Peace, and the Rot Beneath It

Chainrunner has been a profession for as long as the fog has existed, though the origin of the name is long lost. It is believed that the name originates from those who ran with chains attached to their backs while dragging resources along the road. This far-fetched name nevertheless became the designation for the entire profession.

Their symbol is even simpler than the name. Three straight lines. Some say it resembles their founders; others claim each line represents what they defend: the Via Appia, the Obelisks, and the people. However, the most commonly accepted interpretation is that each line represents one of their pillars, an aspect of their profession. The first is transport, the second hunting, and the third exploration. Each task holds equal merit, for all must brave the fog where return is often uncertain, especially as each generation faces deadlier beasts, a fact we are all aware of.

Unfortunately, the sudden spike in the beasts' strength cannot be compared to anything recorded in any prior generation. The rise in onyx, as well as the so-called crimson beasts being sighted every few years, is far beyond precedent. Through the study of old chainrunner records and reports, I managed to trace the origin of this spike to a single day—the day the higher districts were isolated from the lower ones, and the arrival of Omen Elrod in District 98.

Omen Elrod's dedication to exploration was widely recorded throughout his life, most notably through Omen's Bestiary, which has been heavily used to improve the knowledge chainrunners have of the beasts out there. The bestiary features in-depth descriptions of their behaviors, strengths, and weaknesses, as well as detailed drawings of their anatomy. However, it often mixes technical and descriptive writing with childlike considerations, as if two different people were writing with the same hand.

Often considered a figure of myth, his return from the dead was bound to become the greatest news the district had in years. Many called this event an omen of the brightest days of chainrunning, a time when exploration remained within the realm of feasibility. Others considered him one of the fog's most profane monsters, for he wielded power that should belong only to its beasts.

This division of opinion was not surprising. Eighteen years outside the ward was more than half his life, lived amidst the beasts. Nonetheless, I do not think the central question is whether he became one of them, but whether he could still recall what it meant to be human.

Excerpt from Elrod Dominion by Elina Ferrin, Librarian of District 98

She stood as lively as ever, green hair catching the light, green eyes quick and bright. The silvery apple's blessing still clung to her, a quiet vitality that had surely lengthened her life. "Meris," I whispered.

We were in her shop, the battle had just ended, but no one here had been told yet. They were preparing for the aftermath of the battle.

Carts were being packed to carry whatever the breach would leave behind—wounded, dying, or both. They also piled herbs, medicine, and whatever else they could gather in so little time.

Steam rose from kettles and narrow-necked glass, carrying the sharp sting of crushed mint, the earthy rot of woundmoss, and the metallic sap of bloodroot. Meris hunched over a small bench, hands hovering just above a vial of dull grey liquid.

Her fingers trembled with focus and the mana she pulled from the Life Tree; it shimmered around her knuckles, and the grey inside the vial flushed piece by piece into a dark red.

"Can't speak right now," she said, eyes fixed on the vial as a pale glow soaked into the mixture. The power she drew from the Life Tree had no core to cycle within her. Still, the same life mana also soothed the backlash. The liquid trembled, cleared, and at last she exhaled like she had been holding her breath for days.

"Okay. I'll come back later," I said, already stepping aside so a pair of people could shoulder through with a crate of bandages.

I walked toward the street and there I saw Tarin and Artemis, who had heard the exchange. They had insisted on coming with me. "No, don't just leave like that," Tarin said, facepalming.

"She's busy right now," I explained.

Artemis held my gaze. "After all these years," she said, careful and slow, "you're not in a hurry to see her? Really?"

I truly was, but I had been by her side since I stepped into the ward.

In the same way that even while I spoke to them, I was also at the far perimeter of the ward, skimming the air for the tremor of hostile intent, tasting the echoes of sound where something hungry might have answered the cannon thunder.

In the same way that I was studying the cannons, every rune, and the design, already measuring it and thinking about how to adapt it for the Frostkin flesh.

In the same way that I was watching the reinforcements from District 99 arrive.

In the same way that I stood at countless places at once, my will and senses splitting cleanly, like muscle fibers flexing in separate directions.

Therefore, the exact location of my body meant very little.

As I was already with her.

I felt that saying any of this would be improper, strange even. In the Abyss, we had little concept of privacy, and most Frostkin preferred to be watched by kin for safety rather than left alone. Even the Isari usually traveled with a partner.

"Should I try again?" I asked, curious and willing to accept that I had to relearn their way of doing things.

"Yes," Tarin said. "Of course you should."

I took a step, then felt a thin thread of will brush against Meris. The instant it found her, her face lit. She turned, skirts whispering against the counter, and crossed the space in three quick strides, arms opening.

Is she communicating with the Life Tree?

Instinct told me to step back and prepare a defensive maneuver. Maybe this was a direct attack from the Life Tree, using Meris as a vessel. I doubted she could wield enough power to kill me, but gods had their tricks, and the Life Tree likely had many, especially for a God rooted in one place.

Regardless of instinct, I did nothing as she came toward me. Even if it was an attack, I would not act against her, not even if she was only a vessel.

Her arms slid around my neck and pulled tight. Heat bled through my cloak. Her heart hammered against my chest, and her tears soaked cold into my skin before warmth chased them. "I knew you'd come back," she said, voice breaking. "But you made me wait too long."

For a moment, the world narrowed to one point; everything else dimmed to nothing but that one sight, that one feeling. She surely felt it too, by touch, what my cloak tried to hide, but it didn't faze her in the slightest. This was the same Meris I had always known.

I let the watchful part of me dim, and I put my arms around her.

I never allowed even the Frostkin that close to my neck. Rationally, such closeness was an unnecessary weakness, yet in that moment, I let myself be weak and left the usual guard open. I knew the Life Tree could hurt me if it wished, but I chose to trust that it would not.

Then Meris's fist thumped against my chest. I let it land, thinking this was the Life Tree's attack at last, but it struck so lightly it would not have hurt a bird. "Don't ever leave me again," she said.

"I won't," I replied.

"Promise?" she asked, searching my face like the answer might be hiding in the lines there.

"I do." It was a promise I wasn't sure I could keep, but I surely hoped I would.

***

The following days were as bright as I had ever wished for during my time in the Abyss. Yet I couldn't shake the sense that the same peace was giving room for horrors to grow, that at its heart, things of which I had little awareness would come back to bite me.

My suspicion proved true only days after my arrival, when I felt through Rogara's senses the formation of a new godly will and a dominion—a claim over another aspect I could only guess at.

Rogara was still within the Abyss, as were the Frostkin, which also felt it.

I had known it was only a matter of time before the two higher beings that had slipped from the grey realm during my fight with Sjakthar would evolve to become what they once were, Gods.

Both the elf and the spider had slipped into this realm, already understanding the process of ascension, and both carried claims of their own. In a place where only carnage slowed them, they took crimson cores as they wished, unchallenged now that the one who once held dominion over the Abyss was gone.

By nightfall of the same day, a second pressure pressed in alongside the first. I was certain then: the elf and the spider had both climbed as high as their vessels would carry them and used their claims to achieve godhood.

The only question was whether they would come after me, a newly ascended God still learning to use auric power, who, by either fortune or misfortune, carried a second auric core that I had not yet decided to absorb or use in one of my creations.

In time, they probably would.

Meanwhile, Tarin urged me to take an official position at his side. "Co-regency lets two equal leaders share rule," he insisted, but I had no interest in leading anyone. That wasn't me.

So I continued as a chainrunner under Gustav's command, though he seemed reluctant to give me orders or tasks.

At one point, he cleared his throat and said, "Now that you're back… would you consider taking the position of captain?"

There had been steady talk about Gustav's retirement, more than I expected, and most of it centered on how carefully he was grooming his son for the position. I learned then that Gustav had a spouse and a child, which surprised me. Even Tarin had a son of his own, and he had given the boy my name.

Yet despite all that preparation, Gustav admitted he did not believe his son was ready to take the burden.

People speak of being prepared for command as if there were a threshold one could reach, but there is no such thing. The moment responsibility is placed on someone, they either grow into it or break under its weight.

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"No," I said. "I'm fine as I am."

He never mentioned it again in the days that followed.

I kept going to the chainrunners' headquarters every day during daylight, just as the other chainrunners did, all of them busy with lists, preparations, and the work before the next run. Yet no task was ever given to me. I only stood there, present but without assignment or goal.

I sat there, mostly in silence that was often broken by nearby whispers, some fearful, some excited, and a few even interesting. "I heard Omen himself is going to command the expedition to reconnect with the lower districts," said a young apprentice with a broom near the entrance.

It was not the first time I had heard that rumor. Exploration of the fog had been a common topic since my arrival. Many within the district talked about it, and while I couldn't be in all places at once, speaking my name often drew my attention, even from many miles away.

I tried to give people privacy as I knew they preferred, but instinct most times pushed me to listen whenever my name was spoken.

"Keep it down. He'll hear you," a second apprentice said, giving him a sharp look.

"Are you sure he will? I thought he was sleeping. He hasn't moved a finger for hours," the one with the broom said.

Both of them glanced over. "His eyes are open," the second said, suddenly careful.

It had escaped my notice that I had been sitting without moving for hours. I simply had no reason to move since Gustav hadn't assigned me any task, and everybody seemed either reluctant or afraid to approach me. Besides, I was actually moving around the district, only my body sat there.

Only when he mentioned it did I realize how strange that must have seemed. This fear was my fault. All these chainrunners had been present when I arrived, and I hoped that appearing in public often would help dispel it, to show them I was not what they believed I was.

Meris wielded magic as I did, yet no one feared her. On the contrary, people admired her every time she used it. They felt safe around her, and every time she used it, all I could see were light and bright smiles.

And I had become a God. Surely I could also do the same, or so I thought.

It was time to show them something harmless. I cupped my hands and left only a thin slit between my thumbs. I exhaled into the slit and let the cold within me catch the breath and freeze it solid. At first, it was only a speck of frost, a fragile grain of ice, but as I kept breathing, the crystal grew thicker and heavier until it rested within my palms, sealed there in my closed hands like a tiny shard of trapped winter.

With a small push of will, I began shaping it. The tiny shard of ice stretched and tapered into a body, chest first, then spine. Thin ridges rose from the surface like feathers, and I pinched the front into a beak.

The sudden chill made the room seem quieter around us.

Then I breathed into the ice once more and felt mana pool inside it, where I had just let a spark settle. It was not a shade taken from the grey, but a new life I created to occupy the vessel, like the ones I had created to occupy my tentacles, though this was not the same as those brief lives.

Or perhaps it was. Time does not define life. One may live for decades, minutes, or only a few seconds, but in the end, it is life all the same.

The small body trembled as its pulse took hold and the new heart inside the ice found a rhythm of its own.

It gave a small, bright whistle. I opened my hands and the little bird beat its crystal wings and flew toward the two apprentices. The apprentices gasped.

Not the reaction I hoped for. They bolted. "Told you he'd hear you, dumbass," the second apprentice said while running.

The ice bird flew back toward me and landed on my shoulder, seeming disappointed by the rejection. "They don't mean it," I told it. "They just don't see it as we do."

It was simply a small songbird without a core, but the mana within would keep it alive for two, maybe three years. I had no use for it, but since I had brought it to life, I decided to set it free. "Go," I told it, and it flew away, never to be seen by me again.

Just as they darted through the doors, someone came in: Gustav. The only other person present—a clerk—snapped to attention, but Gustav came straight toward me.

"Having fun scaring teenagers?" he asked, finally approaching me after days of silence.

"Not quite," I said, still watching the bird fly away.

"How are you controlling it that far away?" he asked, interested.

"I'm not," I told him. It was the truth. "Go ahead and ask what you came to ask."

"Would…" he began.

"No," I answered.

"You didn't even hear what I came to ask," he said, though he didn't seem surprised.

"You came to ask if I agree with the plans to establish contact with the lower districts," I said.

At that, surprise flickered across his face, but he didn't question how I knew. He had eyes on this place; the same clerk gave him reports at the end of every day, usually something along the lines of saying I sat still for hours.

Still, I heard when they mentioned my name, and the rumours made it obvious enough, even with me trying not to pry into other people's conversations.

I glanced at him, then toward the door, where familiar boots were drawing closer. Gustav did not seem to notice or care. "We're on the edge of something great," he said. "Exploration, alive again. You, of all people, should understand that. Isn't this what you always fought for?"

Was that what I fought for? The way I saw it, everything I had ever wanted was, in some way, already achieved.

Yet nothing I did quieted the ticking at the back of my mind. The wards were dying. Even now, while speaking to Gustav, I also stood at the Obelisk, studying it in more detail than ever, and the conclusion was still the same.

In time, all wards would die, and with them humanity would fade at last.

"A second, a minute, a decade, or even many thousands of years," I said, letting my gaze wander beyond the roof, beyond our ward, into the Great Ward, thin and fragile. "Everything eventually comes to an end. Just like that bird will one day, but tell me, is it going to stop flying because of it?"

"No?" Gustav said, puzzled, not quite understanding what I meant.

"Indeed, it will not," I confirmed. "One might even say it does not understand that fact, and that very ignorance is what keeps it light enough for the wind to carry upon its currents. And in that, I would agree, ignorance at times may be a blessing in itself."

I had not shared most of what I had seen out there—the Abyss, the Frostkin, or that the Great Ward was real and weakening like our own. Perhaps it was time to hand over my books and notes.

"So we should stand here, enjoying our newfound strength against the beasts, while the other districts die?" Gustav asked.

It was a fair point. Other districts might be choking in the same fog, and if we stayed complacent, we risked sharing their fate. The chainrunners now had the strength for such a run, but it would have to be made at full speed, not slowed by cargo.

District 11 lay next on our path, assuming it still stood and its cultivation artifact had not been taken or spent to ash.

Food, even with the hunts, remained a persistent problem. A trade route would only be feasible because of my storage ring, but if it were truly only food they wanted, I could hunt alone or eventually ask the Frostkin. "I can hunt as much as needed myself. Expansion is not necessary."

He stared at me for a long moment, as if only then realizing that I was truly serious about my proposal. "I'm sure you'd love to go out and kill something. Honestly, go ahead; I'd rather you aim that bloodlust outward. But let's be honest for once—you know it's not only about food."

"Obviously, it's not only that. You got bored with peace and now you're looking for ways to lose it. What exactly do we gain by expanding New Araksiun even more?" I asked.

A familiar cadence of footsteps approached—Tarin. Whether his arrival was a coincidence or not, he seemed to know what we were discussing and had heard my last question.

Gustav was about to answer, but Tarin lifted a hand. "To stand against the fog. You know that with every day, the dangers out there grow stronger."

I knew it too well, more than any of them.

"It's our duty to offer them protection under New Araksiun now that we've come this far," Tarin continued. "Think of the people you know here. Outside, there are people just like us, and they are worthy of our protection."

"So go," I said. "I will stay and watch for threats during the expedition."

They exchanged a look. Then Tarin said, "If I leave on a run like that, the moment I set foot outside, they might declare me dead. I can't be sure what would happen to New Araksiun."

My brother had grown paranoid. He feared Cairen and countless others, sometimes even his own shadow, which, given what we had lived through, I found understandable. Still, he had a point. He simply could not lead such an expedition.

"You know I can't leave. I made a promise," I said.

"It would be months from now," Tarin said. "Besides, if you can't leave, how do you plan to keep working as a chainrunner?" He paused, then added, "Don't take this the wrong way. You deserve a break from the runs more than anyone. If that's what you want, we can arrange a new position for you."

I thought for a moment, even considering sending the Isari or other Frostkin in my place when they eventually left the Abyss. But if the Frostkin took that role, what would happen to the chainrunners?

That, I could not say.

Maybe the chainrunners would grow weak, and in a time of need, they would lack the necessary strength.

Or perhaps they would turn to exploration and hunting rather than anything else.

Either way, they both offered me command, and I rejected it. By doing so, I accepted their authority, their choices, and my duty as a chainrunner was to follow them.

Besides, it would not be any different than a regular run, just a much longer one. Along the way, we might even find a cultivation artifact. Perhaps even knowledge of what went wrong with the wards of the lower districts.

However, I doubted I could do much if we found another God along the way. Such a battle would erase everything and everyone around, just like the one in the Abyss, even if I won.

I drew in a slow breath and then exhaled, letting the cold inside me ride the air. The temperature around us dropped at once. Frost spidered over the stone floor in thin veins, and from those veins, shapes began to climb.

Finger-sized figures of ice pulled themselves upright. Tiny dolls walked on stiff legs, hundreds of them, boots clicking faintly as they spread across the floor around us. Each one carried a spear and a few dragged cannons along the way, their helmets smooth and round, their stances disciplined. Little chainrunners, marching.

Then, larger shapes pushed up from the frost. Beasts of ice, several times the height of the tiny chainrunners and almost up to our knees, formed in rough, jagged lines. Horns, claws, too many teeth. Their bodies shimmered with faint blue light as they shook shards of loose frost from their shoulders.

Gustav and Tarin stared, wide-eyed. The light from the lamps caught in the ice, making the entire place gleam as if it had been flooded by a frozen tide. Each piece seemed alive in its own way, and that was because they all were.

Tiny lives with tiny brains and tiny purposes, but alive all the same.

"What is this…" Tarin began, but his words were drowned out as the first of the miniature cannons fired.

The sound was far too loud for their size. Ice cannons bloomed like the real ones, and the floor shook with the echo. The little chainrunners braced themselves and a volley of ice shot out in bright streaks toward the beasts.

Impact. The first line of giant beasts shattered under the barrage. Their bodies burst into shards that flew in every direction, tinkling and skittering across the stone. The tiny chainrunners cheered in their thin voices and charged forward.

More shapes loomed out of the frost ahead of them. New beasts, even larger than the first, rose into being. These ones dwarfed the previous giants, their forms thicker, their limbs heavier.

Once again, the cannons fired. Volley after volley of ice slammed into the new beasts, exploding against their forms. This time, nothing broke. The shards fell away like harmless snow. The giants shook off the impact as if it were rain and kept advancing.

They stepped into the line of tiny chainrunners and crushed them without slowing. Little bodies snapped under their feet; cannons and weapons scattered in all directions. The cheering stopped. The floor was filled with glittering wreckage.

"I know you both believe you understand the world out there," I said as the last ice chainrunner fell and lay still. "But there are far worse things waiting in the fog than you can imagine. Things that might follow us back to our wards."

The beasts that had crushed the chainrunners stood motionless, staring at both Gustav and Tarin without a blink. Many of them were reconstructions of beasts I had faced in the fog, their anatomy matching the real ones precisely.

"I rejected the mantle of command," I continued. "I will follow any orders given. So tell me. Are these my new orders? Should I begin preparations for this run?"

They both watched the ice field in silence. The room felt smaller with the cold pressed into every corner.

Gustav didn't seem sure anymore. Tarin, however, did not look away.

"It's exactly because of that," Tarin said and drew an arrow, then another, loosing each one in quick succession. Each impact rippled through the ice beasts, and they burst apart in fragments that skittered across the stone. Tarin let out a slow breath, lowering his bow.

"That's why we cannot stay complacent. We must keep pushing the expansion. If we stand still, those things will be the ones to move instead."

"Very well," I said. Then, the entire battlefield cracked and collapsed.

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