“Well? No, Wildflower…can’t you see…we’re in our own graves?”
The figure murmured, clutching themselves close, their breath misting in their air.
What little Setara could make of their face, was their eyes- Bright, blue- With flecks of white on a tapestry of black. Their hands were bloody, dripping with something’s warm liquids.
They couldn’t be that same figure. There were no flowers. No reverence. Just the cold. Just them.
“I failed you…I failed the both of us…”
The humming grew into something more tangible, now discernible voices amongst the tones- Dozens speaking, singing, crying. The vines twisted and coiled, removing themselves away from entrance completely. Something old was down here, something that had long been buried.
The voices seeped themselves into the cracks of Conleth’s mind, intruding, stretching, piercing.
A force branched against his own, pushing him forwards, towards the entrance, willing him towards the yawning, cavernous entrance.
Conleth rolled his eyes as the clearly handicapped Fodbgen fumbled the cane, before turning to walk further along towards the mouth of the cave only to stop dead in his tracks as the blind guy reiterated, to the benefit of no one, that he was the blind guy.
His eyelids quivered, desiring greatly to half-close and enable a dramatic eye roll in retaliation - enjoyed most thoroughly as Fodbgen was, of course, completely blind, and could not be offended at something he was unaware of. It was perhaps the easiest disrespect he could possibly undertake.
The Priest. The Strand.
Conleth quietly sighed. Even with a massive comet overhead and an inexplicable fall into gentle sand, the divine appointment he had received weighed heavily on his mind. It would probably be in his best interests not to directly antagonize his new peers.
Okay, FINE.
With a mild flopping of his arms, he took two more steps forward-
-And tripped slightly as he was suddenly moved.
The shift in the voices’ tenor completely turned Conleth off to the idea of potentially meeting who was making them. His shoulders sunk into his neck and his back flattened out completely, leaning back against the force that, despite his best effort, kept pushing him along.
“Help-” He whispered over his shoulder, surprised momentarily at the level of fear in his voice. It would make a poor impression on whomever he had been assigned to if he got scared by a little poking and prodding, which he decided meant he shouldn’t verbalize how the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end.
“C-c’mon.” He slowly increased the volume of his voice, trying to resist the force driving him ahead long enough to catch Fodbgen’s attention, his eyes forcing his head upwards as he finally passed underneath the retreated vines. “C’mon, this way.”
Setara stared back at the figure, taking in what they said. She just…stared. Irregardless of the celestial dance, in this cold it must have seemed an age had past before her eyes moved from the figure. She looked from side to side, moving her head as though in search of something before staring back at the figure.
“Then where is the gathering?” Setara asked. “I see no others here, nor hear their wailing songs. If such a pale cradle wishes to have us, then let us escape before good company declares we are the ground’s dowry.”
With that, Setara extended her staff down to the figure, bracing herself to help pull them out.
“Come, it hardly wants to hold you. And then you can tell what failure you believe has occurred.”
As Conleth stepped under the vines, and into the mouth of the tunnel, his footsteps rang out against the empty air, the old flagstones shifting softly under his weight, as the darkness of the chasmous passage soon encircled him, leaving little to be seen.
But a step further- and then there was light once more. Not the dim, waning twilight leaking from the tear in the earth above, but vibrant, oscillating, beaming light, as ancient symbols from ages long past sprung to life underneath the old stones, each one humming with newfound energy.
The figure raised out a bloodied hand, dazingly attempting to grasp the staff. Their eyes stared deep into Setara, blinking slowly.
Setara tried to move the staff around a spot that would be easier for them to grab. Also trying to take note of what color the blood was if it was any out of the ordinary.
“If ‘small one’ is known as Setara to you, then yes, it is I. Though I do not know how it is that I’m here. This is all foreign to me. I fell beneath the land and…found, myself, here. Where is here?”
It was no use. As his hushed calls turned to whispers, Conleth was forced to admit he had absolutely no clue ow to pronounce Fodbgen’s name. All he could do was hope the blind guy’s powerful hearing would detect his instruction and follow his path.
And maybe help me…
The light around him disappeared, swallowed up by the unfamiliar walls. As the stones beneath his feet settled with every step, his pace, which had relaxed slightly after leaving the sandy cavern, slowed to a crawl, his heels grinding against the loose flagstones as the force propelling him inched him ever forwards.
Expecting some boogeyman to leap from the shadows, Conleth flinched at the slightest change in surrounding until all visibility was lost.
And then, terror was replaced with wonder.
Between the soil-lined flagstones glowed a splendorous light, shining up to illuminate his path as the aged lines across the walls, previously invisible to his eye, shone brightly. Artwork from a bygone age glistened in the dark cavern, each telling the story of thousands of hours of skilled craftmanship, each one mostly glossed over by Conleth as he stared in awe at the presence of it.
For a moment - a brief, wonder-filled moment - he forgot entirely about his predicament, the state of the universe above him, or the thread of silver being a thread of gold. The force ushering him along felt like his natural step then; he could not absorb too much of the respite from that unforgiving darkness.
