The four ill-fated travelers trudged on for days after days through mud and snow that clung to their boots like leaden weights. Every breath scorched their lungs—a dry rattle tasting of rust and hunger. Their stomachs were hollow, aching voids, a localized agony that drained their strength even more than the bitter cold. Moko and the others struggled forward, each step heavier, each hunger pang sharper than the last.They stopped only because the world, quite simply, ceased to turn the right way. Tsuki collapsed to her knees, her fingers clawing at the Prism to keep it from vanishing into the iron-grey snow."Too... so tired..." she whispered. In her mind, Etan's voice was nothing but a distorted hum, like a radio losing its signal.That was when the shadows moved. They weren't wolves, nor were they drones. They were squat, broad silhouettes emerging from the scrap heaps with the skittering speed of spiders. The Snow Dwarves. They wore masks fashioned from old air filters and thick glass goggles; their hands, encased in tattered rubber gloves, gripped hooks and pliers."Let the weak meat halt... let the breath run short... let us take it all..." one hissed, closing in with a cautious, predatory gait.A smaller dwarf lunged toward Tsuki's shoulder, reaching for the fine fabric of Kaelos's cloak. "Let the black be ours... let the weave unravel... let the dwarf wear it well..."Moko, who until then had seemed little more than an exhausted pile of fur, jerked. His two main eyes, wide and watery with fatigue, snapped open. He growled—a sound like the grinding of rusted gears.The moment the dwarf touched the cloth, a third eye, blood-red, split open on Moko's forehead with a wet crack. The dwarf flinched, feeling a telepathic pressure crushing his skull. But the dwarves' hunger for metal outweighed their fear. Three more stepped forward, brandishing chains.In a frantic burst of self-defense, Moko shifted. With a series of sickening twitches beneath his skin, five more eyes sprouted along his brow and temples. Eight eyes in total—black, glassy, and fixed—reflecting the sickly light of the forest.The dwarves scrambled back in a chorus of terrified shrieks."Let the fur-demon close! Let the eyes not see us! Let the curse not fall!"But the group was too far gone to counterattack. After the effort, Moko staggered, his eight eyes struggling to stay open for lack of sustenance. Sensing their frailty, the dwarves did not flee. They used long poles to keep them at bay and cast nets woven from electrical cables."Let them be dragged... let the Glass-Graveyard take them... let the King see his prey..."They were herded, bound and stumbling, toward a jagged rift in the rock. Past the threshold, the forest vanished. Beneath Tsuki's feet, the mud gave way to a smooth, frozen, ribbed surface: asphalt.Ahead of them, in the subterranean gloom, stood an ancient human building fused into the stone. The windows were webs of cracks, and above the main entrance, a row of red plastic letters hung askew, faintly lit by bioluminescent moss: M A L L.The screech of the net against the granite drilled into Zeryth's brain. He was pressed against Llyr-Vahn's frozen side, feeling her breath grow thin—a faint whistle escaping from lips cracked by the frost.Zeryth tried to lift his head, but a copper wire noose tightened around his neck. His eyes, bloodshot from sleep deprivation, watched the dwarves' legs scurrying alongside them. One of them wore a pair of DJ headphones around his waist like a chastity belt, convinced the earcups were hip-shields."Let him not wake... let the blood stay silent..." hissed a dwarf, striking Llyr-Vahn's shoulder with a steel ladle to check for a reaction. She didn't make a sound.

  Zeryth swallowed hard, his stomach twisting in an agonizing cramp. He looked up through the mesh of the nets. They passed beneath a scaffold where one dwarf was "baptizing" another, pouring blue windshield washer fluid from a cracked jug while chanting litanies in a distorted subjunctive: "Let the blue purify thee... let the frost not claim thee..."

  It was a methodical madness. Zeryth saw a line of smaller dwarves using computer keyboards as shields, tapping keys frantically as if punching in magical codes to ward off the evil eye.When the net came to a sudden halt before a pyramid of shopping carts, Zeryth found himself face-to-face with the Overseer's boot. It was a yellow rubber rain boot, encrusted with rusted drill bits to give it the air of royal footwear. The Overseer lowered his flag-scepter, leveling its metallic tip directly at Zeryth's throat."Let the Man-Who-Watches speak..." a metallic voice rasped from behind a welding mask. "Let him tell why the fair-flesh is so cold and why the Feathered-Monster has shuttered its eight gates."Zeryth coughed, struggling to find his voice amidst the cables tightening around his neck. He knew a single mistake would turn him and his companions into "spare parts" for this kingdom of lunatics.The Overseer descended from his throne of carts with the predatory grace of a scavenger. He pressed the flagpole against Tsuki's chest, right where the black fabric of the Kaelos uniform was torn and caked in mud."Let the black bring death..." the leader hissed. "Have the soldiers of the Iron-Sky come to steal our scraps? Must we dismantle your limbs to fashion bolts?"The surrounding dwarves snarled, brandishing bent forks and rusted screwdrivers. Zeryth, his face pressed against the granite and his breath cut short by the net, looked up. Hunger made the Mall's lights blur into smears of color, but his survival instinct had never been sharper."No..." Zeryth croaked, coughing up dust. "We are not Kaelos. We stole the black to hide ourselves. We... we know how to make the metal-stones speak."The Overseer tilted his head, skeptical. Zeryth pointed a trembling finger at the leader's belt, indicating an old brass flashlight encrusted with green oxidation. "That. Give it to me. We aren't Kaelos. I... I can prove it."The leader hesitated, then gave a sharp sign. The dwarves loosened the Ethernet cables around Zeryth's arms. The Overseer unhooked the flashlight and tossed it to the ground.Zeryth snatched it up. The batteries inside were dry dust, the contacts corroded. With a grimace of pain from the effort, he summoned his power: a bead of mercury-oil seeped from his pores, sliding into the flashlight's seams. The liquid metal acted as a perfect conductor, bypassing the dead circuits.ClickA beam of yellowish light, warm and potent, exploded from the scratched reflector, hitting the Overseer full in the chest. The dwarves let out a cry of pure terror and wonder, prostrating themselves on the floor. "Let the light be reborn!"The Overseer stood frozen, bathed in the glow. Slowly, he sheathed his flag-scepter. He no longer looked at the prisoners as scrap, but as living relics.From the folds of his film-strip cloak, he pulled a shattered vinyl record. He offered it to Zeryth with the solemnity of a priest offering a wafer. "Let this... what to do with this..."Zeryth took the disc. It was heavy, its deep grooves tasting of dust and years. He couldn't "turn it on" like the flashlight.Hanging between a rusted wrench and a bunch of cables used as tassels, he spotted a small rectangle of brushed steel—scratched, but free of deep rust. It was an object that knew its own purpose. Zeryth raised a trembling hand, pointing at the metal. "That..." he wheezed. "That is no amulet."The Overseer tilted his mask, studying the man. Then, with a sharp flick, he detached the Zippo and let it fall into Zeryth's palm. The metal was ice-cold.Zeryth gripped it. His fingers moved with the tactile memory of a world that no longer existed. With his thumb, he flicked the lid.Clink.The metallic sound, clear and harmonic, echoed through the concrete walls of the Mall like a note of pure crystal. The escort jumped back, makeshift cutlery-weapons raised in terror at that mechanical "shout."Zeryth didn't stop. He showed the Overseer the knurled flint wheel. "Let the stone bite... let the iron answer..." he muttered, mimicking their speech to be understood.He called upon a fraction of his power. He didn't need fuel; he only needed the friction to be perfect. A drop of mercury-oil slid invisibly from his nail into the mechanism, lubricating the ancient hinge and reinforcing the flint, now worn to a grain.Zeryth struck the wheel with a sharp snap of his thumb.Sclack!A spray of white and blue sparks erupted in his palm, momentarily illuminating the ghostly mannequins and the stunned faces of the dwarves. It wasn't a flame, but it was light born from nothing."Let the stars fall!" a dwarf cried, falling to his knees. "Let the Mercury-Man command the dry fire!"The Overseer stepped forward, mesmerized. He took the Zippo from Zeryth's hands, closing and reopening the lid just to hear that sacred clink once more. To him, Zeryth was no longer a prisoner; he was a translator of wreckage, someone who could give voice to the mute gods of the Mall.With an imperious gesture of his flag-scepter, the Overseer pointed toward the Food Court kitchens—once a place of deep-fryers, now a sprawl of furnaces and pots of boiling soup."Let the meat be brought! Let the Eyed-Giant and the Weave-Bearers eat!" he commanded. "Let the Mercury-Man be sated... for other gods wait to speak."As the dwarves sliced through the last of the nets, dragging the group toward a less shadowy area, Tsuki felt the Prism on her chest grow warm. Llyr-Vahn groaned, regaining consciousness just as the scent of animal fat and boiled roots filled the air.Zeryth collapsed to the ground, his hands still shaking. He had won the first round against the dwarves' madness, but he knew they would soon expect more miracles.The heat from the brazier—fashioned from a steel trash can—scorched the air around the group. They camped beneath a crooked, yellow "M-Y-B-U-R-G-E-R" sign hanging from the ceiling.The dwarves moved with heavy steps. They weren't small creatures; their heads reached Zeryth's shoulders. They were broad-shouldered, their powerful arms wrapped in rags and skin hardened by the cold. They brought the food with a raw solemnity. Tsuki was handed a blue plastic pencil-cup brimming with soup; in the dwarf's thick, powerful hands, the object looked almost like a normal cup, gripped by stubby, strong fingers.Tsuki drank, feeling the warmth of the rat grease slide down her throat. Beside her, Llyr-Vahn stared blankly into her glass ashtray. Her skin was so thin and pale she looked as if she might vanish at any moment, but the scent of food forced her to stay anchored to reality. Every swallow restored a fraction of the essence she was wasting away to protect the group.Zeryth chewed the tough meat with desperate urgency. The cost of his power was written in the tremors of his filthy hands; he needed that sustenance to replace the blood he'd spent.The tribe watched them. A young dwarf, nearly as tall as Tsuki while she was seated, approached her. He wore a scrap of wool atop his head like a ceremonial skullcap and a fork tied around his neck with sturdy twine, displayed like a high-ranking jewel. He leaned toward Moko, who remained curled between Tsuki's legs.The dwarf reached out a massive hand to grab the fur. Moko, keeping only two eyes open in his exhaustion, let out a grunt—not an animal sound, but a vibrational warning that made Tsuki's plate rattle. The dwarf flinched, not out of fear, but with a sort of brutal respect, retreating to a restaurant chair that was just a bit too high for him.Nearby, other dwarves played with wreckage: they tried to wedge bolts into plastic straws, whispering about how those tiny tubes might hold the "breath of the Ancients." Two of them walked around with diving fins strapped to their bare feet, creating a rhythmic slap-thud on the granite floor that echoed through the entire level.Tsuki squeezed her pendant. Etan, within her, was a dull hum—an echo of hunger that was finally beginning to fade. From his perch atop the pizza counter, the Overseer flicked the Zippo. Clink. Clink. The sound was the only law in that chaos of hulking shadows and prying eyes.When the plates were empty, the Overseer vaulted down from the counter, his flag-scepter striking the floor. The sharp crack brought the dwarves to attention. The group stood slowly, their stomachs finally heavy and full.They began to walk through the corridors. The floor here was clean, swept of debris, the granite slabs reflecting the glow of oil lamps that the dwarves carried on long poles. The flames danced behind yellowed glass, illuminating the broad, powerful faces of the escort. They moved with heavy steps. One dwarf stopped before a pile of wire hangers carefully arranged in a corner. He bowed before the metal. "Let the metal not bend... let the form be eternal... let the Mercury-Man see its worth," he intoned with solemn gravity.Tsuki moved closer to Zeryth as they walked over the smooth floor."How did you know that metal thing made fire?" she asked in a low voice, gesturing toward the Overseer's pocket. "How did you know where to press?"Zeryth didn't look at her immediately. His eyes followed the shadows cast by the lamps."Because where I come from, Tsuki, that stuff was normal. They weren't treasures; they were just tools everyone had in their pockets." He lowered his voice even further. "Llyr-Vahn comes from there too. We ended up here, but we know how to make this junk work."A shiver ran down Tsuki's spine. Zeryth's words made her grip the pendant tighter; Etan's presence grew sharper, like a shadow moving behind her own eyes. She looked at Zeryth, then at Llyr-Vahn. If they knew how to use these objects, perhaps Etan did too.Llyr-Vahn walked a short distance away, her hand brushing a concrete pillar. Her body felt solid and heavy again under the warm lamplight. "We all ended up in this place, Tsuki," she said, turning slightly. "But we know what this stuff is. To the dwarves, it's all just magic."Moko paced between their feet, his two eyes wide open, scouting the dwarves. He let out a sharp grunt to silence them. He paused before a row of old televisions with grey, dead screens, then nudged Tsuki to keep her moving. He was alert; the dwarves were staring too much for his liking.One dwarf from the escort held up a high-heeled shoe, displaying it as if it were a bar of gold. "Let the stride be high... let the toe-tip touch..."Zeryth took a deep breath and nodded to the dwarf. "Yes, it's a fine object," he said, then glanced at Tsuki. "Let's go. The Overseer is waiting."Finally, they arrived before the mangled shutter of a shop. Inside, it was pitch black, and the oil lamps cast long, jagged shadows across shelves lined with rotting cardboard boxes.

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