The words settled into me, dark and wonderful. This was what I’d been missing. Not just someone who accepted my nature, but someone who understood it. Who saw the art in what had to be done.
It was… nice. Who knew?
ZAREK
After what we’d shared in the small chamber, the simple act of dressing felt strangely intimate. Bronwen hummed softly as she checked her pack, the sound content rather than nervous.
“We should move,” I said. “Before the creature wakes fully.”
She nodded, already thinking ahead. “The main nest chamber is coming up. That’s where things get interesting.”
The ground shuddered beneath our boots as we approached the heart of the Burrow-Maw’s territory. The cavern ahead stretched vast and humid, walls pulsing in slow waves of blue-green light that crawled across organic surfaces. The crashed ship sat wedged deep in the chamber, half-consumed by living walls.
Air thick enough to taste coated my throat. Metal from the ship’s hull mixed with rot and something worse. The creature’s slow breathing vibrated through stone, a rhythm that made my teeth ache. Each exhale brought warm, damp wind that carried the scent of decay and digestion.
Multiple entry points. No clear extraction route. Guardian creatures skittering in peripheral darkness. And beneath it all, the enormous presence of the creature that could swallow us whole without waking.
This wasn’t my kind of battlefield. No clear sightlines. No advantages I could use. Just organic chaos that followed rules I didn’t understand.
“Oh, look at this place!” Bronwen pressed her palms together, studying the living ecosystem. “See those light patterns? They pulse every forty-three seconds. I counted them for weeks from the ridge above.”
She moved closer to the nest wall, fingers hovering inches from the pulsing surface. “That darker section there? A whole patrol made that mistake last year.” She pointed to an unremarkable patch of ground. “These gorgeous six-legged things just poured out of the walls.”
“Nest guardians,” I said.
“I call them my darlings.” Her smile turned fond. “They’re very territorial, but they have such specific patterns. Watch—they never cross that line there. See? That one just turned back exactly at the boundary.”
My hand went to my weapon as one skittered closer.
“Oh no, don’t move fast.” Her voice stayed conversational. “Quick movement makes them defensive. There was a smuggler who tried to run through here. They pulled him apart in about thirty seconds. The coordination was remarkable.”
She traced invisible patterns in the air, following the creatures’ movements. “They always avoid that section there. Must smell different to them. And those dark patches? Gas vents. The human who triggered one coughed up blood for ten minutes before he died.”
She pointed to tendrils hanging from the ceiling. “A Mondian scout got caught by those two months ago. Just wrapped around his throat and lifted him straight up. The screaming went on for ages.”
The enormity of navigating this death trap hit me. Every step could trigger disaster, and she knew it from watching people die here.
“But here’s what I noticed,” she continued, pleasure clear in her voice. “The big creature down below must mark certain paths for itself. Nothing ever dies on that specific route there—the one that curves around the gas pockets. I’ve been wanting to test it for so long.”
She wasn’t seeing an impossible situation. She was seeing years of observation finally paying off.
“You’ve been watching this place.”
“Watching everything die here. Much more educational than books.” She turned to face me fully, eyes bright with anticipation. “You trust me to get us through? Because I really want to see if I’m right about the safe path.”
The question hung between us. She’d kept herself alive for five years by understanding death, and now she wanted to walk through it with me.
I watched her stand there, small and eager in the face of nightmares, excited about testing her theories of survival. The way she talked about death and violence with such enthusiasm—not trying to impress me, just passionate about her morbid expertise—made heat gather low in my gut despite the danger.
“Lead the way,” I said.
Her grin widened. “Oh good. I’ve been dying to try this.”
BRONWEN
Walking through the nest required a specific rhythm, and I loved finally getting to use it. Three steps, pause, three steps, pause. Years of watching creatures move this way, wondering why. Now I got to find out.
“Match my pace exactly,” I said to Zarek. “I think it prevents vibrations from building up in the floor.”
