The Cave

The gate was gone.

 

Silla didn't know when it had disappeared. One moment it was ahead—torches, walls, iron—the next, just fog and cracked earth and the dark pressing at her back.

 

She kept walking.

 

Her leg was dead to the hip. The stain had crossed her waist. She couldn't feel her foot strike the ground. She couldn't feel anything below her ribs.

 

But she was moving.

 

Varra walked beside her. Her hands were black to the elbows. Her face was grey.

 

"The gate," Silla said. "It was right there."

 

"It moved."

 

"Gates don't move."

 

"This one does."

 

---

 

They found the cave at dusk.

 

Not a hollow. Not a dip in the earth. A real cave—stone walls, stone floor, a ceiling that arched overhead. The entrance was low. They had to crawl.

 

Inside, the air was still. Cold. The fog didn't follow.

 

Varra sat against the wall. Her legs stretched out in front of her. She didn't feel the stone.

 

"We'll wait here."

 

"For what?"

 

"For him."

 

Silla looked at the entrance. At the dark.

 

"He's not coming."

 

"He will."

 

"You don't know that."

 

Varra closed her eyes.

 

"I know he didn't give up on us."

 

---

 

The cave was deeper than it looked.

 

Silla could feel it—not see it, feel it. The stone sloped down. The air moved. Something was breathing at the bottom.

 

"Varra."

 

"I feel it."

 

"What is it?"

 

Varra opened her eyes.

 

"I don't want to know."

 

---

 

They ate the last of the meat.

 

It was bitter. Cold. The Silver-Back had been dead for days. The flesh was grey.

 

Silla chewed. Swallowed. Didn't taste.

 

"How much longer?" she asked.

 

"Until he comes."

 

"That's not an answer."

 

"It's the only one I have."

 

---

 

The hours passed.

 

The cave didn't change. The fog didn't enter. The dark at the bottom didn't move.

 

Silla watched the entrance.

 

"You should sleep," Varra said.

 

"You should sleep."

 

"I'm not tired."

 

"Neither am I."

 

They sat in silence.

 

---

 

Silla's leg twitched.

 

Not a muscle. The stain. It pulsed beneath her skin. Warm. Rhythmic.

 

"Varra."

 

"I see it."

 

"What's happening to me?"

 

Varra looked at her own hands. Black to the wrists. The stain had reached her elbows.

 

"I don't know."

 

"That's not an answer."

 

"It's the only one I have."

 

---

 

The dark at the bottom of the cave shifted.

 

Not movement. Pressure. The air grew heavy. Silla's ears popped.

 

"Something's coming," she said.

 

Varra stood. Drew her blade. The edge was dull. The hilt was warm.

 

"Then we fight."

 

---

 

Nothing came.

 

The pressure eased. The air lightened. The dark settled.

 

Silla laughed. It was thin. Wrong.

 

"It's not coming."

 

"It was."

 

"Maybe it changed its mind."

 

Varra lowered her blade.

 

"Things don't change their minds out here."

 

"Maybe it was never coming."

 

"Then what was that?"

 

Silla looked at her hands.

 

"I don't know."

 

---

 

The night was long.

 

No stars. No moon. Just the cave and the dark and the stain.

 

Silla lay on the stone floor. Her back pressed against the cold. Her leg was dead. Her hands were black.

 

She closed her eyes.

 

---

 

She dreamed of Luke.

 

He was standing at the entrance of the cave. His hands were black. His eyes were grey.

 

"You're not here," she said.

 

"No."

 

"Then where are you?"

 

He looked at the dark at the bottom of the cave.

 

"Down there."

 

---

 

She woke.

 

The cave was still. Varra was sitting against the wall, eyes open, staring at the entrance.

 

"Did you see him?" Silla asked.

 

Varra didn't turn.

 

"See who?"

 

"Luke."

 

Varra was quiet for a moment.

 

"I saw something."

 

"What?"

 

"A shadow. At the entrance. Then it was gone."

 

Silla looked at the dark.

 

"It was him."

 

"You don't know that."

 

"I know."

 

---

 

The morning came.

 

No sun. Just grey. The fog pressed against the entrance but didn't enter.

 

Silla stood. Her leg held. She didn't know why.

 

"We need to go."

 

"Where?"

 

"To find him."

 

"He'll find us."

 

"What if he's hurt?"

 

Varra looked at the dark at the bottom of the cave.

 

"Then he's already gone."

 

---

 

Silla walked to the entrance.

 

The fog was thin. The trees were black. The gate was nowhere.

 

"Varra."

 

"I'm here."

 

"What if he doesn't come back?"

 

Varra stood. Walked to where Silla stood. Her face was grey. Her hands were black.

 

"Then we go on without him."

 

"Can we?"

 

Varra looked at the fog. At the trees. At the gate that wasn't there.

 

"We have to."

 

---

 

They waited.

 

The hours passed. The fog didn't lift. The dark at the bottom of the cave didn't move.

 

Silla sat against the wall. Her leg was dead. Her hands were black.

 

"Varra."

 

"I'm listening."

 

"Tell me something. About before. About the village."

 

Varra was quiet for a moment.

 

"What do you want to know?"

 

"Anything. Something that isn't this."

 

Varra looked at the entrance. At the fog.

 

"I used to climb. When I was young. Before the stain. Before any of this."

 

"Climb what?"

 

"The walls. The catwalks. The roofs." She paused. "I wasn't supposed to. My mother told me to stop. I didn't listen."

 

"What happened?"

 

Varra's voice was flat.

 

"She left. And I kept climbing."

 

---

 

Silla was quiet.

 

"I used to make things," she said.

 

"What kind of things?"

 

"Machines. Tools. Things that didn't have a function. Just... things."

 

Varra looked at her. "Why?"

 

"Because I wanted to see if I could."

 

"Did they work?"

 

Silla laughed. It was thin. Wrong.

 

"Some of them."

 

---

 

The dark at the bottom of the cave shifted again.

 

Not pressure. Not movement. Something else. A sound. Low. Deep. A voice that wasn't a voice.

 

*"Stay."*

 

Silla stood.

 

"Did you hear that?"

 

Varra nodded.

 

"What was it?"

 

"I don't know."

 

---

 

The sound came again.

 

Closer.

 

*"Stay."*

 

Silla walked toward the dark.

 

"Silla—"

 

"It's him."

 

"You don't know that."

 

She kept walking.

 

---

 

The dark was deeper than she expected.

 

The stone sloped down. The air was cold. Her breath came out in clouds.

 

"Luke?"

 

No answer.

 

"Luke, if you're here—"

 

A hand closed around her wrist.

 

Warm.

 

Black.

 

"Silla."

 

She turned.

 

Luke was standing behind her. His hands were black. His eyes were grey.

 

"You came back."

 

"I never left."

 

---

 

She pulled him toward the entrance.

 

His feet dragged. His body was stiff. The stain covered his chest. His face. His throat.

 

"What happened to you?"

 

He looked at his hands.

 

"I don't know."

 

---

 

Varra was waiting.

 

She stared at Luke. At his grey eyes. His black hands. The stain that had reached his jaw.

 

"You're not him."

 

"I'm me."

 

"You're not the same."

 

Luke was quiet for a moment.

 

"No. I'm not."

 

---

 

They sat in the cave.

 

The dark at the bottom was still. The fog pressed against the entrance.

 

Luke sat apart. His hands were in his lap. His eyes were grey.

 

Silla watched him.

 

"Are you still in there?"

 

He looked at her. His face was still.

 

"I don't know."

 

"That's not an answer."

 

"It's the only one I have."

 

---

 

Varra stood.

 

"We need to go."

 

"Where?"

 

"The gate."

 

"It's gone."

 

"Then we find it."

 

She walked to the entrance. Looked back.

 

"Are you coming?"

 

 

Silla stood. Her leg held. Luke stood. His body was stiff.

 

"We're coming."

 

---

 

They walked into the fog.

 

The cave closed behind them.

 

The dark at the bottom waited.

 

Something was still breathing.

 

They didn't look back.