie murmured, breath warm against Lilith’s ear, like mist curling over a lake at dawn. “It’s kept secret from most folk. Jo told me because he served on a team.”
“That relic lets Vampires ignore the Black Sun’s hunger at night.” Her voice quivered like a taut bowstring. “Even after sunrise, it holds back the erosion for a short while.”
“Because the relics worked so well, Princess Eliza sealed Morris.” Her words fell like iron gates. “She switched to exploration teams to gather resources, so fewer Vampires get swallowed.”
“Our team ran in fives,” she continued, steady as footfalls on gravel. “Me, Big Bro Jon, Joseph, Jay, and Captain Uncle Tom.”
“Jay kept the relic.” Her eyes flicked like arrows. “He’s one of the few in Morris who shoots a bow, so he covered the rear.”
“Uncle Tom and I were the vanguard.” Her fingers curled like shield rims. “He’s a wall with a shield. If the Black Sun twisted beasts at us, he could cover.”
“Jon, Joseph, and I are about the same,” she said, pride a small flame. “I’m better with a longsword, so I took the front. They carried long spears on the flanks.”
Jo spoke then, head bowed like a willow in wind, voice hoarse as rusted hinges. Seaweed hair veiled his face, so Lilith read his tremor by sound alone.
“Two of us were on our first run,” he rasped, every word a pebble. “So Uncle Tom aimed for a ruin not far from Morris, a place nobody ever bothered with.”
“It went easier than we dreamed,” he said, relief brief as sunlight on rainwater. “We expected monsters and a slog. We met no enemies and gathered supplies like picking fruit.”
“Everyone was happy,” he sighed, a smile stiff as old bark. “Only Uncle Tom felt off. He warned Jay to watch our backs on the way home.”
“Jay always listened to Uncle Tom,” Jo whispered, trust like a tight knot. “He watched harder returning than he did going in.”
“But the accident still came,” he said, voice shaking like a cold hand.
He clutched his head like sinking into water. His lips trembled; his words broke like glass. He looked ready to faint, a candle guttering in wind.
“I don’t recall how far from Morris,” he managed, memory fog thick as marsh. “Maybe a few dozen li, an hour’s hard march. Dawn neared. We couldn’t make it back in time.”
“Uncle Tom chose to find shade nearby,” he said, the choice heavy as a stone. “We’d camp, wait out the sun.”
“We found a cavern,” he went on, like discovering a mouth in the earth. “We’d missed it earlier because we hadn’t stopped. Outside, a small throat; inside, a vast belly.”
“It felt crafted, not natural,” he said, a craftsman’s mark under dust. “So we decided to explore.”
“That’s the last decision I regret for life,” he breathed, regret a knife under ribs.
“Uncle Tom and I led,” he said. “Jay moved to the middle—no clean shots in tight stone. Joseph and Jon brought up the rear.”
“With Uncle Tom guiding, we reached the deep,” Jo murmured, the dark pressing like damp cloth. “As expected, an Udis ruin waited there.”
“Uncle Tom and Jay argued,” he said, words sparking like flint. “Uncle Tom wanted to leave. It’s close to Morris; we could return later. Jay said we’re here—why not look.”
“Uncle Tom didn’t win,” he added, the decision a door swinging. “He took us in.”
“I should’ve talked Jay down,” Jo said, a bitter smile like burnt tea. “He got high off the ruin, eyes wide as moons.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Lilith nodded, hunger for mystery a tide. “Even I lose my head at a ruin.”
“We stepped into the innermost room,” Jo said, breath thin as thread. “Like other Udis sites, dark violet lines crawled over the walls, veins in stone.”
Lilith tucked that detail away, quiet as a bird hiding a seed. Those violet lines had a story coiled inside them.
“But this room stood apart,” Jo said, unease creeping like frost. “Udis ruins usually weave those lines into an eye. Here, they formed a hand.”
“Uncle Tom felt wrong,” he whispered, alarm a bell struck. “He told us to leave. It was already too late.”
Jo fell silent, staring at Lilith and Annie like a moth stunned by lantern light. Then his smile twisted, a branch warped by heat.
“It was Jay,” he said. “Jay closed the door.”
“Uncle Tom asked him what he was doing.” Jo’s voice went flat, like ash. “Jay didn’t answer. He took out the relic and smashed my face.”
“The relic’s hard,” he said. “Jay’s strong. My sight went foggy; blood washed down like warm rain.”
“I got angry,” he admitted, anger a spark in straw. “I wanted to ask him why.”
“I didn’t speak,” he said, silence heavy as wet cloth. “Because I saw something I’ll never forget.”
His voice turned soft, like a sleepwalker whispering to the moon.
“I saw Jay infected,” he said, horror a slow stain. “His eyes were swallowed by the Black Sun, stretched into a long tentacle that could pierce the sky.”
“He was pounding someone with that tentacle,” Jo said, a heartbeat stuttering. “I froze, then realized the ruined head was Jon’s.”
“Joseph went slack,” he said, fear pinning him like a nail. “He stood, unmoving, stone in a flood.”
“Uncle Tom froze too,” Jo went on, then steadied like a shield braced. “He raised his shield, swatted Jay away, turned to grab Joseph.”
“His hand stopped short,” Jo said, shock cracking like ice. “A black bone sliced it off.”
“Uncle Tom stared,” he said, mind fogged like a winter pane. “He didn’t understand.”
“I saw Joseph rip open his chest,” Jo whispered, flesh parting like cloth. “He pulled out a bone and chopped off Uncle Tom’s right hand.”
“Joseph was devoured by the Black Sun too,” he said, truth sinking like a stone in a well.
“Uncle Tom met my eyes,” Jo said, a glance like a shared grave. “We understood. Despair settled, cold as midnight.”
“Then it ended,” he breathed, the end swift as a guillotine. “Uncle Tom’s left hand moved on its own and tore off his head.”
“He was devoured too,” Jo said, emptiness yawning like a pit. “Even he didn’t know.”
Jo reached out his right hand, slow as a tide. He yanked his sleeve. Skin blackened like char. His arm was studded with orange eyes, each iris turning, watching, hungry.
“Just like me,” he said, and his grin split like a cracked mask.
“Annie, run!” Lilith’s cry rang like a bell, sharp as ice. She slammed the table into Jo’s face, wood splintering like a broken oar.
“Y-Yes!” Annie jolted, a deer in brush, then bolted for the door, feet scattering dust like seeds.
“Damn it, I should’ve brought the Shattered Ark.” Lilith gripped the Astrolabe, knuckles pale as chalk, regret nipping like winter teeth.
She fixed her gaze on what used to be Jo, a shadow in a man’s shape, and whispered a spell, words curling like incense smoke.
The little dragon’s belly feathers shifted back to ghost-blue, moonlight caught in plumage. Lilith leveled the Astrolabe at the monster, steady as a spear.
“Frost Ray!” The little dragon struck, a cold lance streaking like winter lightning. She had to kill it here, in this room. No escape.
